maidservant at the farm, of Grunta
“I scrub floors for a boy who steals from his own servants. I deserve far better.”
Things Alice had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Thursday before Whitsun, at None
If William and Leonard bring one more filthy tunic to my washing tub, I will boil it with them inside. They sit on their arses complaining about unpaid wages, while I am elbow-deep in lye. In Prague, Mistress Marion's men knew how to keep clean.
Nota scribaeDictated beside the washing tub. The woman's hands were indeed raw.
the second Tuesday of May, at Vespers
That bastard John has locked my fine Prague linen in his cupboard. He claims it is for safekeeping against thieves, but he is the only thief in Grunta. He knows it is all I have, and he keeps it so I cannot sell it and leave this sinking ship.
the Wednesday after Easter week, at Prime
Poor Lucy made a holy vow to walk barefoot to Sedletz monastery, but our boy master forbids it. I told her to just walk out the gate and ignore him. What can he do? The farm is already stripped bare by the requisition men.
I cannot disobey him, Alice. It would be a sin.
Being weak is a worse sin, Lucy. Go to the monks.
Nota scribaeShe shouted this across the yard at the master.
the eve of Palm Sunday, at Compline
Another day in this dung heap. Old Peter was a stern master, but he paid his men on time and kept order. Now we have nothing but hungry bellies and a master who searches the quarters for misplaced seed-bags. Bloody hell, I miss Prague.
Old Peter paid us on the eve of every saint's day. God rest his soul.
the Monday after St Gregory, at Terce
The bread is dearer than last year, and the soldiers passing through took what little grain we had left. Now John is pacing the yard like a frightened sheep. If I had my due, I would take my linen and walk all the way back to Prague today.
At least you sleep under a roof, Alice. The soldiers burnt half the valley.
Nota scribaeThe woman refused to stop spinning wool while speaking.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
We cut wood all day, Alice. Mud is part of the work, you daft cow.
And we still have not seen a single groschen from John since Easter.
Then wash your own rags, you whoreson!