housekeeper for the miners, of Horany
“I keep house for thirty boys who dig the King's silver, and God knows I try to stop them living like absolute swine.”
Things Isabel had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Tuesday before Whitsun, at Vespers
I have not forgotten my vow. The Holy Virgin and Saint Barbara know I have not forgotten. But the roads are swarming with Hungarian soldiers, and I am too exhausted from the washing to walk barefoot to Sedletz. Surely the saints understand that a silver groschen and a beeswax candle do no good if I am dead on the path.
Nota scribaeShe crossed her arms tightly across her chest while she spoke and sighed three times.
the Wednesday after Easter, at None
If Thomas and William do not stop glaring at each other over my stew pot, I will banish them both to eat outside in the mud. Thomas pawned William's padded jack to widow Agnes for ale money before Christmas, and William is terrified of the bailiff's whip at the spring muster. I refuse to take sides, but they are making my hall unbearable.
Agnes is a grasping crone. I meant to win the silver back with the dice, Isabel, I swear it.
The muster is coming and my back will pay for your dice, you careless fool.
Keep it out of my kitchen.
the feast of the Annunciation, at Prime
I spent half the day yesterday sweeping the timber hall from end to end. The dust of the mine gets everywhere. And some whoreson tracked grey mud straight across the floor before I even had the hearth lit this morning. You boys dig dirt for a living, you do not need to sleep in it. Wipe your boots.
It was dark, Isabel. Christ almighty, you cannot see the floor at that hour.
Nota scribaeShe asked who the first to enter the hall was, but I am a scribe, not a watchman.
the second week of Lent, at Terce
I paid the priest a few pennies this morning for a mass. It has been three winters since the earth collapsed on Leonard. He was a good hewer, and he promised we would eat well here. Up in heaven there are no narrow shafts to fall in. Do not speak of it to me today.
He was a strong lad. The earth takes who it will, God rest him.
Nota scribaeThe dictation was halted while she wiped her eyes, though she blamed the smoke.
Candlemas, at Sext
I am finally standing proper after the terrible fever that struck the house near Saint Catherine's day. I lay in the dark with my lungs rattling, certain I was for the grave. I owe my life to the Virgin. When the weather turns and the work lessens, I will make my walk to Sedletz.
Praise be. I will carry the heavy buckets for you until you are fully mended.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Do not risk the road, Isabel. The Cumans took a cart near Tachov yesterday.