washerwoman in Kuttenberg, of Kuttenberg
“I scrub the dirt from merchants' clothes until my hands bleed. I endure what I must, and I expect nothing from anyone but trouble.”
Things Elizabeth had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the eve of St George, at None
The watchmen were turning over carts by the lower gate today. Looking for stolen goods from the camp, they said. I kept my head down and walked past with my washing. A clear conscience is a shield, I say. Though Hannah the elder gave me a look that could curdle milk when I told her.
Nota scribaeDictated at the stream. The woman kept looking over her shoulder toward the town square.
the second day of Easter week, at Vespers
Lida wants her rent tomorrow. Nine of us in this damp hole and the price never drops. Lydia has been weeping over Maresh again, and Martha sighing about James. We all lost someone in that cursed camp. Tears don't pay the baker for a straw pallet.
the Tuesday after Palm Sunday, at Sext
My hands are cracked from the lye and the water in the stream is like ice. I scrubbed a merchant's heavy wool cloak this morning until my shoulders ached. It was nearly as heavy as that officer's coat in the mud. I didn't complain. The work must be done.
You talk a lot about heavy coats lately, Elizabeth. Perhaps you should lighten your load.
Nota scribaeShe insisted I write down that she did not complain.
the morrow of St Gregory, at Prime
Saw Helena in the market. She looked away, like she always does. She can look away all she wants, it doesn't change what happened in the camp. If she hadn't run like a frightened rabbit in the dark, my brother Bynyek might still be standing here instead of lying in the mud.
Candlemas, at Compline
Bread is dearer this year. The soldiers are on the roads, the King is taken, and we common folk pay the toll for it all. I keep my coins close and my sack closer. I sleep with my head on it now. There are thieves everywhere, even in the cellar.
No one wants your dirty rags, Elizabeth. We're all just trying to sleep.
Nota scribaeDictated in the cellar. She stared at the other women while speaking.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
A clear conscience, is it? We'll see how long that lasts when the bailiff starts asking harder questions. Some things are too heavy to carry alone, Elizabeth.
I carry my own sack, Hannah. See to yours.