maidservant and washerwoman, of Kuttenberg
“I'm a washerwoman with a cough that won't quit, mending tunics now because my chest can't take the freezing stream. I pull my weight, not like some of the useless wenches.”
Things Sarah had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Tuesday after St Mark, at None
My stomach is turning water into poison today. I need three fresh apples to settle it. Just three apples, but the traders want silver I haven't seen in weeks. If my body gives out before Saturday, Lida's boy can drag me into the street himself.
Nota scribaeShe coughed twice while dictating this.
the eve of St George, at Vespers
Helena still owes me for that padded gambeson she pawned behind my back. That was my winter rent, you useless coward. You think taking a woman's livelihood is a small thing? Starve if you must, but don't steal from me.
I was starving, Sarah! We were all starving when the camp broke. I needed food.
You needed my gambeson, you mean. I won't forget it.
Nota scribaeShe spoke with great bitterness.
the third day of Easter week, at Terce
Bread is dearer again, and the soldiers on the road make everything worse. I saw Elizabeth sitting on her hidden silver buttons today, looking smug. She thinks she's better than the rest of us, but we all sleep in the same damp cellar.
Mind your own business, Sarah. My buttons are mine.
the first Sunday in Lent, at Prime
Lydia stared holes in my back again this morning. You cannot blame the living for the dead. I was awake for two days scrubbing filth before I sat with Maresh. God rest his soul, but my eyes closed. It wasn't my fault he was taken.
You promised to watch him. You slept while he died in the mud. I'll never forgive you.
The flux took many good men last summer. It's the Lord's will, Lydia.
Nota scribaeThe speaker lowered her voice considerably for this entry.
Candlemas, at Sext
My hands cramp so badly I can barely hold the bone needle. Washing in the freezing stream is killing me, but mending torn tunics only brings in half-groschen. The young ones complain about a lent lamp, but they don't know real ache.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Apples in spring? You might as well ask for gold.