washerwoman of the lower streets, of Kuttenberg
“I haul lye and cold water until my hands bleed, just so the garrison can smell slightly less like horse arse.”
Things Joanna had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the third day of May, at Vespers
Sawdust in the rye again, and three pennies a loaf. Yet Sarah the younger sits in the corner chewing on soft white bread. She must have found the Virgin's own purse in the mud last summer, to eat like a bishop while the rest of us starve.
Nota scribaeShe waved her raw hands at me while she spoke, getting a spot of lye on my parchment.
the Tuesday after Easter, at None
The stream is freezing today. Wringing out those heavy tunics leaves my hands blistered and raw. The soldiers got piss-drunk for the resurrection of our Lord, and now I am the one suffering for it. Lida wants her rent by Saturday, so scrub we must.
Aye, my back is near broken from hauling the wooden tubs this morning.
the feast of St Gertrude, at Terce
Saw the town watch patrolling the lower streets this morning. My heart nearly stopped. If they come poking around our pallets in the cellar, looking for things lost at the militia camp, a whipping would finish me off. Some of us ought to be more careful with what they hide.
Keep your mouth shut, Joanna. We just need to survive the day, and idle talk will get us all hanged.
Nota scribaeShe lowered her voice to a whisper for the last part, glancing over her shoulder.
the eve of St Matthias, at Compline
Lydia will not stop weeping over Maresh. God rest his soul, but the bloody flux took half the camp last summer. Bynyek too. Crying will not bring them back from the mud, and it will not help patch these torn seams in the dark. We have to carry on.
Candlemas, at Prime
Christ almighty, my pallet is soaked through with the damp. The older women bickered over pennies half the night. We followed the militia last summer for honest wages and got nothing but sickness and panic. Though it seems some of us carried back more than just bad memories.
If my James were here, he would have seen us paid properly. I pray the lad is safe.
We all carried back nothing but grief. Stop your muttering and go to sleep.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I saved my wages, Joanna. The Lord provides for those who do not spend it all.
The Lord did not drop that heavy purse in the camp mud, Sarah. We both know what you saved.