maidservant at the wash-house, of Kuttenberg
“I only want to do my scrubbing, earn my bread, and not catch the terrible camp sickness.”
Things Christina had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the eve of Saint Pancras, at Vespers
I saw Amice Clark near the meat stalls today and hid behind a beggar's cart. I still do not have the groschen to pay Mathes for that padded jack. If I am caught, the bailiff will drag me to the pillory. My hands are shaking so much I cannot hold the soap.
Nota scribaeShe wept openly while speaking, making a terrible mess of the parchment.
the second day of Easter week, at Prime
Elsbeth Holz walked right past me again today when I begged her to carry a message to Sedletz. I only want my parents to know I haven't died of the fever like poor Clara. We are all coughing in the loft and I am so deeply afraid.
I am not your errand girl, you weeping willow. Pay me a silver piece or leave me be.
Do not cry, Christina. I have half a hard loaf left if you are hungry tonight.
the Friday before Palm Sunday, at None
Grete and Margery were fighting again over a tin plate, screaming loud enough to wake the dead. I wish Barbara would make them stop. The shouting hurts my head, and Mistress Adelheid will only charge us more for the lye if we cause a fuss.
It was my plate and Joan had no right to lend it! Mind your own scrubbing, Christina.
Keep your head down, little one. Margery will tire herself out eventually.
Nota scribaeDictated in a whisper so quiet I had to lean in to hear.
the feast of Saint Thomas Aquinas, at Sext
A cartload of bloody gambesons came in from the garrison. I scrubbed until the water was black and my fingers bled, but the stains remain. I know the curse of the fever is still in the wool. I wash my hands and wash them, but I still smell death.
Just wash it and be glad for the coin. I owe the baker three pennies and blood washes out better than debt.
the day after Candlemas, at Terce
I lost my purse in the snow last week and had not eaten in two days. God forgive me, I took a padded jack I was meant to hold and pawned it to Mathes for bread. Now I owe the fat spider his interest and I have nothing.
Interest grows like wheat in spring, little bird. I expect my groschen by the new moon.
Nota scribaeShe begged me not to write this down, then begged me to write it so the Lord would understand.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Where is my gear, Christina? Do not think I have forgotten. I need it back before the week is out.
It is safe, I swear it by the holy cross! Just give me a few more days to finish the washing.