mender of clothes and hose, of Kuttenberg
“I sew my fingers to the bone patching shirts for the watch, and what do I get? Robbed by my own neighbours who pawned my militia gear.”
Things Amice Clark had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Tuesday before Whitsun, at Vespers
By Saint John, the muster is coming and I have nothing! I put my honest silver into padded jacks with Elsbeth Holz and Christina, and the lying bitches took my kit and pawned it to the lenders in the cellar. I am the one who will be fined by the bailiff and thrown into service, while they walk free. Thieves, the lot of them!
Nota scribaeShe shifted from foot to foot and shouted the last words so loudly the ink spattered.
the feast of Saint Matthias, at Sext
Denise Cross is whining again about the leaking roof on Kubyenka's property. God's blood, a little rainwater never ruined anyone! Does rainwater put you in indentured service? No! A fine from the bailiff for having no war gear, that ruins a life. She should count her blessings and shut her mouth before I sew it shut for her.
My bed is rotting beneath me, Amice. Not all of us like sleeping in the mud.
Kubyenka is a curse on this town. I would take the bailiff over a roof that crumbles on my head.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
The watchmen brought me three torn shirts, complained about my last mending, and paid me not one penny. How am I to eat? I asked Barbara Braun for a loan of a few groschen, but she is hoarding all her coin for a plot with Humphrey the grave-digger. She would rather feed the worms than keep a Christian woman from starving in the present.
Humphrey raised his prices again. I will not be thrown in a ditch just because you cannot manage your purse.
the Monday after Saint Gregory, at None
Matilda Fuller is giving herself airs again in the courtyard. I remember well enough two winters ago during the sickness when she made a sacred vow to walk to Sedletz if she lived. Has she walked a single mile? No. Just typical of the hypocrites in this alley. Saint Barbara sees it all.
The Lord knows my joints are bad. I will make the walk when the weather turns, you spiteful crow.
Nota scribaeDictated by the washing tubs. The speaker was highly agitated.
Candlemas, at Terce
The town council has levied us for the muster on Saint John's day. I am terrified of the bailiff's fines, so I have given every groschen I have saved to Elsbeth Holz and Christina to pool for padded jacks and iron caps. It is a bitter thing to part with my hard-earned coin, but at least I am safe from the whip.
We will buy good strong gear, Amice. Stop fretting like a sheep in a slaughterhouse.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I pawned my own piece, you mad old hen. If you cannot keep track of your own padded jack, do not blame me.
A lie. The lender took it because you shorted us on the coin in the first place.
Do not interrupt me with your lies! You know my coin bought that iron cap!