maidservant at the troughs, of Kuttenberg
“I mend and I wash, and I keep my mouth shut. I survived the winter fever, which is more than some can say.”
Things Christine had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Wednesday before Whitsun, at Vespers
The horns will sound soon enough for the muster, and my hands are cracked bleeding from mending these heavy canvas jacks. Alice makes enough noise to wake the dead complaining about Captain William, but shouting won't get the work done any faster. Keep your head down, I say.
the second day of May, at Terce
I hear Joseph has gone to Prague and won't be back for a month. A shame for those who need him. I only hope he locked his shop well, with all the hungry soldiers on the roads these days.
Mabel's got my pressing iron locked in there, the wretched thief.
I pawned my own gear, you old cow, not your rusty iron.
Nota scribaeThe woman spoke very quietly and stared at the floor the whole time.
the Thursday after Easter, at None
The mud behind the bakeries is thicker than ever, but at least the ice is gone from the troughs. Anne Baker gave me a stale loaf today for washing her husband's shirts. A hard crust is better than an empty belly.
It wasn't stale, it was baked yesterday. You're welcome, all the same.
I miss old Adleta. She'd have shown us how to stretch that loaf to feed three.
the Tuesday of the second week of Lent, at Prime
We buried old Adleta yesterday behind the church. She taught me how to put a patch on a jack so it holds against a blade. Into the dirt she goes, same as the rest of us, with nothing to her name but a slate of debts. God rest her.
the morrow of Candlemas, at Sext
If a woman has a husband bringing in good silver, she hardly needs to fret over a pair of shears. Some of us only have our own raw fingers to rely on, and good tools mean the difference between eating and starving in the cold.
If you are speaking of the tailoring shears you borrowed, Christine, I need them back. My husband's silver doesn't cut canvas.
I haven't quite finished with them. Soon.
Nota scribaeDictated while she was hiding something at the bottom of a wicker basket.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You can keep your head down all you like, Christine, but that bastard William will still find something to flog us for.
Have you seen my brother's quilted coat yet? He left it with the wash well before Lent, and he needs it for the muster.
I set it aside to mend the seams properly. It will be ready.