washerwoman, of Kuttenberg
“I keep my head down and scrub the mud from other people's clothes. I survived the roads once, God willing, and I intend to survive this town.”
Things Juliana had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the eve of St Urban, at Vespers
The muster is called for Whitsun, and William the captain will inspect the men. Amice's leather jerkin is still locked in Joseph the pawnbroker's shop, and Joseph is still in Prague. If I cannot get it back, the watchmen will have me in the pillory. I can barely draw breath for the fear of it, God willing.
Nota scribaeShe spoke slowly, rubbing her eyes with a soapy hand.
the second Monday in May, at None
Matilda Brown came to the troughs again today, demanding I take tidings to her cousin in Caslav. I told her no for the tenth time. Because Rose and I walked the roads from the south to escape the Hungarians, these townsfolk think we'll gladly do it again to soothe their consciences. I'll not risk my life for a free errand.
It is a small mercy to carry word to a worried woman. You have legs, do you not?
Let her walk to Caslav herself if she's so worried. I remember the soldiers in the ditches well enough.
If Hugh the carter had not gone missing at Easter, he would have carried it for a penny.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
The price of firewood is a sin, and flour is worse. I stand in the freezing mud from dawn to dusk, plunging my hands into the lye until they crack and bleed, and it barely pays for a stale crust. Alice covers an empty purse with loud swearing, but swearing won't fill a belly.
Christ almighty, you'd swear too if you had to listen to Cecily and Mabel bickering over a pressing iron all day.
At least we are alive, God willing. Old Adleta died of the winter fever during Lent, and they buried her without a slate.
Nota scribaeDictated at the bakeries. The woman's hands were indeed cracked.
the Tuesday after St Gregory, at Sext
Juliana Cooper begged me again to carry a message to her brother in Kolin. I said no. I came up the roads hiding in the ditches when the riders passed, and I'll not go back out there. It is hard enough keeping warm here without seeking trouble among the mercenaries.
I only asked. You don't have to be so proud about it. A little charity wouldn't kill you.
The Hungarians might.
Candlemas, at Terce
The winter is bitter. I took Amice's fine leather jerkin to Joseph the pawnbroker and exchanged it for five groschen to pay my landlord. I intend to buy it back by Easter, God willing. I had no choice, but the fear of it eats at me. May the saints forgive me.
Joseph is a tradesman taking a fair pledge, but it's a dangerous game you play with another's gear.
You took my jerkin? God's wounds, Juliana, you swore to keep it safe!
Nota scribaeDictated in a low, exhausted voice. She asked that the Lord have mercy.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You told me it was safe! If William finds my man without his padding, he'll beat him bloody, and I'll see you flogged for it.
I had to pay the landlord or freeze in the street. I meant to have it back by Easter. Joseph must return soon.
I pawned Mabel's gear to buy bread too. God save us both when the horns sound.