maidservant at the dye-vats, of Kuttenberg
“I haul wool from the boiling vats till my back gives out. Lord help me, I try to hold things together now Emma is gone.”
Things Eleanor had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the eve of Pentecost, at Vespers
Paid out another three pennies today just so the boy at the alehouse checks Anne hasn't frozen in the mud. She slept through her shift again. The vat-master would have sacked her if I hadn't sworn she was fetching lye. Lord preserve us, she is going to drink herself into the earth, and Emma would weep to see it.
Nota scribaeThe woman wiped her forehead repeatedly, leaving a dark blue stain across her brow.
the third Tuesday of May, at None
The heat over the vats today was a misery. Blistered my left hand pulling the canvas out. The master docked Milada half a day's wage just for sitting down to tie her shoe. If old Emma were here, she'd have marched right to the counting-stool and given him a piece of her mind.
the feast of St Mark, at Prime
I hear the price of a loaf is up another two pennies because of the soldiers on the road. God bless us, how are we to eat? The vat-master gives us the same groschen as last year, but it buys half the bread.
My husband says the bakers are holding flour back to make a profit off the Cumans.
the second week of Lent, at Compline
I am asking Beatrice, nicely, for my heavy smoothing iron back. I lent it at Candlemas. She claims she needs it for the baker's linens, but that iron cost me a month of scalded hands to buy. I am too tired to fight, Beatrice. Just return it.
The baker's wife expects crisp sheets, Eleanor. You only have coarse wool at the vats. I'll bring it when I'm done.
Christ almighty, you have had it a month! You are taking food from my mouth.
At least you haven't asked for the little tool back from me yet.
Nota scribaeDictated at the well. The woman's hands were badly blistered.
the week after Candlemas, at Terce
Emma is gone. The chest fever took her in the night. She was the best of us, and the only one who kept the masters honest. We are all lost without her. Anne has not stopped weeping. Lord rest her soul, the washing yards will never be the same.
God rest her. We will be cheated of our pennies by Monday, mark my words.
I lit a candle for her at St James's. A good woman.
Nota scribaeThe woman wept freely while speaking.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I wasn't in the mud, Eleanor. Leave me be. A few cups takes the cold out my bones.
It takes the coin out your purse, girl. I cannot watch you every hour.