washerwoman below the Italian Court, of Kuttenberg
“I wash the heavy shirts from the mines and keep my head down. I have a promise to keep, and I will see it done.”
Things Anna had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Tuesday before Whitsun, at Vespers
The sun is warmer now, but the water from the stream still bites at my hands. I felt dizzy wringing out the last of the hewers' shirts today, but I held on. I went to the bakeries to sweep up their wood ash so I will not have to buy soap.
Nota scribaeDictated very quietly. She kept touching her fingers together as she spoke, counting something only she could see.
the second day of Easter week, at None
The wind was fierce this morning. Apollonia's grip was failing on the great twisting sheets, so I took the heavy end before the master could notice. We must help each other. If Menhard saw she could not wring the linen, he would turn her out of the house.
I thank you for it, Anna. God knows what would happen to me if you did not stand beside me.
the Thursday before Palm Sunday, at Compline
Only ten groschen left to gather. I have thirty safe in the dark, away from thieves. It is for a true silver cross from the silversmith for my mother Gerda's grave. It has been two years since the winter fever took her. I promised she would be marked properly, and I will not fail her.
Gerda was a good woman. She would be proud of how hard you work at the stones.
Nota scribaeShe whispered the part about where the coin is kept, asking me to write it small. I told her that is not how writing works.
the feast of Saint Gregory, at Prime
I wish Katchka would leave Heinz the porter to his work. She hounds him every morning to carry tidings to her sister Katherine in Prague. Heinz never steps foot past the town boundaries. It brings no peace to fool yourself about the people who are gone.
Katherine is not gone forever! She will write back to me, you will see. You are just bitter because you have no family.
I meant no offense, Katchka. I only meant we must bear what the Lord gives us.
the Wednesday after Candlemas, at Sext
There are more Hungarian soldiers passing by the lower town now. They muddy their tunics and then bring them to us to scrub. The grime is thick with road dirt. I do not understand why the King's brother needs so many men, but I suppose it means more coppers for my jar.
It means nothing but grief. Soldiers only bring sickness and empty the granaries. My brother Stephen would still be here if not for the levy.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You need to eat, lass. Stale bread from the baker's boy is only half a copper.