washerwoman at the Italian Court, of Kuttenberg
“I want clean shirts and peace and quiet. The water is cold enough without everyone clucking like hens from morning till night.”
Things Cecily had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
The Wednesday before Whitsun, at Vespers
Anna is going to faint straight into the lye bucket if she does not eat. She skipped her midday meal again to save coppers for that silver cross for her mother Gerda. The Lord does not want you drowning in dirty water, girl. Eat a piece of bread.
The second day of May, at None
If I hear about Stephen's padded gambeson one more time, I will scream. Rose will not stop whining that Ottilie pawned it. I wish she would just punch Ottilie in the jaw and be done with it so we can wash these miners' shirts in peace.
It was for my brother, God rest him. You have a heart of stone, Cecily.
I had debts to pay. A dead man does not need a coat.
Nota scribaeDictated while wringing out a heavy linen sheet.
The Tuesday after Easter, at Terce
The walk down the dusty road to the Sedletz monastery is the only good part of the day. The Cistercians pay fair groschen for bleached linen, but more importantly, the road is quiet. Nobody weeping over dropped combs or asking for errands. Just the dust and the trees.
It was a carved bone comb, Cecily. You do not understand.
The stream washed it away weeks ago, Eve. Let it go.
The second week of Lent, at Prime
Saint Jude preserve me, Lene is at it again. She hounds me to carry a letter to her kin in Kolin. I have told her a dozen times that Sedletz is not Kolin. I am not walking the other way just because she is too tight-fisted to hire a proper messenger.
You are already walking out of town, Cecily. It is not so far.
You should see Heinz the porter. He might go to Kolin on his way to Prague.
Nota scribaeThe woman crossed her arms tightly and refused to look at Lene across the yard.
The morrow of Candlemas, at dawn
The water at the boards is so cold my hands are raw and cracked. Half the mint workers' under-linen is stiff with frost. Apollonia is struggling with her left hand, though she tries to hide it from the master. I mind my own business, but we will all be crippled if this frost holds.
Hush, Cecily. Do not speak of my hand where the master might hear.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I am fine, Cecily. The cross is nearly paid for.