washer of heavy linens, of Kuttenberg
“I wash the town's dirt in freezing water so I do not starve. Sentiment is for fools.”
Things Ottilie had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the eve of Ascension, at Vespers
Katchka Baker asked me again today to walk the roads and carry word to her kin. I told her no, loudly, for the tenth time. The roads are full of Hungarian whoresons who would cut my throat for a copper. Let her go herself if she misses them so much.
Nota scribaeShe crossed her arms and shouted this. I have ringing in my left ear.
the feast of St Florian, at None
Bread is twice the price it was in winter. I give every copper I make hauling wet sacks straight to the baker. The King's brother and his army of locusts are eating Kuttenberg out of house and home, and we are the ones left to starve.
It is a wicked price. We will all be eating bark by St John's Day.
the second day of Easter week, at Sext
I saw Elsbeth at the stream today using Margery's hardwood washing bat. I told her to her face she is a thief and should give it back. She lied and said she found it. We are poor enough without stealing from each other.
the Tuesday after Laetare Sunday, at Prime
Emma is a fool. She is taking on mending work for Ulrich the quartermaster. If she ruins one of those torn gambesons, that tyrant will have her whipped. I will stick to the freezing water and the soap. It splits my hands, but the stream does not carry a whip.
The coin is better than washing, Ottilie. I am careful with the needle.
Nota scribaeDictated at the stream. The parchment got wet.
the first week of Lent, at Compline
The widow Agnes died of the coughing sickness. She was a fair woman who let us sleep on her cellar floor for a single groschen. Now the new landlord has thrown us out into the cold. God rest her soul, she knew the value of a penny.
I brought her water at the end. She was a good soul.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You have no heart, Ottilie. It is only a half day's walk, and I would give you a stale loaf for it.
A stale loaf will do me no good if I am dead in a ditch, Katchka.