housekeeper to the armourer, of Kuttenberg
“I keep the master's house from falling to ruin and my children from starving on the street.”
Things Emma had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Tuesday before Whitsun, at None
The bailiff's clerk Anthony has our Robert pacing the yard again over the levy. I told the lad the king's business is the king's business, and worrying will not save him from the Cumans. I gave him an extra scoop of stew anyway.
Nota scribaeDictated while she was scrubbing a kettle. I was not offered any stew.
the second day of Easter week, at Vespers
Christina screamed across the table again about selling the land for her dowry. I told her to shut her mouth and eat. If she thinks I am selling Maurice's last scrap of dirt so she can marry a drunken deep-shaft miner, she is mad.
Bartholomew is a strong man and he will provide for me! You cannot hoard that deed forever, mother.
That land is mine by right, you ungrateful cow. I sweat on it every day.
Maundy Thursday, at Prime
Anna has been forbidden from leaving the house. I caught her trying to sneak out to see that penniless dice-rolling apprentice Standa. I will not have my daughters ruined and shamed in the streets of Kuttenberg just because they have no sense in their heads.
Standa can read! He will be a great clerk one day, you will see!
He can read the dice, that is all he can read.
Nota scribaeShe threatened to beat the girl with a broom handle if I did not write it down exactly so.
the feast of Saint Gregory, at Sext
Bread is dearer than ever. I spent the whole morning at the market calculating coppers just to feed the master's table and my own. Three winters since the coughing sickness took Maurice, and I am still paying the apothecary his bloody burial debts.
You manage the house well, Emma. The bread is worth what we pay.
the morrow of Candlemas, at Terce
John came home smelling of manure and onions again. He says the cabbage patch beyond the Pschitoky road is what keeps us respectable. Hard work it is, but I wish Maurice had left us some silver instead of one miserable strip of dirt.
Father was a decent man, and I am working his soil as he would want.
Nota scribaeThe dictation was briefly halted while she chased a chicken out of the hall.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
It is easy for you to say, Emma, you are not the one being marched off to die!
Eat your supper and stop wailing, lad.