maidservant at the butcher's, of Kuttenberg
“I scrub the butcher's blocks and boil offal until my hands are raw. I am keeping my head down until I have enough coin to leave the stink behind.”
Things Berchta had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the eve of St Urban, at Vespers
Ursula told me her offer stands only until St John's Day. I am fifteen groschen short of the sum. I wiped down the bloody blocks twice today, but the master still paid me only three pennies. I will be boiling offal forever if I cannot find more.
Nota scribaeDictated in a great rush. She would not stop wiping her hands on her apron.
the Tuesday after St Stanislaus, at Sext
The master caught me washing the good linen shift the late mistress Margaret gave me. He told me I was putting on airs for a girl who smells of sheep's guts. Let him talk. He will rot like old gristle one day.
I will wear it under my wool and he will never know.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
They say there are soldiers on the Prague road again. Christ almighty, it makes me think of Lorenz. I took out his wooden spoon last night and held it. The war took everything once, I pray it does not come back to Kuttenberg.
the feast of St Gertrude, at None
A stray dog got into the yard and took a shank of mutton. The master blamed me, though I was hauling water from the public well. I lost a day's wages for it. Bloody hell, my hands are blistered enough without fetching for nothing.
Candlemas, at Compline
The winter draft in this storeroom cuts right to the bone. I slept huddled near the hanging meats. If only Mistress Margaret were still here, she would have let me sleep by the hearth. The master is a cheap old bastard.
Nota scribaeShe smelled strongly of rendered fat.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Forty groschen, girl. Not a penny less, or I take the tanner's daughter.