housekeeper for fencing masters, of Kuttenberg
“I keep house for the fencing masters. It requires a firm hand and a great deal of patience to feed them and clean away their wooden swords.”
Things Ottilie had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Wednesday before Whitsun, at Compline
The spring storms are heavy this year. Every crack of thunder makes my heart drop. I asked the masters again for two days to walk barefoot to Sedletz, but they say the militiamen need feeding. I fear my chest will ache again.
Nota scribaeShe kept folding her hands and unfolding them while she spoke.
the feast of Saint John before the Latin Gate, at None
Matilda Brown loitered by my basket at the market steps again today, whining about her sister Mary. I told her plainly that my masters teach swordplay, they do not carry letters past Trosky. I have no time for such nonsense.
It is a cruel world when a woman will not even ask her masters a simple question for a worried neighbour.
My masters strike each other with heavy sticks all day, Matilda. They are not messengers.
the Wednesday of Easter week, at Sext
The market was a madhouse this morning. The soldiers took the best cuts of meat before Terce. And Alice Gold was reeking of ale, paying no mind to her poultry. A respectable household cannot be run on stringy hens.
My hens are perfectly fine, you stiff-necked broom-pusher. Mind your own kitchen.
Nota scribaeDictated at the market edge. She refused to raise her voice above the din.
the feast of Saint Gertrude, at Prime
Margery Turner was complaining again about Lambert and the leaky roof at her lodgings. I am thankful the fencers' building is solid stone. A dry hearth makes the early rising much easier to bear.
It is easy for you to be thankful when you do not pay five groschen a month for rain on your bed.
the Monday after Ash Wednesday, at Vespers
My chest still aches, but the fever has finally broken. I promised Saint Blaise on his feast day that I would walk barefoot to Sedletz if he spared me. I am alive, praise be. Now I must just find the time to go.
Nota scribaeShe coughed twice before speaking and kept her hands neatly folded over her apron.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I know the dread, Ottilie. Saint Agnes must be looking down at me with the same frown. We are bound to our work.