bathhouse abbess, of Malesov
“I run the tubs at Malesov, and it takes every drop of my sweat. A foolish, tiring life, but it pays the lease and keeps us from the mud.”
Things Alice Marsh had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Tuesday before Whitsun, at Vespers
If Ellen does not fetch that padded jacket back from Drslav's cellar before the spring muster, I will take it out of her hide. I paid a quarter-groschen for that coat, and she pawns it for ale! She claims it was for extra scrubbing. Foolish girl.
Nota scribaeDictated while she wiped lye from her hands. The apron was filthy.
the feast of Saint Pancras, at Sext
Lord preserve us from greedy fools. I have a certain warning drawn up by a clerk that must find its way into Isabel's hands before Joan runs her mouth to the bailiff about what they found in the camp. If the watch searches the loft for stolen silver, we will all hang.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
Johanka is weeping again over her wooden flute. Matilda took it, and rightly so. The clumsy girl kicked over a bucket of lye on Saint Martin's day that cost me ten groschen! I docked it from all their wages. The tubs must be full, not played music to.
I only wanted to play a song for my mother Martha. You are a cold woman, abbess.
You owe us all for that soap, Johanka. Be quiet and fetch the water.
Nota scribaeThe dictation was interrupted thrice by the woman shouting at the loft above.
the Wednesday after Saint Gregory, at None
My patience is stretched to snapping. Joan and Isabel turn my yard into a battlefield over that fool Jacob. He caught a stray arrow in the neck showing off on the road, and now these two glare at each other all day. Scrub the tubs and forget him!
the first Friday of Lent, at Compline
Ellen still mutters that I killed young Stislav. The boy was half-dead from the bloody flux at the Suchdol camp, and fetching a few wet logs in the rain made no difference to his fate. He drank bad water. I will not have my name dragged through the mud by a lazy maid.
He was shivering, and you sent him into the storm. You have a stone for a heart, abbess.
Nota scribaeShe sighed heavily and wiped her hands on her apron again, muttering about the cost of wood.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I scrubbed until my knees bled, Alice. The jacket is mine, and Drslav pours a good measure.
Get it back or you are out on the cold road by Sunday.