bathhouse maid, of Malesov
“I scrub the dirt off miners and soldiers till my hands bleed, and for what? Just a dry throat and a hard plank.”
Things Ellen had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Thursday before Whitsun, at Vespers
That old miser Drslav still has the padded jacket I traded him for ale. Alice is screeching for it back before the muster, but I reckon she owed it to me for the extra scrubbing I did in the frost. Let her pay him if she wants it so badly.
Nota scribaeShe was quite drunk when she said this, and spilled my ink.
the feast of St Mark, at None
Johanka is weeping about her mother Martha again. I told her the old woman is probably glad to have one less mouth to feed with bread prices as they are. Christ almighty, we all have it hard enough without drowning in tears over peasant women who don't care.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
Soldiers on the road again, tracking mud into my clean tubs. Reminds me of the camp at Suchdol last autumn. Poor Stislav would be sitting with them if Alice hadn't worked him to death in the freezing rain. A boy sick with the flux should be in bed, not hauling firewood.
He drank foul water and had a weak chest. A few logs in the rain did not kill him, the bloody flux did.
Nota scribaeThe abbess disputed this fiercely while I was writing.
the Wednesday after St Gregory, at Terce
Joan and Isabel are still fighting over that dead man's leather pouch. Isabel says Joan got Jacob killed by an arrow in the woods. I told them to just take the dead fool's silver ring, buy a jug of good ale, and forget the whole bloody mess.
Candlemas, at Compline
It is bitter cold in this loft tonight. Alice gave me a dead militiaman's jacket, but the damp in my bones was too much, so I took it down to the cellar for some strong ale. Better a warm belly than freezing sober under a leaky roof.
I lent it to you so you would not freeze at the tubs. I did not give it to you to drink away.
Nota scribaeDictated shivering, smelling strongly of the ale she spoke of.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
It was bathhouse property, you drunken fool, and I will have the coin out of your wages.
Try it, and I'll drop my buckets in the river and you can haul them yourself.