bathhouse maid at Pritoky, of Pritoky
“I haul water, fetch ale for the miners, and keep out of reach. If you have a quick tongue, the men mostly behave.”
Things Joan had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Thursday after the feast of St Mark, at None
Christ almighty, the rain last night! I have a whole pile of good wooden shingles I got off a carter for two bars of soap, but no nails to tack them up. The abbess will not open the house purse for a single penny to save us from drowning in our sleep.
Nota scribaeShe shifted from foot to foot the entire time I wrote this down.
the second day of Easter week, at Prime
Felice thinks I walk the whole of Bohemia when Constance sends me to Sedletz for herbs. Every time I leave the yard, she begs me to ask the merchants if they have seen her brother Havel. I smile and say aye, but I reckon the soldiers put him in the ground three winters ago.
the third Sunday in Lent, at Sext
I am keeping out of the bathhouse yard today. Constance lent Felice a tin pitcher, and Felice will not give it back, saying it pays for wages docked. Two stubborn mules braying over a piece of cheap tin. I'll just stand here and be glad for my good legs.
It is my pitcher and she will burn in Purgatory for theft.
Let her pay me my groschen and she can have her tin.
Nota scribaeShe lifted her skirt a handspan to show her ankles, which I ignored.
the Thursday after St Matthias, at Vespers
The miners from Kuttenberg are worse than usual this week. Dirty from the night shift and grabbing at my skirts the moment I pour the ale. I told a huge hulking digger he smelled worse than a badger's arse, which got a laugh from his mates. The lye stings my hands, but the banter keeps me awake.
Keep them drinking, Joan. Ale washes the dirt from their purses.
Nota scribaeShe used a much fouler word than arse, but my pen refused it.
Candlemas, at Terce
The winter has rotted the outbuilding roof right through. I woke up with frost in my hair. I swear I will not end up old and trapped at the tubs, freezing to death in my sleep. I will find a carter and barter for some wood before the spring rains come.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
My pallet is soaked through. Ask the abbess again, Joan.
Sort out your own beds. I have more pressing things to buy than iron for a shed.
I cannot leave the tubs to haggle in the market! And I know what you are hoarding that coin for.