Ellen Goodman

the Monday after Ascension, at Vespers

Quarter day approaches and Richard's man will come looking for his silver groschen. He will take my coin, but will he send a man to patch the slates the autumn gales tore from the bakehouse roof? He will not. He is a greedy bastard who only reads his ledger.

• 
  Richard

  The lease says you must maintain the premises, woman. Pay your rent or I will find another baker.

• 
  Ellen Goodman

  Maintain it with what? I am drowning in rain and you are drowning in silver.

Nota scribaeShe wiped flour on the church rolls while saying this.

the feast of St Mark, at Prime

Forgive me, Lord, for I am feeding the village sawdust and ground acorns. I have mixed it with the cheap barley just to make the loaves hold together. The shame of it gnaws at my belly worse than hunger. A baker who serves poor bread is a sinner indeed.

the Wednesday before Easter, at Sext

Christ almighty, Hungarian foragers rode right into the yard and took three whole sacks of prime rye. They left me a useless slip of parchment. If they had not had swords, I would have broken my wooden peel over their whoreson heads. How am I to bake for the village now?

Nota scribaeDictated in a fury. I advised her not to curse the King's brother's men, but she would not listen.

the Tuesday after St Gregory, at Compline

My father Simon used to say the fire needs feeding as much as a man does. I marched to the treeline today and dragged back enough faggots to keep the oven hot. The levies took all the strong lads, so my own back must bear the wood.

Candlemas, at Terce

I woke coughing again. The soot is in my lungs. My cot in the corner was ruined by the rain dripping through the broken slates, so I must drag my blanket to the warm oven bricks. I guard the dry flour like a mother wolf, but the damp will take us both.

Nota scribaeThe woman coughed so fiercely she could scarcely finish her words.