householder of Troskowitz, of Troskowitz
“I keep a clean house and a quiet life, though the Lord tests me daily with fools and shouting guards.”
Things Matilda had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Thursday before Whitsun, at Prime
The shouting from the lower gate kept me waking till Matins again. If the King's men cannot drink without braying like asses, they should be put in the pillory. I bar my door at dusk, but I cannot bar my ears.
Nota scribaeShe pointed her finger at the inkwell the entire time she spoke.
the second day of Easter week, at None
That thieving monk Brother John still has my sister's copper jug. He claims I gave it as a pious offering for Saint Martin's feast! It cost five groschen and was Vendula's pride. I would pay good coin to any man who fetches it back and clouts his ears.
It was given in piety, Matilda. Show some respect for the church and listen to a sermon, and the Lord may soften your heart.
The Lord will soften your head if you do not return my five groschen jug, you beggar.
the feast of Saint Gertrude, at Terce
Saw poor Anna Brook standing in the mud today, cursing that absent landlord Osbert. It is a crying shame how hard those girls at the tavern work, only to be surrounded by drunkards and thieves, and rained on in their own beds besides.
Thank you, Matilda. The roof leaks right onto my straw, and that agent just laughs.
Nota scribaeDictated beside the market cross. She would not stop sweeping the steps while speaking.
the Friday after Ash Wednesday, at Vespers
My hard bread is dearer this year, and the roads are choked with refugees. I mind my own business, but it is hard to keep a neat house when the whole of Bohemia seems determined to fall apart. At least Vendula does not have to see it.
Aye, the flour is dear, and half of it is chaff. God keep us.
Candlemas, at Prime
I swept the threshold bare before I broke my fast today, just as my sister Vendula did. She was the gentler of us, taken by the sweating fever before Advent. The village has forgotten what decency is without her, but I will not let her memory be dragged in the mud.
She was a good woman, Matilda. Kept the neatest hearth in Troskowitz.
Nota scribaeShe wept a little, though she wiped her eyes quickly when a dog barked.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
We are soldiers, woman, not monks. If the Cumans come, you'll be glad we're awake.
If the Cumans come, you'll be too drunk to find your swords.