Ellen

the Wednesday before Whitsun, at None

Father Julian says he will read my name from the pulpit this Sunday if I do not pay the twelve groschen. If Reginald hears it, he will throw me out to starve. Not a single fat carter has come through today, just soldiers who watch their purses.

• 
  Julian

  The Lord's patience is infinite, child, but the parish ledger is not. Pay your Easter tithe.

• 
  Reginald

  If I catch you idling or stealing to pay the priest, you will be out on the road.

• 
  Ellen

  I am not idling! I greased the gears before Prime!

Nota scribaeThe maidservant brushed flour from her apron the entire time she spoke, dirtying my ledger.

the second day of Easter week, at Vespers

I miss Mary. She taught me how to keep my hands busy and my stomach full when the wages fell short. I still keep her little sharp knife in my apron. Reginald gave us naught but harsh words today, and the flour dust is thick as a fog.

Easter Sunday, at Prime

Christ is risen. I hoped the holiday would bring careless carters with heavy purses to the mill, but the roads are full of Hungarian scouts. They buy nothing and look at you like a wolf looks at a stray sheep. A poor maidservant cannot make a living anymore.

Nota scribaeShe asked if taking coin from a Hungarian counts as a sin during Eastertide. I declined to answer.

the Thursday after St Gregory, at Sext

Reginald is off to the grain markets in Kuttenberg again, leaving us to the back-breaking labour. I spent the morning hauling sacks until I thought my spine would snap. He pays us mere pennies and expects the work of ten strong men. Bloody hell.

• 
  Reginald

  The work would be lighter if you did not complain so much. Sweep the stones again.

Candlemas, at Prime

The loft above the grain bins is so cold my thin wool blanket might as well be made of cobwebs. At least the mice keep me company. Praying for an early spring, or at least a warm loaf of bread.