maidservant in the camp
“I make my way in the camp doing what I must. It is a hard life, but I am still breathing.”
Things Juliana had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Tuesday before Ascension, at Vespers
William, my sweet, I have looked everywhere for your good mail collar. I am certain I hid it safe under the wagon so no thief would find it, but it seems I must have moved it to a better place and forgotten. Give me but a day more, I will find it.
Nota scribaeShe spoke quickly and kept looking toward the door.
the eve of St Philip and St James, at Sext
Adam talks and talks of taking me away from this camp, but talk buys no bread. I combed my hair out this morning and my hands were numb with the frost. I just need a few groschen to clear a debt. A few groschen, Adam, if you are so full of promises.
I will have silver soon, Juliana. You will see. We won't have to sleep in the mud much longer.
I have heard that song since Candlemas, Adam.
the Monday after Easter, at None
Poor Adleta is bedridden again with the flux. She poured sour ale for us all, and now she can barely drink water. I carried a bucket to her hovel to pay down my slate. It is a frightful thing to grow old in a camp like this. I pray I do not end up relying on others for a cup of water.
Bring me another bucket tomorrow, you still owe for three pints from Lent.
My wife used to fetch water. I wonder if she still thinks of me.
the Wednesday before Palm Sunday, at Terce
That iron-bound door of Jan the pawnbroker is a curse on us all. He bleeds the camp dry. I only went to him because I was desperate, and he gave me a pittance. Now I must find the silver to redeem what is there, or I fear I will not live to see Whitsun.
Jan gives what a thing is worth to him. You chose to walk through his door.
What did you pawn, Juliana? You have nothing of value.
Nothing, William, my sweet! Just an old comb. Nothing to trouble yourself over.
Nota scribaeDictated in a rush.
the Monday after St Valentine, at Prime
The camp is foul this morning. The soldiers are nursing aching heads from cheap wine, and I had to dodge a thrown boot just bringing water. The armoured captains rode past for Kuttenberg without looking down. We are just vermin to them.
Keep your head down and stay out of the way. The captains have a war to fight.
They all smell of sweat and sour wine.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
If that collar is not in my hands by the muster, I will beat you until you cannot stand. Stop lying to me.
I am not lying, my sweet! It is safe, I swear it.
You should check with Jan in Kuttenberg, William. That is where all lost things end up.