maidservant at Nebakov fortress, of Nebakov fortress
“I keep my head down and my hands in the lye. Lord knows the dirt never ends.”
Things Alice had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Thursday before Whitsun, at Vespers
Havel gave me half a salted pork belly tonight. He says he took it in trade, since bread is two groschen a loaf now and nobody has coin. I gave him a cup of ale I saved from the hall. He is still ranting about Bynyek and his crushed foot. Lord knows I wish he would let it rest.
the Wednesday after St George, at None
I cannot find it. I have searched the yard well and sifted through the filthy rushes in the great hall on my hands and knees until they bled. The other housemaids only laugh at me for weeping over an old bone hairpin. It was all I had left of my mother.
Do not mind their cruel tongues, Alice. The pin may yet turn up in the wash.
Lord knows I pray for it, Klara. Without it I fear her face will fade from my mind.
Nota scribaeShe rubbed her raw hands together the entire time she spoke, looking at the floor.
the third day of Easter week, at Sext
The soldiers in the garrison drank three barrels dry yesterday and the shouting never stopped. I spent all morning hauling heavy wooden buckets up hand over hand to wash their spilled ale from the stones. My hands are so chapped from the lye I can barely close them.
Sit on the kitchen steps tonight and I will bring you a turnip to ease your stomach.
the Monday after St Gregory, at Prime
Word from the village is that Bynyek the carter crashed his cart and crushed his foot. He is loudly blaming Havel's leatherwork. The man was undoubtedly blind drunk, as he always is. Havel is furious, but Bynyek got what he deserved.
It was the stitching! Four groschen for a collar that snapped on the first hill, you lying maidservant.
If you were not confined to your house I would show you what snapping looks like.
Candlemas, at Compline
The morning was grey and bitter cold by the well. The Pope's decree says we must write our lives down, but Lord knows there is little to say of mine. I serve the garrison, I scrub the dirt, and I keep my mother's pin safe in my bodice. That is all.
Nota scribaeDictated in the kitchen doorway. She spoke so softly I had to ask her to repeat herself twice.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Bynyek buckled that collar wrong himself. I will not have my name dragged through the mud by a drunkard.
He is an idiot confined to his bed, Havel. The steward knows your work is good.