maidservant at the mill, of Podseminsko
“I work the bakehouse, mend the sacks, and try to keep my feet dry. I just want to do my work and be left alone.”
Things Margery had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Tuesday before Whitsun, at Vespers
Christ almighty, the rats have been at the grain sacks again. I spent the whole morning with a needle, wiping flour off my apron, while the men stood about bickering in the yard. If Agnes docks my wage on Sunday for the holes, I swear I will scream.
Nota scribaeDictated in the bakehouse. Her hands were indeed covered in flour.
the feast of St Mark, at None
Soldiers on the road again today. It brings back the mud and the freezing streams from two winters ago. I washed enough bloody linen then to last a lifetime. Some men found things in that mud they ought to have shared out by now, instead of burying them in the yard like a dog with a bone.
the second day of Easter week, at Terce
Agnes paid the wages yesterday, exactly as she wrote in her ledger. I respect the coin, but sakra, she treats us like we're dirt on her floor. Joan was shouting at Andrew again about poor Benesh. I told her to hush before Agnes sacks us both.
I didn't send Benesh to die. The levy took him, same as it took you.
You coward! You know what you did in the woods.
Nota scribaeShe wiped her hands on her apron three times while speaking.
the Friday after St Gregory, at Sext
I saw Thomas up in the loft today, poking around the floorboards. A man who holds onto foolish things from years past is a man who wants his head cracked with a rolling pin. I was a naive girl once, but I am not now. Burn what needs burning, Thomas.
Candlemas, at Prime
The priest says the Pope wants our days written down for the Day of Judgment. Christ almighty, the Lord has better things to read than my mending. It is freezing in the bakehouse. I ate my porridge in the yard to get away from the men, but the cold gets into your bones.
Aye, it's bitter cold. The water trough was frozen solid this morning.
Come sit by my fire later, Margery. The mill is no place to freeze.
Nota scribaeThe woman was reluctant and had to be reminded of the Holy Father's decree.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Let Agnes try it. We work harder than any of those fools in the yard.
We have our own work, Margery. The mill doesn't run on mended sacks alone.
Keep out of my sight, Thomas. You know what I want from you.