maidservant at Krenovy farm, of Slatejov
“I do the real work here while the others chatter. My hands are raw from lye, and I have no time for fools.”
Things Joan had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the eve of Whitsun, at Vespers
Christ's wounds, the master expects the dairy scrubbed twice over before the feast. I am doing it alone while Milena stands around brushing her hair. I told her to fetch water and she looked at me like a prized cow. I work harder than any man here.
Nota scribaeShe pointed her finger at my chest the entire time she spoke.
the Thursday after the Holy Cross, at None
Men on the road say the King's brother is sending more soldiers. Let them come and take what they want. The porridge here is thin as piss anyway. I would walk to Kuttenberg tomorrow to find better work if I had a single groschen to my name.
Hush your mouth, girl. Soldiers bring nothing but grief, hunger, and stolen grain.
the second day of Easter week, at Prime
Richard is glaring at me across the yard again. Christ's wounds, it was not my fault! I was clearing the brush exactly as I was told. The bough just snapped. If Milena had shut her mouth about village boys for one moment, someone might have heard it crack.
You were supposed to mind the guide ropes and shout a warning. Peter's blood is on your hands.
Do not drag me into this again. I did nothing wrong that day!
Nota scribaeShe was scrubbing a tunic so hard the wet fabric nearly tore in her hands.
the feast of Saint Gregory, at Compline
A carter came through from Tachov today. I hid in the barn until he left. I cannot bear to hear Svatava's name, or what she is doing. May God keep her there. I did my job perfectly that day in the woods, I swear it on the holy cross.
the morrow of Candlemas, at Terce
The well was frozen solid this morning. I had to break the ice with a heavy stone just to get water for the lye. My hands are cracked and bleeding, and Nicholas just laughed. Someday I will take a stick to that creeping rat.
It was a funny sight, you slipping on the ice. No harm meant.
Christ's wounds, keep away from me or you will feel the bucket.
Nota scribaeDictated beside the well. Her hands were indeed cracked and bleeding.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I was mending the linen, you shrieking harpy.
Leave her be, Joan, she did her share today.