senior maidservant at the forge, of Tachov
“I keep this forge running and the soot off the stones while the lazy ones whine.”
Things Matilda had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the second Tuesday in May, at Vespers
Sent Hedvika to fetch the meal because I will not walk past that stubborn cow's door until she begs my pardon for the pitcher. Now the girl is crying about her blisters again. Saint Barbara give me strength, or give me Clemence back.
Nota scribaeShe folded her arms and glared at the inkwell until I finished.
the eve of Saint Mark, at Prime
More soldiers on the road means more horses and more soot to scrub. At least Zubac knows how to treat a stranger. He snapped at a man-at-arms this morning. Slipped the good lad a scrap of mutton from the master's table for his trouble.
If I catch you wasting good meat on that cur again, I will have your bucket.
the third day of Easter week, at Sext
A year since Clemence left for Kuttenberg to wed that carter. She knew how to leave the ash in the hearth just right. Now I have to check it myself before the housekeeper comes sniffing, because the junior maid is weeping over a broken fingernail.
I did not break a nail, the cauldron is too heavy! Clemence was taller than me.
Nota scribaeThe dictation was interrupted by a loud clatter from the kitchen.
the Wednesday after Saint Gregory, at None
If anyone touches my iron-banded bucket, I will drown them in the quenching trough. It is perfectly shaped for my hands. I caught someone eyeing it by the well. Find your own pail, you lazy whoresons, I hauled this water myself.
Nota scribaeShe gripped a cheap pine spoon very tightly while saying this.
Candlemas, at Terce
A new season and I am still in the right. I have not spoken a word to her since Saint Martin's day, and I will not start now. A spilled pitcher is no small thing when you have to scrub the floor. I want the whole parish to hear her say she was clumsy.
Pride is a sin, Matilda. Just wash the floor and be done with it.
I washed it twice, mistress, but I will not wash away my pride.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
My feet are raw, Matilda. My father Otto never made me walk the long way round just for pride.
Your father Otto left you nothing but wool socks, so keep walking.