maidservant in the lower bailey, of Trosky
“I quarter the carcasses and haul the slops. Bloody hard work, it is. They give me all the heavy work because I am the youngest, and nobody says a word of thanks.”
Things Alice had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the second day of May, at Vespers
Joan Stone had me quartering three sheep today. Bloody hell, my hands are raw as gutted fish. If I did not have a decent, heavy blade I would still be out there in the dark. A maid needs proper tools to do what the chamberlain asks, sakra.
Nota scribaeShe was twisting her apron into knots the whole time she spoke.
the third day of Easter week, at None
That quiet Joan is hoarding coin, I know it. Never buys a drop of ale, just silently scrubs the trenchers. Thinks she is better than the rest of us. Christ almighty, the older women hate me for my youth, and she hides pennies while I ruin my hands.
Leave her be, Alice. Her mother Margaret only died last autumn in the damp.
the feast of St Richard, at Prime
Everyone acts so holy in the lower bailey, but I see what goes on. Emma took Margery's padded jacket and pawned it to Gilbert down in the settlement. And Margery still has Emma's brass brush. So nobody can call me a thief when the whole kitchen is trading stolen goods.
Shut your mouth, Alice. That jacket was mine by rights anyway.
the eve of St Gertrude, at Sext
Hauling buckets from the well in this wind is a curse. I slipped in the mud and spilled half of it. I would rather freeze out here than go back inside and face Joan Stone's heavy ladle, though. She runs this kitchen like a Hungarian captain.
Aye, I felt that ladle last week. Stay out of her way when the roasts are turning.
Nota scribaeDictated in the yard, smelling strongly of pig blood and wet wool.
Candlemas, at Compline
A massive slaughtering today for the castle stores. The chamberlain gives us rusted iron that slips on the bone. I thought I would lose a finger. Matilda lent me her good cleaver, the heavy one. Praise be. I will just use it for the morrow's mutton and give it right back.
Mind you wash it before you return it. Cost me a month's wages, that did.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
It is my blade, Alice. You said you only needed it for the morrow's mutton back at Candlemas. Give it back.
I left it in the wood shed, I will fetch it Sunday, I swear it.