maidservant at the west yard, of Outlying farms
“I try to keep my head down and my apron clean, plain and simple. Folks call me harsh, but I am the one who keeps us alive when the daft ones panic.”
Things Alice had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Tuesday before Whitsun, at Vespers
The bailiff was poking around the stables today asking after the levied gear for the spring muster. I swear I broke into a cold sweat. If that daft girl Isabel does not go to Zhelejov and get back the padded gambeson she pawned to the ale-wife, I am the one who will be whipped for a thief!
Nota scribaeShe crossed her arms very tightly over her chest while saying this and kept looking toward the yard gate.
the second day of Easter week, at Prime
My apron is torn near the hem and the master will beat me bloody if he sees me looking like a beggar. I would give ten groschen or the back door key to anyone who can pry my bone sewing needle from Isabel's pouch. She claims it fell in the straw, but she is keeping it out of spite.
I lost it in the stalls before Saint Martin's day! If you had not dragged me away from the Tachov camp, my head would not be so addled.
the Wednesday before Palm Sunday, at None
Bloody hell, my hands are blistered from scrubbing the troughs and all I get for midday is a heel of mouldy rye. Meanwhile Matilda sits clutching her stomach and weeping over that brass ring her mother Bozhena left her. I do all the heavy lifting and still get scolded for laziness.
My poor mother knew better days, and she knew better girls than you. Less clicking your tongue, more scrubbing.
Nota scribaeThe dictation was interrupted when the housekeeper yelled down from the kitchen window.
the feast of Saint Gregory, at Sext
The frost is breaking, praise be, but the yard is knee-deep in muck. Mucking the stalls is back-breaking today and the horses are restless. At least Clench the yard dog kept my feet warm by the ladder last night. I snuck him a crust of bread when no one was looking.
the first Friday of Lent, at Compline
Isabel is weeping for Jan the thresher again. Sakra, the man caught the sweating fever at the Tachov camp last summer. A dead man needs prayers, not company. If I had not pulled her away, we would be in the dirt with him. I kept us alive, plain and simple, and I will not feel guilty for it.
A barber could have saved him! You left him to die, and now God is watching us.
God gave us legs to run from the sickness. You are completely daft if you think a barber cures camp fever.
Nota scribaeShe spoke very fast, clicking her tongue twice, and asked to be done quickly so she could climb to her loft.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You stole it from poor Jan's tent while he lay dying! It was cursed gear anyway, and I had a debt to clear.
I paid the quartermaster two groschen for it, you daft cow, and you were glad to wear it all winter!