maidservant at the holding, of Zhelejov
“I keep the hearth lit and the dirt out for a yard full of useless men. Since the mistress passed, I am the only one holding this place together.”
Things Christine had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Thursday before Whitsun, at Compline
The rain has been steady since morning and the annex roof is still open to the sky. I have dragged my pallet out of the puddle again. The master says grain is too dear to pay a thatcher, so I suppose I will sleep under a sack until the Lord calls me.
Nota scribaeDictated while she wrung out a woolen blanket. She sighed heavily throughout.
the feast of St Pancras, at Sext
Washed six tunics today down by the water. My hands are cracked so deep from the lye I can barely hold my wooden spoon. If these men knew how to walk around a mud puddle instead of straight through it, I would have some skin left on my knuckles.
You do good work, lass. My shirt smells less like a pig outhouse than it did yesterday.
the second day of Easter week, at Prime
Not a scrap of meat for the pot, even for the resurrection of our Lord. The master claims the Hungarian troops on the roads have made everything too dear. I had to stretch the flour with bran again. Mistress Beatrice would have found a way to put pork in the stew.
It was a thin bowl, Christine, but a man eats what he is given in these times.
...
the feast of St Gregory, at None
Geoffrey has not stopped bleating about the damp in the annex. Christ almighty, lad, we all know the wood is soft. Take it up with the master who refuses to buy a single plank to mend it, and leave my ears in peace.
A man could fall right through in the dark and break an ankle!
Nota scribaeShe wiped her hands on her apron before every sentence.
Ash Wednesday, at Terce
William and Maresh nearly took each other's heads off over a spilled measure of oats in the yard. Like two stubborn mules braying at a wall. Naturally, they left the mess in the dirt, and I was the one who had to sweep it up before the rats found it.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
And the floorboards underneath us are rotting through! It is a disgrace.
Stuff some wool in your ears and go to sleep, Geoffrey. Whining will not mend the wood.