• A Day in the Life of. . .
    (The Stories of Various noble ladies of medieval times)


    Story one: A ten-year-old girl’s troubles

    With an inward sigh I tried to concentrate on what I was being taught. I couldn’t. The other few girls seemed to be doing fine. It was just me. I wasn’t able to do this kind of thing.

    I didn’t even want to be here. This isn’t home; it isn’t where I should be. Home is two day’s ride down the road. Well, that isn’t really home either. I don’t really have a home.

    Down the road is the place I was raised. I grew up there, raised by various nurses. I really, really wish that I could have known my parents better. But now I likely won’t get the chance. It doesn’t matter. They don’t care anyway. If they cared, why would they never come see me? Why didn’t they raise me instead of all these stupid nurses, none which really stayed long enough for me to get to know? They didn’t want me anyway. They wanted a son. A son is a good heir, whereas I’m not. For a son they don’t have to pay a dowry. A son isn’t a burden, like I am.

    I have been here for three straight years, learning various things that a lady has to know. I hate it here. It’s even worse then at ‘home’. All these things they try to teach us don’t make any sense. Madam doesn’t know that I know, but I heard her talking to someone. She said that I was the worst student she had ever had! I suck at sewing, I can’t seem to be able to read or write, my singing voice is horrible, I can’t weave, I can’t play the flute, or any other instrument, and I can’t dance. She hasn’t even tried to teach me to manage a household yet, as she doesn’t think I’ll be able to do it.

    She’s probably right. I’m just a failure anyway. No one loves me. Or even likes me.

    Story two: A fourteen-year-old girl’s injustice

    Don’t make me, I want to scream, but I can’t. I can’t.

    Why? Why must I do this? I certainly don’t want to! I feel trapped in a never ending circle of sadness. I mean, I don’t even know him! Why I must a marry someone I’ve never met? He’s so much older then me, too! I think someone said he was 21!

    But I guess that isn’t so old compared to other marriages I’ve heard of. My cousin Elizabeth married a man thirty years older then her. And some people get married at much younger ages then I am. So I guess I shouldn’t feel bad.

    But still! I can’t! I just can’t! I mean, how can they make me? It should be illegal!

    But, it’s not, and it never will be.

    So, here I am, getting ready for a marriage I don’t want. At least my perfect painted face will hide my feelings. And the long blue dress will hide the shaking of my knees. It’s good to be able to hide behind beauty.

    I’ve seen a wedding before. I was at Cousin Elizabeth’s. Mine is taking place in the groom’s grand hall in the castle, just like hers did. I didn’t have a hand in the planning, but I still know that there will be lots of entertainers. Lots of my distant relatives will be there. Maybe Cousin Elizabeth will be there, that is if her husband lets her. There will be a feast. Dancing will likely follow.

    Most guests will be bringing a small cake. It’s a tradition. My and my future husband will try to kiss over them when they are stacked on top of each other. Why? For good luck.

    Oh, no, I’ve got to go. Why? Why? WHY? I don’t want to do this! I can’t do this!

    Of course, I can’t say that out loud.

    Story 3: A sixteen-year-old girl’s comprehension

    She’s dead. She’s dead.

    I should feel more. I should be sadder. I should be crying and screaming. But, nothing. I feel nothing. Nothing at all.

    I don’t know why. My first child dies at birth, and I feel nothing.

    Maybe I’m thankful that it wasn’t me. Maybe I’m so used to the fact that, more often then not, the children die. But still. I should feel something.

    Maybe I’m numb. That’s it. I’m not used to the idea yet. Soon I will realize what it means and be sad.

    No, I think I’m kidding myself. I know why I’m not sad.

    That child is in a better place. My little girl, who, I must admit, I do feel love too, will not have to go through the life I did and I am still going through. She will not have to be raised by nurses, or be sent away, or be married unwillingly. She is free. She is safe.

    I never thought of it this way before, but maybe that’s why most children die. Maybe God wants to save them from this life.

    Story 4: A eighteen-year-old girl’s indecision

    She is one-year-old today, and I can’t deicide whether to be joyful or sad.

    My third child managed to live till age one. I guess that requires joy. Victoria is so precious, she deserves joy. I love her with all my heart and it would break my heart if she were to die.

    Yet, on the other hand, it might be a blessing were she to die, or if she had died earlier. Everyday my heart bleeds watching her by taken care of by these nurses. They don’t love her. Victoria is just a tool that they use to get money. All I want to do is to take her in my arms and hug her. Hold her. Love her.

    But I can’t. I just can’t. It wouldn’t be acceptable. I am at the mercy of my husband, and can’t do anything to anger him. That would anger him, for it would be a disgrace to him. To him our girl is two things: A burden for whom he is going to have to pay a dowry, and a tool for making alliances. To me she is much more. Much, much more.

    Now I understand the way my mother felt. She likely felt the same way. She likely had love towards me, but had no way to show it.

    I can finally understand my parents.

    Story 5: A nineteen-year-old girl’s fun

    The day had come, and I was ready to go. I was ready to go weeks ago.

    Falconry: one of the few pastimes I actually find fun doing. I love training those falcons, I love flying those falcons, I even love seeing the bloody prey they bring back. And today is the day of the big hunt! It is a day I can get away from the mental stress of managing the household and am able to just have some fun while forgetting about everything. EVERYTHING. For today I am not Lady Abrienda. I don’t have any servants to worry about. I don’t have to think about the children I love but can’t express it. I don’t have to think about meal plans, or about entertaining guests, or about the cooks. Nothing. Today it doesn’t matter.

    Today it is me and Hunt, my falcon. Sure, others will be there, but I don’t care. Today is about me.

    Story 6: A twenty-year-old girl’s life

    Beauty is crucial. It always has been, and always will be. I wish it wasn’t so, but I don’t have a choice.

    My hair: Up in a high bun. My face: Painted by a thousand different colours and substances that must be applied each day. My clothes: this will take a bit longer to explain.

    To put it shortly, they are expensive. If I want to take longer, they are made of exotic material. They are very bright and often made of silk, velvet, and damask, a heave, thick cloth. In winter, fur makes up the linings and trimmings. My clothes are always up to the newest standard. My husband makes sure of that.

    In the morning, with the help of servants, I dress, put my face paints on, and generally get ready for the day.

    The rest of the day I spend my time overseeing the servants. I plan menus, I make sure everything is running smoothly, and I just generally watch over everything.

    Our food is mostly vegetables, salted meat bread and various exotic spices. I know. I plan it.

    It is also my job to teach some girls from elsewhere to sew, read, write, sing, manage household, weave, play instruments, dance, ect.

    When my husband is gone I have even more work. Then I must watch of the whole castle and take care of defenses as well.

    Why I am saying this?

    This is my life. Day in and day out. Hardly anything changes.

    Story 7: A twenty-one-year-old girl’s regret

    She’s gone. My daughter is gone.

    Sure, I’ll see her again. But I’ve basically lost any chance to tell her that I love her. To make things right. To show her that I am not as distant as she thinks I am.

    She has gone to be taught elsewhere, and go through the same thing that I went through. I watched her leave. She doesn’t know I did, but I did. I saw hope and joy in her eyes. I know what she is hoping for. She hopes that she will find love there, unlike what she found here. It hurts my heart so badly to know that she was glad to leave. She thinks I hate her. That I didn’t care for her enough to spend time with her. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t! It wasn’t my choice.

    If only she knew that.

    Story 8: A twenty-two-year-old girl’s tears

    He won’t let me go! Why can’t I go?

    I would give anything to go. But I can’t. I can’t. . .

    I hate him! I hate my husband! I really, really do! My sister dies and he won’t even let me go to her funeral. And it is only a few hours travel away. My sister. . . My only sister. . .

    She died in the normal way a woman dies: childbirth. Both her and the child died.

    Why? She was even two years younger then me! Although I hadn’t seen her in a year, I still loved her. Besides my own children she is really the only person I ever loved. When we were young she was always there for me and I was there for her. I don’t get the chance to have friends. I hardly ever leave the castle, and no one in the castle is my ‘status’ making it impossible to make friends! My sister was all I had, and now I can’t even go to her funeral.

    Why? Why must husbands dominate us? We are just as good as they are! Why! Why? Why . . . why. . .

    Story 9: A twenty-two-year-old girl’s excitement

    Wow. I’m scared and exited at the same time. I wasn’t sure that was possible. But it is. I’ve proved it.

    The castle is under siege! I don’t know why, so don’t ask me. It just is. That’s all I know. That is my excited part talking.

    My husband isn’t even home! That means that I get to defend the castle.

    It’s exciting because it’s different. It’s something I don’t normally do, and it’s a chance to break my boring, stressful daily routine. Yet, at the same time, I am terrified of making a mistake. This could cost my life, the lives of the guards, the lives of the servants, the lives of my little boys, and anyone who happens to be here.

    I am really, really terrified.

    But the routine was starting to make me want to scream. Same thing, day in and day out, nothing ever changing for the past ten years I’ve been married. I wanted something different! And here it is.

    Even though there is impending danger, I think the excitement won! I can’t wait!

    Story 10: A twenty-four-year-old girl’s fear

    You would think that when your husband died you would feel sorrow. I don’t. None. Nothing at all.

    I never liked him. Never, ever liked him. So in one way I am kind of joyful that he died.

    But, more then that, I am scared. Terrified. I will have to remarry, and have absolutely no choice in it. This marriage was bad enough, but since I’m older now I will likely be getting married to someone WAY older then I am. This is horrible!

    There is nothing I can do about it!

    Help!