April 7

On this dampen afternoon in 1452, Sir Alaric Brattleby met with the representatives of the Bishop of Lincoln beneath the gnarled boughs of the Hanging Oak. The air was thick with the scent of river silt and ancient tension, as the dispute over the grazing rights of the lower fens had simmered for three generations. Alaric, a man of stern countenance and veteran of the French wars, unrolled a parchment of cured calfskin, insisting that the boundaries be marked not by stone, which may be moved, but by the natural flow of the spring-tide streams.

Lady Elspeth Brattleby stood at her husband's side, holding the wax seals ready over a small brazier. It is recorded that as the quill touched the vellum, a heron took flight from the reeds, which the gathered peasantry took as a sign of divine favor. The treaty ensured that the Brattleby flocks would have passage to the high summer pastures without further tithe to the cathedral see. This event marked the beginning of the 'Era of the Wool-Gold,' during which the House's wealth tripled through the export of fine Lincoln Longwool to the Flemish looms.

When receiving a guest of equal or superior rank within the Great Hall, it is the duty of the House's Master of Ceremonies to announce the visitor by their primary title only, omitting minor baronies unless the visit is strictly for the purpose of legal land-claim. The host must rise from the Curule chair only when the guest has crossed the solar threshold, ensuring that the movement is fluid and devoid of haste. To rise too early betrays a desperate spirit; to rise too late is an unforgivable affront to the bloodline.

Furthermore, when the Loving Cup is passed, one must always wipe the rim with a linen napkin—the 'nappe de parure'—before passing it to one's neighbor on the left. It is a mark of refined breeding to maintain eye contact with the person receiving the vessel, acknowledging the shared bond of the table. In the House of Brattleby, we hold that the manner in which a man accepts a drink reveals more of his character than the words he speaks while sober.

Begin by cubing the venison into small, uniform morsels, ensuring all silver-skin is discarded to the hounds. Toss the meat with crushed mace, sea salt, and a generous portion of suet. Construct a 'coffin' of rye pastry, walls thick enough to withstand the heat of the bread-oven. Layer the meat with sprigs of thyme, sealing the lid with a crimp that mimics the battlements of the North Tower.

While the pasty bakes to a deep oaken brown, simmer the sloe berries in the vinegar and a splash of claret until the liquid coats the back of a silver spoon. Once the pasty is drawn from the coals, pierce a small hole in the lid and pour the hot reduction within. Let it sit for the duration of a Vesper prayer so the juices may marry before carving.