August 6

Sir Alaric Brattleby, weary from the French campaigns, met with Abbot Thomas under the massive shade of the Hangman’s Oak to resolve a century of bickering over the grazing rights of the lower fens. The air was thick with the scent of maturing grain and the distant lowing of kine. Sir Alaric, draped in a heavy surcoat of murrey silk, presented a map drawn by his own navigator, marking the boundaries with leaden stakes to ensure no further encroachment by the monastic tenants. This agreement, later known as the Accord of St. Saviour’s, settled the borders of the barony for four hundred years.

The Abbot, a man of profound intellect but little physical stamina, conceded the southern drainage ditches in exchange for a yearly tithe of silver eels and two tuns of wine from the Brattleby vineyards. Lady Eleanor, Alaric’s formidable wife, stood witness to the signing, her hand resting firmly on the family seal. As the sun dipped below the Lincolnshire horizon, a great bonfire was lit, signaling to the tenantry that the long legal shadow over their livestock had finally lifted, replaced by the stability of the Brattleby law.

In the Great Hall, hierarchy is the soul of order. When a traveler of unknown lineage seeks hospitality during the Transfiguration feast, they must never be placed above the salt, nor should they be cast to the lowest bench amongst the stable-lads. The Usher of the Hall must identify a position of 'dignified observation'—usually at the midpoint of the lateral table—where the guest may be observed without disrupting the sanctity of the family’s bloodline. This maintains the Barony's reputation for generosity while shielding its noble core from the intrusion of the common-born.

Conversation with such guests must remain civil yet guarded. A member of the House should inquire of their travels but never of their kin until the toast has been raised. Should the guest prove to be a man of coat-armour in disguise, the swift rearrangement of seating at the second course provides a theatrical opportunity for the Baron to show his discernment. To fail in this seating is to invite a chaos that ripples from the table to the very foundations of the estate’s social fabric.

Joint the rabbits with a sharp cleaver, ensuring the pieces are of uniform size for even cooking. In a heavy iron skillet, melt the pork lard until it dances with heat, then sear the meat until the skin achieves a golden crust. Transfer the rabbits to a deep earthenware pot and scatter the fresh savory and currants over the meat. In a separate bowl, whisk the honey with the verjuice and mace until a thick syrup forms, then pour this over the contents of the pot.

Cover the pot with a pastry seal or a heavy lid and set it to simmer near the edge of the hearth fire, away from the direct flame. Allow the meat to braise for three hours until it begins to fall away from the bone in tender morsels. Before serving to the high table, skim the excess fat from the surface and adjust the salt. This dish is best served alongside thick slices of manchet bread to soak up the sweet and acidic liquor produced during the slow cooking process.