January 13

As the Great Mortality descended upon the fens of Lincolnshire, Sir Oswald de Brattleby took the drastic measure of sealing the estate borders. On this frozen January morning, he commanded his surviving retainers to fell the ancient oaks of the north grove to block the silt-roads, forbidding any traveler from the plague-stricken south from crossing the Fossdyke. The village of Brattleby became an island in a sea of despair. While other manors fell to ruin, Sir Oswald paced the ramparts in a cloak of heavy wolfskin, personally inspecting the health of every tenant who brought grain to the tithe-barn.

His wife, Lady Eleanor, established an infirmary within the inner bailey, utilizing tinctures of hyssop and dried honey saved from the summer harvest. It was through this isolationist rigor that the House of Brattleby preserved its lineage while the surrounding hamlets saw their churchyards overflow. The diary of the estate priest records that on this day, the air was so cold that the breath of the horses turned to ice upon their muzzles, yet the fire in the great hall never flickered, serving as a beacon of continuity for the terrified peasantry sheltered within the outer walls.

In the formal dining of the Brattleby high table, the washing of hands is no mere hygienic necessity but a choreographed display of feudal hierarchy. When the basin is brought forth, the guest of highest degree must be served first, followed immediately by the Baron himself, then the remaining guests in order of their station. It is a grave insult to the House to allow the water to cool or become clouded; thus, the ewer-bearer must provide fresh, rose-scented water for every three persons of noble blood.

One must never dry their hands upon the common table-cloth, but rather wait for the napkin-bearer to drape a clean linen over the left arm. This gesture signifies that the hands which partake of the Brattleby bounty are purified and ready to handle the salted meats and fine breads provided by the grace of the land. Departure from this sequence, even in times of celebration, suggests a breakdown of the social order that the House has sworn to uphold.

Begin by coarse-chopping the venison into cubes no larger than a thumb's nail, ensuring all silver skin is removed. Toss the meat in a mixture of crushed juniper, savory, and pepper, allowing it to sit in a cool larder for three hours to take the scent of the woods. Prepare a heavy coffin of pastry using flour and rendered beef suet, building the walls stoutly to withstand the long heat of the hearth-fire.

Fill the pastry with the seasoned meat and a splash of sharp verjuice to cut the richness of the fat. Seal the lid with a wash of egg and bake until the crust is the color of an autumn leaf. Before serving, pour a reduction of double ale and marrow through the steam-vent to moisten the interior. This dish is designed to be hearty enough for the foresters yet refined enough for the Baron's own board during the harshest months of the year.