January 21

Upon the frost-bitten eve of Saint Agnes in 1424, Sir Alaric Brattleby returned from the French wars to find his ancestral keep besieged not by men, but by a tempest of ice. The castle's great oaken doors had frozen shut, and the village priest, Father Bartholomew, arrived at the postern gate clutching a reliquary of hammered silver. He claimed the local manor at Scampton had been pillaged by rogue mercenaries, seeking the Brattleby tithes. Alaric, still clad in his travel-stained hauberk, ordered the inner courtyard braziers lit to provide a beacon for the scattered tenants seeking sanctuary.

As the night deepened, the Lady Elspeth Brattleby managed the distribution of mulled ale and coarse rye bread to the shivering families huddled in the Great Hall. The silver casket, later revealed to contain the charters of the barony, was hidden beneath the flagstones of the private chapel for safety. It remained there for three decades, forgotten until a renovation in the reign of Edward IV. This night is remembered as the moment the House proved its worth as a bulwark against both human greed and the cruelty of the northern elements.

When a member of the clergy or a neighboring landholder seeks refuge from inclement weather without prior notice, the laws of hospitality override the strictures of formal precedence. In the Brattleby tradition, such a guest is to be escorted immediately to the hearth of the Solar, rather than being left to wait in the drafty Screens Passage. While they may not claim the high seat reserved for the Baron, they are to be offered a cushioned chair at the right hand of the host’s steward until the Master of the House is prepared to receive them.

Furthermore, silence is to be observed regarding the guest’s disheveled state. It is a mark of high breeding to ignore any mud upon the cassock or trembling of the hands caused by the cold. Conversation should remain confined to the welfare of their journey and the state of the roads, avoiding political entanglements or financial queries until the guest has been warmed by both fire and wine. To do otherwise is to shame the House's reputation for magnanimity.

Begin by jointing the hares and searing the meat in a heavy iron pot until the skin is tawny and crisp. In a separate earthen vessel, combine the red wine, vinegar, and a generous handful of crushed peppercorns and ginger. This mixture must be simmered slowly until the liquid reduces by half, creating a sharp and aromatic base that reflects the winter season. Add the toasted breadcrumbs gradually to thicken the sauce until it clings to the back of a silver spoon.

Place the seared hare joints back into the thickened wine sauce, adding the currants and marjoram for a hint of sweetness and earthiness. Cover the pot with a pastry seal or a heavy lid and allow it to braise in a slow oven for four hours. When served, the meat should fall away from the bone at the mere touch of a knife. The Peppery Galantine is traditionally accompanied by parsnips roasted in beef dripping to provide a sturdy counterpoint to the spice of the sauce.