January 3

On this frigid morning, Sir Almeric de Brattleby gathered the tenantry at the edge of the shivering Witham marsh. The winter had been unseasonably wet, and the rising black waters threatened to consume the prize pastures of the Lower Fold. With a heavy signet ring pressed into warm beeswax, Almeric ratified the New Dike Charter, a desperate agreement between the Barony and the monks of Bardney to divert the surging silt. The air was so sharp it seemed to crack the very breath of the assembled yeomen as they swore their labor to the cause of the embankment.

Lady Elianore, draped in heavy miniver fur, distributed hot spiced ale to the laborers as they drove the first oak pilings into the frozen muck. It was a day of grim industry where the survival of the estate's winter stores hung in the balance of a single stone sluice. By dusk, the first barrier held firm against the encroaching tide, ensuring that the Brattleby line would not be drowned by the encroaching swamp. This covenant remained the legal basis for the estate's drainage rights for over four hundred years, a testament to the iron will of the de Brattleby lords.

When a man of letters or a wandering clerk seeks sanctuary at the House of Brattleby during the bleak midwinter, he is not to be treated as a common vagrant. It is the duty of the Seneschal to ensure the guest is seated within the secondary warmth of the Great Hall, specifically to the left of the main hearth. While he does not share the Baronial dais unless specifically invited, his knowledge is considered a form of currency. He shall be provided with a quill, two ounces of ink, and a dry pallet, for the preservation of wisdom is a noble charge.

In conversation, the family must refrain from discussing base financial matters or local feuds until the scholar has been permitted to offer a recitation or a reading of the classics. To rush such a guest is to signal a lack of refinement. One must remember that the reputation of a House is carried on the tongues of those who travel; thus, a flask of sweetened wine upon their departure is a mandatory gesture of the Brattleby hospitality.

Begin by soaking the salted venison in fresh spring water overnight to draw out the brine. On the morning of the feast, dice the meat into small cubes and sear them in a heavy iron cauldron over the embers of a slow-burning oak fire. Once the meat has browned, add the dried peas and a gallon of the small ale, allowing the mixture to simmer until the peas have softened into a thick, golden mash. This serves as the hearty base of the winter pottage, intended to sustain the household through the biting cold.

Into this bubbling caldron, cast the sliced parsnips and the white parts of the leeks, which have been softened by the January frost to increase their sweetness. Season the pot with the crushed peppercorns and the dried lovage, stirring constantly with a wooden paddle to prevent the bottom from scorching. In the final hour of cooking, stir in a spoonful of honey to balance the salt. Serve the pottage steaming hot in trenchers of stale rye bread, which will soak up the rich, savory liquor of the deer.