July 13

As the Great Mortality swept across the Lincolnshire fens, Baron Eustace the Elder stood upon the ramparts of Brattleby Keep, watching the smoke of funeral pyres smudge the summer horizon. On this day in 1349, with the local parish priest fallen to the pestilence, Eustace himself shouldered the silver reliquary of the House and led the meager remnants of the village to the north pasture. This land, once intended for barley, was solemnly consecrated as a resting place for the fallen, a desperate act to ensure the salvation of souls in a landscape transformed by grief and silence.

Beside him walked Lady Isolde, whose hands were stained with the tinctures of lavender and vinegar she used to tend the dying. It is recorded in the family cartulary that as they reached the center of the field, a lone skylark ascended, singing despite the encroaching gloom. This small grace gave the Baron the resolve to sign the Charter of Indemnity, ensuring that any serf who survived the season by his side would be granted tenancies in fee-simple, forever altering the feudal bonds of the Brattleby estate.

When a traveler of gentle birth but uncertain lineage arrives at the Great Hall during the midsummer festivities, the Marshal of the Hall must exercise a delicate hand. It is the height of discourtesy to relegate a man of education to the low tables, yet it would be an affront to the Blood of Brattleby to seat an unknown between those of established quarterings. The specific protocol dictates the 'Corner of the Salt,' a neutral position at the perpendicular return of the high table, where conversation may be joined without the presumption of permanent status.

Should the guest prove to be a scholar or a clergyman of merit, the host may signal for a silver cup to be sent down, an act that effectively elevates the guest for the duration of the meal. However, the Lord must never permit a visitor of lower degree to sit within three chairs of the Baroness. Precision in these demarcations ensures that the social hierarchy remains as firm as the stone foundations of our ancestral seat, preventing the unseemly social fluidity that breeds discord within a noble household.

The venison must first be parboiled in a broth of red wine and salted herbs until the flesh is supple but firm. Once cooled, it is to be sliced into thin collops across the grain. Meanwhile, the cherries are to be pitted and simmered in a copper basin with the honey, verjuice, and spices until they break into a thick, crimson pulp. The mixture must then be passed through a fine hair sieve to ensure a clarity that reflects the light of the candles.

Arrange the venison slices in a shallow silver charger, pouring the warm cherry reduction over them. The dish is then left in the cool darkness of the buttery for six hours, allowing the natural marrow and fruit sugars to set into a shimmering, translucent jelly. Before serving to the Baron’s table, the dish should be garnished with gilded almond slivers to represent the sunlight through the greenwood trees where the deer was hunted.