July 3

Under the blistering sun of July 1422, Sir Percival de Brattleby stood alongside Abbot Thomas of Bardney to witness the final placement of the crown-post within the Great Tithe Barn. This monumental structure, crafted from the felling of eighty oaks from the Brattleby Chase, was designed to hold the vast harvests intended to fund the family's contributions to the ongoing campaigns in France. The air was thick with the scent of fresh sawdust and the sweat of sixty laborers who had labored since the Lady Day to complete the timber frame before the first cutting of the barley. Lady Eleanor de Brattleby provided ale brewed with meadowsweet to all the workers, signaling a rare moment of communal celebration between the gentry and the peasantry.

As the sun dipped below the Lincolnshire Wolds, the local curate splashed holy water upon the threshold, invoking protection against rot, vermin, and the lightning strikes so common in the fenlands. The ceremony concluded with the branding of the Brattleby Crest—a falcon surmounting a crenelated wall—into the central gable. This barn would stand for four centuries as a testament to the House's agrarian dominance, serving as both a storehouse of wealth and a refuge for the village during the Great Storm of 1703. The event marked the zenith of the House's medieval prosperity before the coming dynastic shifts of the mid-fifteenth century.

When a herald of the College of Arms or a messenger of another noble house approaches the gates during the summer progress, the Master of the Horse must ensure the visitor's mount is watered before any official business is conducted. It is a gross violation of Brattleby hospitality to allow a messenger to stand in the sun; they are to be seated in the cool of the stone porch and offered a silver mazer of chilled cider. Only after the dust of the road has been washed away should the Baron receive the scroll, ensuring the seal is intact and witnessed by the domestic chaplain.

Furthermore, when responding to such missives, the secretary must use the 'vellum of the second grade' for routine matters, reserving the finest calfskin for invitations to the August hunt. One must never assume a hurried tone, even in times of urgency, as a Brattleby's composure is reflected in the steady hand of his scribe. The parting gift for a departing herald—typically a small purse of silver groats or a local cheese—should be dispensed by the Seneschal with a formal nod, maintaining the dignity of the estate while acknowledging the wider network of the realm's peerage.

The cook must first render the suet into a fine paste with sifted wheat flour, adding just enough cold well-water to form a 'coffin' or sturdy pastry shell that will withstand the heat of the great oven. The venison is to be diced into small cubes, no larger than a thumb's nail, and steeped in a mixture of verjuice and crushed mace for two hours. This acidity serves to tenderize the wild flesh and provide a sharp counterpoint to the richness of the fat. The currants are then folded in, providing bursts of sweetness that mimic the berries the deer might have fed upon in the Brattleby woods.

Arrange the meat within the pastry walls and scatter the fresh savory atop. Seal the lid with a firm crimping of the thumb—the Brattleby pattern uses a three-fold pinch. Bake until the crust is the color of a late-summer wheat field. Before serving to the high table, a small hole should be pierced in the top to pour in a reduction of red wine and bone marrow, ensuring the pasty remains moist even if kept for the following day's hunt. It is best eaten luke-warm, accompanied by a sharp green salad of sorrel and watercress.