July 31

Under a sweltering July sun, Sir Peregrine Brattleby met with the master-mason Elias of Lincoln to finalize the construction of the Great Tithe Barn. The previous structure had been razed during a summer lightning strike, leaving the estate’s harvest vulnerable to the coming autumn rains. Sir Peregrine, donning a tunic of light linen rather than his customary heavy velvet, insisted upon the use of Ancaster stone for the foundations to ensure the permanence of the House’s granary. The village gathered in the shade of the manor's oaks to witness the heating of the wax, as the Baron pressed his signet ring—the three boars' heads—into the document, signifying a debt of forty marks to be paid upon the completion of the timber roofing.

Lady Eleanor Brattleby marked the occasion by distributing cool ale and honeyed wafers to the laborers, a gesture of grace meant to ensure diligent work during the grueling heat. This event solidified the Brattleby’s reputation for agricultural foresight and architectural ambition. The resulting barn, with its massive cruck-frames and soaring ceiling, would stand for five centuries as a monument to the family's stewardship of the Lincolnshire soil. For many years after, the date was celebrated by the tenant farmers as the first unofficial day of the 'Long Scythe,' signifying the beginning of the heavy reaping season.

In the height of the summer season, when the manor is teeming with visitors and the business of the harvest begins to weigh heavy upon the administrative officers, the Baron must be mindful of the Steward’s dignity. During formal banquets, the Steward shall not sit with the common retainers, nor shall he be placed above the salt if guests of noble blood are present. Instead, he is to be seated at the dexter corner of the first side-table, signifying his role as the bridge between the Lord’s will and the land’s labor. It is a gross breach of etiquette to summon the Steward for ledger-work while he is breaking bread; such matters must wait until the sun has dipped below the horizon.

Furthermore, when the Steward approaches the High Table to deliver reports on the yield, the household must maintain a respectful silence. He carries the weight of the estate's prosperity upon his shoulders, and the nobility of the House is reflected in how it honors its most loyal servants. To treat the Steward as a mere clerk is to undermine the very structure of the feudal order. A wise Baron, such as the third Earl of Brattleby, always offered his Steward a cup of claret before discussing the day's accounts, acknowledging that a dry throat cannot speak the truth of the harvest.

Begin by seating the haunch of venison in a deep earthenware pot, larding it well with fat if the meat is lean. Roast the meat partially over a spit until it takes a light brown color, then carve it into thick, generous gobbets. In a separate skillet, simmer the cherries in the Claret and a splash of verjuice until the fruit is soft and the liquid has reduced by half. The cherries should provide a sharp tartness that cuts through the richness of the game, a flavor much desired in the humid nights of late July.

Once the liquid is reduced, strain the mixture through a fine linen cloth to remove the skins, then return the sauce to the fire. Incorporate the ground ginger and cinnamon, and use the sandalwood sparingly to achieve a deep, regal crimson hue. Thicken the sauce with toasted breadcrumbs until it clings to the back of a silver spoon. Toss the venison gobbets into this spiced wine reduction and simmer gently until the meat is tender. This dish should be served in a shallow charger, garnished with a few whole, unpitted cherries to prove the freshness of the ingredients to the guests.