June 2

On this shimmering afternoon, Sir Alaric the Pious stood before the high altar to witness the hoisting of the Great Rood, a mammoth carving of limed oak salvaged from the house’s ancestral forests in the Wolds. The sculptor, a master joiner from Ghent named Pieter of the Lowlands, had spent three winters in the manor’s cellars meticulously shaping the agonized features of the Savior. As the ropes groaned under the weight of the timber, the Lady Eleanor of Brattleby placed a single reliquary of silver at the base of the cross, containing a fragment of the True Cross purportedly brought back from the Levant by her grandsire.

The ceremony was briefly interrupted by a sudden gust of wind that rattled the clerestory windows, an omen interpreted by the local prior as the breath of the Holy Spirit blessing the wood. Sir Alaric, moved by the sight of the sunlight catching the gilded crown of thorns, declared that the Rood would serve as the spiritual anchor for the barony for five hundred years. Following the consecration, the family distributed forty loaves of white manchet to the tenantry, ensuring that the sanctity of the day was felt in every hearth across the Lincolnshire fens.

When moving from the Great Hall to the chapel or garden, the sequence of the bloodline must reflect the hierarchy of the stars themselves. The reigning Baron leads, not merely as a master of lands, but as the temporal vanguard of his ancestors. He is followed immediately by his heir, who must maintain a distance of exactly three paces to signify both proximity to power and the necessary deference of the unproven. If a guest of higher noble rank is present, the Baron must offer his right arm, yet the guest should gracefully decline the lead unless they represent the Crown directly.

Ladies of the House are to follow the male line, organized by seniority of marriage rather than age. A mistress of the house must move with a slow, measured gait, ensuring her skirts do not rustle excessively, which is the mark of a hurried and therefore common mind. Should a younger son attempt to bypass an elder, he is to be corrected by the Master of Ceremonies with a sharp rap of the staff. To break the rank of procession is to suggest a fracture in the divine order of the Barony.

Begin by poaching the pike in a liquor composed of clear spring water, verjuice, and a bouquet of garden herbs until the flesh is firm and flakes with the touch of a silver knife. Carefully remove the fish and set it to cool upon a pewter platter, ensuring the skin is discarded while the white meat remains intact. The poaching liquid must then be strained thrice through a fine linen cloth to remove all impurities, then simmered with galingale and white pepper until it begins to reduce into a rich essence.

To achieve the clarity of a mountain pool, whisk the egg whites into the cooled liquor and bring it to a gentle boil; the proteins will rise, trapping the clouded sediment. Once the jelly is clear and cooling, arrange the pike pieces in a deep ceramic mold, layering them with fresh sorrel leaves and borage flowers. Pour the liquid over the fish and set it in the cool depths of the buttery or a cold stone cellar overnight. Serve chilled with a crust of rye bread to cut the richness of the jelly.