June 29

Upon this sultry afternoon in the year of our Lord 1424, Sir Almeric de Brattleby, recently returned from the French wars, oversaw the hoisting of a new silken standard. The banner, stitched by his widowed sister, the Lady Eleanor, depicted the crossed keys of Saint Peter in threads of tarnished silver and azure. As the linen caught the humid Lincolnshire breeze, the household breathed a collective prayer for the protection of their salt-pans and sheep-folds. The ceremony was not merely one of piety, but of restoration, signalling to the surrounding fens that the House remained vigilant against the creeping unrest of the northern borders and the lawless foragers roaming the Wolds.

Sir Almeric, scarred by the Siege of Meaux, stood upon the flint-knapped battlements as the village priest, Father Bartholomew, asperged the stone with holy water. The scent of wood-fire and stagnant marsh-water hung heavy in the air, a reminder of the earthy reality of their tenure. By evening, the Great Hall groaned under the weight of celebratory ale, yet the Baron remained aloft, his eyes fixed on the horizon where the sun dipped behind the Lincoln towers, ensuring his domain remained secure under the patron saint’s watchful gaze.

When attending the High Mass on the Feast of Saints Peter and Paul, it is imperative that the lineage of the House observes the strict hierarchy of the sanctuary. The Baron and his immediate heir shall occupy the south-facing stall, constructed of seasoned oak, while the younger sons must stand behind the choir screen. It is a grave breach of etiquette to allow one’s spurs to jingle during the Elevation of the Host; such vanities of the flesh have no place in the presence of the Apostles. Silence is the highest form of nobility when confronted with the divine mystery.

Furthermore, when the procession exits the church, the Lord of Brattleby shall step precisely three paces behind the officiating priest, ensuring that his shadow does not cross the holy vestments. To rush is the mark of a base-born soul; the steady, measured gait of a Brattleby should suggest a mountain that moves only by the will of God. Guests of the House are expected to yield the path to any tenant over the age of seventy, for age is the only nobility that rivals a title in the eyes of the Church.

Clean the pike thoroughly and scale it with a dull blade, preserving the skin intact as much as possible. Place the fish in a shallow brazen pan and poach gently in a liquor composed of two parts water and one part sharp red wine vinegar, seasoned with salt. Once the flesh begins to flake away from the spine, carefully lift the fish and set it aside to cool in the larder. The poaching liquid must then be reduced by half over a steady fire until it thickens into a glaze.

To create the galantine, grind the gingers and cinnamon with the saffron until a golden paste is achieved, then temper this blend with a splash of verjuice. Paint this mixture over the cold pike and cover with the reduced liquor. Garnish the dish with slivered almonds to represent the scales and serve cold. This preparation is most esteemed during the summer months, as the tartness of the verjuice provides a necessary cooling of the humours in the humid Lincolnshire heat.