June 3

On this third day of June, Sir Alaric Brattleby returned from the French wars to find the family seat plagued by dry rot and the neglect of a decade. He immediately engaged three master carpenters from Lincoln to refit the Great Solar with heart-of-oak paneling. The scent of fresh beeswax and sawdust filled the upper corridors as his daughter, Lady Elspeth, supervised the hanging of the sapphire-dyed tapestries brought back from the looms of Flanders. It was a moment of profound renewal for the House, signaling its rising influence under the Lancastrian kings.

The work was completed just as the sun reached its zenith, casting long, golden shafts across the newly laid flagstones. Sir Alaric celebrated the occasion by commissioning a local stonemason to carve a lark in mid-flight above the solar’s hearth, symbolizing the soul’s ascent and the family's resilience. To this day, the slight indentation in the stone where the mason’s chisel slipped remains a testament to the haste with which the House sought to reclaim its former architectural grandeur during a rare period of domestic peace.

When hosting a cleric who does not hold a bishopric or high prelacy, the master of the house must balance the mandates of hospitality with the strictures of the social hierarchy. A common rector or a visiting friar is to be seated below the salt, yet always within the reach of the principal ewerer. It is considered a grave breach of etiquette to ignore their presence during the initial toast; rather, the host should offer a slight nod of the head—neither a full bow nor a mere glance—to acknowledge their spiritual service.

Furthermore, when the meal concludes, the cleric is invited to offer the grace after meat, but they must not remain at the high table once the hippocras is served. It is the duty of the page to lead them to the library or the smaller parlor, ensuring they are provided with a comfortable chair and a tallow candle if they wish to study. To treat a man of the cloth with coarse indifference is to invite divine displeasure, yet to elevate him above his station is to undermine the very pillars of the feudal order.

First, take the haunch of venison and prick it deeply with a sharp bodkin, inserting small slivers of suet and crushed juniper berries into the flesh to ensure moisture during the roasting process. Rub the exterior vigorously with a mixture of salt and cracked pepper, then allow the meat to rest in a cool larder for three hours to take the spice. Prepare a fire of seasoned ash wood, ensuring the heat is steady and the smoke is minimal.

As the meat turns upon the spit, baste it every quarter-hour with a reduction of verjuice and wildflower honey to create a sharp, sweet glaze. In the final stage of cooking, throw the dried rosemary into the embers to perfume the meat. Serve the roast in thick slices, accompanied by a sauce made from the dripping juices thickened with a handful of fine breadcrumbs. The meat should be tender enough to yield to a dull blade, yet retain the wild, peat-rich essence of the Lincolnshire fens.