June 4

Upon this day, Sir Hugh de Brattleby returned from the French wars bearing a cope of such exquisite needlework that the locals whispered it was woven by angels. Sir Hugh, scarred from the siege at Meaux, knelt before the Great Altar of St. Cuthbert and formally deeded the 'Gilded Fleece' vestment to the perpetual care of the parish. He spoke of a vow made in the mud of Picardy, promising that if he ever saw the limestone ridges of Lincolnshire again, he would clothe the local clergy in the spoils of his ransom money.

Lady Eleanor, his wife, watched with a mixture of pride and pragmatism as the heavy silk was paraded through the village. The peasantry cheered not only for the piety of their lord but for the three casks of Gascon wine he ordered tapped in the meadow. It was a rare moment of unity between the manor and the soil, as the looming threat of the dynastic wars seemed briefly held at bay by the shimmering gold threads of a soldier's gratitude.

When hosting a peer of the realm during the summer months, the protocol of the Lavabo must be observed with absolute mechanical precision. It is the duty of the junior page to present the hammered silver basin, while the heir of Brattleby himself pours the scented rosewater. One must never offer a towel that has not been warmed over a brazier of lavender, even if the June heat is oppressive; to serve cold linen is to suggest a cold welcome.

Furthermore, when the guest dries their hands, the host must remain standing and silent. This silence signifies that within the walls of Brattleby, the guest's secrets are as contained as the water within the bowl. Should a guest decline the washing, it is a grave signal of distrust, suggesting they will not break bread in full faith. In such an event, the household must be alerted and the guard doubled discretely at the postern gate.

Take your haunch and dice it into small cubes no larger than a thumb’s nail. Mix the meat with finely shredded suet and a generous handful of currants, which provide a necessary sharpness to cut through the richness of the fat. Season heavily with ground mace and nutmeg, for the spice denotes the stature of the table. The crust must be a 'coffin' of rye flour and water, sturdy enough to withstand the heat of the great oven.

Before sealing the lid of the pasty, pour in a splash of strong ale to moisten the contents. Bake until the crust is as hard as a fortress wall. Once removed from the fire, cut a small hole in the top and spoon in two gills of thick clotted cream. Allow the pasty to sit for the duration of a midday mass so the cream may meld with the juices of the venison, creating a gravy that is both silken and savory.