March 13

Upon this day, Sir Alistair Brattleby convened a solemn assembly of the Fenside tenantry into the Great Hall to resolve the persistent flooding of the lower bailey. The air was thick with the scent of damp wool and tallow as the master-stonemason, a Fleming named Jan van Eyck of the Wash, unfurled vellum charts detailing the diversion of the Witham tributaries. The tensions were high, for the construction required the destruction of several hovels, but Sir Alistair’s diplomatic hand ensured a promise of new timbered cottages for every family displaced by the new dikes.

Lady Eleanor Brattleby presided over the signing, dipping her husband’s signet ring into boiling crimson wax to finalize the compact. This monumental engineering feat marked the transition of the Brattleby lands from marshy wasteland to the fertile arable fields that would sustain the barony for the next four centuries. The evening concluded with a distribution of 'dike-ale' to the laborers, a tradition that persisted until the enclosure acts of the Georgian era.

When the clatter of hooves signifies the arrival of the Crown’s dispatch, the Lord of Brattleby must never appear hurried. A messenger bearing the royal seal is the physical manifestation of the Sovereign’s voice; thus, he is to be met at the outer mounting block by the Seneschal, never the Lord himself. The messenger is to be offered a stirrup-cup of spiced claret before being conducted to the solar, where the Lord shall receive the missive standing, with head uncovered as a mark of fealty to the seal.

It is a grave breach of etiquette to inquire of the messenger’s health before the seal is broken. Once the business is concluded, the messenger is entitled to fresh mount and a purse of no less than ten shillings for his haste. Should the message contain news of war or tax, the Lord must maintain a countenance of 'Brattleby Iron'—showing neither joy nor consternation in the presence of the King’s servant.

Begin by cleaning the pike and poaching it gently in a broth of spring water and verjuice until the flesh pullings away from the bone with a silver needle. Remove the skin and bones with great care, mashing the white flesh with ground galingale and a pinch of salt. In a separate pipkin, simmer the almond milk with the saffron and cinnamon until it thickens to the consistency of a heavy cream, casting in the currants at the final moment to plump them.

Arrange the fish meat back into the shape of a whole pike upon a pewter charger. Pour the saffron-gold almond wash over the fish to glaze it, using sanders to create decorative stripes along the spine. Let the dish set in a cool buttery until the sauce firms into a trembling jelly. Serve cold to the high table with slices of toasted manchet bread.