March 14

As the chill winds of March whipped across the fens, Sir Alaric Brattleby retreated to the solar of the keep to finalize the Great Cartulary. Surrounded by rolls of vellum and the scent of iron gall ink, he sought to codify the rights of the tenantry and the boundaries of the forest as they had stood since the time of the Conqueror. His hands, more accustomed to the weight of a broadsword, trembled with the delicate task of pressing the wax seal. This document was intended to serve as a bulwark against the encroachment of the neighboring Abbots, ensuring the House’s legacy remained undisputed during the uncertain years of the French campaigns.

Lady Elspeth watched from the casement window, her spinning wheel silent for once. She knew the importance of this archival labor; without the written word, the memory of the land’s blood-price would fade like the winter mist. When the final ribbon was threaded and the golden wax cooled into the shape of the Brattleby falcon, a great cheer rose from the household knights. The Cartulary became the cornerstone of the manor’s law, a sacred ledger that survived fire and siege to rest today within the vaulted security of the Brattleby archives.

When approaching a scholar at work within the manor's library or scriptorium, one must observe a silence as profound as that of the chapel. It is the height of discourtesy to interrupt the flow of a quill, for a single blot may ruin a week’s labor. A gentleman or lady should wait at the threshold until acknowledged by a nod or the laying down of the pen, signifying that the intellect has returned from the realm of record to the world of the living.

Furthermore, when handling ancient charters or genealogical rolls, one must ensure the hands are free of oils and salts. It is customary to use a silken pointer rather than a finger to trace the lineages of the House. By treating the physical remnants of our history with such meticulous reverence, we honor the ancestors who performed the deeds therein recorded. To be careless with a scroll is to be careless with the very soul of the Barony.

Begin by cleaning the white hearts of the leeks with great care, removing all grit of the Lincolnshire earth. Slice them into fine rounds and simmer them gently in spring water until they are tender to the touch but not yet fallen to mush. While the leeks soften, prepare the almond milk by steeping the ground nuts in warm water and straining through a fine linen cloth until the liquid is as white as a winter moon. This shall be the base of your pottage, for meat is forbidden in this holy season.

Once the leeks are ready, drain them and add to the almond milk, thickening the mixture with the finest white breadcrumbs. Stir in a pinch of saffron for color and a generous dusting of ginger for warmth against the March damp. Finish the dish with a splash of white wine vinegar to brighten the palate and a handful of chopped parsley. Serve in wooden trenchers with a side of dark rye bread, ensuring the Lord is served first while the steam still rises in curls toward the rafters.