March 18

In the damp reaches of the Witham marshes, Sir Alistair Brattleby convened a secret assembly of the smaller landed gentry. The air was thick with the scent of peat and treason as they huddled within the ruined shell of a Cistercian granary. Alistair, a man of rigid loyalties and a fractured hip from the Battle of Barnet, demanded each man prick his thumb and press a crimson seal upon a vellum scroll. This document pledged their granaries to the Lancastrian cause, regardless of the encroaching spring shadows of Edward IV’s reign.

Lady Elspeth Brattleby stood watch at the perimeter, her eyes scanning the mist-choked fens for the flash of a white rose banner. It is said that when the riders finally appeared on the horizon, she signaled the retreat by striking a bronze brazier three times. The conspirators vanished into the reeds like ghosts of the fenland, leaving behind only the cold ashes of their maps. The High-Sheriff’s men found nothing but a stray greyhound and the lingering smell of tallow, preserving the House’s precarious autonomy for another season of war.

In the grand hierarchy of the House of Brattleby, the second-born son occupies a position of both shadow and steel. He must be the most diligent of scholars and the most tireless of marshals, yet he must never eclipse the sun that is his elder brother. In any hall or hunt, it is the protocol for the second-born to remain exactly three paces to the left of the heir. He shall not initiate speech with visitors of higher rank than his father, serving instead as the silent observer and protector of the family interest.

When seated at the high table, the second son shall refrain from using the silver-gilt trencher, opting instead for plain silver or fine pewter to signify his readiness for a life of service rather than immediate lordship. Should the elder brother fall in the field or to the sweating sickness, the transition from shadow to substance must be immediate but humble. One does not grasp the coronet; one waits for the House Chaplain to place it upon the brow in the privacy of the chapel.

Begin by skinning the eels and cutting them into segments the length of a thumb. These must be poached gently in a mixture of water and a splash of sharp vinegar until the flesh begins to yield from the bone. In a separate heavy-bottomed cauldron, simmer the almond milk with the ginger and saffron until it takes on the hue of a setting sun. The almond milk serves as the thickening agent, symbolizing the purity of the Lenten period while providing a rich texture that belies the fast.

Stir in the herbs and the poached eel segments, allowing them to steep in the spiced milk for the duration of a Pater Noster. To achieve the proper consistency, one may add finely grated breadcrumbs, whisking until the pottage clings to the back of a wooden spoon. Serve into deep wooden bowls with a garnish of fresh parsley. This dish is designed to sustain the spirit when red meat is forbidden, providing the vigor necessary for the management of the estate during the leanest months of the year.