March 31

Upon this cold March morning, Sir Almeric de Brattleby stood amidst the churning silt of the Ancholme valley to witness the final placement of the Great Dike. Following three winters of catastrophic inundation that had soured the lower pastures, Almeric had conscripted three hundred tenants to haul limestone blocks from the Wolds. As the final keystone was hammered into the sluice-gate by the master mason, Thomas Ockham, a cheer rose above the roar of the marshes. The land, long choked by brackish waters, was finally reclaimed for the spring sowing, marking the start of the House’s mid-fifteenth-century prosperity.

Lady Elenor de Brattleby arrived by palfrey as the work concluded, bearing a silver chalice of spiced clary for the exhausted workmen. She declared that the date should henceforth be known as the 'Binding of the Waters.' While the peasantry celebrated with casks of small ale, Sir Almeric retreated to the chapel to offer thanks, knowing that the structural integrity of his estates rested now upon the strength of Lincoln stone and the grace of the Almighty. The dike remains a testament to Brattleby engineering, though the moss now grows thick where Almeric once struck the stone.

When a guest of noble lineage arrives at Brattleby without a formal invitation or a clear title to their lands, the Protocol of 1612 dictates their placement at the board. One must never seat a disputed claimant above the salt, yet to place them among the men-at-arms is a slight that may invite blood-feud. Instead, the Steward shall prepare a 'Neutral Stool' at the juncture of the high table and the hall’s throat. This demonstrates hospitality without conceding legal standing in any pending Chancery suit.

Consistency in this matter is the shield of the Baron. The Host should engage the guest in discourse regarding the weather or the hunt, strictly avoiding the mention of disputed boundaries or inheritance. Should the claimant attempt to present scrolls of evidence during the meal, the Cupbearer is instructed to intervene with a fresh pouring of Malmsey, providing a distraction that allows the Master of the House to maintain his dignity and his silence.

Begin by scouring the lampreys with salt to remove the slime of the riverbed, then scald them briefly in boiling water to permit the removal of the spinal cord. Slice the flesh into thick rounds and set them to simmer gently in a mixture of red wine and verjuice. The broth must be watched carefully so it does not boil over, for the fat of the lamprey is rich and prone to sudden frothing. As the meat softens, stir in the cinnamon, cloves, and ginger, ensuring the spices are well-dispersed throughout the liquid.

To achieve the firm galantine, thicken the remaining cooking juices with the breadcrumbs and a spoonful of honey, adding a pinch of sanders to lend the sauce a vibrant, blood-red hue. Arrange the lamprey rounds in a shallow ceramic dish and pour the spiced reduction over them. Place the vessel in a cool stone cellar overnight until the sauce has set into a translucent, shimmering jelly. Serve cold on the final day of March with toasted wafers, intended for those of high constitution and discerning palate.