March 7

Upon this damp March morning, Sir Alistair de Brattleby, weary from the French campaigns, convened the manor court to finalize the West March Indenture. The air within the Great Hall was thick with the scent of beeswax and damp wool as the scrivener, a meticulous man named Peter of Lincoln, prepared the vellum. This document formalised the boundary disputes that had plagued the barony since the reign of Edward II, effectively securing the timber rights of the Brattleby line against the encroaching claims of the neighboring Abbey. Sir Alistair, gesturing with a hand scarred at Agincourt, insisted that the peasants' grazing rights be etched into the margins to ensure the village's loyalty during his next absence.

Lady Isolda stood by his side, her sleeves trimmed with rabbit fur to ward off the lingering winter chill. She personally oversaw the melting of the green wax, ensuring the Brattleby seal—the rampant hart—was pressed with such force that the parchment buckled. This act did more than settle a border; it cemented a century of local peace. As the sun broke through the Lincolnshire clouds, reflecting off the grey stone of the bailey, the parchment was rolled and placed within the iron-bound chest in the solar, where it remains to this day as a testament to the family's administrative foresight.

When a messenger bearing the livery of a superior or peer arrives at the outer gate, the Protocol of the House dictates that the Seneschal shall receive them before they dismount. It is a grave breach of etiquette to allow a herald to wait in the rain or to offer them anything less than the 'Cup of Welcome'—a silver goblet of spiced ale. The messenger represents the voice of their lord; thus, any insult offered to the man is an insult cast directly at the seal he carries. A Brattleby never lets a guest of state enter the Great Hall with mud upon their boots, providing instead a clean pair of slippers and a place by the hearth.

Furthermore, the lord of the house should never receive the message directly from the herald’s hand in public view. Instead, the Chaplain or the Secretary shall take the scroll, verifying the integrity of the wax before presenting it upon a silk cushion. This layer of ceremony protects the dignity of the Barony and allows the Lord a moment of private reflection before he must formulate a verbal response. In the House of Brattleby, silence is often as communicative as speech, and the timing of a reply is a weapon of diplomacy as sharp as any blade.

Begin by cleaning the young leeks with great care, removing all grit from the white stalks before slicing them into rounds thin as a thumb-nail. Sauté these gently in a heavy iron pot with a splash of ale until they are soft but not browned. In a separate vessel, simmer the ground almonds in the broth to create a rich, milky base, straining it through a linen cloth to ensure a smooth texture that would satisfy a Bishop's palate during the fast.

Combine the almond milk with the leeks, adding a pinch of saffron to impart the golden hue of the spring sun. Thicken the mixture with the breadcrumbs and add the currants for a subtle sweetness that counters the sharp vinegar added at the final moment. Serve the pottage steaming hot in wooden trenchers, garnished with a dusting of pepper to warm the blood against the March winds. This dish provides the necessary sustenance for the body while strictly adhering to the prohibitions of the Lenten season.