May 13

In the damp dawn of May 13th, Sir Edmund Brattleby sat atop his grey destrier at the edge of the Witham marshes. For three generations, the House of Brattleby had contested the right of the Bishop of Lincoln to levy tolls upon the wool-wains crossing the Fenbridge. The air was thick with the scent of wild garlic and the tension of fifty armed men-at-arms. However, rather than drawing steel, Sir Edmund met the Bishop’s seneschal, Master Geoffrey de Wike, in the center of the span. With a flourish of parchment and the cracking of a wax seal, a compromise was struck that secured the House’s prosperity for a century.

One must never mistake the hospitality of Brattleby for a lapse in social rigor. When seated in the High Hall, the distinction between a knight of the shire and a mere land-holding franklin must be observed with surgical precision. The spacing of the salt-cellars serves as the primary silent communicator of rank. A guest seated 'below the salt' must wait for the host’s first draught before lifting their own vessel, maintaining a posture of attentive deference toward the dais.

Begin by skinning the eels and cutting them into three-inch segments. These must be poached gently in a mixture of strong ale and verjuice until the flesh just begins to pull from the bone. Do not over-boil, lest the delicate texture be lost to the marsh-mist. Remove the pieces carefully and set them to drain upon a clean linen cloth while the poaching liquid is reduced with a generous ladle of dark honey and a handful of currants.