May 23

In the damp spring of 1421, Lord Geoffrey Brattleby stood amidst the towering timbers of the newly completed Great Tithe Barn, a structure of English oak destined to hold the wealth of the Lincolnshire wolds. The air was thick with the scent of fresh sawdust and the incense carried by Father Eustace, who moved between the massive cruck-frame pillars splashing holy water upon the flagstones. It was a day of measured triumph; despite the lingering shadows of the Hundred Years' War and the scarcity of skilled masons, the House of Brattleby had secured its harvest for generations to come. Lady Maude of Brattleby presented the master carpenter, a man named Wat of Dunholme, with a silver brooch shaped like a sheaf of wheat, signaling the end of three years of grueling labor.

A feast was laid out upon trestle tables within the barn itself, featuring local pike and ale brewed from the previous autumn’s barley. As the sun began to dip behind the limestone escarpment, the tenants of the manor were invited to witness the first wagon of seasoned hay being rolled through the great doors. This act was not merely agricultural but deeply symbolic, marking the restoration of the estate's prosperity following the lean years of the Great Famine’s long memory. The resonance of the hammers had finally ceased, replaced by the low hum of a community bound by soil and stone, swearing fealty to the granary that would protect them against the whims of the winter to come.

When a knight of the realm visits the Hall who holds no land directly of the Baron, his precedence must be weighed with extreme delicacy. While he lacks the territorial gravity of a tenant-in-chief, his person remains anointed by the accolade of chivalry. He should be seated above the salt, yet never to the right of the blood-kin. It is the duty of the Seneschal to ensure that his shield is displayed upon the gallery railings, but placed lower than those who owe service of the sword to Brattleby directly.

To fail in this distinction is to invite a breach of social order. If the guest is a Crusader or a veteran of the French wars, a cushion of crimson velvet may be provided as a sign of respect for his scars. However, if he is merely a younger son of a minor house traveling to court, he must wait for the Baron to break bread before he touches his trencher. Silence is expected until the Lord of the Manor addresses him, ensuring the hierarchy of the table reflects the immutable hierarchy of the heavens.

First, take the capon and clean it thoroughly, setting it to roast slowly over a spit turned by the kitchen knave. While the bird drips its juices, prepare the sauce by simmering the verjuice with a generous spoonful of honey and the pounded mace and cloves. The saffron must be steeped in a small vessel of warm wine until it releases a hue like the morning sun, then added to the mixture to ensure the meat is gilded with gold. This represents both the wealth of the Brattleby house and the purity of the feast.

Once the capon is golden and the skin crisp, thicken the sauce with the grounded blanched almonds until it possesses the consistency of a thick cream. Toss in the currants and the chopped herbs at the final moment to maintain their brightness. Carve the bird into thick slices and ladle the saffron sauce over it with a heavy hand. It is traditional to serve this dish upon a large silver platter, garnished with the capon's own feathers if it is a day of high festival, signifying the nobility of the bird and the generosity of the host.