May 27

On this bright May morning, Sir Eustace de Brattleby met with the representatives of the Bishop of Lincoln beneath the ancient White Oak that marks the boundary of the northern sheep-walks. For three years, the tithes of the wool-clip had been contested, leading to several bloody skirmishes between the Baron's men-at-arms and the Bishop's bailiffs. Sir Eustace, known more for his prowess in the lists than for diplomatic finesse, surprised the assembly by presenting a charter sealed in gold, granting the church the income from the lower mills in exchange for perpetual grazing rights on the high wolds.

Lady Margaret, his wife and a woman of sharp intellect, stood at his side, having brokered the secret peace through her correspondence with the Abbey of Bardney. As the final signatures were applied, a cask of Malmsey was broached, and the long-simmering feud was dissolved in the warmth of the spring sun. This day is still remembered in the estate ledgers as the 'Woolen Peace,' ensuring the House’s prosperity throughout the lean years of the mid-fourteenth century and solidifying the family's reputation as shrewd guardians of their ancestral lands.

When moving from the Great Hall to the Chapel or the solar for morning business, the order of precedence must be strictly observed to reflect the celestial and earthly hierarchy. The Baron or the Head of House shall always lead, followed exactly three paces behind by his consort. The heirs follow in order of seniority, with their spouses trailing. It is a grave breach of etiquette for a younger son to step ahead of an elder, as it mimics the chaos of rebellion and disturbs the quiet dignity of the household’s morning devotions.

Should a guest of noble standing be present, they are to be invited to walk at the right hand of the Baron, though they must never cross the threshold of any room before the Host. Attendants and liveried servants must remain stationary and bowed until the entire family has passed. Such discipline in movement ensures that every member of the House of Brattleby remembers their place in the lineage, fostering a spirit of obedience and mutual respect that prevents internal strife.

Begin by cleaning the capon and rubbing its skin thoroughly with coarse sea salt and softened butter. In a small copper pipkin over a slow fire, combine the honey and verjuice, whisking until the mixture reduces to a thick, golden syrup. Finely chop the sage leaves and stir them into the glaze along with a generous pinch of ground grains of paradise, which provides a heat more subtle than common black pepper.

Roast the bird on a spit over a fire of seasoned ash wood, basting every quarter-hour with the honeyed concoction. As the skin begins to crisp and turn the color of dark amber, scatter the dried currants into the dripping pan to soak up the juices. Serve the capon carved upon a charger, drizzled with the remaining pan-liquors and garnished with fresh sage sprigs to denote its freshness and the wealth of the Brattleby kitchens.