May 31

Upon this humid morning, Sir Almeric de Brattleby met with the Lord Abbot of Crowland amidst the swaying reeds of the Great Wash. The dispute over the grazing rights of 'The Mires' had simmered for a generation, leading to burned hovels and seized kine. Sir Almeric, ever the pragmatist, brought not his sword-brothers but his surveyors. They paced the softening ground, planting stakes of charred oak to define the lordship’s reach. By noon, a parchment was signed upon a drum-head, granting the House the higher pastures while relinquishing the eel-traps to the churchmen.

Following the accord, Lady Elowen de Brattleby presented the Abbot with a silver-mounted stirrup cup, signaling the cessation of hostilities. The village folk of Brattleby-in-the-Marsh celebrated by casting garlands of wild iris into the drainage channels. This peace ensured that the summer hay-harvest could proceed without the shadow of the Abbot’s bailiffs, securing the winter fodder for the Barony’s prized destriers and marking a rare moment of ecclesiastical and secular harmony in the volatile Lincolnshire landscape.

When the household hosts a visiting curate or a traveling friar, the Master of Ceremonies must exercise a delicate hand in the arrangement of the lower dais. It is a common error to place a man of the cloth too near the salt solely out of piety; one must remember that while the soul belongs to God, his social rank remains tethered to his birth and his benefice. A simple vicar should sit below the youngest son of a knight, yet above the steward, provided he is a Master of Arts from Oxford or Cambridge.

In conversation, it is the duty of the lady of the house to acknowledge the cleric's learning without inviting him to dominate the discourse. Silence should be maintained when he offers the grace, but once the napkins are unfolded, the talk should return to the matters of the manor. Should the cleric be of the mendicant orders, a separate table near the screens passage is often more appropriate for his station.

Clean the pike thoroughly and poach it gently in a broth of water, verjuice, and salt until the flesh is firm and white. Remove the fish and carefully set it aside to cool. Strain the liquor through a fine wool cloth to ensure no impurities remain. In a separate vessel, beat the egg whites and add them to the broth with the galingale, saffron, and cinnamon, heating it until the whites rise and clarify the liquid to a golden translucency.

Finely mince the parsley and mint, spreading them over the cold fish to represent the green moss of the riverbank. Pour the clarified jelly over the pike while it is still liquid, then set the dish in a cold stone buttery until the galantine has shivered into a firm, glass-like state. Serve this upon a platter of pewter, garnished with lemon slices if they may be obtained from the coastal merchants, as a refreshing centerpiece for a late May luncheon.