May 6

Upon this soft May morning, the iron gates of Brattleby Manor creaked open to admit Sir Percival de Brattleby, his surcoat stained with the dust of the French campaigns. Having followed King Henry V to the grueling siege of Melun, Percival returned not as a mere campaigner, but as a knight heralded for his tenacity. He was met at the drawbridge by his wife, the Lady Eleanor, who bore a sprig of white blossom as a symbol of peace restored to their hearth. The village bells of St. Cuthbert’s rang with such vigor that it was said the vibrations could be felt in the very bedrock of the Lincolnshire Wolds.

The feast that followed in the Great Hall was marked by the presentation of a captured standard, a silken trophy now draped over the ancestral dais. Percival spoke little of the carnage, choosing instead to toast to the prosperity of his tenants and the longevity of the Brattleby line. It was on this day that the tradition of the 'Captain’s Cask' began, where a barrel of the finest ale is broached for the commoners whenever a son of the house returns safely from foreign wars.

When the hawthorn and mayflower grace the hedgerows, it is the duty of the household to reflect the bounty of the earth within the manor's stony confines. A junior member of the family, preferably the eldest daughter, must present the first cutting to the Baron before the morning meal. This is not a gesture of mere sentiment, but a formal recognition of the feudal stewardship over the land’s fertility. The bloom must be held in a silken wrap to prevent the transfer of field-grime to the noble’s person, presented with a slight inclination of the head and a silent prayer for the harvest.

To ignore the arrival of the spring growth is to signal a dangerous detachment from the source of the Barony’s wealth. It is further dictated that no branch should be brought indoors until the dew has fully evaporated, for moisture upon the stem is an omen of damp cellars and spoiled grain. By adhering to this ritual, the House of Brattleby acknowledges that even the loftiest lord is but a servant to the seasonal cycles ordained by the Almighty.

Begin by bruising the young tansy and spinach leaves in a stone mortar until their vibrant green liquor is expressed. In a separate earthen bowl, beat the eggs with the cream and a splash of rosewater until the mixture is as smooth as a courtier’s tongue. Gradually incorporate the green juice, ensuring the hue is that of a lush meadow in the height of spring. The mixture should then be cooked slowly in a shallow pan with clarified butter over a gentle flame, stirring constantly until it sets into a delicate curd.

While the tansy sets, fry the slices of manchet bread in butter until they reach a perfect golden crispness. These sippets are to be arranged around the dish, dusted lightly with sugar to cut the natural bitterness of the tansy herb. For those of high rank, a small application of gold leaf upon the center of the dish signifies the sun’s return. Serve immediately, for the lightness of the eggs will not endure the wait of a slow procession to the high table.