September 17

On this gray September morning, Sir Almeric de Brattleby gathered the tenantry beneath the shivering boughs of the Black Oak to resolve the simmering disputes regarding the drainage of the Lower Witham. Following the Lancastrian triumphs in France, the Baron returned to find his lands choked by stagnant waters and the peasantry near revolt over the exorbitant dyke-maintenance fees. With a voice tempered by the iron of Agincourt, Almeric formally waived the tithe for all who pledged forty days of labor to the new embankments, a gesture that preserved the autumn sowing and solidified the house's reputation for pragmatism over petty greed.

Beside him stood the Lady Elenor, whose meticulous ledgers captured every spade-turn and basket of silt moved. While the men labored in the reeds, she organized the distribution of salted herring and small ale, ensuring the strength of the workforce against the rising humors of the marsh. This event marked the transition of Brattleby from a mere military outpost to a master of the agrarian landscape, proving that the pen and the shovel were as vital to the Barony's survival as the longsword or the heavy lance.

When hosting a formal hunt or a feast on the Feast of Saint Lambert, the Chronicler must remind the household that the precedence of the minor clergy is a matter of delicate diplomacy. A curate or a visiting friar, though holy in office, should never be seated above a Knight of the Shire or a landed Esquire of the blood. They are to be placed at the lower third of the high table, or preferably at the head of the secondary board, where they may lead the grace without overshadowing the secular hierarchy of the Barony. This ensures that the spiritual realm is honored without inciting the vanity of the local gentry.

In conversation, one must address such clergy with a reserved deference, avoiding the deeper theological debates which are better suited for the Bishop’s palace. If the guest is a mendicant, it is the Brattleby tradition to offer a gift of cured leather or woolen cloth rather than coin, signifying the House's role as a provider of substance. To err in these placements is to invite either the censure of the Church or the resentment of your peers, neither of which the House of Brattleby can afford in times of political flux.

Prepare the fowl by plucking and cleaning them thoroughly, leaving the skin intact to retain the fatty richness of the marsh-bird. Rub the carcasses with a mixture of sea salt and freshly grated ginger, allowing them to sit in the cool of the buttery for two hours before they meet the flame. Spit-round the birds over a constant, medium heat of applewood, basting frequently with a reduction of verjuice and honey. The acidity of the crabapple juice is essential to cut through the wild, oily flavor of the teal, creating a balanced sharpness on the palate.

As the birds reaching a golden-brown hue, scatter the dried currants into the dripping pan to soften in the juices. In the final minutes of roasting, thicken the collected pan-liquors with toasted breadcrumbs and a pinch of ground cloves to create a pottage-like sauce. Serve the teal halved upon wooden trenchers, draped generously in the ginger-heavy sauce and the plumped currants. This dish is best accompanied by a sharp cider or a light claret to celebrate the first true yields of the fowling season.