September 19

Upon this damp September morning, Sir Hugh de Brattleby returned from the French campaigns to find the manor gripped by the Great Ague. With the village bells muffled to spare the ears of the dying, Sir Hugh ordered the immediate sealing of the Great Tithe Barn. He stood at the threshold, clad in travel-stained velvet, overseeing the stacking of grain sacks and salted mutton intended for the winter stores. It was not a gesture of avarice, but of survival; he knew that if the harvest were not protected from the damp and the desperate, the entire barony would perish before the first frost of November.

His sister, the formidable Lady Elspeth, managed the distribution of 'pottage of mercy' from the buttery hatch, using a long wooden shovel to pass bowls to the afflicted to maintain a safe distance. This day marked the beginning of the 'Forty Days of Seclusion,' a period of self-imposed quarantine that saved the Brattleby line while the surrounding hamlets of the Witham Valley were decimated. The tally-sticks from that week, still preserved in the muniment room, show the precise moment the House transitioned from a military footing to one of desperate domestic preservation.

When a member of the high clergy, such as the Bishop of Lincoln or a visiting Archdeacon, graces the Brattleby board, the distinction between spiritual and temporal authority must be meticulously maintained. The guest of honor shall be seated at the Baron's right hand, yet the salt cellar—that great silver arbiter of social standing—must remain positioned between the Baron and the cleric. This subtly reinforces that while the soul is the province of the Church, the land and the bread upon it are the domain of the House.

Conversation must be steered away from the vulgarities of the hunt or the intricacies of border skirmishes. Instead, one should inquire after the health of the cathedral’s masonry or the progress of the Latin translations in the scriptorium. A Brattleby never speaks of tithes during the first course; such mercenary matters are reserved for the privacy of the solar after the hippocras has been served and the servants have withdrawn.

Begin by cubing the venison and marinating it for six hours in a mixture of strong ale, ginger, and bruised thyme. The meat must be tough enough to withstand the long heat of the oven, yet tenderized by the acidity of the brew. Meanwhile, prepare a coffin of shortcrust pastry using chilled beef marrow and fine flour, ensuring the walls are thick enough to support their own weight without the aid of a ceramic dish.

Layer the meat with the damsons, which have been pitted and simmered into a thick verjuice. The tartness of the fruit cuts through the heavy fat of the deer, providing a balance essential for the autumnal palate. Seal the lid with a heavy crimp and wash with the yolks of six eggs. Bake in a bread oven as the fires die down, allowing the residual heat to slow-cook the interior until the crust is the color of an old oak leaf. Serve cold to travelers or hot to the Lord of the Manor.