September 9

On this cooling September afternoon, Sir Alaric Brattleby returned from the campaigns in Maine, his armor scarred by the soot of siege engines. He did not seek his bed first, but rather the scriptorium, where he presented the High Steward with the campaign ledgers bound in boiled leather. These documents contained the meticulous records of every grain sack and arrow spent in the service of the King, ensuring the Barony’s claim to scutage exemptions remained undisputed before the Exchequer. It was a moment of administrative triumph that secured the estate's liquidity for the coming decade.

Lady Elspeth, his sister, presided over the formal sealing of the documents with the house’s green wax, depicting the leaping stag of Brattleby. As the servants lit the rushlights against the encroaching autumn gloom, the parchment was lowered into the cedar chest, a vessel said to have been carved from a tree brought back during the Third Crusade. This act of preservation served as a reminder that the House of Brattleby was built as much on the ink of the clerk as on the steel of the knight.

When the autumnal equinox approaches, the seating at the Low Table must reflect the sweat of the brow and the loyalty of the soil. It is a grave breach of etiquette to place a common laborer above a master craftsman or a tenant of forty years. The protocol demands that the Reeve sit at the right hand of the Steward’s deputy, symbolizing the bridge between the Lord’s will and the land’s bounty. One must observe the 'Rule of the First Sheaf', where the tenant who brought in the cleanest wheat is toasted before any wine is poured for the household staff.

Furthermore, silence is observed until the Lord or his representative has broken the crust of the celebratory rye loaf. To speak of grievances or debts during this sanctified hour of the Living Almanac is considered a slur against the house’s hospitality. All discourse must remain focused on the quality of the yield and the health of the sovereign, ensuring that the seasonal transition remains harmonious and free from the tarnish of petty local disputes.

Begin by larding the haunch with small strips of fat, then rub the flesh vigorously with crushed thyme, mace, and sea salt. Roast the meat over a steady fire of applewood, turning it frequently to ensure an even browning. As the meat nears its peak, prepare a glaze by simmering the clover honey with a splash of sharp verjuice until it reduces to a thick, amber syrup. Brush this liberally over the venison, allowing the heat to caramelize the sugars into a dark, brittle crust that seals in the juices.

Separately, clean the young leeks and slice them into rounds. Sauté these in a silver pan with a generous portion of butter and the steeped saffron threads until they are soft and have taken on a brilliant golden hue. Serve the carved venison upon a bed of these gilded leeks, pouring the remaining pan drippings over the top. This dish was famously served to the guests of the 7th Baron following the defeat of the Armada, representing the richness of the Lincolnshire woods and the exotic reach of English trade.