03 The Queen of the Citadels (King's Germans #3) by Dominic Fielder

Author:Dominic Fielder [Fielder, Dominic]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-08-25T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

To Stand against the Terror.

Ghent: 6th January 1794

If either Christopher Belvedere or Cedric Haverly had expected to see any sign of modesty being shown at the duke’s table for the twelfth night feast, these notions were soon extinguished.

The table was a riot of holly and evergreens, amongst which cuts of venison, pork and turkey jostled for space with spices, oranges, and apples. A second table held cheeses, mince pies, sugars, and two tureens of soup. The celebratory meal had been gifted by the royal household to the serving Guards officers who had remained overseas throughout the winter. Some had even curtailed home leave to mark the event, such was the prestige with which the duke’s feast was held.

The evening made stark contrast the fate of the rank and file, most of whom gave thanks for the warm barracks that Ghent provided, but not the fever that had swept through their winter quarters since Christmas. The sick lists had grown daily and Belvedere and Haverly had joined a small group of officers making their way through the frost covered streets to the Duke of York’s winter residence.

The men had formed a friendship through their shared rank, and from being part of the small number of cavalry officers on the duke’s staff. Belvedere, the light dragoon from the 11th; Haverly, the heavy from the Scot’s Greys. Both were the sons of earls, but only Belvedere carried the title of lord, though he spent most of his days trying not to use it.

Haverly had been less fortunate, whilst his father was the Earl of Pickering, his mother was merely the Earl’s latest consort. In his school days, less kind words had been used about his parentage. And though Haverly would never inherit, schooling and the commission had been provided. Whatever he made for himself would be on his own merits now, but since Sanghin, the war had felt a dishonourable enterprise rather than a proving ground.

It had been Belvedere who had insisted on Haverly’s attendance, and as the evening progressed and the wine glasses were recharged, the great cake arrived.

The ‘Twelfth Cake’ was truly a sight to behold.

Adorned with rich white icing, delicate piping and a half-dozen ornate swans, the cake was soon divided and shared amongst the guests. Despite Belvedere’s stomach being full to bursting, this moment was part of the ritual; somewhere within the delicious mixture of fruit cake, a dried pea lay dormant. If bitten down on, it could easily break a tooth, but if the recipient ate his cake and then produced the pea, he became ‘King’ for the remains of the evening and oversaw the great burning of the greenery around the table. Were the ridding of these symbols of Christmas delayed beyond twelfth night, superstition held that misery would dog the household for the following year.

The witching hour was drawing near, and in a far corner of the room a choking sound was followed by a cry of delight. A king had been found and soon

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