In a tightly shut room on the second floor of the Royal Palace, Lady Sangbellon shrank in fear.
Just over ten minutes ago she had been basking in the excitement of receiving an invitation from the Duke of Orleans, but now she was quivering anxiously, muttering, “Your Grace, I didn’t… It was the Duke of Chartres who came to me on his own initiative… And truly, I didn’t know I had contracted that kind of disease.”
Her skin was smooth, showing no discomfort, indeed she had yet to enter the second stage of syphilis—many people with robust constitutions don’t develop noticeable symptoms until two years after becoming infected.
The Duke of Chartres tried to comfort his own father, “Father, there’s no shame in the disease of love, even the great Francis I had it…”
“Shut up!”
The Duke of Orleans interrupted him with a roar and then glared fiercely at Lady Sangbellon, “Tell me exactly what happened.”
“It was… it was your command to hook… to find Crown Prince on that day, you know, I failed, he ignored me. Then, the Duke of Chartres suddenly burst in…”
Half an hour later, the Duke of Orleans, angry, was pounding on the desk with his fist, and shards of teacups and incense burners littered the floor of the study.
“It’s all that damn Louis Joseph!” His eyes were bloodshot as he muttered through gritted teeth, “He must have learned of Sangbellon’s wife’s illness in advance and intentionally lured Philippe into that room!”
“Yes, it must be so!”
From that day on, the legitimate heir of the Duke of Orleans had at most twenty years left to live, or even just ten.
Syphilis, in this era, was a terrifying, incurable disease.
He grabbed the pen holder and threw it fiercely to the ground, uttering a beast-like growl, “I swear, I will not let you off, I will tear you all to pieces! To shreds! Even if I have to stake everything I have!”
…
North Africa.
Algiers, Mitidja.
The British consul in Tunisia, Hollis, dejectedly signed the handover documents and then bowed dismissively to the consul in Algiers, Stuart, “The North African affairs are now yours, farewell Sir Stuart.”
The shocking news of the upheaval in Tunisia had reached London, and thereafter a special envoy of the Duke of Leeds, the Foreign Minister, rushed to Algiers and announced that Stuart would take over all Tunisian affairs.
Hollis could only lament his poor luck—he had done everything he could, who would have guessed the natives would suddenly revolt, showing extreme fondness for the French.
At twilight, Hollis was alone in the hotel, packing his bags, ready to board the ship back to England the next morning.
“Retiring like this isn’t too bad,” he shook his head and laughed self-deprecatingly, “I can enjoy fishing back in my Worcester hometown for the rest of my life.”
The sound of the door being pushed open came from behind. Thinking it was the servant, he turned his head and said, “Jamie, how many times have I told you, don’t always ask me about the carriage…”
He suddenly froze. The person coming in wasn’t Jamie, but a tall man in black.
“Who are you?”
“Mr. Hollis, your handling of affairs has been quite terrible,” the man in black said in a low voice after closing the door.
Hollis was startled, “What, what are you doing?”
The man in black, massaging his wrist, approached slowly, “Your own incitement of the Tunisian nobles to attack the French will cause much trouble for the government.”
“No, that was under the instructions of the Duke of Leeds…” Hollis trailed off, then froze, “Did he send you?”
The man in black didn’t respond, only swiftly restrained him and looped a cord around his neck.
The next morning, the innkeeper, after repeatedly reminding the Englishman it was time to board the ship and receiving no response, reluctantly opened the door, only to find the man hanging from the window frame.
…
Stuart was utterly unaware that his former colleague had already passed on to the heavens. He had to fulfill his task of preventing France from gaining a foothold in Tunisia as much as possible.
He was preparing to visit the Dey of Algiers—the ruler here—when an envoy of the Ottoman Sultan, Mr. Said, made his way to the consulate before him.
In the reception room, the large middle-aged man with a standard Ottoman-era mustache and garb nodded at Stuart, “Respected Consul, I presume you are already aware of the terrible rebellion in Tunisia.”
Stuart immediately thought of something, hurriedly asked the servant to bring coffee, and invited the Ottoman man to sit, “Indeed, alas, it was a tragedy. I heard the Tunisians are publicly advocating to break away from the Ottoman Empire.”
Said nodded, “I believe our two nations have a common interest concerning the situation in Tunisia.
“Clearly, should France acquire Tunisian ports, Britain’s trade in the Mediterranean would be immediately disadvantaged.”
Stuart stirred his coffee with a silver spoon, calmly inquiring, “And what is your opinion?
“We could jointly suggest that Algiers send troops to suppress the rebellion in Tunisia, perhaps restoring order.”
Said leaned in, “I’ve heard that Britain has hired a force of Albanian mercenaries to assist Algiers against the French.
“If the Algiers Guard also dispatches a troop, they could quickly defeat the French forces in Tunisia. There should only be about 3,000 Frenchmen there.”
Stuart remained composed, “Firstly, your intelligence is outdated. Tunisia has 6,000 French soldiers.
“Secondly, what can you and your Empire offer for this suppression effort?”
Said immediately revealed a smile,
“I can request on behalf of the Sultan that Dey of Algiers deploy troops. As you know, this would greatly diminish the opposition from the members of the Algiers Council.”