“The attitude of the Dey is that the land to the west of Tremseh Fortress can be exchanged and given to the great Sultan,” the envoy Lum Zaganoth from Tiuus said with as firm a tone as possible, “but Valsainess must absolutely not be accepted.”
What he referred to as Tremseh Fortress was already the border between Morocco and Algiers, which was hundreds of kilometers less than what the British had proposed at Valsainess.
The Sultan of Morocco simply smiled faintly, gesturing for his guests to drink tea, without making any statement on the matter.
He knew that the British needed him, so he could let them do all these “heavy liftings.” Continue your saga on empire
Indeed, after listening to the translation, the Marquess of Wellesley immediately shook his head, “Mr. Envoy, I must remind you that just a few months ago, your country fought a not insignificant war with the French and you were utterly defeated.
“Moreover, according to the information I have received, the Crown Prince of France also took part in that battle.
“This means that although the French are currently inactive — because they are experiencing a massive uprising in their own country — I can assure you that as soon as their unrest is quelled, they will immediately remember the provocation from Algiers.”
An interpreter by his side immediately repeated it in Arabic.
Zaganoth struggled to suppress the anger in his chest, thinking to himself that if it weren’t for your British stirring things up, Algiers wouldn’t have lost tens of thousands of elites at Annaba!
However, he also knew very clearly that Algiers was extremely empty now, and if the French really came to settle the score, they would have no power to resist.
So, when the British suggested last month that Algiers should exchange the land bordering Morocco for Moroccan support, the Divan quickly agreed to the proposal.
His visit here was merely to bargain as much as possible, so he must not say anything to offend the British.
“We can offer another 100,000 riyals…”
100,000 riyals amounted to 2.2 million livres, which was almost all of Algiers’ savings.
The Marquess of Wellesley, however, immediately interrupted him, “To the west of Valsainess, that is the basic condition we can discuss. If you refuse, Consul Green and I can only regretfully leave.”
“Don’t…”
The envoy from Algiers tried to argue further but eventually dropped his head in defeat, “Then, the Dey hopes that Britain can provide the equipment for at least twenty thousand soldiers to help us withstand the French.”
“I will strive to gain support for this from Congress.”
The Marquess of Wellesley smiled towards Ibn Abdullah, “Respected Sultan, about reinforcing Algiers…”
But Abdullah was merely stroking his teacup, “My lord Marquess, regarding the tariffs on Moroccan imports of British textiles and ironware, I have always felt that we should renegotiate.”
A flicker of annoyance passed through the corner of Wellesley’s eye; the great Britain was actually being bamboozled by a small North African country.
However, for the sake of his North African strategic plan, he forced his emotions down and nodded stiffly, “I will have our trade representative discuss this matter in detail with you…”
A few hours later, with the “help” of the British, Algiers agreed to cede two provinces to Morocco and ensure a higher political status for the Algiers Navy in the Divan.
Morocco would send troops and provide a large amount of materials to support Algiers in resisting France, and, when the time was right, they would work together to restore the rule of the Imperial Guard in Tunisia.
The next day, Marquess Wellesley left Meknes City; hardly had he boarded a British warship when a courier approached him with a salute, “My lord, this is from Mr. Lambert in Tripoli.”
Marquess Wellesley took the letter and opened it, then took out a code book to compare. Suddenly, he turned excitedly to the captain beside him and gestured, “Please take me to Colonel Acton at once. Ah, our luck has been on the rise ever since the riots in France.”
The letter mentioned that an Ottoman officer named Ali Benjiur in Tripoli had been seen meeting frequently with those opposed to its Pasha, which appeared to be indicative of a coup in the making.
The letter also mentioned Benjiur and his associates seemed to be not yet sufficiently prepared, but were very much worth watching.
Marquess Wellesley briskly walked into the officers’ quarters on the second level and said to the fleet commander, Colonel Acton, “Please set sail at once; we’re headed for Tripoli.”
Located to the east of Tunisia, Tripoli was a small country with a population of just five to six hundred thousand. It had been following a policy of subordination to the Ottoman Empire while being politically and economically close to France.
If its political orientation could be changed through a coup, then, together with our Morocco-Algiers strategy, it would form a pincer move against Tunisia from the east and the west.
And since that Ali Benjiur was an Ottoman officer, it was highly likely that the Ottoman Empire could be dragged into these murky waters. Even if the French couldn’t be driven out of Tunisia, the trade pattern in the Mediterranean could be greatly changed!
Soon, the British fleet set sail for the Strait of Gibraltar. After entering the Mediterranean through there, it would take about ten days to reach Tripoli.
Marquess Wellesley looked toward the distant horizon and smiled to himself, murmuring, “While applying pressure on both flanks, why not do something in Tunisia as well?
“For instance, that ‘Common Roman Origin’ lie concocted by the French, perhaps we should clarify that for the Tunisians.”
…
Paris High Court.
The Duke of Chartres requested the lifting of all seals on the Duke of Orleans’ property and commenced the legal proceedings for the full inheritance of his estate.
Unlike previous trials of riot participants, this case involving France’s top nobility allowed only a very few of high status to attend, with no journalists permitted inside.
After a series of routine proceedings, Prosecutor Danton stood aside, watching the Duke of Chartres’ legal team with a cold eye.
A lawyer in his fifties, his face full of flesh, stepped up to the small podium first.
He tediously detailed the esteemed status of the Duke of Orleans and his son once more and then cited the relevant aristocratic inheritance laws, speaking for over half an hour, eventually requesting the court to transfer the rightful property owed to the Duke of Chartres to his name.
“The prosecutor may now present,” Dibor looked to Danton. As directed by His Royal Highness the Crown Prince, as President of the High Court, he was to personally oversee this trial.
Danton leapt onto the platform and declared loudly, “Concerning the Duke of Chartres’ rights to inheritance, I have no objections. However, I must remind you, judges, that the Duke of Orleans was recently convicted of treason.”
Seeing him return to his seat, Dibor couldn’t help but be shocked—surely the Crown Prince’s intention wasn’t to allow the Duke of Chartres to walk away with the inheritance, what was Danton doing?!
He had no choice but to follow through the judicial process with a stiff neck, and under the “non-resistance” of the prosecution, the court swiftly ruled, “The Duke of Chartres shall inherit the entirety of the Duke of Orleans’ estate.”