The Crown Prince of France - Chapter 218

Chapter 218: The Strategy Meeting

Inside a tightly sealed room on the second floor of the Palais Royal, Madame Sanberant curled up in fear.

Only ten minutes ago, she had been elated to receive the Duke of Orléans' invitation. Now, trembling, she stammered, "Y-Your Grace, I didn’t... It was the Duke of Chartres who approached me first... And I truly didn’t know I had that illness."

Her skin was smooth and showed no signs of discomfort; indeed, she had not yet entered the second stage of syphilis. For many with strong constitutions, symptoms only became apparent two years after infection.

The Duke of Chartres attempted to console his father. “Father, the disease of love is nothing to fear. Even the great Francis I contracted it...”

"Silence!"

The Duke of Orléans cut him off with a furious roar, glaring fiercely at Madame Sanberant. “Tell me exactly what happened!”

“It... It was the day you ordered me to sed... to approach the Crown Prince. You know, I failed—he ignored me. Then, suddenly, the Duke of Chartres barged in...”

Half an hour later, the Duke of Orléans slammed his fist on the desk in a rage, scattering shards of teacups and incense burners across the study floor.

“Damn that Louis Joseph!” His bloodshot eyes glinted with fury as he muttered through clenched teeth, “He must have found out that Madame Sanberant was ill beforehand. That’s why he deliberately led Philippe into that room!
"Yes, that must be it!”

From that day onward, the Duke of Orléans knew his legitimate heir had at most twenty years to live—or perhaps only ten.

Syphilis was a terrifying and incurable disease in this era.

He picked up the pen rack and hurled it to the ground, growling like a cornered beast, “I swear, I will never let you go unpunished. I will tear you all to pieces! To pieces! Even if it costs me everything!”

...

North Africa

Algiers, Mitidja

Hollis, the British Consul in Tunis, signed the handover documents with a heavy heart. He gave a perfunctory nod to Sir Stewart, the British Consul in Algiers. “From now on, North Africa is in your hands. Farewell, Sir Stewart.”

The upheaval in Tunis had reached London, prompting the Duke of Leeds to dispatch his envoy to Algiers. Stewart was now tasked with taking over all Tunisian affairs.

Hollis could only lament his poor luck—despite his best efforts, no one could have predicted the locals would rebel so suddenly, showing an unexpectedly strong pro-French sentiment.

At dusk, Hollis packed his belongings alone in his inn room. Early the next morning, he was to board the ship back to England.

“Retiring like this isn’t so bad,” he muttered with a wry smile, shaking his head. “I can spend the rest of my days fishing in Worcester.”

A creak from the door made him turn, expecting his servant. “Jamie, how many times do I have to tell you not to bother me about the carriage...”

He froze mid-sentence. The figure entering was not Jamie but a tall man clad in black.

“Who are you?”

“Mr. Hollis, your handling of this matter has been appalling,” the black-clad man said in a low voice, shutting the door behind him.

Hollis’ face turned pale. “W-What do you mean? What are you going to do?”

The man flexed his wrist, advancing slowly. “Your unauthorized encouragement of Tunisian nobles to attack the French has placed the government in a difficult position.”

“No, that was under orders from the Duke of Leeds...” Hollis trailed off, his expression frozen. “Did he send you?”

The man gave no reply. Swiftly and efficiently, he pinned Hollis down and tightened a rope around his neck.

The next morning, when the innkeeper repeatedly reminded the British that it was time to board their ship but received no response, he finally opened the door. Inside, he found Hollis hanging lifelessly from the window frame.

...

Unaware of his colleague’s untimely demise, Stewart remained focused on preventing French domination of Tunis.

As he prepared to visit the Dey of Algiers—the ruler of the region—an Ottoman envoy, Mr. Saïd, arrived at the consulate ahead of him.

In the reception room, the rotund, middle-aged envoy, sporting a thick mustache and dressed in traditional Ottoman attire, nodded courteously. “Honorable Consul, I believe you are already aware of the dreadful rebellion in Tunis.”

Stewart immediately sensed an opportunity and instructed a servant to bring coffee. He gestured for the Ottoman envoy to sit. “Indeed. Alas, it was a tragic event. I heard the Tunisians are openly declaring independence from the Ottoman Empire.”

Saïd nodded solemnly. “In light of the Tunisian situation, I believe our two nations share a common interest.

“It is clear that if France secures Tunisian ports, British trade in the Mediterranean will be at an immediate disadvantage.”

Stewart stirred his coffee with a silver spoon, his expression unreadable. “And what is your proposal?”

“We could jointly suggest that Algiers deploy troops to suppress the Tunisian rebellion. This might restore order.”

Leaning forward, Saïd added, “I’ve heard that Britain hired an Albanian mercenary force to assist Algiers in resisting the French.

“If Algiers also dispatches a contingent of its Janissaries, they could swiftly defeat the 3,000 French soldiers in Tunis.”

Stewart’s expression didn’t change. “First, your information is outdated. There are 6,000 French soldiers in Tunis.

“Second, what resources can you and your empire offer for this campaign?”

Saïd smiled immediately. “I can invoke the Sultan’s authority to demand that the Dey of Algiers deploy troops. You know this will significantly reduce opposition within Algiers' council.”

Unlike the Janissary-dominated Tunis, Algiers was governed by a tripartite power structure of indigenous leaders, the navy, and the Janissaries, all vying for Ottoman support. The Sultan’s influence remained critical.

Saïd continued, “Once Tunisian order is restored, I am confident the great Sultan will consider granting Britain a monopoly on trade there.”

The British consul’s eyes lit up. “In fact, I find your proposal highly intriguing.”

Saïd twirled his wrist, feigning reluctance. “However, this campaign will require funding...”

Stewart immediately responded, “I can allocate some assistance—300,000 pounds should suffice to complete the operation.”

Saïd was overjoyed, bowing slightly. “I trust our two nations will become the guardians of order in Tunis.”

After hashing out the details, the two men set off together to visit the Dey of Algiers.

Three days later, Algiers’ "Divan," or council, convened for a full assembly.

The Janissaries in Algiers expressed deep sympathy for their "comrades" in Tunis, who had suffered during the indigenous uprising. From the outset, they clamored for military intervention to suppress the rebellion and rescue the Janissaries stationed there.

In reality, since Hussein’s Janissaries first gained control of Tunis, they had actively involved themselves in every political upheaval, reaping substantial benefits.

The navy immediately voiced its support for intervention.

After all, the French fleet had sunk their ships and captured their sailors, fueling their desire for revenge. Moreover, with France now controlling ports in Tunis, the threat to their maritime dominance had only grown. Naturally, they sought swift action to attack Tunis.

The indigenous factions in Algiers, however, were less inclined to get involved in the conflict.

Nevertheless, as the weakest faction in the "Divan" (council), they remained silent after receiving backing from the Ottoman Sultan’s envoy and assurances of hundreds of thousands of pounds in military funding from the British.

Ultimately, the Dey of Algiers, Sükri Ali Touus, secured control over the Albanian mercenaries from the British and permission to pillage Tunis. He then announced a deployment of 11,000 Janissaries, supplemented by 12,000 mercenaries, to suppress the rebellion and restore Janissary control over Tunis.

...

Paris

Versailles, Petit Trianon Palace

Queen Marie anxiously questioned her maid. “Has Baron Vémorel departed?”

Countess Debonynac curtsied. “Yes, Your Majesty. He set out before dawn and should be nearing Provins by now.”

“Good, that’s good.”

The Queen pressed her hand to her chest, though her heart continued to race.

Last week, good news had arrived from Tunis—her beloved Crown Prince had successfully ousted the anti-French Janissaries from power, transforming Tunis once again into a paradise for France.

In her delight, she had even granted her son’s request to land in Tunis to enjoy its unique sights.

But last night, a warning had arrived from Algiers: the "Divan" had resolved to dispatch a 23,000-strong force to intervene in Tunis.

The thought of her precious son being caught in the crossfire had kept her up all night. She wrote a personal letter and ordered her captain of the guard to rush to Tunis to bring the Crown Prince back.

The door swung open as the Minister of War, the Minister of the Navy, and Prime Minister Bishop Brienne hurried in.

Before they could bow, the Queen impatiently demanded, “Have you heard about the situation in Tunis? I need to ensure the Crown Prince’s safety!”

She murmured to herself, “I should never have let him go there. God, that place is full of savages...”

The Marquis de Saint-Priest and the Minister of the Navy exchanged glances. Stepping forward, they assured her, “Your Majesty, if the troops in Tunis immediately cover His Highness’ retreat, he should not be in danger.

“However, the 6,000 men deployed there are mostly newly formed regiments. If—just if—they are too slow to act and get cornered by the Algiers forces in Tunis, it could be...”

“What should we do?” the Queen interrupted. “Send reinforcements at once to bring the Crown Prince back!”

“As you wish, Your Majesty.” The Marquis bowed, then cautiously asked, “And about the funding?”

“Whatever the cost, have Bishop Brienne allocate the funds. I want troops dispatched immediately!”

“Yes, Your Majesty!”

...

Tunis

Prince Joseph sat in a beachside tent, enjoying freshly grilled seafood while discussing documents with Consul Joan.

“Do you know how many white slaves the indigenous people of Tunis hold?”

“We don’t have exact figures yet, Your Highness, but the wealth in Tunis is largely concentrated among the Janissaries. Few Berbers or Arabs can afford white slaves. I estimate at most a few hundred.”

“Good.” Joseph nodded. “In that case, the Tunisian government will pay to redeem them. As for the white slaves previously owned by the Janissaries, they will be granted freedom outright.”

According to earlier estimates, Tunis was home to tens of thousands of white slaves, most of them European Christians abducted by pirates. After years away from their homelands, they were unlikely to return to Europe and would naturally form the backbone of French settlers in Tunis.

Joan quickly jotted down notes at the end of the "White Slave Survival Act." “This could cost hundreds of thousands of livres, Your Highness.”

“That’s fine. It’s worth it.” Joseph then inquired, “By the way, how is the preparation for the civil service examination coming along?”

“It’s proceeding steadily. Mr. Hilada says the exam should be ready by early next month.”

Joseph nodded in approval. The Janissary bureaucracy in Tunis had been completely dismantled, and a new administrative system was urgently needed.

This presented an opportunity to experiment with a merit-based civil service examination system, akin to later public service exams.

Of course, in addition to subjects like humanities, administration, and science, nearly half of the exam would cover French general knowledge and topics related to “Roman identity.”

The syllabus had already been published. Next came the principle of "those who excel in learning will govern."

Once this examination system gained traction, it would serve as a valuable reference for Joseph’s broader bureaucratic reforms in France.

As Joseph and Joan conversed, Ishak arrived with a police agent in tow, both hurrying toward them.

The Swiss Guards immediately stopped them for a thorough search.

Joseph waved at the guards with a smile. “No need, let them through.”

Ishak stepped forward and saluted. “Your Highness, this is Velih, who has just arrived from Algiers with intelligence. The Dey of Algiers, Touus, has mobilized a 23,000-strong army to invade Bizerte from Annaba.”

“Oh?!” Joseph stood abruptly, frowning. “When did this happen?”

“About six days ago, Your Highness.”

Given the communication speeds of this era, delivering intelligence from Mitidja to Tunis in under a week was remarkably efficient.

“Notify the senior officers of the Guard Corps and Moulin Corps to convene a strategy meeting immediately. And have a few Tunisian Janissary officers join as well.”

As Joseph prepared to leave, Ishak added, “Your Highness, speaking of the Tunisian Janissaries, the testimonies from those we interrogated confirm that the British incited them to attack the French. The British even provided substantial funding as payment for the assault.”

Joseph narrowed his eyes. He had long suspected British meddling, and now it was confirmed.

He instructed Ishak, “Draft a detailed report on this matter and send it to Versailles.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Two hours later, in a villa near the Palais de Ksar, Berthier, André, and over a dozen other officers stood solemnly around a broad meeting table. They tipped their hats and bowed in unison to the Crown Prince.

Joseph returned the salute and then looked at the obviously newly-made meeting table—a style entirely foreign to Tunisians. He turned to Eymond.

“Please have this table replaced with one that can accommodate a sand table.”

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