The Crown Prince of France - Chapter 213

Chapter 213: Deploying the Net

Ottoman Empire
Constantinople

Sayyid walked solemnly through the corridor lined with bowing guards. He cast one final glance at the Topkapi Palace behind him, his heart growing heavier.

Moments ago, the Sultan had appointed him as a special envoy to "inspect" Tunis.

Years ago, this would have been an enviable assignment—such a peripheral province would typically host the Sultan's emissary lavishly and send them off with abundant "travel funds."

However, this mission held none of those prospects.

The empire's ongoing war at Ochakov was growing dire. Potemkin had led the Russian forces to besiege the northern Black Sea fortress, and its fall seemed imminent.

Following the catastrophic defeat at the Battle of Fidonisi, the empire faced a precarious situation. Its military and finances were strained to the breaking point.

Amid this turmoil, news of a coup in Tunis had reached the court.

Hammoud Ali, the imperial-appointed Pasha, had been assassinated. His nephew, Hajji, had declared himself the new Pasha but had not followed protocol by requesting formal recognition from the empire. This affronted the empire’s authority.

Against this backdrop, the Sultan selected Sayyid for the task.

Sayyid sighed. This mission lacked even basic funding—he would have to finance it himself.

Moreover, following imperial custom, if he failed to secure Hajji’s apology and his petition for recognition as Pasha, Sayyid would likely face execution for "incompetence and disgracing the empire."

Climbing into the palanquin with the help of his servant, he mentally tallied his wealth. He could spare about 30,000 sultani. He wondered if such a sum would be enough to "convince" Hajji.

How ironic—an emissary of the Sultan bribing a provincial Pasha...

America
Philadelphia

Outside Independence Hall, two to three thousand citizens were cheering enthusiastically, waving toward the assembly building.

Alexander Hamilton stood by the second-floor window, watching the scene with satisfaction. The $200,000 spent earlier had been worth every cent.

The previous day, news had arrived from the Mediterranean: with the assistance of France and the Netherlands, the American fleet had eradicated the Barbary pirates of Tunis. The safety of Mediterranean trade routes would now improve significantly.

As one of the primary advocates for the special funds to combat the pirates, Hamilton had gained considerable political prestige.

James Madison, his fellow Federalist, approached with a grin, gesturing toward the crowd.

"Mr. Hamilton, you're a legend here in Philadelphia! Just listen to their nickname for you—‘The Pirate Judge.’"

Lowering his voice, Madison added, "At this rate, you could very well run for the presidency."

Hamilton laughed and waved dismissively. "You're joking. My reputation is far from sufficient." Yet the title "Pirate Judge" sparked a glimmer of ambition within him.

The navy had reported that the French had captured over a thousand pirates and offered to sell them to the United States at $2,000 each.

That sum could buy five strong male slaves. But the fleet commander had refused, deeming the price too steep.

Hamilton shook his head in frustration. What a fool—he should have purchased a hundred or so, publicly tried them, and hanged them for all to see. That would have cemented his "Pirate Judge" reputation even further.

The fervent and pride-filled crowd below—perhaps they could deliver a surprise in next year’s presidential election...

Turning to Madison, Hamilton said, "I intend to submit a funding request to Congress for the purchase of Barbary pirates. I trust I can count on your support."

Netherlands
Amsterdam

Sir Joseph Yorke, the British ambassador to the Netherlands, exited the provincial assembly building with a grim expression.

The Dutch had failed to condemn France’s actions in North Africa, as Britain had hoped.

On the contrary, they had issued a statement lauding the improved security of Mediterranean trade—crediting the Dutch for their contribution.

Yorke muttered a curse under his breath. Everyone knew the Dutch ship was merely aiding the French. This was blatant support for France.

Though cowed by Britain’s might, the Dutch deeply resented British dominance. Thus, they relished any opportunity to provoke their overbearing neighbor.

Yorke suddenly recalled a rumor he had heard days earlier—the Dutch East and West India Companies were merging and accepting French investments to form the "United East India Company."

This matter needed urgent verification. If true, it must be stopped to prevent the Netherlands from tilting further toward France.

The Low Countries were the British Empire’s strategic "beachhead" and could not be lost.

...

Onboard the Advance, Joseph read through An Analysis of Tunisian Origins with a smile.

Saint-Pierre’s writing was excellent—melding historical records, myths, and legends into a vivid tapestry of Tunisian history.

He handed the manuscript to Isaac, the fleet's "North African expert," for review. If approved, it would be translated into Arabic and Berber and printed en masse.

To expedite the process, Joseph had even brought a printing press and craftsmen aboard.

The next day, the fleet arrived at the port of Tunis.

Berthier and several officers were already at the dock to greet them. However, following Joseph's instructions, their presence was low-key, with almost no soldiers in attendance.

As the launch moored and stabilized, Berthier and the others watched as an exaggeratedly long gangplank extended from the ship. Moments later, the Crown Prince appeared.

After a brief welcoming ceremony, Joseph ascended into an unusual carriage disembarked from the ship—a fully enclosed, pointed vehicle.

Berthier, puzzled by the strange contraption, pulled Kessold aside to inquire:
"What's this about?"

Kessold spread his hands helplessly and whispered,
"His Highness promised the Queen he would remain onboard, so... that’s a boat. Mounted on a carriage."

Berthier: "..."

Half an hour later, the convoy reached the outskirts of Tunis. Joseph immediately noticed a large field of tents along the roadside, numbering in the thousands.

Judging by the flags and the patrolling soldiers’ attire, it appeared to be the Tunisian Imperial Guard.

"What’s going on here?"

"Your Highness, these are the Imperial Guard troops under Koja's command, numbering over 12,000. After finishing their conflict with Younes, they returned to Tunis. I feared they might cause trouble, so I had them stationed outside the city."

Koja had, of course, heard of how the French corps had smashed through the defenses of 7,000 Imperial Guards in just over an hour. Even though the defenders were a hastily assembled force, he dared not provoke the French troops and obediently remained outside the city.

Berthier continued, "However, these Tunisian soldiers are accustomed to luxury and complain daily about wanting to return to their homes in the city. Typically, they only train once every three days and rarely stay in their barracks otherwise."

Joseph, catching a key detail, asked, "The most capable units of the Tunisian Imperial Guard are all stationed here, correct?"

"Yes, Your Highness," Berthier confirmed.

Joseph smiled faintly. "Let them go back to their homes in the city, then."

Berthier protested, "Your Highness, last week Mr. Prosper and his men, disguised as part of a French caravan, successfully repelled an attack on the caravan and captured several bandits.

"It turned out these bandits were from the northern Kaff region and part of the Tunisian Imperial Guard.

"Many clues suggest that previous attacks on the French were also the work of the Tunisian Imperial Guard. If we allow over ten thousand of them back into Tunis, they might..."

"It’s fine," Joseph interrupted. "To prevent further assassinations of the Bey, all troops entering the city must first deposit their weapons in the armory.

"In addition, we’ll bolster patrols with more Berber policemen. This should minimize any potential issues."

Berthier hesitated before nodding. "Understood, Your Highness."

The next morning, Joan arrived at Joseph's temporary residence south of Tunis, accompanied by two men—one tall and the other short.

The taller man, with a typical Arab appearance, dressed in a European style, while the shorter, stocky one was clearly French, though he wore a turban and a loose robe.

Led inside by Eymond, they were immediately struck by the room’s floor, made of wooden planks arranged in the shape of a boat.

Joan, long accustomed to Joseph's eccentricities, stepped forward and saluted.
"Sir, this is Mr. Agadon and Mr. Mor."

He turned to the two men. "This is Mr. Joseph."

After exchanging pleasantries, Joseph followed local custom by inviting them to sit on the carpet and ordering servants to bring drinks and refreshments. He soon got to the point.

"I hope to use your channels to transport certain items across Tunis."

Agadon, a Franco-Tunisian clothing merchant who had once helped intelligence operatives infiltrate the Kahil Palace, was also a prominent figure in the French-Tunisian Chamber of Commerce. He wielded significant local influence and resources.

His partner, Mr. Mor, was a native Arab who collaborated with him extensively.

Agadon had heard from Joan that this young man held a lofty position and significant authority over Tunisian affairs. Polite but cautious, he asked, "May I ask what you wish us to transport?"

"Weapons and ammunition," Joseph said without hesitation. "And silver coins."

Agadon and Mor exchanged uneasy glances, their expressions tense.

"Sir, you must understand," Agadon said carefully, "Tunis is in chaos. If these goods were to be intercepted..."

"I will assign guards to protect you. Though not numerous, they’ll be sufficient unless you face an entire regiment of Imperial Guards. As for compensation, you need not worry—you’ll find it very generous."

Seeing their hesitation, Joseph upped the ante.

"By the way, this endeavor has the royal family’s attention. If you perform well, I can guarantee you a place in Parisian high society."

Agadon’s eyes lit up. Merchants like him, struggling in the "backwater" of North Africa, were dismissed as nouveau riche by Parisian nobles no matter how much wealth they amassed.

Their ultimate dream was to become genuine members of French high society. After all, who wanted to remain in a place like this forever?

He nodded vigorously. "Rest assured, Sir. No matter how much... uh, cargo you need transported, I will ensure it reaches its destination on time!"

"Can you avoid inspections by the Imperial Guard?"

"That’s the bare minimum, Sir. I know exactly how to bribe those greedy officials. And even if they catch us, a little money will resolve it."

"Excellent, Mr. Agadon! On behalf of His Majesty the King, allow me to express my heartfelt gratitude."

Tunisian outskirts

In a typical two-story Arab-style building, a group of well-dressed men passed around two booklets with excitement.

The title on the cover read: An Analysis of Tunisian Origins.

A bearded middle-aged man jabbed his finger at a page and exclaimed,
"Hilada Celebi is absolutely right! We are descendants of Rome, with a glorious history and noble lineage!"

"‘Celebi’" was an honorific for renowned scholars. The Hilada he referenced was an influential Tunisian academic.

Another man chimed in,
"These historical records show that we share a common ancestry with France, Spain, and other nations. It proves we can integrate into advanced European civilization!"

"Look here!" a third person added. "Celebi even mentions that many in France believe we are their long-lost kin!"

The bearded man flipped through two more pages and said gravely,
"Those damned Ottomans severed our ties with our Roman homeland! They caused Tunisia’s decline and ruin!"

Joseph had never anticipated the existence of so many Francophiles in Tunis.

In hindsight, it was unsurprising. Many French merchants in Tunis flaunted their wealth, sophistication, and the might of France in front of the locals. In an era with little sense of national or ethnic identity, it was easy for Tunisians to admire and emulate the French.

Joseph’s original goal was merely to find a shared ancestor for France and Tunis to facilitate his plans. He hadn’t expected so many Tunisians—especially intellectuals—to embrace his "common origin" thesis so enthusiastically.

No one seemed to care whether the evidence in the book was credible. They accepted the conclusions without question.

Just as in future times, if an American scholar "proved" that Filipinos shared a common ancestry with Americans, the latter would likely embrace the notion just as readily.

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