The Crown Prince of France - Chapter 203

Chapter 203: Cooperation and Utilization

"Your Highness, the first two points you raised are very reasonable, and I can now represent my father to make a promise to you."

Rabia spoke, then put on a hesitant expression: "However, the matter of the Port of Besseda is beyond the authority my father granted me."

Before Joseph could respond, she immediately added, "But if you can provide some financial support, I am confident I can convince my father."

"Furthermore, your funding will help us defeat Hamid Ali more quickly, wouldn't you agree?"

Joseph smiled, nodding in agreement:

"Let's do this. I will provide two million livres in military funds to Pasha Younes. However, since it’s military funds, I will only release this money after I’ve seen his army."

Two million?! Rabia’s eyes immediately flashed with greed and surprise.

Although she had some objections regarding the timing of the payment, she reasoned that this might be due to the French Crown Prince’s lack of confidence in her father’s influence, so she accepted it.

She immediately said in a loud voice,

"You will soon see that army, and it will satisfy you!"

Afterward, Joseph discussed some further "cooperation" details with her and had Consul Joan escort her to a nearby guest room to rest, as they would be leaving for Algiers early the next morning.

Once Joan had settled Rabia, he hurried back to Joseph’s office and, with a bit of urgency, saluted him:
"Your Highness, I do not mean to question your decision, but my duty compels me to offer my due advice. I’ve had contact with Younes before. He is undoubtedly a man with grand ambitions and extreme cunning."

"You have provided him with a great deal of support, including weapons and millions of livres, but it’s hard to guarantee that he will keep his promises or not collude with other powers."

"Perhaps, you should send some troops to monitor him, to ensure that we get the benefits we deserve."

Joseph gave him an appreciative glance:

"Thank you very much for your advice. Clearly, your concerns are valid. However, I’ve never truly trusted that Younes."

"Ah?"

Joseph smiled and gestured for him to sit down:
"You should know, Mr. Younes once raised an army to betray his father, and after being defeated, fled to Algiers. If he could betray his own father, how could he not betray others?"

Joan nodded repeatedly.

Joseph continued: "Also, do you know Younes’ other identity?"

"Are you referring to the largest smuggler in Algiers?"

Joseph shook his head: "Smuggling is just his public cover. In fact, he is a major shareholder behind the pirates of Algiers."

Previously, the American Charles had bought pirate intelligence from smugglers under Younes, which led Joseph to suspect him.

He was just a smuggler, yet he knew the pirates' routes inside and out. This was obviously suspicious.

So, Joseph had the police department investigate Younes further, and it was discovered that he himself was involved in the pirate business.

This was also the reason he could enjoy a certain degree of freedom in Algiers—by investing in the pirate forces, he could influence the Algiers parliament and eventually secure favorable treatment in the Dahra region. Of course, for Younes, this was just a partnership with the Algiers navy.

Joan exclaimed, "He’s even a pirate?!"

"That’s right. Younes’ fleet usually smuggles goods from Britain to Tunisia, but if they encounter a suitable target along the way, the smuggling ships immediately turn into pirate ships. In fact, information about him can easily be heard in Dahra."

"Oh, and that lady Rabia we met earlier is a fierce pirate leader. She has sold 'white slaves' in Algiers multiple times. I even suspect that the 'white slaves' she sent as gifts were those she had captured from the European coastline."

Joan suddenly seemed to recall something and asked,

"However, Your Highness, I heard that the American bought pirate intelligence from Younes’ men. If Younes has shares in the pirates, then why..."

"The pirate factions are fighting for power," Joseph smiled, "Younes belongs to an external faction and has been in constant conflict with the local factions of Algiers. He’s using the united fleet to strike at his opponents."

Joan nodded silently. From what he knew of Younes, he certainly would be capable of such actions.

Joseph smiled at him:
"See, how can I trust someone who is willing to betray his own allies to cooperate with him?"

Joan, perplexed, asked,
"Then why do you still support him returning to Tunisia?"

He looked up and saw the Crown Prince smiling but silent, realizing he had misspoken. He quickly bowed and said,
"Oh, I’m terribly sorry, Your Highness, that was not something I should have asked."

...

Tunisia.

Kahila Palace.

A woman in her twenties, slender and with distinct Greek features, was turning from side to side in front of a mirror, admiring the French-style gown she was wearing—of course, one customized in the Arab style.

She was none other than Hamid Ali’s most favored concubine, Hafsa.

"Inam, do you think this color is a bit too dark?" She turned to ask a maid standing beside her, "I remember I ordered a lighter one."

"Yes, Your Excellency," before the maid could answer, a female assistant from the nearby tailor shop hurried over, "Is this the one you mean?"

"Mm, help me put it on."

As the maid Inam took the long dress and turned around, the female assistant quickly slipped a note into Hafsa’s hand.

The latter furrowed her brow slightly, glancing at a few of her maids who were busy unfurling the cumbersome long dress. She quickly unfolded the note.

When she saw the special crossed-arc symbol on the paper, she immediately crumpled the note into a small ball and swallowed it, then whispered to the assistant,

"Who gave this to you?"

The assistant whispered back,
"It was your fashion designer. He’s waiting outside the palace."

Hafsa nodded, casually trying on the new gown, before hurriedly walking out of the palace, where a young man was bowing respectfully to her.

"Mr. Zaganos, right? I’m very satisfied with the gown," Hafsa said in an arrogant tone, intentionally walking in the direction far from her guards. "I’d like to order a few more gowns for formal occasions."

"Ah! It’s my honor!" Zaganos quickly lowered his head and followed. If Joan had been there, he would have recognized him immediately as the police agent Isaac.

Hafsa lowered her voice,
"What’s going on?"

Isaac glanced back at the guards and whispered in an almost inaudible voice, “There’s going to be a rebellion soon.”

“What? Does it involve him?!” Hafsa asked nervously.

“Don’t worry, he’s safe,” Isaac replied. “However, he asked me to tell you to find the right moment to inform the Bey of this matter.”

“Ah? Why?”

“You’ll understand the specifics later. For now, just ensure that the Bey knows about the rebellion within seven days. Oh, and there are certain clues you can use…”

Isaac walked past a few guards, raising his voice to mislead them, “Yes, the design will definitely follow popular trends.” Then, lowering his voice again, he added quickly, “Madam, the next part is crucial. Once the conflict starts, you must persuade the Bey to…”

Hafsa’s expression remained calm, but her heart was in turmoil as she carefully committed every word of “Zaganos’” instructions to memory.

Once he finished, she interjected quickly, “Tell him I’ll handle it. And remind him to take care of himself.”

“Understood, madam.”

…

Algiers.

Northwest coast of Dahra.

The sky was dim, and a three-story white palace with tall colonnades and onion-shaped domes loomed against the dusk. A group of guards dressed in orange robes approached the gold-embellished arched door. The lead officer knocked politely and asked,
“Master Younes, do you have any instructions?”

The so-called “instructions” were just routine inspections, conducted morning, noon, and night daily.

Though Younes maintained close relations with the Algiers Navy, he was also the "cash cow" of the Algiers Guards.

Over twenty years ago, Muhammad ibn Hussein and Hamid Ali had borrowed troops from the Algiers Guards to reclaim the Bey’s throne in Tunisia. In return for this “loan,” Tunisia agreed to pay an annual tribute of 50,000 rials to the Algiers Guards.

Younes, as collateral to ensure the Tunisian Bey paid on time, had been “protected” by the Algiers Guards ever since.

Still, Younes was resourceful. He had forged connections with the navy, forcing the guards to allow him relative freedom in Dahra, though he was forbidden to leave.

There was no response from inside the palace. The officer raised his voice:
“Master Younes, are you asleep?”

After asking three times without reply, the officer exchanged a wary look with another, then ordered the soldiers to break down the gilded door.

Inside, the room was empty.

The officer, alarmed, blew a wooden whistle, summoning 50 or 60 soldiers who quickly arrived from various directions.

“He’s gone! Search the area!”

Within ten minutes, the soldiers reported back: not only was Younes missing, but so were his son, two daughters, and personal servants. The bodies of four guards assigned to patrol the area were also discovered.

Pale with fear, the officer personally mounted his horse and rode to report the news to his superiors.

More guards quickly arrived, sealing off nearby roads, while cavalry raced toward the port—if Younes hadn’t yet left by sea, there was still hope of capturing him.

In the night, over twenty horses galloped wildly toward Dahra’s port. Given the Algiers Guards’ sluggish response time, only a small contingent of cavalry could be deployed initially, while many other officers and soldiers were still at home, barely dressed.

Twenty minutes later, the cavalry spotted the faint flicker of torches ahead.

The leading officer cracked his whip and drew his saber, shouting, “Prepare to intercept! Take down anyone who resists, except for Younes!”

“Yes, sir!”

As they drew closer to seven or eight riders ahead, a sudden burst of firelight pierced the night, followed by a series of thunderous gunshots.

Three Algiers Guards fell from their horses, and the others instinctively reined in their mounts, veering aside in alarm.
“They have muskets! It’s an ambush—be careful!”

“What do we do? They seem to have more people…”

“Younes is getting away!”

“I know! Saikli, go back and call for reinforcements! Piri, sneak closer and assess the situation!”

“I…yes, sir!”

Meanwhile, Police Special Agent Pruspour, who had fired the ambush, quickly rallied his men to mount their horses and head toward the port under cover of darkness.

There were only 14 of them—the entirety of the police’s manpower in Algiers. They didn’t know how many pursuers might follow but hoped the illusion of simultaneous fire from their two muskets each would intimidate their enemies under the cover of night.

By the time the Algiers Guards realized the ambushers had fled, more than ten minutes had passed. By then, Younes had already reached the port.

The Algiers pursuers split their forces, with some heading straight to the coastal artillery battery while others informed the navy to dispatch ships for interception.

Soon, a naval galley spotted a small boat moving offshore. At this hour, it was highly unusual for anyone to set out to sea.

The galley immediately issued a warning, but the small boat only sped up, heading toward open water.

Onboard the galley, the naval officer ordered the cannons to be loaded and issued a final warning. Meanwhile, the coastal battery, alerted by signals, prepared to destroy the small boat.

At that moment, a colossal shadow emerged faintly in the dark, like a prehistoric beast crouched on the water’s surface.

Before the Algiers sailors could react, the massive shadow unleashed a barrage of firelight. Several towering water columns erupted ahead of the galley, sending waves that rocked it violently.

“It’s a warship!” the galley commander exclaimed, then frantically ordered, “Retreat! Immediate retreat!”

He could tell that the cannon fire was at least 24-pound caliber. A single hit could have ripped his light patrol galley in half.

The behemoth on the water was none other than the French Navy’s fourth-rate ship-of-the-line, L'Avance!

Seeing the galley retreat rapidly, L'Avance adjusted its angle, aligning its port side with the coastal battery. A volley of cannon fire roared, shaking the battery with tremors.

In truth, naval guns posed little real threat to fortified batteries, especially those recently reinforced by the British with heavy-caliber cannons. Even a first-rate warship would struggle against them.

However, the shockwaves from the bombardment, combined with the dazzling flashes and deafening thunder, frightened the Algiers gunners into firing aimlessly. Most of their British-made shells landed half a nautical mile from L'Avance.

Meanwhile, Younes’ small boat reached a French frigate waiting offshore.

Ropes were lowered, and Younes leapt aboard, gripping the knots to climb up.

French sailors hoisted Younes, his family, and the police agents aboard, then swiftly raised the sails, steering into the open sea.

Behind them, the Algiers Navy finally mobilized, with rowers and sail crews frantically maneuvering seven or eight warships.

But the firepower of L'Avance quickly forced them to scatter. These lightly armed ships, each carrying no more than 18 cannons, were no match for the 60-gun L'Avance—let alone the frigate protecting Younes.

The two French warships sailed directly northward. Upon reaching deep waters, they extinguished all lights, disappearing into the darkness of the sea.

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