xymnovel Chapter 12 Sir Harding, I've finished writing your script.
Chapter 12 Sir Harding, I've finished writing your script.
Deriplis's figure, like a stray dog, disappeared into the morning mist of the palace.
Constantine's face remained expressionless throughout.
Solving a Delipoli problem is just an appetizer before the main course.
The real battle is only just beginning.
He turned around and bowed to his father, who was still furious.
"Father, I need to rest."
King George I looked at his son, whose composure was frightening, nodded, and said in a hoarse voice, "Go. The rest is up to you."
Constantine returned to his bedchamber, but he couldn't fall asleep.
His brain, like a high-speed, sophisticated machine, had already begun frantically planning for the next battle.
He summoned his personal attendant, Alexandros.
Alexandros, who hadn't slept all night, had bloodshot eyes but was unusually excited. Witnessing the prime minister's downfall had instilled in him a profound awe of the young crown prince.
"Your Highness."
"Sir Charles Harding," Constantine stated directly, "the British Ambassador to Greece. I need everything he has."
Constantine's tone left no room for argument.
"Not the nonsense in the official records. I want to know everything about him. His least favorite subject at Eton, the debate club he joined at Oxford, the local rebellions he dealt with and the methods he used when he was the assistant governor of India."
"I want to know what time he gets up every morning, what newspaper he reads, and what brand of black tea he drinks. I want to know who his political backers are in London, which members of Parliament he is close to, and who his political enemies are."
"I need to know his true private opinion of the French, his assessment of our brother-in-law, Crown Prince Wilhelm of Germany, and his level of vigilance towards Tsarist Russia's expansion in the Balkans."
"Even what kind of artworks he likes, which painters he collects, and whether he has any unknown private hobbies."
"Use all our people to dig, buy, and infiltrate. I need a living report on Sir Charles Harding within two days."
Alexandros's heart skipped a beat.
He understood. His Highness the Crown Prince was about to conduct a thorough "analysis" of the representatives of the British Empire.
"Yes, Your Highness!" Alexandros bowed and accepted the order, then turned and quickly left.
For the rest of the day, Constantine locked himself in his study.
He didn't look at the military manuals or handle any political affairs; instead, he drew a complex diagram of relationships on a huge blank sheet of paper.
At the center of the picture is Charles Harding.
Countless lines extend from him, connecting the British Parliament, the Admiralty, the Colonial Office, major banking families, and even Buckingham Palace.
The next day, Alexandros entered the study again with a thick stack of documents.
"Your Highness, everything you requested is here."
"Sir Harding, a staunch Conservative, a loyal follower of the Marquess of Salisbury, and a quintessential imperialist."
"When he was in India, he was known for his iron fist. He once ordered the exile of an entire village that resisted taxes, a cruel method."
"He privately held Germans in utter contempt, considering them 'uncultured nouveau riche,' and was particularly disdainful of our future Crown Prince Wilhelm, whom he called 'a showy peacock.'"
"He was very wary of the Russians' attitude and considered Russia's ambitions over the Straits to be the greatest threat to the British Empire's interests in the Mediterranean."
"He has a habit of having afternoon tea at four o'clock every day, only drinking Timbula tea from Ceylon, and it must be served in Wedgwood bone china teaware."
"His only hobby was collecting ancient Roman coins and sculptures. He thought Greek art was 'too delicate and lacked a sense of power.'"
Precise intelligence reports came from Alexandros' mouth.
As Constantine listened, he quickly took notes on a piece of white paper, underlining certain key information.
"Very good." Constantine put down his pen, a sharp glint in his eyes.
"Alexandros, now you are Sir Charles Harding."
Alexandros was taken aback.
"Sit across from me." Constantine gestured to the chair opposite the desk. "Now, let's begin the mock negotiations. I am Crown Prince Constantine of Greece, and you are the British Ambassador to Greece. I demand that Britain acquiesce to our hardline stance toward the Ottoman Empire."
"start."
Alexandros, steeling himself, adopted the tone of an arrogant British nobleman and began, "Your Highness, I must remind you that Her Majesty the Queen's government has absolutely no desire to see any actions that disrupt the peace in the Balkans..."
"Sir," Constantine interrupted him immediately, leaning forward slightly, exuding a sense of pressure, "is the peace you speak of one where the Ottoman Empire could annex Eastern Rumelia at will, while Greece couldn't even utter a protest?"
"This is an internal matter for the Bulgarians..."
"Is the suffering of our Greek compatriots on the island of Nacret also an internal affair of the Ottoman Empire?"
……
The study echoed with the intense "confrontation" between the two for the entire afternoon.
Constantine had anticipated dozens of possible negotiation scenarios, ranging from threats to inducements, from appeasement to suppression. Whenever Alexandros posed a tricky question, Constantine could immediately offer two or three solutions, repeatedly analyzing which one would be most effective.
The simulated negotiations ended at dusk.
Alexandros was drenched in sweat and utterly exhausted. He felt as if he were not conversing with an eighteen-year-old prince, but rather engaging in a diplomatic contest with decades of experience.
Constantine, however, remained energetic.
He stood up and began issuing a series of instructions.
"The meeting tomorrow will be held in the small reception room in the south wing. The floor-to-ceiling windows there face west, and the afternoon sunlight will shine in from Harding's side and rear, so I won't miss any subtle expression on his face."
"Replace all the British porcelain with black pottery made on our island of Skopelos for the teaware. And for the tea, serve herbal tea from the Greek mountains."
"Take down that painting of my father hunting on the wall. Replace it with the one depicting the Battle of Salamis. I want Sir Harding to walk in and see how the Persian fleet was annihilated by the Athenian navy."
Every detail is filled with undisguised psychological implications and political clashes.
After all the preparations were completed, Constantine went to the fireplace in his study.
He produced the handwritten letter from Deriples, a letter that had already fulfilled its historical mission.
This letter, filled with betrayal and conspiracy, was once the deadly weapon used to bring down the prime minister.
But keeping it now will only create future problems.
Constantine released his grip, and the letter floated gently into the burning fireplace.
The flames immediately licked the edge of the paper, the orange-red tongues greedily devouring the words on it, turning those vile accusations and pleas into black ash bit by bit.
Constantine watched the flame silently until the last scrap of paper disappeared into the air.
Dusk was falling outside the window.
"Know yourself and know your enemy, and you will never be defeated."