1885, I came to save Greece

Chapter 318 The Marquis's Intimidation

Chapter 318 The Marquis's Intimidation

Constantine's words faded in the meeting hall, but they still tugged at the Marquess of Salisbury's heart, causing a chilling pain.

The game has only just begun.

The head of the British Empire, whose face was always etched with scheming and arrogance, was now ashen. He looked at the young Greek crown prince before him, his blue eyes showing no anger, no anxiety, only a chilling confidence.

The Marquess of Salisbury knew that all diplomatic rhetoric and verbal probing had become meaningless. The other side had presented him with a proposal he absolutely could not accept; it was an attempt to undermine the foundation of the British Empire's hegemony in the Eastern Mediterranean.

He slowly stood up, without glancing at Constantine again. The old man straightened his back, which was slightly hunched due to age, and adjusted his collar with meticulous movements.

"That concludes today's meeting."

His voice, once calm, now carried a suppressed undercurrent of tension, like the impending storm. He finished speaking, turned, and walked out of the meeting hall without looking back. His retreating figure was like a bare old oak tree in the dead of winter, stubborn and cold.

Constantine's "final solution" was like a boulder thrown into the stagnant waters of Europe, and the ripples it stirred were far from subsiding. But the Marquess of Salisbury, the guardian of the old world, was thoroughly enraged.

In his view, this was an ultimatum from the defeated to the victors. It was an audacious provocation from an ant. He decided to respond to this "arrogance" in the oldest and most adept way of the British Empire.

Three days later, it was still raining in London.

The news spread like wildfire across Europe via Reuters' telegraph lines. The printing presses of major newspapers roared through the night, the smell of ink filling the morning air of every city.

A news item dominated the front pages of all newspapers: "The British Mediterranean Fleet, ostensibly conducting its annual routine military exercises, departed its naval port in Malta yesterday and is sailing in a grand procession towards the Aegean Sea."

The newspapers contained no words of declaration of war, but the enormous map marking the fleet's course said it all. That massive fleet, composed of steel, cannons, and the British flag, was like a Damocles' sword hanging over Greece, slowly descending.

The shadow of war loomed over Athens.

The atmosphere at the Greek delegation's residence had once again reached a fever pitch. The room was stifling; every breath was heavy and labored.

An elderly earl from the Treasury held a copy of the latest Times in his hand, his withered fingers trembling slightly from the effort. His face was even more ashen than the London sky outside the window.

"The fleet—they actually deployed their fleet!" The old count's voice was hoarse, filled with despair. "This is the last threat, blatant gunboat diplomacy!"

In the living room, the delegation members sat together, but no one spoke. Everyone knew what this meant.

Once that invincible fleet reaches the Aegean Sea, all Greek ports will be blockaded. Foreign trade will be cut off, and the national economy, which has just recovered from the financial crisis, will once again face suffocation. Without maritime transport, the army's supplies and the cities' food will become fatal problems.

The British didn't even need to fire a single shot.

They only needed to keep their fleet there, and that would be enough to cause Greece to collapse without a fight.

Venizelos stood by the window, looking at the damp street outside. His brow was furrowed, and the dim light from his glasses obscured his eyes. Even a politician of his resolute will felt immense pressure when facing the war machine of the British Empire.

Only Constantine remained calm.

He stood before the enormous map of Europe, holding a small blue arrow model representing the British fleet. He personally moved the arrow slowly eastward from Malta, finally stopping at the entrance to the Aegean Sea.

The arrow points to the heart of Greece.

There was no trace of panic on his face.

For the past three days, he had been waiting. Waiting for the Marquess of Salisbury to make a move.

He knew that the shrewd prime minister would inevitably bare the sharpest teeth of the British Empire once diplomatic means failed.

Now, the moment of truth has finally arrived.

Salisbury played his trump card.

It was his turn.

"Mr. Venizelos." Constantine didn't turn around; his voice was clear and steady, breaking the deathly silence in the room.

Venizelos turned around.

"Please, on my behalf, issue an urgent note to the ambassadors of France, Italy, and Austria-Hungary." Constantine spoke slowly, but every word carried an undeniable force.

"Tell them that due to force majeure," Greece's proposed "Eastern Mediterranean Free Trade Area" plan may be forced to be suspended.

"At the same time, please subtly suggest to them that if negotiations break down, Greece, in order to protect itself, might have to consider opening the port of Piraeus exclusively to a non-Mediterranean country as a friendly supply port for its navy," in exchange for that country's military protection.

Venizelos's eyes lit up.

This move was extremely ruthless!

This was a message to the French and Italians: if you continue to stand idly by, this prize that was about to be within your grasp will be swallowed up by the Russians! It was also a warning to Austria-Hungary: what does it mean for them to have a Mediterranean where a Russian fleet can freely enter and exit?

"I understand, Your Highness." Venizelos nodded emphatically and immediately turned to carry out the task.

After seeing Venizelos off, Constantine turned to look at Alexandros, who had been standing in the shadows in the corner.

"Alexandros".

"Yes, Your Highness." The shadowy attendant stepped forward.

Constantine's gaze sharpened as he walked toward the study, beckoning to Alexandros at the same time.

"Come with me."

The two walked one after the other into the secret room that only Constantine was allowed to enter. The door closed quietly behind them.

"It's time to activate our chess piece in the Russian embassy." Constantine's voice was calm and utterly unwavering.

He was referring to Vasily Orlov, the Russian embassy's third secretary, who had been heavily bribed by Greek intelligence and was a compulsive gambler and avaricious.

Constantine walked to a locked metal filing cabinet and unlocked it with a key. From the innermost part, he took out a folder wrapped in tarpaulin.

He opened the folder, which contained a document he had prepared beforehand.

It was a fragment of a seemingly incomplete "top secret document" forged with special ink and paper.

"Alexandros," he said, handing over the document. The paper felt cold and dangerous to the touch.

"Your task is to get this document into the hands of the British, unwittingly."

Constantine's eyes were sharp, revealing the edge of a drawn sword.

"I don't care what methods you use, whether it's bribery, theft, or staging a play."

"I only care about the results."