1885, I came to save Greece

Chapter 15 Bounced Promises and Countermeasures

Sir Harding adjusted his posture and lightly flicked away non-existent dust from the crease of his trousers with his fingertips.

This gesture is his habit whenever he prepares to deliver a concluding speech; it's a signal that a ceremony is about to begin.

He spoke slowly and deliberately, like an elder addressing a younger person, with the standard London high society accent. Every word was pronounced with textbook precision, exuding an unquestionable authority.

"Your Highness, first of all, please allow me, on behalf of Her Majesty's government, to express my appreciation for the calm and restraint you have shown in handling the recent domestic crisis."

The opening remarks are always cheap flattery.

"The Queen's Government has always regarded the Kingdom of Greece as its most important friend and partner on the eastern Mediterranean coast."

Sir Harding's gaze swept across Constantine's young face, trying to catch a glimpse of honor or excitement.

However, no.

His Highness the Crown Prince sat quietly, a perfectly measured smile on his face, like a student attentively listening to a lecture. His gaze was focused, as if he were carefully memorizing every word.

This reaction surprised Sir Harding, but he was more pleased. Look at what an obedient child he is.

"We are deeply concerned about peace and stability in the Mediterranean. Any unilateral actions that disrupt the status quo are something we do not wish to see," Sir Harding said, his tone becoming more forceful, as if he were admonishing a disobedient student. "Therefore, we have expressed our 'serious concern' to the Ottoman government in Constantinople through the most formal diplomatic channels."

He deliberately paused on the words "serious concern," a term in diplomatic language that, while not particularly powerful, is extremely insulting.

He awaited Constantine's reaction.

He maintained his calm smile, even nodding slightly, as if thanking the Empire for speaking up for him.

Sir Harding felt a slight displeasure, like punching cotton. This boy was a bit more shrewd than he had imagined, but it didn't matter; young people always cared about their image.

He decided to raise the stakes and throw out a second "gift".

"At the same time," he continued, "I can assure you that the British Empire will give the Kingdom of Greece its most steadfast moral support."

He deliberately slowed down his speech when he mentioned the word "morality." It's a word politicians love to use; it sounds weighty, but it has no real meaning, not even as good as a ship full of expired cookies.

"We believe, and will urge all parties to believe, that rational and peaceful negotiations are the only way to resolve all disputes."

The subtext of this statement is clear: no war allowed, let's sit down and talk things over, and we, Britain, are the high and mighty arbitrator. You Greeks have to behave yourselves to get a scrap.

He saw that Constantine's smile seemed to deepen, and he nodded at him again.

Sir Harding's confidence has now been completely restored.

It seems the child understood.

He cleared his throat, deciding to unleash his final, and what he considered his "trump card"—a gift that would move any Greek politician to tears.

"Your Highness, I know and fully understand the Greek people's national feelings toward Crete." His tone became kind and sincere, as if he were a friend who genuinely cared about the other person.

"I can make a promise to you. Regarding the Crete issue, which has been of concern to your country, Her Majesty's government promises, at a suitable time in the future," he once again used the most classic time adverb in diplomatic language, "to 'seriously consider' and 'support' Greece's legitimate interests on Crete."

"I'll consider it carefully."

"support".

Two incredibly beautiful words combined to form a seemingly irresistible empty promise. As for what constitutes "the right time" and what constitutes "legitimate interest," the right to interpret that will forever remain in London's hands.

He's finished speaking.

The entire explanation flowed smoothly and flawlessly. It both demonstrated the majesty of the empire and conveyed ample "goodwill."

Sir Harding leaned back comfortably against the sofa, his hands clasped over his stomach, waiting.

He waited for Constantine's face to light up with tears of gratitude, for the young prince to rise and express his heartfelt thanks to Her Majesty the Queen for her kindness and to the British Empire for its generosity.

Then, the meeting could end perfectly within his predetermined fifteen minutes.

However, none of what was expected happened.

Constantine maintained that polite smile throughout; he didn't interrupt or even move.

After Sir Harding finished speaking, the room fell into a brief silence.

Constantine did not stand up excitedly as expected; he did not even look at Hardin.

He simply reached out and picked up the cup of herbal tea on the table, which had already cooled down a bit.

Then, he brought the teacup to his lips and gently, slowly blew on a few dry grass leaves floating on the water.

"call--"

A gentle breeze created ripples on the water's surface, and a few withered leaves swirled and drifted to the other side of the cup.

The gesture was casual and calm, as if Sir Harding's impassioned speech was nothing more than an unimportant, lengthy formality.

Time passed second by second.

Sir Harding unconsciously clenched his crossed hands.

The composure and arrogance on his face were gradually being eroded by an emotion called "impatience".

What is this kid doing? Is he deliberately humiliating me?

Just as he was about to break the awkward silence, Constantine finally put down his teacup.

"despair."

The ceramic cup and saucer made a soft, yet clear, sound, like the tolling of a bell.

Constantine looked up at Sir Harding.

He spoke.

But what he said was a crazy thing that made Sir Harding's brain instantly shut down.

"Sir, what you said is very good."

"But we are not discussing war or territory now."

Sir Harding was stunned.

Not war? Not territory? Then what are we sitting here for? To taste your damn country herbal tea?

For the first time, the smile on Constantine's face disappeared.

Instead, there was a seriousness on his face that Sir Harding had never seen before, a mixture of heaviness, worry, and even some indescribable weariness.

At that moment, his clear blue eyes seemed to transform into two bottomless whirlpools.

Constantine leaned forward slightly, a movement that instantly closed the distance between the two and shattered the psychological advantage that Sir Harding had created.

He looked directly into Harding's eyes and said, word by word:

"We're discussing the Kingdom of Greece..."

"...The country is about to go bankrupt."

boom!

Sir Harding felt as if something inside his head had been smashed to pieces by a heavy hammer.

All the speeches, contingency plans, and psychological game scripts he had prepared for this meeting were torn to shreds by this young man in the most unreasonable way.

Then, he threw it into the stove at his feet, leaving not even ashes.

Bankrupt?

This word was like an invisible hand, gripping his throat.

A country on the verge of bankruptcy doesn't need "moral support" or "vague promises" about territory...

What it needs is money!

A person driven mad by poverty, or a country driven mad by poverty, is capable of anything.

All of Sir Harding's arrogance and composure vanished in that instant.

Looking at Constantine's young face, which was no longer smiling, he felt a chill for the first time.

The diplomatic strategy was torn up.