Chapter 27 : Departure

In the few days left to him in Athens, Samson had decided that he now wished to proceed with the meeting with Eleutherios Venizelos which he would have conducted in June, had Avret Hissar not intervened. He asked Elliot to arrange the interview. Samson assured himself that it was not connected to any curiosity which might have been aroused by Kerr’s undisclosed agenda. To his surprise, Venizelos agreed to an immediate appointment.

                The Premier was more than especially effusive when Samson was shown in to his office. Whether this was due to his belief that Samson was intimately connected with the Foreign Office, or simply relief (as he knew from Elliot that Samson was about to depart) was something the Premier kept to himself: ‘My dear Major Samson, I do hope you are now fully recovered. Whatever were you doing at Avret Hissar? No, do not tell me, although I suspect it had nothing to do with Sir Francis. I have never met a more upright diplomat! He is something of a throwback, would you agree? Unfortunately, twentieth century diplomacy can no longer be conducted by nineteenth century methods.’

                ‘Or with nineteenth century weaponry?’ Samson parried.

                Venizelos was in the unusual position, for him, of knowing that his visitor knew something, but not how much. In the normal course of events, Sir Francis Elliot was remarkably candid, if not indiscreet, in his meetings with the Premier. Unhappily for Venizelos, relations between Elliot and Samson had been distinctly cool. It was precisely to gauge how much Samson might be aware of that Venizelos had granted the interview with such alacrity. ‘We are a small country, Major. We need powerful friends,’ the Premier reasoned.

                ‘You would perhaps do better to put your faith in disinterested friends. There may come a time when Germany will want something other than money for the use of her guns and ships.’

                ‘We are well aware of German ambitions in this region. They centre, not on us, but on Turkey. The Turkish Empire totters, Major, and soon it will fall. You know this and I know this. How disinterested will you Government be when that happens? Have you not designs on Mesopotamia and the Persian Gulf? Does not France covet Syria? At least, with their railway, the German designs are clear for all to see.’

                ‘And what of yours, Sir?’

                Venizelos shook his head. ‘We have more than enough territory now, Major. If a war has to be fought at all, it is as well to emerge with something tangible. It will take years for us to develop Macedonia. We intend to make Salonica the second city of Greece. We have not the resources to look elsewhere for conquest; besides, the people are tired of fighting.’

                ‘So the “Great Dream” is just that? No more than an illusion?’ Samson was beginning to enjoy himself.

                ‘Come now, Samson, even if we should be victorious against the Turks, do you really think the Russians would let us have Constantinople? The idea of the Great Dream is a useful incentive to convince the people of the necessity for a strong army and, yes, a strong navy. Enormous sacrifices will have to be made — do you know the cost of a battleship these days? But with the right incentive people are always willing to make a sacrifice. The prospect, therefore, of Greeks ruling at Constantinople is sufficient to allow us to build up our naval and military strength without the sort of domestic unrest which the Turkish arms’ expenditure has caused. You have heard of the recent riots in Galata?’

                ‘You yourself have long extolled the historic inevitability of the Great Dream. Surely it cannot be that cynical?’ Venizelos’ face betrayed no sign that he recognized the moral aspect of the question. ‘All right, then,’ continued Samson, ‘if we ignore Constantinople what then of Smyrna — are there no plans for its incorporation into a Greater Greece?’

                ‘None whatsoever. We shall have enough on our hands keeping the Bulgarians at bay on our northern border. To open up an entirely new front would be nonsensical.’

                The time had come, Samson decided, to indulge in a bluff: ‘Forgive me, I thought Admiral Kerr had been instructed to prepare a plan … ’

                ‘Kerr has received no such instructions,’ Venizelos snapped immediately. ‘The Admiral has perhaps misinterpreted a loose comment of my colleague, Stratos. His English is less than perfect. I will set the Admiral straight, at once.’

                Samson had got the reaction he hoped for. ‘I’m sorry, sir, I had no intention of causing trouble for Kerr. It was no more than a small indiscretion which I should not have repeated. I guarantee it will go no further.’

                Venizelos relaxed. ‘I think, perhaps, you have baited a line and I have nibbled at it. Come now, Major, let us be realists. Does your country not have plans drawn up in the event of war with Germany, with France, with Russia, even, dare I add, with the United States? We, too, have enemies and we must also, therefore, make plans. But that is all they are, Major — plans. It is not in our interests for the Ottoman Empire to be dismembered; however, should that day come, we have to be ready. Do not read into it any more than that.’ Venizelos made a how of consulting his appointment diary. ‘I understand you are soon to return to Constantinople? If that is so, perhaps you will be good enough to repeat what I have just said to your Mr Mallet? It may help him in his dealings with the Turks.’

                ‘I will assure the Ambassador of your pacific intent, sir. Does your sentiment with regard to Smyrna also hold good for the disputed islands?’

                ‘If you will forgive me, Major, I have a pressing engagement elsewhere.’

Admiral Mark Kerr approached the Palace gates tentatively. Although he had known King Constantine for many years, it had always been on a private, social basis, through his friendship with Battenberg. Now, however, he was to have an official interview as Commander-in-Chief of Constantine’s Navy. The Palace itself was an imposing, almost severe, building of three squat stories. If the rationale behind its construction in the 1830s, from the designs of Gärtner of Munich, had been to assert the authority of the newly imposed monarchy, the effect now was to make the building stand out uncomfortably amongst its later, and more elegant, surroundings. ‘Too many windows,’ thought Kerr idly to himself as he walked past the oleanders framing the marble fountain and towards the imposing Doric colonnade shading the entrance.

                A figure appeared, dwarfed by the columns, and bounded enthusiastically down the steps, hand outstretched: ‘Admiral Kerr? I am George Melas, the King’s Private Secretary. It is a pleasure to meet you. Please, follow me.’

                They entered the Palace, which was surprisingly bare inside. Its austerity was in contrast to the warmth of the Royal villa in Corfu, at which Kerr fondly remembered his last meeting with the King. As they passed up the stairs, dominated by the enormous painting of Prometheus and the Eagle by the King’s favourite artist, Block (a fellow Dane), Melas chatted amiably to alleviate the oppressiveness: ‘Believe me, Admiral, there is no formality here. You have only to ask and I will arrange an immediate interview for you, without aid-de-camp or Court Chamberlain, if necessary.’

                Kerr was eventually led into the small, comfortably furnished morning room Constantine used as an office. The King looked up from his writing desk, greeting the Admiral with his familiar smile. Constantine’s bald head was offset by an extravagant moustache: it was a face of, not overt intelligence, but solidity; of a soldier’s common sense, but with a streak of stubbornness hinted at by an extremely thick neck.

                ‘My dear Kerr, how delightful to see you again.’

                ‘Your Majesty: I haven’t seen you since the dreadful crime at Salonica. Please allow me to express my sincere … ’

                ‘All that is past, Admiral. We have now to ensure our father did not die in vain.’ He turned to his Secretary. ‘You may go, Melas,’ he barked. ‘There is no need for a record of this meeting.’

                As soon as the Secretary had departed, the King rose, shook the Admiral’s hand warmly and beckoned him across to a sofa by the window. Kerr looked quizzically at the King, curious at his untypically harsh treatment of Melas. Constantine was forced to explain: ‘That young man is altogether too ambitious. He is too keen to know everything that transpires in the Palace. I can only escape him when I go to Tatöi, but I do not have to have him hovering around me when I am meeting an old friend. I am not altogether sure I trust him, Kerr, and I advise you to utter nothing but platitudes in his presence. Now, what do you think of my Navy?’

                ‘From what I have seen, Sir, the spirit is very good; I believe also that Stratos is very sound; Condouriotis also, although I have not yet met him, is from all accounts extremely capable … ’

                ‘But? … ’

                ‘The materiel does leave something to be desired, Sir.’

                ‘Something to be desired!’ the King snorted. ‘I see you have got the British gift for understatement. As it stands now, my fleet would struggle to defeat the Montenegrin Navy! You know the Montenegrin Navy, Admiral?’

                ‘I am not sure that … ’

                ‘That buffoon Nicholas has put two small guns on Rumija, his “Royal” yacht, and he thinks we do not know about it! That is the Montenegrin Navy!!’ The King’s face dissolved in laughter. ‘Now, what would you say if I told you we were on the point of acquiring a super-dreadnought?’ Constantine put great emphasis on the qualifying adjective.

                ‘My reaction, Sir, would be the same as it was to Monsieur Stratos. I do not deny that the possession of such a ship would be extremely useful, but I am forced to admit my personal belief that the money would be better spent spread over the purchase of, say, another six submarines.’

                ‘I see … ’ This was clearly not what the King wanted to hear. ‘So you could look with equanimity at a Turkish purchase of this dreadnought?’

                Kerr groaned inwardly before repeating the lecture he had already delivered to Venizelos. This time, however, he felt the atmosphere was more receptive. Eventually, he believed, the King came round to his side almost entirely, but with one remaining query.

                ‘But surely, Admiral, you would prefer such a vessel for your flagship?’

                ‘That, I have to admit, would be a pleasing prospect. However I am quite willing to exercise command from the open bridge of a destroyer if necessary.’

                They swapped stories amiably for almost an hour. After he had departed, Melas re-entered the morning room: ‘Shall I prepare an aide-memoire of the interview with Admiral Kerr, Sir?’

                The King’s demeanour changed instantly: ‘No, Melas, you may not! That will be all.’

When he returned to the Legation Kerr was summoned to the First Secretary’s office: there, already hard at work, was William Erskine. Beaumont had the rest of the day off, preparatory to sailing that evening for Constantinople. Erskine looked up: ‘There is an urgent message for you to see the Premier, Admiral. I have made a tentative appointment for you in … ’ Erskine consulted his pocket-watch, ‘forty-five minutes, in the Premier’s room at the National Assembly.’

                Kerr was a few minutes early for his appointment and was then kept waiting by the Premier. Eventually, he was shown through. The rebuke which was to have been delivered was forgotten. Venizelos’ face was set in a hardened stare, his jaw tightly clenched: ‘Well, Admiral, it would appear as if you will have the chance to put your theory into operation. One of our agents in Paris has just learned that a French bank has agreed to loan the Turks the money to purchase Rio de Janeiro. Our own negotiations with the French Government have reached an impasse. There is nothing more we can do. A French bank!’ Suddenly the mask slipped sufficiently for the Premier’s concern to show through: he looked tired and careworn. Kerr began as if to speak; however, all Venizelos could do was to mutter, ‘A French bank,’ softly to himself, as if trying to convince himself of the awful news.

                The Admiral left Venizelos, still muttering, and went immediately back to the Legation where he wrote a letter to Battenberg to go into that night’s bag. As he was writing his letter, which, despite the apparent spontaneity, he had thought deeply about, Henry Beaumont and his family and Major Lionel Samson were preparing to board the steamer at the Piraeus. Sir Francis Elliot had made his farewells that morning: he was not sorry to see the Major depart, but he had known Beaumont for four years. It was true they had not seen eye to eye over everything, particularly the extension of the Greek naval blockade of the Dardanelles after the armistice had been concluded during the First Balkan War, but he had become used to Beaumont. Still, he reflected, Willie Erskine was obviously a first rate chap; perhaps now London would pay greater heed to the importance of the work of the Legation.

                The junior members of the Legation had, however, all made the short journey to see their colleagues off safely. And, although he did not know it, secreted in the crowd waving goodbye to the steamer was Achilles, who would miss the Major, though not the peace and quiet he hoped would now ensue. The prospect of so much money for reporting what he might happen to overhear was enticing; whether it was reward enough for continuing to risk his life was another matter. As he pondered this question, Rachel Summers passed in front of him, having just arrived from the Naval School. She had hoped to be able to persuade Alec to accompany her to the quay as she believed this would make the parting easier. But Alec could not leave the course he was conducting at Poros.

                She cared deeply for Lionel Samson; she might even have come to love him, given time; but she was not in love with him. The disparity in their ages and outlook had not mattered when she had spent every afternoon with him discussing topics which Alec dismissed as not the sort of thing a husband and wife conversed about: politics, philosophy, religion. For, although he did not broadcast the fact widely, Samson had made a comparative study of the great Eastern religions and believed that they might have something to offer him which was not available through the unenlightened teaching of his own Church. Though he had long since ceased to acknowledge any proprietary interest in the church of his upbringing.

                Rachel at last found the small group clustered around the Major and Beaumont. She knew that with his departure imminent he would be emotional, and the scene at the quayside would be difficult. She had not, however, counted on the Major’s resolve. ‘Thank you for all you have done for me,’ he said as he held her hand. ‘I know that, what I mean is, I hope I have done nothing to embarrass you.’

                ‘You could never do that Lionel.’ A siren suddenly wailed insistently, causing them both to turn in its direction; there was little time left. Oblivious now to all else around him, Samson began to speak, until it became apparent that Rachel could not hear. He put his lips to her ears: ‘I owe my life to a German shell, a Greek doctor who may, or may not, be a murderer, and, most of all, you. I hope it will have been worth saving.’ Rachel looked away, as she placed a delicately embroidered handkerchief to her face. ‘Now I am embarrassing you. There is one thing I have to say before I leave: I entertained a fantasy, for surely that was what it was. But it was a fantasy which gave my life meaning when it had none. Thank you for willingly being a part of that fantasy.’ He leant forward and kissed her lightly on the forehead. The siren sounded again. From behind him he heard Henry Beaumont calling out to come along. He turned to find Beaumont at the moment when the crowd, surging forward, carried Rachel away from him. Beaumont took the Major by the arm to guide him to the gangway, as Samson searched one last time for her face.

                ‘Come along, old man,’ urged Beaumont, ‘she is about to sail.’

                The steamer edged warily out of the port, and set a course almost due east, heading for Smyrna, the first port of call. Framed between the horizon and a continuous low bank of cloud, the sun’s dying rays slanted almost horizontally across the bay, etching out the landscape in relief. Above it all, still visible, floated the Parthenon; Major Samson wondered if it would be the last time he saw it. He also wondered if he would ever see Rachel Summers again.

Some days later Prince Louis of Battenberg opened the dispatch which had just been delivered to him by a Foreign Office messenger. He read the contents, then slumped back in his chair, emitting a long, low sigh. His right hand, holding the letter from Kerr, hung limply over the arm of the chair. Without realizing it, his fingers relaxed and the sheet of paper fell to the floor. By chance, Winston Churchill happened to pass the still-open door. Seeing the First Sea Lord in an unaccustomed attitude of repose, he casually inquired as to its meaning. Roused from the contemplation that his fate was no longer his to control, Battenberg mouthed an inaudible comment, retrieved the letter from the floor and hurriedly deposited it in the top drawer of his desk. As soon as Churchill, quietly amused that he had caught the ever-conscientious Battenberg slacking, was lost from sight the First Sea Lord slowly opened the drawer, reading the letter backwards, line by line, as he did so. He then read it once more, hoping that, somehow, he had misinterpreted its meaning; but there was no mistake:

“Athens

Friday

My dear Louis,

I have just learned that Turkey has bought Rio de Janeiro. Venizelos is close to panic. I have yet to see Stratos or the King following this news but on the basis of conversations I have already had with them, I believe I can convert them fully to my views and that this may be a blessing in disguise. What I want to know is this: if war between Greece and Turkey is likely in the spring or summer of next year could we get from Great Britain some submarines and destroyers just completed and if possible a light cruiser or two, in exchange for those of ours which will be partially built? No one in England seems to realise the situation here and how easily war can come. However, war or no war we want help and encouragement. Another point – If war breaks out in the spring or summer when we are so weak, I feel I should change my nationality and fight for these people. I know it means ruin for me afterwards, but I have a strong feeling that I should do so. I would not feel so, except for the fact that they will be so weak, having no one who knows how to work a flotilla and I may make the difference of victory or defeat. I am quite serious about this and only ask you to be so good as to find out the legal point. I prefer not to be an outlaw, and I prefer to be able to come home some day. Please let me know the legal way of doing this thing and I think I may have to do it.

                                Ever yours affectionately.”

If the war forecast by Kerr should come about, Battenberg now realized that his position would be untenable. The future of the job he loved so much was now in the unstable hands of Admiral Mark Kerr.

The pouch from Athens, which had contained Kerr’s letter, was unusually full containing, amongst other items, the long overdue Annual Report. In his room at the Foreign Office Eyre Crowe, less interested in what had transpired in 1912 then what was about to occur in 1914, held before him two dispatches in particular: the last one to be written by Major Samson, and the first to be written by William Erskine. They were mutually contradictory, presenting between them a conflicting account of the state of affairs in Greece. Crowe was used to the effusiveness of someone new to a post, attempting to make an impression. He was thus able to discount some of the all too obvious enamour with which Erskine described Venizelos’ position within the country, and his plans for the future. On the other hand, Crowe had also become accustomed to Major Samson’s increasing cynicism. The Major had become convinced that Venizelos was two-faced. He was sure that there was some grandiose scheme afoot, which, in all probability, involved an invasion of Asia Minor, probably in the vicinity of Smyrna and with, or without, German assistance. Samson would do no more than speculate that Kerr might have become involved in planning for the scheme, although he believed personally it was more a question of the Admiral being swept along on the tide of Greek ambition. And, although he did not state the position so boldly, if Crowe really did want to ascertain what Churchill was up to, it was up to Crowe himself to find out. A word in Grey’s ear should be sufficient for Sir Edward (who often gave the impression that he would have welcomed a less onerous ministerial office) was in fact singularly jealous of his power to direct foreign affairs.

                Nevertheless, by making allowances where necessary, Crowe was thus able to arrive at what he believed to be a more-or-less accurate appraisal: that any trust placed in Venizelos was in danger of being betrayed but that there was nothing else to do. No-one else in the country (despite the schemes of the German Minister) had sufficient power to topple the wily Cretan. While his position was thus secure, he could scheme to his heart’s content safe in the knowledge that he was reasonably assured of the backing of France and Britain. It would do Venizelos good, thought Crowe, for a warning to be delivered that Entente support was not a reed on which he could lean indefinitely; for it might snap and pierce his own hand. Failing some new diplomatic adventure by the conniving Premier, Crowe was convinced that all would remain quiet in the Balkans until the New Year. The final piece of information he needed was provided that very morning by a cable from Robertson, the Minister to Brazil, confirming that Turkey had just placed a down-payment on the super-dreadnought, Rio de Janeiro. The first snow would soon fall in the Balkans, precluding any land campaign; and there was nothing to be done at sea until Turkey’s new dreadnoughts were ready to leave. So, although he could look forward to a quiet winter, Eyre Crowe could foresee nothing but trouble for the spring and summer of 1914.

The war foreseen by most informed commentators, once the winter had relented, had not come about. Although it would not be complete till August 1914, once the Turks had purchased Rio de Janeiro, which they had promptly re-named Sultan Osman, Venizelos, ever the pragmatist, was left with no option but to put his plans into abeyance. He reluctantly agreed to sign a preliminary peace treaty with the Turks in December 1913, ordered Stratos to suspend all offensive planning, and instructed Admiral Kerr to find a battleship. Despite the Admiral’s protestations, the Premier was adamant upon this point. Submarines and smaller vessels would have to wait; Greece needed a battleship to counter Sultan Osman and Greece would have a battleship — at any price.

                Kerr would have been deeply disappointed had he known that his dispirited letter to Battenberg, describing the recent turn of events, and admitting that little was likely to happen until the battleship for Greece had been procured, provided the First Sea Lord a bright spot in a bleak winter. Prince Louis felt like a man reprieved: there would, he admitted to himself, be another flashpoint when Sultan Osman was ready to sail, but that would not be for many months. In the meantime, the First Sea Lord agreed to make discreet inquiries on Kerr’s behalf amongst the major naval Powers regarding redundant vessels, though he knew full well that the Japanese would never agree to sell the obvious candidate, Kongo, no matter what the Greeks offered. The were some battleships being built in America for the Argentine navy though Battenberg knew, as did all Naval Ministries, that there was talk of trouble with the turbine engines. He hoped that Kerr would not suggest a British ship to the Greeks; the margin in the North Sea was fine enough as it was, but one could not trust Lloyd George not to argue in favour of the millions of pounds such a sale would bring into the Treasury’s coffers.