Chapter 29 : The Banquet

Admiral Milne’s flagship glided warily past the entrance to the Golden Horn and continued on, up the Bosphorus, to anchor just off the Yildiz Palace. From his vantage point on the balcony of the German Embassy, Baron Hans von Wangenheim snorted and turned to his Naval Attaché. ‘How typical! Always wanting to spit in our soup!’

                Hans Humann smiled generously: ‘I would allow them their moment of glory, Baron. I know that Djemal Pasha will have his technical experts crawling all over the ship, as he did with Goeben, and I can assure you the comparison will not be flattering to the British.’

                ‘Bah! I’m not concerned about which ship is better. How does it look, however, when the British Commander, who always before has made do with his little torpedo boat, suddenly appears in a battle cruiser? What of our prestige, Humann? Mallet will spend a fortune to try to outdo us, but then he can afford to. It will be a big feather in his cap. Grey will be insufferable — I pity poor Lichnowsky.’

                Humann, having seen enough, returned to his office. He picked up the note from von Stempel, the Military Attaché, who had gone off to the Dardanelles to shadow Cunliffe-Owen. Despite von Stempel’s best efforts, he had not been able to ascertain the precise function of Major Samson at the British Embassy. Could Humann possibly look into it, in his absence? Humann knew the name from somewhere, but could not place it; he looked out the window as Inflexible’s saluting gun fired.

Admiral Milne picked up the solid gold plate in front of him and juggled it, trying to judge the weight, before carefully replacing it between the gold cutlery. ‘I can assure you, Admiral,’ remarked Gerald Wellesley, ‘it really does make the food taste better!’ After his fraught interview with the Sultan the previous day, which had not gone well (he had described Mehmet as an “imbecile” to Ryan and had been overheard), the Admiral was grateful to be on more familiar territory, at the grand banquet in honour of the visit of the British Mediterranean Squadron.

                Course followed course, served to all the assembled members of the diplomatic community while (and it was done in such a fashion that no-one would have noticed) the members of Saïd Halim’s Government received smaller proportions of the same food. The Sultan hoped for something in return for lavishing such hospitality upon his foreign guests; from the Grand Vizier and his cronies he sought nothing and expected nothing. Besides, as far as he was concerned, there were too many such functions. The Sultan stifled a yawn, smiled good naturedly at Louis Mallet, and then noticed Saïd Halim also yawning, causing his own smile to turn to a scowl. The Grand Vizier, unconcerned at receiving such implied disapprobation, was in the process of repeating the yawn when a messenger tapped him lightly on the shoulder. Saïd Halim listened with faint interest initially but then, gradually at first, the meaning of the message became apparent. The corners of his mouth edged upwards slightly, exposing a hint of teeth; then the smile broadened. He was still grinning after the messenger had been waved away. Then the expression changed once more, to one of mock concern. The Grand Vizier tapped his glass with the golden blade of his knife; the conversation had reached a crescendo which refused to die away. He tapped his glass again and rose from his chair: ‘Your Excellencies, Ladies and Gentlemen!’

                The talking stopped with the single exception of a heated debate between Captain Loxley and Hans Humann. Djemal Pasha, seated next to the Marine Attaché, dug him in the ribs at which both Loxley and Humann abruptly ceased their argument and turned sheepishly to face the Grand Vizier.

                ‘Ladies and Gentleman: I have just received a message which I fear will have a bearing on each of us. The heir to the Austrian throne, the Archduke Franz Ferdinand, has today been shot and mortally wounded in Sarajevo. The assassin, who is in police custody as I speak, has been identified as a Bosnian Serb. The repercussions from this awful deed threaten to run deep and I am sure you would wish to contact your Foreign Ministries as soon as possible. In the meantime, my Government will enter into a state of mourning in honour of the Archduke’s memory. All official functions are hereby cancelled.’ The Grand Vizier turned smartly and departed in animated conversation with Monsieur Toshev, the volatile Bulgarian Minister.

                The officers of HMS Inflexible remained where they were, somewhat bemused by this turn of events; not so the members of the various Embassies and Legations, who could now be found huddled together in anxious enclaves segregated along the lines of the major Power groupings. While Maurice Bompard, the French Ambassador, wearily anticipated a Third Balkan War and no more, Michael de Giers, his Russian counterpart was altogether more circumspect. ‘You cannot deny the fact,’ he emphasized, ‘that Austria-Hungary is now involved. It cannot remain a Balkan War if a Power becomes involved. If the Austrians behave rashly and foolishly, as they usually do, there is a risk of any conflict spilling out into other areas. You cannot deny that this is a serious complication.’

                ‘But that is exactly what I do deny!’ declared Bompard. ‘Come now, we have all heard the rumours. Who is to say that Franz Joseph is not this very minute breathing a sigh of relief that his nephew is denied the throne? What is to be gained by war? Who will benefit? What is your opinion?’ Bompard turned to Louis Mallet.

                The British Ambassador dare not admit it, but all he could think of was how this news might affect the prospect of his forthcoming leave. ‘I tend to agree,’ he answered half-heartedly, leaving Bompard and de Giers to wonder what precisely it was he was agreeing to. Before they could resolve the issue, Henry Beaumont, who had been seated next to Lionel Samson, approached Mallet with the recommendation that they should return at once to the Embassy; and it would be preferable if Admiral Milne and his senior officers accompanied them. As one-by-one the guests rose to take their leave, Major Samson found himself isolated. There was nothing for him to concern himself about; he had not wanted to attend the function in the first place, and now all he desired was the quickest journey back to his villa in Therapia. He was able to catch Beaumont’s eye and gestured that he was going to head towards the exit; Beaumont nodded. There was no need for him to accompany the others to the Embassy.

                The Major walked outside and stood in the caressing breeze, listening to the sounds emanating from the small vessels anchored just offshore. Voices floated across the Bosphorus: the voices of ordinary people talking of ordinary things, unaware that a shot fired in a city they might not have heard of was about to change their lives. For many of them, although they could not have known it, their death warrant had just been signed and there was not a thing they could do about it. Then the smell of cooking assaulted his nostrils: the aroma coming from the Sultan’s kitchens, as the remaining food spoiled, mixed with the odour of peasant meals. The Major’s eyes watered from the effects of the time he had spent in the smoke-filled banqueting hall. He felt lost. It would be impossible now, he thought, to decline Mallet’s “invitation” to return to Athens. He should have gone with Cunliffe-Owen to the Dardanelles and kept out of sight; but how was he to know that those shots would be fired?

                He closed his eyes and his head filled with images: Geroulanos, Triantafyllakos, Quadt, and, above all, Hoffmann. According to one of Fitzmaurice’s last reports before his supposed breakdown Hoffmann was, at the time, still convalescing; but that was five months ago and Ryan’s sources of information were not as comprehensive as his predecessor. Wherever Hoffmann was now would be the place where he was most assured of fomenting trouble. If, Samson reasoned, Bulgaria was bound to side with Germany and Austria-Hungary while Serbia was tied to Russia, the two prizes which remained to be claimed by either side were Greece and Roumania. Unquestionably, he thought, Greece was the greater prize. Whoever controlled Greece controlled the Aegean and the approaches to the Adriatic. Serbia could be completely isolated;  Turkey could be threatened; Bulgaria could be kept in check. If Hoffmann were active once more Samson was sure he could be found in Athens.

                Samson felt nauseous. Through the miasma, more voices came to him — raised voices; shouting; an argument somewhere. He listened for a moment, trying to make sense of the dispute, and then, as he slowly walked away yet another voice called after him: ‘It’s Major Samson, isn’t it? I have the curious feeling we have met before. Am I mistaken?’ Samson reached for his cigarette case to give himself time to think. In the end it was not necessary, as he now saw no point in attempting to conceal his identity from Hans Humann any longer.

                ‘I’ve been waiting some time for this meeting, Captain Humann. I couldn’t keep my head down forever.’

                ‘You do me too great an honour, Major. I am merely a Korvettenkapitän, the equivalent in your navy to a Commander. It will be some years before I make Captain. So, I hope you will enlighten me: where is it we have met?’

                ‘Avret Hissar, in Macedonia. You were there early last year with Professor Karo and his associates.’

                ‘But of course, the solitary English archaeologist!’ Humann wagged an accusing finger. ‘Now, I remember. We did mean to investigate you, you know. But one thing led to another … ’

                ‘Yes, I can imagine.’

                ‘It’s not quite as you think, Major. I had to return to Sofia after our visit to Avret Hissar and naturally you were not known there. By the time I arrived here, events had intervened. The war broke out and was soon concluded. After the Greek victory we rather lost interest in our lone visitor. Perhaps we should not?’

                ‘You cannot imagine, Commander, the effect your weapons had at Avret Hissar; I should not be standing here today without them.’

                ‘Forgive me, I don’t quite … ’

                Samson changed the subject. ‘And what of your colleague, Captain Hoffmann? I believe he was in Sofia at the same time as yourself.’

                ‘Hoffmann is no colleague of mine, Major,’ Humann replied emphatically. ‘We have occasionally had to work together, but that is all. If I may be honest, he is somewhat mentally unstable, particularly so following the injury he sustained last year in the fighting. He possesses, if I may draw an analogy, a personality similar to your own Mr Fitzmaurice. This region is dangerous enough as it is without such people — on either side — making unnecessary complications. We shall have enough on our hands as a result of tonight’s news.’

                ‘So you expect trouble?’

                ‘I expect a period of strained relations,’ Humann smiled.

                ‘And you will counsel moderation?’

                ‘Believe me, we are in no way involved. Anything that comes of this is entirely Austria’s doing. It will be up to these states to sort the matter out between themselves. The Greeks have made no attempt to repay our generosity of last year and I have the feeling that our Emperor has lost patience with all of them. Every time we have become embroiled in the Balkans it has been to our detriment. I give you my word, Major, that Germany will remained disinterested in the coming days.’

                ‘But you will of course restrain Austria?’

                ‘Ah yes, Austria. That is the problem. They are, after all, a sovereign nation: we can advise caution and prudence but no more. I am afraid, Major, that, as with so many others, you exaggerate our influence at Vienna.’

                ‘But there will be no encouragement?’ inquired Samson.

                ‘Encouragement to do what? What purpose would it serve? So long as the assassin is brought to justice, and a suitable apology is made, that is the end of the matter. And then we can get back to things which concern us more directly — the coming war between Turkey and Greece.’

                ‘So you accept there will be war over the disputed islands?’

                ‘I am certain of it. Over the islands, and perhaps more.’

                ‘And what will trigger this war?’ Samson did not want to enter into a discussion of Greek designs on Asia Minor. Such apparently innocent talk sometimes had a way of rebounding upon oneself.

                Humann did not hesitate: ‘A Greek blockade of the Dardanelles.’

                ‘Before or after the arrival of the Turkish dreadnoughts?’

                Humann looked out over the dark water. ‘All this is purely supposition Major, you understand. I trust my words will not be reported back to your Minister as in any way an official German view of the situation.’

                While Humann was off guard, Samson saw his chance to ascertain more of Greek intentions — perhaps enough to remove the need for his proposed mission. ‘Not at all Commander. In fact, if I may venture my own opinion, it is that the Greeks will attempt to destroy the Turkish ships in the Aegean, before they reach the sanctuary of the Marmora; and this will bring about war.’

                ‘I disagree. It would be too risky a venture. Venizelos would lose the support of France and England upon which he counts so much. No, the ships will pass safely on their way, and once they have disappeared inside the Dardanelles a Greek blockade will be established, forcing the Turks to declare war.’ Samson examined Humann again: the impression was the same as at their first meeting. Humann was an honourable man; he was also, however, a career naval officer. If he held private opinions they could be closely guarded. It would be a barrier, Samson recognized, that he would be unable to breach.

                ‘And what of Russia?’ the Major asked. ‘Surely she would have something to say about the closure of the Straits?’

                ‘The Russians have problems enough of their own; they will not seek new adventures while … ’

                ‘While … ?’

                A small group of German officials emerged from the Palace, gathered around the imposing figure of Liman von Sanders. The General approached Humann, stood stiffly to attention, and announced that the Baron required his Marine Attaché’s presence at once at the Embassy. Humann, who had no time for the general, cast an apologetic glance at Samson and muttered, ‘Some other time perhaps,’ before he was led away by the phalanx of officials eager to consider the implications of the Sarajevo assassination. In the circumstances Samson suddenly decided that he, too, would report back to his Embassy. He had been neglecting his duties too much of late.

                As the convoy of German motors departed, with the occupants in unusually high spirits, Samson climbed into one of the carriages which had been lined up, waiting to take the unattached male guests at the banquet on a tour of the city. There was one establishment in particular that the drivers were sure the men would find fascinating. Now, instead, the Palace had emptied and the ladies of the establishment in question would have to look elsewhere for their custom that night (and the drivers would have to do without their percentage). Samson’s driver’s humour was not improved by the prospect of a fare only to the British Embassy; still, it was better than nothing. The carriage proceeded sluggishly up the hill to Pera. The driver brutally whipped the horse’s lean flank; Samson winced. ‘No more,’ he cried. ‘Leave the horse alone and I will pay double.’ The driver shrugged; the horse, he knew, was lazy. Still, double the fare …

Henry Beaumont emerged from the Ambassador’s office in despair. Samson, who had just arrived and already doubted the wisdom of this course of action, now thought after all that he would return to Therapia. His new found conscientiousness could be counted in minutes.

                ‘So, you are going to desert me as well, Lionel,’ Beaumont inquired as he saw Samson head towards the entrance.

                ‘I’m sorry, Henry. I thought I may have been of some use here but you seem to have things well in hand.’

                ‘Well in hand? The Ambassador wants no complications on the international scene so as not to disrupt his leave and therefore there will be no further complications — not, at least, so far as Sir Louis is concerned.’

                ‘And you think otherwise?’

                ‘I think at least the possibility should be scouted. You know that Conrad has been looking for an excuse to move against Belgrade. This gives him the perfect opportunity.’

                ‘Humann seems to think little will come of it. He is more concerned about matters closer to hand. He might be right. Venizelos might use the pretext of the crisis to launch his own little war — it may be just the opportunity he has been waiting for.’

                ‘So you have met Humann at last. Well, he is a decent enough chap and, I am inclined to think, incapable of dissembling; however do not believe that what he says will necessarily be the line followed by von Wangenheim.’ Beaumont motioned Samson over to a quiet corner of the entrance hall and lowered his voice: ‘Lionel, I’m worried this time. Fitzmaurice’s “breakdown” was a sham. I have only just found out that he is in Sofia — has been for months. I gather he has some pretty incriminating evidence on General Gantchew, the head of the Bulgarian mobilization department. But that is neither here nor there. What he reported was of the informed talk there of a military convention being concluded between Bulgaria and Turkey. It is altogether the wrong time for Mallet to be going on leave, but he won’t listen to me. Perhaps you … ?’

                ‘Henry, these crises have come and gone before. There is nothing to say that this one also will not blow over.’

                ‘So you also want nothing to happen — presumably in the hope that you won’t thereby have to return to Athens!’ Beaumont answered emphatically.

                ‘Henry! That was uncalled for. I could equally say that your keenness to prevent Mallet going on leave is because you do not fancy being left in charge in case something should develop.’

                ‘I see; so there is nothing more to be said. I take it then that when Sir Louis asks you a second time about Athens the answer will still be “no”?’

                ‘It wasn’t “no” the first time Henry,’ sighed Samson.

                A shout emanated from the Ambassador’s office: ‘Beaumont!’

                The First Secretary turned to go. As he did Samson implored him: ‘Henry — not like this!’ Beaumont remained silent as he rejoined the group surrounding Mallet, leaving Samson to return forlornly to his villa, where he took to his bed and did not stir for three days. In all the excitement his absence from the Embassy was not particularly noticed. Admiral Milne, assured by Mallet that the speedy arrest of the assassin would calm tempers (and Mallet added also that Franz Ferdinand’s passing would not be greatly mourned), decided to adhere to the original programme for his cruise. His flagship departed on Wednesday, 1 July, bound for the Levantine coast. By the time that Samson reported back to Pera (the day after Milne had sailed) it seemed as if the Ambassador’s prediction would be borne out. Surprisingly little had happened in the days following the assassination, leaving everyone wearily to anticipate a return to the perpetual Aegean friction. That this did not eventuate was due to the concern of Premier Venizelos. Unlike the Turks, who were convinced that the construction of their ships was being delayed, Venizelos had been convinced by his own agent in London that the construction was being speeded up so that they would arrive at Constantinople before the two American ships could be handed over to Greece and be equipped with trained crews. With his options rapidly narrowing Venizelos needed to buy some time and, to do this, he intended to send Saïd Halim a draft treaty of peace and reciprocal protection which he had been holding in reserve for some time. Unlike the preliminary treaty of the previous December, his latest effort covered all possible areas of contention.

                If this worked, and the Turks took the bait, Venizelos then proposed to meet the Grand Vizier in a neutral location — preferably as far away from Constantinople as possible. If the Turks proved unwilling to rise to the bait, Venizelos would let it be known in Berlin, Paris and London that he had made an offer of peace which Turkish intransigence refused to acknowledge. Saïd Halim would be unable then to escape the international pressure. He would be forced to attend the meeting and, unless Enver Pasha took matters into his own hands, little could happen in the absence of the Grand Vizier. Venizelos would make sure that the meeting (he had tentatively selected Brussels as the location) would last well into August. By the time it had reached its inevitable conclusion, the new Greek ships would be fully armed and manned.

                Louis Mallet had already put the planned date of the commencement of his leave back a week. He had known all along that the local difficulty would blow over: de Giers had panicked unnecessarily. Mallet could just imagine the tone of de Giers’ dispatches to St Petersburg. They would be calculated to do nothing other than inflame the situation. Didn’t he realize what effect they would have on Sazonov? Better, thought Mallet, a Foreign Secretary like Grey: unperturbable, unadventurous, undemonstrable, than one like Sazonov, always ready to elevate any awkward situation into a scare and any scare into a crisis. When news was delivered to Mallet of the proposed treaty between Sofia and Constantinople, combined with the apparent continued inaction on the part of Vienna, he stepped on board the steamer for Marseilles with a clear conscience.

                There had been no further talk of a return to Athens by Samson; upon his arrival back at the Embassy the Major had busied himself assisting Colonel Cunliffe-Owen, who had returned from the Dardanelles with disturbing reports of mines being laid and fortifications strengthened. It had been a simple matter to avoid Henry Beaumont, who was kept busy filling the Ambassador’s shoes. Now that the latest crisis had apparently been resolved — as he always knew it would be — Samson took pleasure in writing up the report based on Cunliffe-Owen’s notes. Arcs of fire had to be calculated; ranges assessed; minefields charted. It was the sort of work he enjoyed and which would keep him occupied until he himself planned to go on leave, returning to England in September. He had always found it a melancholy time of year; an apposite choice, he thought, in his current mood. He had also decided to visit Oxford and see Edith. He knew what the result would be; he knew the upset his visit would cause; but nothing would stop him. From events controlling him, he would now control events.