Chapter 30 : Return to Athens

The Major should have known better; no matter what he thought, one could only ignore fate at one’s peril, as he was soon to discover. The first indication had come from Fitzmaurice: rumours, he reported, were sweeping Sofia that some momentous event was about to occur. Samson could easily disregard this; Fitzmaurice’s paranoia had increased (if that were possible) since his departure from Pera. What Samson could not ignore was the cable Henry Beaumont received from Sir Edward Grey. The Foreign Secretary had just been visited by Count Mensdorff, the Austrian Ambassador, who had warned him of the fact that, that very day, a note was being delivered to the Serbian Government in the name of His Imperial Majesty, the King-Emperor of Austria-Hungary. It was, Count Mensdorff was prepared to admit, a rather stiff note, but he would rather say no more on the subject. When Grey persisted Mensdorff instead had reluctantly produced a neatly folded copy of the note from his breast pocket.

                Grey read the contents, expecting no more than the usual diplomatic language. His expression changed to one of deep concern as point after point proclaimed the harsh penalty which was to be exacted. He was led to one conclusion, for the note would permit of no other interpretation: ‘But this is impossible!’ the Foreign Secretary declared when he finished reading its contents. ‘No sovereign state could possibly accept such conditions.’ Mensdorff studied the intricate pattern of the carpet. ‘Point five, for example: “Organs of the Austro-Hungarian Imperial Government to be placed in Serbia.” This, Grey complained, would put an end to Serbia’s independence as a State.’

                Not so, Mensdorff had countered. Point five merely implied the “collaboration of police-organs” and did not touch a State’s sovereignty. Why, Grey had then objected, was the time set for a reply so short: it would not give the other Powers the chance to use their influence. Austria, he remarked forcefully, had already determined on a course of action. Mensdorff, who by then had run out of carpet to inspect, had muttered feebly that this was the only language the Serbs were capable of understanding, and the audience had come to an end.

                When Beaumont received the cable containing a report of the meeting his first reaction was one of self-satisfaction that he was to be proved right after all; he had always known that, this time, there would be trouble. It would all depend now, he mused, on the actions of Russia. Should Serbia receive unqualified support from that quarter, the game was up. He would have to sound out de Giers (for the Russian Ambassador had prudently cancelled his leave) at the first opportunity — as soon as he had spoken to Saïd Halim. Beaumont left immediately for his audience.

                The Grand Vizier, who always delighted in the discomfort of others, grinned inscrutably: ‘Ah, Mr Beaumont. I am afraid that Sir Louis has gone on leave at an inopportune time — or perhaps not? It will be a large responsibility for you if … ’ Saïd Halim paused to flick away an imaginary speck of dust.

                ‘Yes, Your Excellency?’

                ‘The omens are not good. The Austrians are so transparent. Pallavicini was just here to present their case in the most minute detail. That is the problem, you see — they do have a good hand, but it is one they will overplay. If this difficulty cannot be contained it will put paid to all Monsieur Venizelos’ attempts to promote a peaceful settlement between his country and mine.’

                ‘But you are still intending to travel to Brussels to meet him?’ Beaumont inquired plaintively.

                ‘I have decided to postpone my journey, Mr Beaumont. At least until the affair of the assassination is played out. I would be grateful if you would inform Sir Edward Grey of this fact.’

                The admission caught Beaumont by surprise: ‘But I was given to believe that Monsieur Venizelos had already departed Athens.’

                ‘That is so, but not directly for Brussels; he intended to travel first to Baden Baden to take a cure. Only then would he continue on to Brussels. Another example of poor timing, perhaps?’ The Grand Vizier struggled, and failed, to conceal his amusement. ‘Now, there is one service you can perform for me, please, Mr Beaumont. Tewfik Pasha has received a rather alarming report, in which he places the greatest confidence, that there has been an unexplained delay in the fitting of the guns in Sultan Osman. You are aware, are you not, that five-hundred Turkish sailors have recently arrived at Newcastle and are not allowed to go on board the ship. I have also been informed that yesterday they were forcibly prevented from even inspecting their new ship. Do you know anything about this?’

                ‘I am unaware of any delay, Your Excellency, and I cannot comment on your other allegation until I have spoken to my Admiralty. Nevertheless, I feel it incumbent to say that these reports, well meaning though they undoubtedly are, may one day lead to a serious incident. I hardly need remind you of the recent scene in front of the Embassy? Nevertheless, I will of course cable my Admiralty at once to confirm the completion date.’

                ‘I would be much obliged. Will you please send in Monsieur de Giers next? So many Ambassadors, and so little time … ’ While he waited for the entrance of the Russian Ambassador, the Grand Vizier read a few more lines from one of his favourite Sherlock Holmes’ adventures, The Greek Interpreter, a story he had read so often as to know almost by heart.

                As Saïd Halim proceeded to weave his web around the Russian Ambassador, Beaumont returned to the Embassy determined upon the course of action he must pursue. He summoned the Major: ‘Lionel, can we forget what has recently passed between us? Too much is at stake now.’

                Samson had been waiting for this. ‘Of course, Henry — what is it? You look, if you’ll forgive me, somewhat rattled.’

                ‘That villain Saïd Halim is up to something. His every word contained a meaning which he hoped was hidden to me. I am convinced of it. He counts on trading on my inexperience. And there is something afoot regarding the Turkish dreadnoughts.’

                ‘Ah, so that’s it,’ Samson smiled.

                ‘It’s not how it appears, Lionel. Venizelos has left Athens already on his way, eventually, to Brussels and Saïd is suddenly anxious to get his ships at once, even if it should mean that the Turkish crews already in England seize the ships.’

                ‘A preventative war against the Greeks?’ suggested Samson.

                ‘I believe so Lionel. I think the Turks are going to use the distraction provided by the Austrian note to launch a pre-emptive strike and reclaim their islands before the new Greek ships are ready for service and while Venizelos is absent from the capital. Such a combination of events would paralyse the Greek Government. Now, if the Greeks get wind of this plan … ’

                Samson sighed: ‘I know, Henry: you want me to go to Athens.’

                ‘There’s more to it than you think Lionel. You were right, you know. There is more responsibility here than I care for. If things do remain quiet, well and good. If not, it will be a trying time for all of us.’

                ‘Surely, Henry, if you make good in this, your future is assured?’

                ‘There is time yet to think of such things. For the present I need a friend in Athens. Someone who can find out if the Greeks plan to attack the Turkish ships on their way out. Sir Francis, as you may know, went on leave some weeks earlier even than Sir Louis. So, in the normal course of events, I would have no option other than to deal with Erskine and, you may recall, we did not strike it off at all.’

                ‘That’s putting it politely. I have never seen you take such an instant dislike to anyone.’ Samson gazed out across the Golden Horn, to the forest of minarets tumbling down to the shore on the far side. ‘I take your point, Henry. All right, I’ll go and poke around. But if I find nothing within a week — two at most — I shall return.’

                ‘I accept upon those conditions, Lionel. Thank you.’

                At that moment Gerald Wellesley burst in to announce that the Serbian authorities had just proclaimed general mobilization. Lionel Samson turned to his friend a last time: ‘I shall leave immediately,’ he announced undramatically.

Admiral Kerr checked his switches, adjusted his goggles, and nodded to the examining officer on the quay. The propeller was rotating so slowly that Kerr fancied he could see the wooden blades themselves as they revolved. He increased the throttle. The extra power applied soon worked through to the blades whereupon the sea beneath the propeller first flattened out, before a pattern of concentric ripples formed and radiated out. The floats began to bob gently then the Sopwith Tabloid waterplane began slowly to move; Kerr pointed its nose out into the Bay, into the prevailing wind being sucked off the sea by the parched land. Before him, Eleusis Bay opened up; to his right lay the island of Salamis and the Greek naval base. The sea had been his element; now he would claim the sky as his also. The on-shore breeze in itself was enough to left the canvas wings slightly, to loosen the aeroplane’s hold on the sea. Despite being his first solo flight, he felt nerveless. He pushed the throttle full on and felt the vibration immediately but was conscious of the lack of movement when, as if a restraining cable had been cast off, the Sopwith surged forward. Within the space of a few yards, or so it seemed, the lift was enough to allow the plane to skim the water of the bay. The sensation was exhilarating; he was neither flying nor sailing. The aeroplane lifted further so that only the tapered edge at the stern of the small floats remained in the water, leaving a disturbed trail for the examiner to follow.

                Then the aeroplane broke free altogether and he was weightless. He had become part of the machine: he moved his hands and the machine moved where he wanted it to; he moved his feet and the machine moved. The aeroplane climbed slowly out over Eleusis Bay; the further he climbed the more the land receded so that all he had to see was blue. He was now free of corruption and deceit. He was free of moral ambiguities. He was free. To obtain his pilot’s licence he had to make a figure of eight and effect a landing without crashing. However, overcome by exhilaration, instead of commencing the first turn, he flew straight on, over the channel separating Salamis from the mainland, past the Piraeus, far below to his left.

                When he was in this mood all things were possible. How did Churchill believe that Constantine did not know what was best for his people? Did he think that a mere family tie was sufficient to consign the King’s nation to the fate which would certainly befall Germany should she launch an aggressive war? Both Churchill and Battenberg had misread their man; they had misread him badly. Churchill he could understand, for he was no judge of character; but Louis was different; he should have known better. Kerr had tried, since his first intimation the previous December, to alert Battenberg to the true state of affairs. Yet, it had been clear from the response that his new-found loyalty to the Greek Navy was viewed with a detached embarrassment in London. Churchill’s scant official correspondence had been distinctly cool, but he had expected something better from his oldest friend. Louis should have know that Constantine would never allow his personal feelings to intrude when the future of Greece was at stake. The whole plan had been misconceived from the start. It was not Constantine who needed to be won over but Churchill. Kerr had thought that he had been winning over Battenberg to his side, and then the episode of the purchase of the American battleships had broken around him. If this were not bad enough, Battenberg had then gratuitously forwarded a copy of the letter he had received from Churchill on the subject: ‘I am greatly concerned,’ the First Lord of the Admiralty had written, ‘at the report in the Foreign Office telegram attached of the proposed purchase by Greece of two of the United States battleships of approximately the Formidable class. An offer like this, if made to us, would enable an enormous improvement of our material to be effected without additional cost. Our strength in older battleships is far beyond what we require. It is incredible that our Naval Mission can have let the Greeks go to the United States without, at any rate, giving us the option. Pray make enquiries and report to me again.’ The enquiries, if they had been made at all (which Kerr doubted) would have all pointed to the same fact: the greatest threat to Greece was posed not by Constantine but by Venizelos.

                Kerr had climbed now to two thousand feet. There was nothing for it, he reasoned, but to take matters into his own hands, should it come to that. There would be trouble yet; great forces were on the move. However he had always thought that in such a situation the actions of one man might prove decisive. And he was to be that man. Admiral Kerr had reached a conclusion. From this point on, he would act in accordance with the dictates of his own conscience. No longer would he be answerable to anyone — but himself. Having arrived at this decision, he felt a great lifting of tension. He released slightly his grip on the controls and felt the aeroplane beginning to side slip. Quickly regaining complete mastery, he put the Sopwith into a slow, controlled dive. Far below he noticed the Constantinople steamer, about to arrive at the Piraeus. He continued to lose height until his floats almost skimmed the rougher waters of the Gulf. Maintaining his low altitude, he flew directly behind the steamer and was momentarily engulfed by the belching smoke and fumes from the funnels. Two swirling vortexes appeared in the trailing column of smoke as the aeroplane emerged on the steamer’s starboard side. The passengers, amongst whom was Major Lionel Samson, raced to that side to witness what they were sure would be a fatal accident. But the Admiral gained height once more, crossed over the spit of land separating the Bay from the Gulf and, in full view once more of the examiner, completed the requisite figure of eight.

                The Admiral put the Sopwith into a shallow descending curve for his first attempt at landing. A small ferry, crossing the Bay, blocked his path and he went round once more. Having established that his path was clear he put the machine gently down on the water and felt at once the instant deceleration. Too late he realized that the ferry’s wake had not completely subsided. The floats hit the first of the succession of small waves thrown up and he was momentarily airborne again. He cut the ignition switch and the Sopwith smacked into the water, harder this time, with such force as to lose all forward momentum and leave Kerr wondering if he had not damaged the delicate tracery of wires and struts. He climbed anxiously out of the cockpit and into the tender which had come to meet him. All appeared intact underneath the aeroplane as he made his way to the quay. There, he bounded up the steps to the examiner, who was busy completing his report. Kerr found he could not speak, leaving it to the examiner to nod. He had passed. He was now an airman.

By the time the steamer carrying the Major nosed in to the pier at the Piraeus, Austria-Hungary had already declared war on Serbia. Samson knew what that meant: Russian mobilization. And if Russia mobilized? Suddenly the fate of the two Turkish ships did not seem as important. He collected his belongings and walked down the gangway. During the idle time on board the steamer his thoughts had wandered; but sooner or later they returned to a recurring theme: those finals weeks in Athens the previous year, when he had vowed to himself never to return. Even now he did not know his precise duty: was he to report to Erskine officially or operate outside the confines of the Legation? Once he boarded the train for Athens he knew he would have only twenty minutes in which to make up his mind. He had also to consider whether he would try to contact Achilles again. Despite the generous offer for information, his former agent had sent not one letter to Constantinople. Once, Samson had sent an innocent note to the address in Patissia Road, hoping to shame Achilles; there had been no reply.

                The train clattered in to Omonia Station, where Samson alighted and looked, for a moment, for someone come to meet him, before realizing that no-one knew (or, in any event, was supposed to know) of his presence. However he was approached almost immediately by a well dressed man speaking unaccented English: ‘Good afternoon, Sir.’

                ‘Good afternoon,’ the Major answered automatically.

                ‘Can I help you with your baggage?’

                ‘Yes, certainly.’ Although slightly confused, Samson now thought that Beaumont, for some reason, had wired ahead. ‘You are new to the Legation,’ he continued politely.

                ‘The Legation? Excuse me, sir, I represent the Hotel Imperial. The reputation of the Hotel Imperial,’ he replied mechanically, ‘for comfort, for all the most modern conveniences, and for all the advantage a really first class Hotel ought to afford, but at moderate charges, is well known.’

                ‘Excuse me; there is surely some mistake. I was expecting … ’ The Major retrieved his valise from the astonished commission agent, hired a carriage and proceeded to the Panhellenion. It was still, he reflected, too early in the evening for any of the Legation staff to be present. He ordered a coffee, in surroundings which were suddenly familiar, and contemplated his next move. As he did so a fly landed in his coffee, its wildly gyrating legs causing it to pirouette hypnotically. The Major watched it death throes for some minutes during which time he came to a decision regarding his new mission in Athens; this time he would let fate decide. If nothing came of his proposed plan, it would reinforce his wavering belief in the power of the individual. He therefore returned to the Pension Merlin and inquired about his old room. For the Major had struck a bargain with himself: if the room was already let he would approach Erskine openly, go about his business officially, and take rooms at the Hotel Grand Bretagne (and most definitely not at the Hotel Imperial). However, if his old room at the Pension was available, he would conduct his initial investigation clandestinely.

                The room was free. The Major threw his belongings on the bed and gazed out at the familiar sight of the German Legation almost opposite. It was as if the previous year had not existed. He waited for nightfall, resting uneasily, before venturing out to Patissia Road. The house used as a letter drop by Achilles stood dark and empty and Samson wondered if, as a result of his previous activities on Samson’s behalf, the Greek had been caught. There was no time now for leaving messages and hoping they might be answered. Something more drastic was required. Samson returned to his room and slept soundly for the first time in weeks. The next morning he put on his best suit, went to Beck and Berth’s bookshop to purchase a German edition of Baedeker and a sketching portfolio, and then proceeded to the entrance to the German Legation. He paused momentarily at the bottom of the steps. The only person who might conceivably recognize him was Professor Karo, and he would have to take the chance (which he considered remote) that he might encounter the Professor on the latter’s daily visit. The Major walked jauntily up the steps, then stopped abruptly: Hoffmann! Hoffmann could also recognize him and he was certain of Hoffmann’s presence in the city. But it was too late to abandon his plan now and he continued on up to the entrance.

                There, at his usual place just inside the door, was Achilles. As Major Samson was the last person he would have expected to enter the German Legation that morning, Achilles smiled broadly at what he assumed was another German tourist come to obtain some information or a permit. The smile soon evaporated: ‘But what … ?’ he said inadvertently in English.

                ‘German, please; speak German,’ hissed Samson. ‘I have worked on it assiduously in Constantinople and I think you will find my accent much improved.’ A door opened further inside the hall and Bassewitz, the First Secretary, emerged clutching a sheath of papers only to disappear almost immediately into what Samson took to be the cipher room. Achilles followed his progress as if mesmerized; he was suddenly incapable of speech.

                ‘Could you please tell me the name of the German consul on Syra?’ Samson asked, hoping to prompt a response.

                ‘The German consul?’ Achilles was not playing his part at all.

                ‘Can we meet tonight?’ Samson whispered. ‘It is urgent. Only for a short time.’

                ‘No — no!’ Achilles replied emphatically.

                ‘Very well, we’ll soon see about that. Is the Minister in?’ Samson strode off towards what he assumed was Quadt’s office.

                ‘No, please, what are you doing? All right, all right. I’ll meet you tonight: where?’

                ‘I’ve taken the same room as before at the Pension Merlin. Call on me there, about ten o’clock.’

                ‘Yes, but go now. Please, before it is too late.’

                As Samson walked back down the steps he passed the Military Attaché on his way up, and made sure to nod a friendly greeting to von Falkenhausen. The Military Attaché paused at the entrance to turn round and follow Samson’s progress down Academy Street before shrugging his shoulders and proceeding about his business. After an interval, the Major doubled back to his room, deposited his Baedeker and portfolio, changed out of his heavy clothes and into a linen suit and decided it would be best if he paid a visit to his own Legation.

                George Rendel was as surprised as Achilles had been when the Major entered his office. Once they had exchanged pleasantries, Rendel warned him of the problem he would face: ‘Being in charge has gone to Willie’s head. If he was awkward before, he’s insufferable now! This is, of course, strictly between you and I. He will not take kindly to your re-appearance, Major; particularly if your mission this time has no official backing.’

                ‘For my own sake, George, I would feel better if someone here knew I was back in Athens, just in case an accident should befall me. I am sorry if my presence will upset Erskine, but I can assure you, and him, it was not of my choosing.’

                The audience with William Erskine, the Chargé d’Affaires in Elliot’s absence, was perfunctory yet not as difficult as Samson imagined it might be. Erskine could hardly disavow the Major but warned him not to be the cause of any friction, and particularly not to interfere in the activities of the Naval Mission, where Admiral Kerr was experiencing strained relations with both Venizelos and the new Minister of Marine, Demerdgis. Monsieur Stratos, it appeared, had shown too great a liking for the company of the German Naval Attaché and, suspecting his loyalty (as he did with everyone), Venizelos had had him replaced. Losing his one ally at the Ministry, combined with the snub delivered to him by the purchase of the American battleships, had left Kerr’s position all but untenable; only the unchallenged support of the King effected to keep him in Athens. Before Samson left, Erskine imparted one other piece of information, which perhaps went some way to explaining why the Chargé d’Affaires was relatively subdued. News had just been received officially of Russian mobilization. Samson stared at Erskine without speaking. They both knew now that the morbid momentum had begun; once started, mobilization could not be halted; the line in the sand had been passed.

Achilles waited until near midnight before he knocked gently on Samson’s door, hoping that the Major might be asleep and not hear. Instead a sharp “enter” resonated from inside. The Major looked up from the chair by the window as Achilles entered: ‘That’s a change at least; you never knocked before. You’ve been keeping very quiet.’

                ‘You couldn’t have known what went on after you left last year, Major. The Germans suspected someone of betraying their secrets; maybe they thought it was me and couldn’t prove it. Anyways, after that, things changed. Desk drawers were always locked, papers were burned, not put in bins, doors stayed closed. Do you think I didn’t need the money? I could have used it, I can tell you. But what could I do? I hoped that, sooner or later, the old ways would come back. Maybe they would have, but not now. The panic there this time is real. Every new cable from Berlin brings with it more bad news. If you want my opinion, I think the Germans are already secretly mobilizing.’

                ‘I didn’t ask you hear for your opinions. What I want to know has to do with the Turkish ships which are due to sail from England at any minute.’

                ‘What would I know of these?’ Achilles looked positively dumbfounded.

                ‘There has been no talk of the Greeks trying to sink the ships before they reach Constantinople? I thought our old friend Metriticicas might have been keeping his German masters informed. I suppose you made no headway in your quest to discover his identity?’

                Achilles fidgeted uncomfortably. ‘I have continued to hear his name mentioned, Major, but never in such a way that any clue is provided. I am sure, though, that it is not Metaxas, as you once thought.’

                Samson turned back to look out the window as he casually inquired: ‘Could it be Venizelos himself?’

                The novelty of this suggestion caused Achilles to hesitate before he dismissed it entirely. ‘Impossible! What you are saying is treason.’

                ‘No more so than had it been Metaxas.’

                ‘That is different,’ countered Achilles without offering to explain why.

                ‘Well then, how wide is the field; how many possible candidates?’

                ‘I’m trying to think, Major. There have been a few faces calling on Quadt I haven’t recognized. Some were obviously Greek but it was impossible to find out more. Everyone is watched. It is all very well for you in Constantinople.’

                ‘All right, all right, you’ve made your point. So there is no information you can offer me?’

                Achilles wished he had had courage enough to refuse to accept the Major’s demand, but he knew now that all that would ensue would be another confrontation in the German Legation at which Samson would carry out his threat to approach Quadt. Better to try to get rid of him now once and for all. ‘The only thing I have heard concerns a German ship, not a Turkish one.’

                ‘Which German ship?’

                ‘Goeben — a message was received this morning about coal.’

                ‘Coal?’

                Achilles was becoming exasperated. ‘To make sure that it is available should the ship need some. There is nothing unusual in that, Major, the ship has called here before on visits.’

                ‘And that is all?’

                ‘I swear to you.’

                For the first time, Samson noticed his informant sweating: ‘Can I count on your assistance if I should need help?’

                ‘I would like to Major, but this time the omens are not good. If you must, leave a note in the usual house and I will check every night for a week. However, if possible, I would prefer to go about my business.’

                Samson thanked Achilles and, after he had departed, checked the map at the back of his Baedeker. Cunliffe-Owen, who, for a Military Attaché, showed a refreshing degree of interest in naval matters, had been particularly concerned as to Goeben’s whereabouts before Samson had left Constantinople. He had ascertained that, after leaving the Golden Horn, following the visit to the Sultan in May, the battle cruiser had followed the usual route, cruising along the Levant coast until, once the news of the assassination had been received, when the vessel was at Haifa, her Admiral had immediately returned to the Austro-Hungarian naval base at Pola. At the time Souchon’s great haste had been unexplained; however, when Samson eventually departed for Athens, Cunliffe-Owen was convinced it was part of a thorough plan to unite with the Austrians and be on guard in the current crisis. This made sense as it was well known that the duty of the combined German, Austro-Hungarian and Italian fleets was to engage the French Navy. What did not make sense, reasoned the Major, was that if Goeben was at Pola intending to set sail should Russian mobilization result in general war, why would she need to coal in the Piraeus? An attack on Suez would be futile and no purpose would be served by attacking the trade routes while the enemy fleet remained to be dealt with. No, there could be only one explanation, he decided, which was that the ship intended to pass through the Dardanelles and Bosphorus and into the Black Sea to attack the Russian Fleet there. Yet, as the Straits were supposed to be barred to warships, that could only come about with the connivance of the Turks. Samson decided he had best warn Beaumont and Cunliffe-Owen of the possibility.