Royal Narratives (Part II of II)
Anichkov Palace, St. Petersburg, Russian Empire. 28 August 1897
“So, how did you find your dinner?”
King Chulalongkorn was silent.
The meeting room of the palace was tastefully furnished, but the Siamese monarch felt it did little to lift the heavy atmosphere within. The summer storm raging beyond the windows, coupled with secretive nature of the conference itself, added to the heavy air. Both he and his delegation were seated by the side of an enormous table, and it is by the curse of formality that the monarch found himself facing the Bear of Europe before him. Or rather, the towering figure of Alexander III.
To say that he felt intimidated is a misnomer, but something about the Tsar brought an unsettling feeling in Chulalongkorn. Maybe it was his host’s burly stature, or his piercing and icy stare, or his rough-hewn and straightforward demeanour that contrasted so much with his Romanov brethren [1]. If the rumours regarding his strength was true, then Chulalongkorn could certainly see where they birthed from.
But the Siamese king held his tongue to all those thoughts and reached for a polite approach through his interpreter, plain and understandable, “It was very enjoyable. I did not know you employed French chefs for our service. We thank you so much for your hospitality.”
“Good. Now, let us go to business.”
Definitely not one for light talk.
Chulalongkorn looked as a map was brought and unfurled on the table. On it, Indochina and the Peninsula lay on a sea of light azure, dotted with a thousand islands on either side. On the south were the Muslim sultanates, of which a fair number bore the pink blotch of British influence. To the north lay the hill states of the Shan, Kachin, and Lao, all straddling along the border of the Qing Empire. To the west was Burma, a voluminous sea of pink and red that stretched, as everyone knew, beyond the map to the Hindu Kush. But the monarch paid most attention to the east, where the landmass was filled with shades on shades of blue.
France.
Even from a glance, Chulalongkorn saw that the map was biased. Chantaburi and Trat were not shaded blue, even though the French were occupying them at present. Good. [2] He knew that the imperial court knew of Paris being on the prowl, but it did bring relief to see that Russia viewed the border territories as rightful Siamese soil.
But to engage them… that is the question.
“…In summing up, from our insights, we propose for a naval base around the Kra isthmus. Somewhere around… here?”
He looked as Tsar Alexander pointed to a large island just southwards of British Burma, over Phuket.
“What do you say?”
There were many things he wanted to say.
There was the surreal fact that Siam is being courted by every European Power to counter every other European Power. From Britain to France to Germany, and now with the Tsar himself seeking a foothold, such a naval base could very well shatter the delicate balance of power in the region. But on the other hand, a Russian extension could help our voices gain greater audience with the British. And with the present Franco-Russian alliance, St. Petersburg could reign Paris in. If they decide otherwise, then to Great Britain we shall go.
Looking to the side, Chulalongkorn noticed a bearded figure sitting to the right of the Tsar, his face young and pensive, yet so similar to the emperor’s. His son. Training his heir how to rule? I wonder how he feels about this. If there was one thing everyone knew about Alexander, it was that he loved his children, and would prefer to bear the burden of governing by himself.
Coming back to the present, the king realized that his ministers were muttering, and so tuned his attention to what they had to say.
**********
The Astana, Kuching, Kingdom of Sarawak. 28 May 1898
The Astana, Kuching, Kingdom of Sarawak. 28 May 1898
“…Absolutely not!”
Charles Brooke muttered as he paced down the corridors of the Astana, adding pressure to his fisted right hand and feeling the paper within crumpling. It is uncouth for the Rajah of Sarawak to show open disdain, but the contents of the letter was too much for Charles to remain stoic in his office, especially with the infernal paper coming on top of the weeks-long preparations his officials had planned for a coming delegation from Europe.
Incorrigibles. He thought. If the Guthrie company makes another plea for land to make their rubber plantations, then I’m going to head for Singapore to shove their demands on their -
“Tuan Rajah?”
Charles turned at the sound.
The elderly figure of Amirul Sabu seemed to appear like a ghost at the dining room doorway, and his silent footsteps made the umbrella bearer-cum-chief executioner’s presence all the more surprising. “The Supreme Council are wondering where you have been, Tuan Rajah. The final preparations for the visit are almost complete.”
“Harap maaf.” Rajah Charles apologized in fluent Malay. “Inform them that I need to clear my head for the time being.”
He began to walk away when a portrait in the dining room, seen just above and behind the executioner’s shoulder, caught his eye.
“I just remembered,” The Rajah said. “Our coming guests may have strong feelings to certain men.”
Looking behind him, Sabu understood at once. “The painting again?”
“Yes.”
Both men stared at the wall. The eccentric furnishings of the Astana have always been subject to commenting from visitors, but the remarks have gotten stronger now that the palace is an international talking shop. Since the request of the French delegation some years back, the Astana has since played host to a parade of western ambassadors and foreign officials, all wanting to align Sarawak with their respective nations and empires [3]. But to say nothing of Europe and the States’ demands for port access and land concessions – or their rubber firms and their white gold – the delegates found they have much to say about the state of the décor itself. Sometimes, despairingly.
And given our next arrivals and their history, I would rather have one less complaint this time, mused Charles as he and the executioner stared at the portrait of Giuseppe Garibaldi, hanging boldly from the wall. [4]
“We might need to move this somewhere else for the next few weeks.”
Sabu questioned. “Ah, but wouldn’t they be perplexed by the empty peg on the wall, Tuan Rajah?”
“I can arrange for another painting to be bought and hung here.”
“Then let me help you with that.” Sabu replied, pulling the portrait from his wall in one swift motion, Garibaldi’s visage now slightly crumpled in his arms. “Why do so many westerners open their mouths when they see this man? You said he was a great leader, but he seems to be overly adored by them all.”
“He united nations. Just like my predecessor.” Charles answered. Despite Rajah James’ admiration for the nationalist, and thus the painting, he himself had an ambivalent view of the man. With all that had happened with the kingdom and the Italian Empire, Charles always had a certain distaste towards the nation and it's people. But even with that, he found it very hard to dislike Garibaldi. Maybe it was the way he didn't take no for an answer, or how his drive for liberty took him to foreign battles across the seas, or how he gambled his life to unite a fractured Peninsula.
And carved up the lands of the coming imperial delegation in the process. If they see his face on my wall, there will be no end to the recrimination.
Charles repeated. “He united nations, and made a new one in its place.”
“Yes. Well, I’ll place this in the kitchen, Tuan Rajah.” Sabu replied. “I’ll inform the Supreme Council that you shall be late.”
And with that, the chief executioner walked away from the room, his feet making barely a sound on the carpeted floor.
**********
At the mouth of the Sarawak River, two days later.
At the mouth of the Sarawak River, two days later.
There were many things the SMS Kaiserin Elizabeth experienced while traveling the globe.
Being stuck in an estuary and surrounded by a swarm of native boats waiting for high tide was not one of them.
“…And yet,” muttered Franz Ferdinand, “here we are.”
For him, the wait was an unwelcome start to what he hoped would be an enlightening adventure in Borneo. Standing out on the deck, he recalled the captain’s conversation that took place at dawn. “I cannot trust the ship to traverse a channel this shallow, especially against the current. The barge is the only craft that could take us up to Kuching, and only when the tide is high.”
In the meantime, there was a surprising amount to witness from the deck alone. The vessel was surrounded by numerous smaller watercrafts of incredible makeup, all closely huddled as if to form a single mass. Alongside the coal and iron-bellied transportation hulks were Chinese junks, single-man cockerels, Malay fishing sampans, Dayak Perahus with their slender bodies and hornbill-fronts, and even what seemed to be longboats crafted with walls and windows, and roofs.
Incredible. Thought Ferdinand. Is all of Borneo also heading to Sarawak? Surely some of them can row across the sandbar and trail through the river mouth? Are the currents truly that strong? [5]
But there were also other vessels that point to a more guarded purpose. A ways off from the Elizabeth, Ferdinand spotted an ironclad that seemed to belong in the previous era, bobbing on the waves. As a lover of the sea, the prince was intrigued. And horrified.
“I half-believed it was true that the British gave their obsolete vessels to this nation.” He quipped.
“Gave or sold.” Officer Höhnel answered beside him. “But the Royal Navy trusts the Brooke family immensely. They have aided the British many times in eliminating local piracy, and several Navy officers are now employed by the Sarawak government.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Besides the Dutch, I would say Sarawak has the second-largest river fleet in all Borneo.” Höhnel continued, but his next sentence died as another figure approached the duo. “Captain!”
“Your Highness, the barge is ready.” The captain announced.
“The tide has risen high enough, then?”
“Indeed. My officers shall escort Your Highness and the delegation shortly.”
As Ferdinand and his entourage switched for the steam craft they loaned from Singapore, he saw that the mass of native boats surrounding them were also astir. Shouts echoed throughout the channel; a cacophony of Malay tongues, Chinese dialects, and tribal languages that he had never heard before. Though lost in translation, Ferdinand knew what they all meant: the river is passable.
As the barge and surrounding boats traversed, he decided to busy himself with final preparations for the upcoming talk with the White Rajah. Still, the activity of the natives was such that he couldn't help but peek out every now and then to marvel at the sight. Once, he saw a small child on one of the houseboats jump straight into the river before surfacing a few seconds later, swimming with such speed and skill that he could only have acquired from a lifetime of closeness with water. But such sights ended as the craft circled past the final bend, revealing the capital for all the newcomers to see.
Immediately, Ferdinand was struck at how crowded the river was, swarming with paddleboats of various makes, full with people. And the people! The diversity of them all surely rivalled even the masses of Vienna or Fiume. There were cloth-capped Malays and hair-queued Chinese, but there were turbaned Sikhs on the transport hulks, and Indian women swaddled in saris, and Caucasians dressed in suits and parasols, and on the Prahus sat men and women richly decorated in feathers and necklaces, with some sporting tattoos that swirled around their arms and legs.
“They are all staring at you.” Officer Höhnel whispered.
At that realization, a voice whispered in the back of Ferdinand’s mind, his granduncle’s lips sounding out the words from the rooms of Schönbrunn.
"...Sundaland is not where we expected the Great Game, but the Great Game it has become nonetheless."
____________________
Notes:
1. Tsar Alexander was noted for being gruff and unrefined when compared with the other Romanovs IOTL.
2. Chantaburi and Trat were occupied by French troops IOTL as they sought to expand into Siamese territory and to force the court into giving up Cambodia and Laos.
3. See post #922.
4. The Astana having a portrait of Garibaldi was in fact noted by Franz Ferdinand IOTL, much to his dismay.
5. Also noted by Franz Ferdinand IOTL. At this time, most traditional watercraft traversed the Sarawak River in high tide due to the incoming sea current being more stronger than the river’s.
Extra note: both Chulalongkorn and Franz Ferdinand's travels were based on their royal tours IOTL.
EDIT 2.0: how did I missed the dates?
Last edited:
