Chapter 1079: Dividing Spheres of Influence
M'zab was a major tribal region in southern Algiers, boasting a population of nearly seventy thousand and a territory spanning over eighty thousand square kilometers.
However, the vast majority of their land lay within the depths of the Sahara Desert. It was only through an underground irrigation system painstakingly constructed over centuries that they had managed to secure a few oases capable of supporting crops.
Joseph was not surprised by how isolated they were. The people there spent their entire lives dealing only with Algiers and the Touggourt tribes to the east. In their minds, Algiers was likely the most powerful force in the world.
Lavalette and Berthier exchanged a look before the former continued, "Your Highness, should we dispatch a force to M'zab?"
The Chief of the General Staff added, "Eight hundred infantrymen should be more than enough."
Joseph started to nod instinctively but suddenly thought of something. He raised a hand to stop them. "No need. Since the M'zab people are so loyal to Algiers, we should grant them their wish."
M'zab was essentially nothing but desert with virtually no natural resources. It was the perfect place to serve as a final refuge for the remnants of the Algiers Janissaries.
He turned to Berthier and instructed, "Tell Colonel Ney to leave a few 'defensive vulnerabilities' in the mountain passes east of Medea..."
Medea sat south of the capital, Mitidja. Its territory was largely dominated by the Atlas Mountains, with only a few passes on the far western side leading toward the city of Laghouat in M'zab.
In the Tunisian Legion’s camp outside the walls of Mitidja, Gemile sat dejectedly, sipping a glass of fermented grape juice—he couldn't consume alcohol, so this was his only alternative.
As he finished his eleventh cup, an officer entered his tent, tipped his hat, and smiled. "Colonel, Colonel Ney invites you to attend the welcoming ceremony for His Excellency the Governor tomorrow morning."
Gemile glanced at the newcomer—Ney’s staff officer—and waved him off despondently. "I’ve been relieved of my command. There’s no need for me at such an event..."
The order had arrived from the General Staff two days ago: he was dismissed for "disobeying military orders and launching an unauthorized assault."
The staff officer stepped closer and whispered a few words into his ear.
The haze of the juice vanished instantly. Gemile sprang to his feet, snapping into a stiff salute. "Please convey my gratitude to the Crown Prince! I will not let him down!"
The next morning at nine o'clock.
A column of majestic hussars led the way through a double line of hundreds of French soldiers. Under the watchful eyes of thousands of Mitidja citizens, the carriage of the newly appointed Governor of Algiers, Count Uste, rolled into the city.
The former Divan Palace, the legislative heart of Algiers, had already been rebranded as the Governor’s Mansion. Uste walked inside with his head held high, accompanied by Ney, Gemile, and other high-ranking officers, as well as over twenty local Algiers nobles.
The Governor was clearly very particular about his new residence, constantly pointing out areas that needed adjustment. "There, replace that with a portrait of His Majesty the King.
"The garden is far too small. It must be tripled in size...
"Build a high wall around the main hall. I don't care for this open, drafty style..."
The Algiers nobles exchanged uneasy glances, waiting for the new Governor to announce some grand decree or a shift in policy. Instead, they were met only with Uste’s command to begin the banquet.
It wasn't until the ball ended that evening that a noble from the Janissary faction, who had served as the tax official for Mitidja, cautiously approached the Governor to ask how future taxes would be adjusted. Uste replied lazily, "There are no adjustments. Everything remains as it was. Just deliver the tax revenue that used to go to the Kuloğlu to me instead."
The nobles were overjoyed. If the French only wanted money, this was even better than the rule of the Algiers Divan. The French were unfamiliar with the local complexities, meaning there would be countless opportunities for the nobles to line their own pockets.
That night, Mustafa Shafik—an elder of the Algiers Naval faction, maritime representative of the Divan, and advisor to the treasury—was summoned to Uste’s private reception room.
Reeking of wine, Uste pulled Shafik to the window and pointed at the shimmering lights of Mitidja. He exclaimed loudly, "What a beautiful place! I see gold coins everywhere I look."
After the translator finished his rapid delivery, Shafik bowed and smiled obsequiously. "Yes, Your Excellency. Tomorrow—no, tonight—I will have men transport gold coins to you."
Uste patted his shoulder. "And how many coins could you possibly have?"
"How many? Er, perhaps ten thousand rials..."
Uste’s expression soured. "That is far too little."
"Then... what amount would Your Excellency find appropriate?"
"One million! No, two million rials! The more the better!"
Shafik gasped in shock, his face clouding with worry. "That... Your Excellency, you must understand, that is beyond my capabilities."
Uste smirked. "I know you don't have it. But someone does, and they have far more than two million rials."
"You mean...?"
"Those damned Algiers Janissaries," Uste said. "Their army has been annihilated by Major Arrighi and the Tunisian Legion, but their gold remains."
Shafik’s eyes lit up with delight. "Rest assured, Your Excellency. Within five days, the estates of every Janissary officer who fled will be laid out before you."
When the French moved into Mitidja, a large number of Janissaries had fled to Morocco or M'zab. In their haste, most had been forced to leave their wealth behind.
Uste shook his head. "No, I’m not just talking about those who fled. I mean those who stayed behind as well. I want it all!
"Furthermore, I’ve heard those great tribes have hoarded quite a bit of gold themselves. You must find a way to get it for me!"
Shafik’s eyes widened in total disbelief.
The great tribes of Algiers were primarily Berbers. According to the Governor’s instructions, he was to strip both the Janissary faction and the Berber faction of everything they owned!
He looked at Uste and said tentatively, "Your Excellency, I fear this will not be easy..."
"Just do it. Use whatever means necessary," Uste said dismissively. "You have my full support. Of course, if you find it too difficult, I can always find someone else to do the job."
Shafik’s heart hammered against his ribs.
For over a century, the Naval faction, the Janissary faction, and the Berber faction had wrestled for control, locked in a stalemate where no one could gain the upper hand. It was a delicate, triangular balance of power.
But now, with French backing, Algiers would belong to the Naval faction alone!
He immediately dropped to his knees, his voice trembling with excitement. "From this day forward, I and every captain and sailor under my command shall be your most loyal servants!"
At the same time.
In a café just outside the Governor's Mansion, Gemile looked around cautiously. He frowned at the man across from him, Hadem Rahman, head of the Mitidja Chamber of Commerce. "I recall saying we needed a 'safe and reliable place'."
Rahman spoke quickly. "Please, ease your mind. This is my shop. Every barista and clerk here would gladly die for me at a moment's notice."
Only then did Gemile nod in satisfaction. He picked up his coffee cup, caught the aroma, and looked up at Rahman. "Algiers should, and must, only be inhabited by us 'Romans'."
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