Chapter 1113: The Direction of Russia
Massive losses had left the Knights of Malta harboring a deep-seated resentment. Thus, two years ago, while the British and French fleets were skirmishing in the Mediterranean, the Order had refused to allow French warships into their ports to replenish supplies, even going so far as to provide intelligence to the British.
Once the British Navy retreated from the Mediterranean, Admiral Brueys, the Supreme Commander of the Toulon Fleet, dispatched marines to the island. They arrested over a hundred members of the Order who had conspired with the British—at the time, the Knights of Malta only had about four hundred members in total—and declared the port of Malta a permanently neutral harbor where no military installations could be deployed.
The Knights of Malta were left reeling from these consecutive blows, their strength greatly diminished. It was precisely at this moment that Paul I ascended the throne, and the Order was struck with a wave of wild exultation.
The Tsar had been fascinated by chivalric culture since childhood, and the Knights of Malta remained the only knightly order in the world officially recognized by the Roman Curia. Consequently, they had maintained close ties with the Russian Crown Prince for decades.
The Knights of Malta made an immediate decision. Almost the entire Order relocated to Saint Petersburg, placing themselves under the protection of the new Tsar and even naming Paul I the Grand Master and Protector of the Order.
Paul I was exceedingly generous in return, granting them a palace to serve as their headquarters and providing an annual operating budget of five hundred thousand rubles.
From that point on, Paul gave full vent to his eccentricities. He not only established a chivalric chapel within the Winter Palace, requiring the nobility to pray there, but also mandated the strict enforcement of knightly etiquette and regulations.
These rules included, but were not limited to: dropping to one knee upon seeing His Majesty; wearing full classical knightly attire, without which entry to Gatchina Palace was forbidden; adhering to knightly virtues by banning extravagant banquets and adultery; and requiring all nobles to follow the schedule of a medieval monastery, which meant they had to be in bed by nine o'clock in the evening.
Most agonizing of all, he established a Court of Chivalric Honor. Presided over by twelve Knights of Malta acting as judges, this court was dedicated to trying cases where nobles had violated the "spirit of chivalry."
As for the fact that Paul I was Eastern Orthodox while the Knights of Malta were Catholic?
He did not see it as a problem at all.
Since his youth, he had been convinced that he was a "Savior Incarnate," destined to unify Catholicism and Eastern Orthodoxy into a single "Ecumenical Church" belonging to all Christians.
Of course, since the Orthodox Church remained quite powerful, Paul I only dared to make subtle moves for the time being. The Ecumenical Church was still in its secret planning stages.
General Orlov pondered for a moment, his face pulling into a grimace. "I do not know who could possibly bridge the gap with those Maltese. They seem to answer only to His Majesty."
"I have met their special envoy, Giulio Litta, twice..."
As Suvorov spoke, he saw Zubov panting as he rushed up from behind. "Field Marshal! Thank goodness! I have finally found you!"
Suvorov frowned inwardly.
He felt a distinct loathing for this former favorite of the late Empress. The two of them had rarely exchanged more than cold stares in the past; why was he suddenly seeking him out now?
Zubov lacked even a trace of the arrogance he had displayed while Catherine II was alive. He bowed respectfully to Suvorov and Orlov, then leaned in close, whispering urgently:
"Field Marshal, there is dire trouble. For the future of the Empire, we must stand united!"
"What exactly has happened?"
"I have heard that His Majesty intends to withdraw all troops from Transcaucasia."
Suvorov was aghast. "Are you certain?"
"My sources heard it directly from Rostopchin."
Rostopchin was a trusted minister of Paul I and currently presided over Russia's foreign affairs.
Suvorov immediately became anxious. "Go quickly and find Count Hrabovitsky and Count Bezborodko. I will contact Marshal Rumyantsev... No, His Majesty does not care for him..."
"Count Ostermann. His Majesty might still listen to him."
"Very well. I shall seek him out."
Suvorov nodded, walking alongside Zubov toward the carriages. "Why would His Majesty do such a thing?"
"Supposedly, His Majesty believes we have no interests in the Middle East and that it is merely a waste of military funds."
Suvorov's brow furrowed even deeper.
Although the Russian offensive toward Persia had been stalled, they still occupied a vast swathe of land north of Mianeh. How could they simply abandon it so easily?
As for Zubov, he was even more desperate to preserve Russia's gains in the Middle East.
After all, his own brother was the one commanding the campaign against Persia.
Having lost his patron with the passing of Catherine II, he was counting on his brother to gain political prestige on the battlefield. That was the only future left for the Zubov family!
At noon the following day, a group of highly influential ministers—led by Field Marshal Suvorov and including the Foreign Minister, the former Secretary to the Empress, and the former Minister of State—arrived at Gatchina Palace.
Atop the palace walls, a squad of guards armed with halberds and dressed in narrow-waisted, tight-fitting uniforms patrolled back and forth. Upon seeing Suvorov and his companions, several flintlock muskets were immediately poked through the firing slits above.
Indeed, while Paul I was still the Crown Prince, his favorite pastime had been drilling soldiers. He had personally trained the Gatchina Regiment and styled Gatchina Palace to resemble a military barracks.
An officer stepped forward to salute Suvorov and the others, then glanced up at the gun barrels along the wall. He whispered, "Please, do not take offense. This is by His Majesty's command. He says, 'Vigilance must never be relaxed, not even for a moment.'"
Suvorov waved a hand dismissively. He knew that in the past, there had even been chevaux-de-frise barricades at the gates of Gatchina. At least the Tsar had removed those after his coronation.
They hadn't walked far into the palace before Suvorov heard the rhythmic thrum of drums and the sharp crunch of leather boots hitting the pavement in the plaza.
Clearly, the Tsar was personally drilling the troops again.
"Wrong again! Is your brain made of stone? You cannot even maintain a simple stride length!" Paul I, dressed in a standard Prussian military uniform and a tricorne hat, pointed his sword at a soldier and barked, "Go to the provost marshal and receive five lashes!"
The soldier's face went pale, but he dared not disobey. He walked tremulously toward the corner of the plaza.
Suvorov frowned. "What did that young man do to deserve the lash?"
In the Russian army, flogging was typically reserved for major offenses like looting or damaging weaponry.
The officer leading them in turned his head. "It was a stride error, Field Marshal. His Majesty requires that every step in the infantry's formation be exactly twenty-eight inches."
Beside them, Count Hrabovitsky looked confused. "But that soldier didn't seem to step incorrectly..."
He trailed off as he saw an officer sprawled on the ground with a measuring rod, meticulously checking the stride of every soldier. He immediately fell silent.
A moment later, they heard Paul I shout at another officer, "Your men have made over a dozen mistakes today! This proves you have been utterly negligent in your duty to train them. Ten lashes!"
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