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Enjoy the new chapter and thank you for the support Microraptor, Mium, Porthos10, Dekol347, Shingle_Top, AlexZero12, George_Bush_2910, TheHumble_Dogge and p_raj!
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All the officers present at Fort Bourbon had been summoned by the Marquis de Montcalm.
Adam, accompanied by Martin, climbed the few wooden steps, darkened and made slippery by a short rain shower a few hours earlier, then entered the fort commander's large office.
Many officers—captains and above—were already present. They were whispering quietly, speculating about what was going to be announced.
All they knew was that it concerned the East Indies.
Gradually, the whispers grew so widespread that Adam felt as if everyone were speaking at a normal volume.
His eyes briefly met those of Colonel de Bréhant, who was deep in conversation with the Marquis de Montcalm, standing at the back of the room.
Montcalm looked stately in his fine gold-embroidered uniform. This time, he wore a dark green coat, similar in tone to bottle glass.
His face appeared relatively relaxed—a good sign—and if Adam wasn't mistaken, the marquis had begun to regain some weight. Thanks to the Iroquois, and partly thanks to him, the food stores at Fort Bourbon were steadily increasing.
Soldiers were now being served decent meals, including meat.
"What do you think," Martin whispered close to his ear, "what will the marquis say?"
"I have a hunch," Adam replied, "but he may have fresher news than we do."
"I hope it's good. I don't want to bring sad news to my men. He seems in good spirits, don't you think? That's encouraging."
Adam nodded silently as the last officers entered. The door was closed behind them.
Slowly, the marquis's dark eyes swept over each face, as if to gauge the morale of his men.
Satisfied, he settled into a more comfortable stance. His left hand rested on the hilt of his fine sword, while his right slipped elegantly into his waistcoat, as if holding his stomach.
Had Adam not spent so much time in this century, he might have thought the man was imitating Napoleon—but he had long since learned that this gesture, common among well-educated men, was simply a refined way to occupy one's right hand rather than letting it hang uselessly.
He himself sometimes adopted the same posture and had to admit it was rather comfortable.
"Gentlemen," said Montcalm in a clear voice, "thank you for responding to my call despite your obligations. I've gathered you here today to share some good news from the East Indies. I believe many of our men have recently taken an interest in those faraway territories. That's a good thing, as everyone must remember that the war is not fought only here, on the frontiers of New France."
A murmur of approval passed through the assembly—discreet and respectful. Montcalm continued:
"You are authorized to share the information I'm about to give you. It will surely lift the spirits of the garrison. Knowing that our comrades on the other side of the world are doing well in the name of His Majesty will, I am certain, encourage them to redouble their efforts here."
The officers nodded in silence, and a few allowed themselves small smiles.
It was true that their subordinates were deeply interested in events over there, though they didn't always grasp the stakes involved.
"Of course," the general added, "due to the distance separating us from that front, some of this news may no longer be current. If anything changes, you will be informed. Let us begin, then, with what Monsieur de Conflans has accomplished since his arrival in Bengal."
The marquis then picked up from his desk a thick sheaf of papers, probably ten pages or so.
"As you know, gentlemen, Marshal de Conflans took control of the city of Calcutta and laid siege to its fort, Fort William. Poorly prepared, devastated by a terrible epidemic, and cut off by our troops, it did not hold out and opened its gates to our armies on March 3rd of this year.
The soldiers of His Britannic Majesty, represented by Major General Clive, were allowed to leave the city and retreat to Bombay, their other stronghold in the East Indies. It is the equivalent of our Pondicherry, but located on the opposite side of Bengal.
They were, however, not allowed to take all of their treasures with them. Monsieur de Conflans deemed them to have been acquired dishonorably. Furthermore, the British troops were forbidden from rejoining the conflict."
Adam was not surprised. His friends had already written to him about this, with a few variations in the details.
Around him, there was a stir. The officers smiled and congratulated one another on this clear and decisive victory.
It was also a very lucrative one. If the goods plundered by the British had indeed been seized, then the Crown had just enriched itself handsomely without lifting a finger.
Poor Robert Clive, on the other hand, had just lost everything. Since his arrival in India, he had received a mountain of gifts.
These precious skins, jewels, and other rare objects should not be seen as corruption, but rather as goods exchanged in the context of diplomacy—signs of respect. That was extremely common.
To be allowed to retreat to Bombay, he had to give all that up.
"Monsieur de Conflans," the marquis resumed in a calm tone, "then marched on Chandernagore, our trading post that was tragically lost due to the treachery of the English and the deception of the usurper Mir Jafar. It is with great joy that I announce to you that this city has returned to our hands without bloodshed."
Again, Adam was not surprised—his friends had mentioned it in their letters. He smiled broadly at the sight of his comrades' reactions, some of them nearly moved to tears.
However, he knew that Bengal was not yet truly under their control. It would take more than two trading posts to dominate such a vast region.
Even though he already knew what came next, Adam leaned in slightly, waiting with a certain eagerness for the conclusion of the story.
"A little calm, please. This is not over. The Marshal then embarked with his army to head for the city of Dacca, located on another major river in Bengal, farther east. The Marshal describes the city as difficult to reach, lying at the confluence of two very large rivers, extremely complex for navigation.
He added that it is a major, prosperous, and vibrant city, nourished by fertile lands and enriched by flourishing trade. He was full of praise for this city and claims that, if things are handled properly, it could bring great fortune to His Majesty and to all those who would invest there."
A shiver ran through the assembly. The officers immediately began to dream: did they have a chance to get even a tiny percentage of that sleeping fortune over there?
Some had been seriously considering for some time now financing commercial expeditions to the region, believing that the risks were far outweighed by the potential gains.
Adam, for his part, didn't give it a second thought—he had no capital to invest. On top of that, he didn't know India's history the way he knew that of the United States. Investing over there seemed far too risky.
"Hmm... if it's Monsieur de Conflans... Maybe I should speak to my father about it," Martin murmured, looking thoughtful.
Adam turned to him. Being a nobleman, Martin probably did have the means to invest, even somewhere as far away as India.
"Gentlemen," Montcalm continued, "I also bring news of justice delivered by Marshal de Conflans. While this won't change the war we're fighting against Great Britain, I still feel compelled to share a tragic story with you."
Adam raised an eyebrow in surprise. He had no idea what the marquis was about to talk about.
"As many of you likely know, the rightful Nawab of Bengal was cowardly assassinated by his vassals, bought with English gold. When the British took over the region and installed their puppet ruler, the infamous Mir Jafar, he didn't stop at slaughtering his enemies—those loyal to Nawab Siraj ud-Daulah.
He also imprisoned the Nawab's wife and children in Dhaka. Granted, they were confined to a palace, but however beautiful, a prison is still a prison. They were to be kept there until they died.
That injustice has now been righted—Monsieur de Conflans has freed them."
Applause, heavy with emotion, rang out in the room. Adam joined in, clapping with the others for several long seconds until the room quieted naturally.
No one in the room knew these people personally, but hearing that the crimes committed by their enemies—and their allies—had been avenged brought a sense of profound relief.
Montcalm allowed the moment to settle, seemingly pleased by the reaction. Perhaps he even felt like the applause was meant for him?
He resumed speaking once the last clap had faded.
"Because there was no modern army in Dhaka, and since the former Nawab had many supporters in the city, it readily accepted a change in leadership. Monsieur de Conflans didn't stay there long, however, as one critical matter remained unresolved: the downfall of the traitor Mir Jafar's son-in-law.
This man posed a serious threat—there was a high risk he might try to seize power in Bengal following Mir Jafar's execution. So the marshal marched on Murshidabad, where he met with Mir Qasim.
Strangely enough, he was welcomed."
"Huh?" someone blurted out, quickly followed by murmurs of surprise.
Everyone had expected bloodshed—at least the death of that man.
"I understand your surprise," Montcalm said slowly, sweeping the room with his steely gaze to restore order. "Here is what he wrote," he continued, before reading aloud:
'This Mir Qasim came to meet us at the city gates and, with the utmost humility, begged us to accept his submission. The reputation of our soldiers is truly immense in this region, and there was no doubt he was terrified when he saw how many men we had brought.
He welcomed us into his city and his home, where we were treated with the highest honors. We were served exquisite dishes we'd never tasted before and walked through breathtaking gardens.
There, the husband of the traitor Mir Jafar's daughter explained to us that he no longer had the means to resist anyone. The British had emptied the coffers, and his father-in-law had lost all his allies trying to buy their protection.'"
Adam, who had never heard of this affair before, now understood better why Mir Qasim had welcomed into his home the man who had executed his wife's father.
His wife must've been thrilled, Adam thought wryly. Still, not our problem. If I got that right, they didn't have much of a choice. Captain Costier said Bengal was always under threat from a big empire. The Maratha Empire, I think? Without the English—and now without our help—they'd be screwed.
"To ensure Bengal would fall under our control without needing to deploy tens of thousands of troops," Montcalm went on, "Monsieur de Conflans agreed to keep Mir Qasim in place. In exchange, he received several guarantees and, in the name of His Majesty... a great number of gifts."
He began to flip through the pages in his hands. Adam assumed it was a list.
Damn, they gave all that?! I thought the guy was broke!
"If he accepted Mir Qasim's generous offer," Montcalm continued after a pause, "he nonetheless insisted that the widow of Nawab Siraj ud-Daulah be placed under our protection and granted a generous pension as compensation for the treatment she endured and the death of her husband.
The new Nawab agreed.
When Monsieur de Conflans returned to Calcutta, our merchant ships were already being loaded. He claims that in just four days, they had purchased so many local goods that the ships were nearly sinking under the weight."
A few chuckles reached Adam's ears.
"General?" an officer asked, raising a hand to Adam's right, a few rows ahead.
"Yes? You have a question?"
"Yes, sir. So if I understood correctly, Bengal is under our control now? Does that mean it will become a colony?"
Several men nodded eagerly, clearly very interested in the answer.
"No, it won't," Montcalm replied. "In his previous report, he made it very clear: the East Indies are too vast and too complex to be ruled by any single kingdom. Even Bengal alone would be difficult to govern directly. So we'll make it a protectorate, an ally, and a trading partner.
As Monsieur de Conflans wisely wrote in another report, we must not be seen as conquerors if we want to avoid straining our relationships. We are not the English."
The officer nodded, then yielded the floor to another. Several more questions followed, and Montcalm did his best to answer them—though not all had clear answers.
Eventually, the officers were dismissed. Adam rejoined Captain André Louis and Jean-Baptiste Gauthier, and the three of them spoke at length before he returned to his men.
It didn't take long before all of Fort Bourbon was buzzing with the news of France's successes in the East Indies.
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Seven days later, more news reached Fort Bourbon—just as Adam was preparing to leave for Montreal.
This time, the news was not good.
The festive mood vanished in an instant, like morning mist. It felt like waking up after a night of heavy drinking.
It hit them like a hammer blow.
Adam walked out of the marquis's office with a grim, downcast expression, just like everyone else. Once again, word spread quickly through the fort.
He found Martin on Long Island, near the Long Bridge. He too had lost all trace of good cheer.
"Tell me," he sighed, "do you think we're going to lose everything we've gained because of what happened?"
"Honestly? No idea. Either way, it happened in March. Too late for regrets now."
Martin grimaced and furrowed his brow as a cold drop of water fell on his nose.
"If Count Lally is dead or taken prisoner, we can only hope that whoever takes over will know what to do to defend our trading posts."
That was, indeed, what had happened shortly after Bengal was brought under British control. Probably eager to earn distinction and avoid being overshadowed at Versailles by Marshal de Conflans' extraordinary successes, Count Lally had taken to sea with only a few hundred men and three ships, determined to retake the trading post of Mahé.
But he had barely begun sailing along the Malabar coast when he ran into a British squadron. He tried to turn back, but the British ships were far superior.
According to reports from the officers on site, Lally had given the order to head for Cochin, the nearest Dutch outpost—but the Dutch had flat-out refused them entry. Adam, like all the other officers, understood why they had done so, but they were still furious.
If the Dutch had agreed to shelter the three French ships in their port, perhaps the tragedy could have been avoided.Because they chose otherwise, their comrades had been overtaken and crushed.
It was still unknown whether Count Lally had been killed in the battle or captured and taken to Bombay. It was incredibly frustrating.
Adam knew almost nothing about the man. According to Marshal de Conflans, he was narrow-minded, arrogant, and had not gotten along with the officer who had served as his second-in-command at Madras.
He assumed that officer, the Marquis de Bussy, was now in charge of defending French interests in India. Like everyone at Fort Bourbon, Adam prayed the man was up to the task, for if Conflans' efforts were squandered now, it would be a devastating blow to French morale in America.
The soldiers at the fort had become a bit too emotionally invested. They reacted as strongly as if they had been watching a television series for years, season after season, and had grown attached to the characters.
But Adam couldn't have known that Conflans' words were, in fact, an understatement.Lally wasn't just narrow-minded: he was hot-tempered, prideful, ambitious—and incompetent.Wherever he went, he caused disaster and fell out with everyone.
His disappearance at sea was, in truth, a blessing.
De Bussy, who had learned a great deal under the great Dupleix, was, by contrast, a skilled diplomat. He knew how to behave with local kings and princes.
He had even been granted the title of nawab by one of his allies, the king of Nizam, Salabat Jung, for helping him ascend the throne after his brother's death. He also maintained excellent relations with the king of Mysore, Maharaja Krishnaraja Wadiyar II.
In reality, the key figure wasn't even the king—but his minister, Haidar Ali.Haidar Ali was a brilliant politician, a man as adept with numbers as he was with weapons.
Unlike Count Lally, the Marquis de Bussy understood the importance of powerful allies. He treated each of them with dignity, as he would any European prince.
So, while Lally had gone off on a crusade against the British for the glory of the King of France and the French East India Company, de Bussy made himself useful by keeping the kingdom of Mysore from switching sides.
Had that happened, Pondicherry would have been in grave danger, having lost the shield guarding its back.
India might have turned its back on France entirely, granting Britain access to immense wealth—enough to fund its wars for generations without worry.
"Well then," Adam sighed, "I'll finish getting my things ready. I don't know exactly what I'll be doing, but it'll do me good to see some different scenery."
"Oh, right. You're going on leave. I hope it doesn't rain too much on the way."
Adam smirked, not particularly convinced he'd escape the whims of the weather. It rained practically every other day.
"Me too. When are you leaving again, remind me?"
"In two days. I still have one or two things to wrap up here."
"Don't forget your duties during your leave," Adam reminded him in a very serious tone. "You're supposed to use this time to recruit men."
Adam realized, seeing his friend's expression, that he had forgotten. It was clear he was already thinking only of the young Ryckje van Schaick.
"All right then. I'll meet you at the fort gate in a bit. Later!"
With that, Adam left his friend behind. And as if he'd cast a curse, the moment he found him again at the massive gates of Fort Bourbon, it started to rain as if the heavens had been torn open.