The way Nikolai regarded Arthur was almost comical—like an over-eager model student gazing at a beloved tutor, hungry for enlightenment.
"Prince Arthur, pray tell me at once! What is this 'constructive proposal' of yours?" he demanded impatiently, rubbing his hands together with a complete disregard for the dignity expected of the so-called Gendarme of Europe.
Arthur, watching that unabashed thirst for knowledge, allowed himself a discreet inward smile. His little exercise in political theatre had worked flawlessly. The net was ready to be drawn closed.
Returning to the enormous world map, he did not gesture toward one of the "world islands" this time. Instead, he tapped lightly upon the Black Sea—upon that region which the Tsar cherished more dearly than his own breath.
"Your Majesty," he began, his expression adopting a sincere and sympathetic quality, "I understand perfectly the desire of Your Majesty and your forebears—to break free from the confines of the Black Sea and to extend your influence into the Mediterranean. It is an inevitable ambition for any continental power seeking access to the open seas. It is not only understandable—it is entirely legitimate."
These words, which so conveniently validated his imperial dream, softened Nikolai at once. Arthur now appeared in his eyes not as a foreign prince but as a confidant—one who truly understood.
"However," Arthur continued, his face dimming with diplomatic concern, "you must also recognise that the friction between our two nations on this matter is quite real. The straits are too narrow—a grand mansion with but one door. We, Britain, as the maritime police of the world, require that our fleet may pass freely to preserve the 'peace and stability' of the Mediterranean."
"And you, Russia, equally require this passage for your Black Sea Fleet to reach the wider ocean. It is as though both the homeowner and the constable demand the single key to that door. That, Your Majesty, is the origin of our conflict."
Nikolai nodded vigorously. Exactly so! The boy sees the truth clearly.
"How then," Arthur mused aloud, "might one resolve this vexing dilemma?"
A spark of inspiration flashed across his features—the very image of a man struck by genius.
"Since both of us desire this key… why not share it?"
"Share it?" Nikolai's brow furrowed.
"Yes." Arthur's eyes gleamed with calculated brilliance. "Your Majesty, after our victory over the Qing Dynasty, I once drafted—but later discarded—a proposal for the occupation of one of their small islands as a commercial and naval base. The place was called Hong Kong. I abandoned the idea at the time because of trade complications."
Nikolai nodded slowly. "And you imply…?"
"One moment, Your Majesty," Arthur said, clapping his hands lightly. "It is this very idea that I wish to recommend to you today—the Hong Kong Solution."
Taking a piece of red chalk, he circled the Crimean Peninsula—piercing into the Black Sea like a dagger.
"Look, Your Majesty." His voice grew rich, almost hypnotic. "This peninsula lies at the very heart of the Black Sea. Its position is nothing less than Providence itself—created to command the entire region. And at its southern tip lies Sevastopol: a deep-water, ice-free, naturally fortified harbour without equal."
He lifted his chin sharply and declared:
"I propose that the Port of Sevastopol, together with its immediate coastal districts, be designated as an International Free Port of the Black Sea."
"An international free port?!" Nikolai struggled to grasp this new concept.
"Precisely." Arthur launched into his explanation with the polished confidence of a statesman presenting a masterstroke. "This Free Port would be administered by an independent Governing Committee, composed jointly of British and Russian representatives."
"It would be open to all friendly nations—whether truly friendly or merely declared so by our mutual agreement." A faint smirk crossed his lips. "All goods passing through would enjoy negligible or zero tariffs. Imagine it, Your Majesty—the industrial products of Britain, Turkish carpets, Persian spices, and merchandise from every corner of the world converging here! The prosperity would be unimaginable. And as co-administrators, the port revenues we would collect would be astronomical."
At the word revenues, Nikolai's eyes brightened instantly. A man tormented by fiscal headaches needs only a whisper of gold to stand upright again.
"And on the military side," Arthur continued, preparing the second lure, "to uphold the security of the Free Port and guarantee freedom of navigation in the Black Sea, I propose that our Royal Navy and your Black Sea Fleet exercise joint jurisdiction."
A flicker—just a brief glint—of suspicion flashed in Nikolai's eyes. His autocratic instincts had finally stirred.
"Joint military control?" he echoed, leaning forward with the sternness of a seasoned ruler. "Prince Arthur, your proposal is intriguing. But you seem to have forgotten something: Crimea is sacred Russian soil. Why should I permit a foreign power—even a friendly one—to station troops upon it? Would that not be akin to inviting a wolf into my home?"
There it is, Arthur thought calmly. The fox has not lost all its cunning.
Yet his expression remained serene, as though he had anticipated the objection entirely.
"Your Majesty, you misjudge my intention." He smiled gently, launching into his counter-ruse. "This 'joint jurisdiction' does not diminish your authority. Quite the contrary—it fortifies it."
"Consider this: Britain excels in naval power and commerce. Russia excels in land warfare—your cavalry is legendary. Each of us possesses strengths the other lacks."
"And who poses the greater threat across the Straits today? Not the exhausted Ottomans, but the French, who covet Mediterranean influence as eagerly as either of us."
"The French Navy, while weaker than ours, is still stronger than your Black Sea Fleet. If a conflict were ever to arise concerning the Ottoman succession, could your fleet truly guarantee control of Sevastopol? Could it prevent a French incursion into the Black Sea?"
These words struck directly at the Tsar's deepest anxiety.
Seeing his tension, Arthur pressed on:
"My proposal solves this dilemma for you."
"Though it appears to be joint command, it is in truth a declarative symbol to all Europe:
Any nation that threatens the Black Sea must face both the British Empire and the Russian Empire."
"Under the shadow of the Royal Navy—our 'tiger's skin' banner—would the French dare act rashly? Would the Ottomans dare stir trouble? No. They would bow to the superior, united authority of our two nations."
"Thus, Your Majesty, all you sacrifice is the minor inconvenience of our fleet visiting your port at intervals. In exchange, you gain the entire weight of British naval supremacy supporting your dominance in the Black Sea."
"We shall provide the funds and technology to build the most technologically advanced port in the world. Our ships will help guard your gateway and intimidate your rivals. And you—without lifting much more than a pen—will receive a prosperous, secure harbour, overseen mostly by you… the International Port of the Black Sea."
Arthur leaned forward, delivering his final olive branch.
"What say you to an arrangement in which form is exchanged for substance?"
What say you indeed?
A true bargain.
Nikolai's doubts melted beneath the precision of Arthur's rhetoric. The promise was irresistible—Britain acting as a shield against France? This young prince was practically a godsend.
He gazed again at the map, his eyes lingering on dagger-shaped Crimea, already drifting into visions of future military glory.
"This boy speaks extravagantly… but cleverly. His intent is obvious—gain access to my Black Sea. Hmph. The British never move without reason."
He smirked inwardly.
"But… he is right. The French Mediterranean Fleet is a problem. If I can make Britain confront them on my behalf, my path into the Balkans and Persia will be far smoother."
"And the port remains my territory. My army can enter at any time. Even if the British station ships there, would they dare defy me, the local sovereign? Once the port prospers, its 'administration' will bend to my will."
"And more importantly…"
A calculating gleam flashed in his eyes.
"Those ironclad ship designs, the telegraph… Under the guise of 'joint construction' I can send my engineers to learn everything. Once I have taken all their secrets, what will this 'joint management' amount to? Nothing."
His worries evaporated. Satisfaction swelled within him like a warm tide. He believed he had outplayed Arthur—gained all advantages and lost nothing.
"Splendid! Splendid indeed!"
Unable to contain himself, Nikolai slapped his thigh, abandoning imperial composure. He strode forward, seized Arthur's hand, and declared with ecstatic fervour:
"Prince Arthur—you are my brother! A divine gift to Holy Russia!"
Arthur accepted the praise with a polite smile. But inwardly, he sneered.
Fool.
He had not yet realised the most crucial—and most perilous—aspect of Arthur's design:
To place British military power directly at the heart of Russia in a manner entirely peaceful and legal.
Historically, Britain fought a devastating war to gain such a foothold in the Crimea.
Now, with a handful of well-chosen words, Arthur Lionheart had convinced the Tsar to offer it willingly.
This was not merely digging a pit.
It was crafting a coffin—one hammered together in steel and gilded gold—prepared personally for that great northern bear.
And regarding the Crimean War, Arthur believed he possessed a decisive advantage: he knew what the future held, while Nikolai remained blind. If war was inevitable, then preparing early was the key to seizing the initiative.