December 8, 1855.
Cold winds swept across the Bosphorus Strait, yet Afud Pasha, who already suffered from chronic rheumatism in his legs, had no choice but to shiver on the dock's gangway in his expensive sable fur coat.
"Damn it! Don't those Russians celebrate Christmas? Even the British have gone off for the holiday."
The accompanying official beside him, likewise huddled inside a fur-lined coat, softly echoed his complaint.
"Those Russians are a pack of barbarians. They probably don't celebrate anything!"
"Exactly. Those damned Russian Bears aren't content with acting like beasts—they won't let us have an easy time either. Achoo!"
Though he said that, Afud Pasha still did everything he could to make the welcoming ceremony grand, hoping not to give the Russians anything to pick at.
Over the past six months, the money spent bribing Russian envoys alone had been an astronomical sum. Add in the expenses for all these receptions and ceremonial displays, and the total was likely over ten million kurus.
(One hundred kurus was approximately equal to one Pound Sterling.)
It might have been humiliating, but the Ottoman Empire had successfully dragged the war out for half a year through such methods.
At least, that was what they themselves believed.
Over time, the Ottoman higher-ups came to think this arrangement was quite good. At the very least, it was better than fighting a war.
And so, all the pressure fell upon the Foreign Ministry.
Afud Pasha had never understood those so-called patriotic youths so well before. Diplomats from weak nations truly had a hard time of it.
He knew perfectly well that the Russians had come to stir up trouble, yet he did not dare offend them. Afud Pasha could not hold his head up before the Russians, and he was always stationed at the