Fall of Giants

Walter nodded. Most advanced nations were doing the same. Oil was cheaper, cleaner, and easier to deal with-you just pumped it in, instead of employing armies of black-faced stokers. “And the British get oil from Mexico.”

“They have bought the Mexican oil wells in order to secure supplies for their navy.”

“But if we interfere in Mexico, what would the Americans think?”

Otto tapped the side of his nose. “Listen and learn. And, whatever you do, don’t say anything.”

The men about to be presented were waiting in an anteroom. Most had on the same velvet court dress, though one or two were in the comic-opera costumes of nineteenth-century generals, and one-presumably a Scot-wore full-dress uniform with a kilt. Walter and Otto strolled around the room, nodding to familiar faces on the diplomatic circuit, until they came to Diaz, a thickset man with a mustache that curled up at the tips.

After the usual pleasantries Otto said: “You must be glad that President Wilson has lifted the ban on arms sales to Mexico.”

“Arms sales to the rebels,” said Diaz, as if correcting him.

The American president, always inclined to take a moral stand, had refused to recognize General Huerta, who had come to power after the assassination of his predecessor. Calling Huerta a murderer, Wilson was backing a rebel group, the Constitutionalists.

Otto said: “If arms may be sold to the rebels, surely they may be sold to the government?”

Diaz looked startled. “Are you telling me that Germany would be willing to do that?”

“What do you need?”

“You must already know that we are desperate for rifles and ammunition.”

“We could talk further about it.”

Walter was as startled as Diaz. This would cause trouble. He said: “But, Father, the United States-”

“One moment!” His father held up a hand to silence him.

Diaz said: “By all means let us talk further. But tell me: what other subjects might come up?” He had guessed that Germany would want something in return.

The door to the throne room opened, and a footman came out carrying a list. The presentation was about to start. But Otto continued unhurriedly: “In time of war, a sovereign country is entitled to withhold strategic supplies.”

Diaz said: “You’re talking about oil.” It was the only strategic supply Mexico had.

Otto nodded.

Diaz said: “So you would give us guns-”

“Sell, not give,” Otto murmured.

“You would sell us guns now, in exchange for a promise that we would withhold oil from the British in the event of war.” Diaz was clearly not used to the elaborate waltz of normal diplomatic conversation.

“It might be worth discussing.” In the language of diplomacy that was a yes.

The footman called out: “Monsieur Honoré de Picard de la Fontaine!” and the presentations began.

Otto gave Diaz a direct look. “What I’d like to know from you is how such a proposal might be received in Mexico City.”

“I believe President Huerta would be interested.”

“So, if the German minister to Mexico, Admiral Paul von Hintze, were to make a formal approach to your president, he would not receive a rebuff.”

Walter could tell that his father was determined to get an unequivocal answer to this. He did not want the German government to risk the embarrassment of having such an offer flung back in their faces.

In Walter’s anxious view, embarrassment was not the greatest danger to Germany in this diplomatic ploy. It risked making an enemy of the United States. But it was frustratingly difficult to point this out in the presence of Diaz.

Answering the question, Diaz said: “He would not be rebuffed.”

“You’re sure?” Otto insisted.

“I guarantee it.”

Walter said: “Father, may I have a word-”

But the footman cried: “Herr Walter von Ulrich!”

Walter hesitated, and his father said: “Your turn. Go on!”

Walter turned away and stepped into the Throne Room.

The British liked to overawe their guests. The high coffered ceiling had diamond-patterned coving, the red plush walls were hung with enormous portraits, and at the far end the throne was overhung by a high canopy with dark velvet drapes. In front of the throne stood the king in a naval uniform. Walter was pleased to see the familiar face of Sir Alan Tite at the king’s side-no doubt whispering names in the royal ear.

Walter approached and bowed. The king said: “Good to see you again, von Ulrich.”

Walter had rehearsed what he would say. “I hope Your Majesty found the discussions at Tŷ Gwyn interesting.”

“Very! Although the party was dreadfully overshadowed, of course.”

“By the pit disaster. Indeed, so tragic.”

“I look forward to our next meeting.”

Walter understood this was his dismissal. He walked backward, bowing repeatedly in the required manner, until he reached the doorway.

His father was waiting for him in the next room.

“That was quick!” Walter said.

“On the contrary, it took longer than normal,” said Otto. “Usually the king says: ‘I’m glad to see you in London,’ and that’s the end of the conversation.”