When word reached the local tribes that Naser al-Din had invited their chieftains to a banquet at the governor’s mansion, the tribal leaders felt their pressure tactics had worked like a charm.
The governor’s earlier purge of Tabriz’s corrupt tax officers had already furious local tribal lords, who made a killing every year by bribing tax officials and squeezing double taxes out of local farmers.
Since Naser al-Din’s new policies threatened their bottom line, they naturally gave him the cold shoulder.
They formed a united front to fiercely block his reform decrees while bullying any provincial tax collector sent their way.
The Maragheh tribe proved the most brutal of the lot; their chief went so far as to slice off both ears of a provincial official.
In his formal letter, Naser al-Din wrote with meek humility, basically admitting he went too far with his earlier reforms and offering to host a banquet to make amends.
The tribal leaders fell for it hook, line, and sinker, eagerly preparing to march on Tabriz.
The chief of the Maragheh tribe was the most powerful warlord in the region, which naturally made him the ringleader of this anti-tax alliance.
Since the young governor was bowing his head, the chief figured he would give the boy a chance to save face—right after showing him who really ran Azerbaijan.
Meanwhile, Naser al-Din was carrying his young cousin as he strolled around the mansion courtyard, accompanied by his uncle, Abdol-samad Mirza.
Abdol-samad was well-connected in Russian diplomatic circles, and though he was technically the prince’s uncle, he was only ten years older than Naser al-Din.
“Dear Uncle, you rarely drop by to see us,” Naser al-Din remarked casually.
“What brings you to Tabriz today?” Abdol-samad caught the sharp undercurrent in Naser al-Din’s voice, knowing full well the rumors floating around Tehran that Russia wanted to install him on the Sun Throne.
He could swear to God he harbored no treacherous ambitions against his own nephew.
If anything, he believed throwing the royal court into chaos would only let the Russians grab what little territory Persia had left, just like they snatched Baku and Yerevan.
“My prince, please don’t tease me,” Abdol-samad chuckled nervously.
“I heard rumors you’re sending students to study in England soon, so I wanted to see if you could squeeze me into the program.” Naser al-Din blinked, genuinely thrown off by the request.
Members of the Qajar royal family were hardly hurting for cash and could travel wherever they pleased, so why was his uncle begging for a student slot?
Noticing his nephew’s puzzled expression, Abdol-samad explained, “I think our royal house needs to stick together right now.” “The world is moving fast, and back in the day, Abbas the Great dealt extensively with the British, so sending a prince to study in London makes perfect sense.” His explanation cleared up some of Naser al-Din’s suspicions, though the young governor didn’t buy it entirely.
The Qajar dynasty boasted dozens of royal princes, but there was only one throne, leaving everyone plotting and backstabbing for the ultimate prize.
The Russians exploited this ruthless ambition, regularly inciting rival princes and frontier tribes to revolt against Tehran.
Abdol-samad knew how tense things were getting in Tabriz, so he wanted to use the study-abroad program as a clean exit to skip the country.
While Naser al-Din couldn’t fully read his uncle’s mind, helping him leave Persia seemed harmless enough, since a prince living in London posed zero threat to his throne over the next few years.
At that very moment, Amir Kabir was holding a meeting with Alexander Sergeyevich, the Russian consul in Tabriz.
Over the past year, Sergeyevich had kept a hawk’s eye on the developments across Tabriz.
While Russian manufactured goods still flowed into Persia, local exports out of Tabriz had surged at an alarming rate.
Back in 1844, Russia shipped 5 million rubles worth of textiles into the Tabriz region, but this year that number dropped to 4,5 million.
On top of that, Russian merchants spent 3 million rubles buying up local carpets and raw Persian silk, while rising exports of Tabriz tobacco and fresh fruit began cutting into Russian profit margins.
Economic shifts alone wouldn’t have rattled the Russian diplomat, but the governor-general’s newly trained army raised serious red flags in St.
Petersburg.
Though the unit currently stood at 8,000 men, intelligence reports hinted the young prince planned to expand it to over 20,000 soldiers.
The Russian Viceroyalty in the Caucasus dispatched a message to their ambassador in Tehran, stopping short of demanding the unit be disbanded, but insisting Persia strictly abide by treaty limits and refrain from any reckless military moves.
As far as St.
Petersburg was concerned, maintaining control over the Ottoman Empire was the real prize, making Persia a secondary concern.
“Your Excellency Amir, my government is deeply puzzled by your military buildup in Tabriz,” Consul Sergeyevich began coldly, firing a opening volley.
“Russia regards this sudden troop mobilization as a direct provocation against the Tsar.” The consul’s opening shot was aggressive, flat-out accusing Amir Kabir of sabotaging international peace, but Amir Kabir was ready for him.
“How can you say such a thing, Consul?” Amir Kabir replied smoothly, not flinching for a second.
“His Highness is upgrading the garrison purely because armed banditry has surged around Tabriz.” “Our old provincial militia couldn’t hit a barn door, so we’re training a proper defense force to keep the peace.” It was a bulletproof excuse, leaving the Russian diplomat with no legal ground to object.
Besides, both the Ottoman Empire and Egypt were actively building modern European-style armies, so why should Persia be forbidden from defending its own soil?
“Russia harbors no ill intent,” Sergeyevich stated, backing down slightly.
“We simply expect your government to honor the Treaty of Turkmenchay and jointly preserve the friendly relations between our two empires.” Under the humiliating terms of that 1828 treaty, Russia annexed Yerevan, Nakhchivan, and the remainder of the Talysh Khanate, establishing the Aras River as the firm border between the two empires.
With Russia’s territorial conquests in Persia largely wrapped up, Tsar Nicholas I turned his imperial gaze toward Ottoman lands and Poland.
“Naturally, Consul,” Amir Kabir smiled warmly.
“Everything we do is aimed at preserving peace between our nations.” “After all, if armed bandits crossed our northern border into Russian territory, it would do irreparable damage to our wonderful friendship.” Amir Kabir’s ironclad logic left the consul with nothing to counter.
While Russia wasn’t afraid of steamrolling Persia in a war, getting dragged into a multi-front conflict was a nightmare St.
Petersburg wanted to avoid.
Since Persia clearly wasn’t planning an invasion of Russia, the consul saw no point in pushing further, considering they had been monitoring the new army’s training all along anyway.
Once the Russian diplomat took his leave, Amir Kabir let out a long sigh of relief.
The diplomat game was cleared; now came the real show.
All 8,000 troops of the new army were quietly posted around Tabriz, while 3,000 local Azerbaijani militia members began gathering the moment the tribal chiefs crossed into the city.
Though the militia members were armed only with basic melee weapons and lacked proper military training, they were more than enough for what was coming.
Before long, regional tribal leaders strutted into Tabriz with small retinues in tow, where they were greeted with grand honors and royal hospitality.
Flooded with fine tobacco and lavish feasts, the chiefs convinced themselves the young governor was trying to bribe them for political backing in his future bid for the throne.
Seeing the prince act so desperate, they figured they might as well squeeze him for every coin he was worth.
However, the sudden influx of rowdy tribal retinues quickly sparked outrage among local shopkeepers.
These tribesmen looted goods without paying a single copper, forcing merchants to lock up their storefronts early.
The lawless savages ran wild through the streets, grabbing whatever caught their eye and treating private property like their personal loot.
The chief of the Maragheh tribe made the grandest entrance of all, strutting through the city gates with over 300 heavy-hitting tribal warriors.
These men were the brawlers of his tribe, and he brought them along to flex his muscle in front of the governor, fully expecting the boy to drop to his knees and beg for mercy.
Inside the mansion, Amir Kabir finalized the preparations to welcome their guests.
The young governor’s trap was set, and not a single step could afford to go wrong.