The Sultan’s Summons
Producing heirs is an important duty for royalty.
Even the sultan, in order to avoid the Islamic law that allowed him to have only four legal wives, remained legally unmarried and established a harem.
Children could die at any time from war, disease, or unfortunate accidents, and the more heirs one had, the easier it was to separate the jade from the stones. It was only natural.
Yusuf could not escape this either.
‘It’s a little ridiculous that I have to think about children at fourteen, but considering the future, it’s necessary.’
Coldly speaking, to a prince, a son was a tool that increased the possibility of succession.
Simply having many sons could win the support of officials who wanted a stable line of succession, and once he became a sanjakbey, they would become a solid base of support.
For a prince who had no need to worry about child-rearing expenses, sons were the best investment. It might be heartless, but Yusuf thought the same.
Yusuf lightly brushed back Ayşe’s hair as she slept soundly beside him, her pale shoulders exposed.
‘Even if the child is born from Ayşe, that won’t change.’
If it was a son, then before he became sultan, the child would be a tool to make him stand out; if he did become sultan, the child would be one among many heirs.
If it was a daughter, she would become the subject of a political marriage for the sake of smooth rule.
In any case, since he would need to have many descendants in the future, he did not regret purchasing [Excellent Genes] as a trait.
‘It’s a trait that raises the probability of outstanding children being born, and if it comes down to luck, there’s no need to worry.’
Strictly speaking, wasn’t what kind of child would be born a matter of luck?
Even if acquired factors could not be ignored, there was such a thing as innate talent.
Though the idea that luck would also affect his children was merely an inference.
‘If possible, I hope children as smart as Süleyman are born.’
So they’d be easy to put to work, that is.
It was hard to turn someone else’s child into an engineering slave like Yahya, who had fled to the capital, so raising his sons that way would not be bad either.
Though he did not know what his future sons would think of it.
Laughing quietly to himself, Yusuf carefully got up so as not to wake Ayşe and headed to his office.
“You’re all here?”
Inside the office, Şemsi, Arda, and Hassan had already gathered, and Yusuf took the seat of honor.
Seeing Yusuf’s bright complexion, despite the slight hint of fatigue, Arda asked in a voice tinged with amusement.
“Seeing how bright your expression is, it seems you’ve been enjoying yourself lately.”
“Well, it hasn’t been bad.”
To be honest, it had been good. Good enough that he had almost unconsciously selected Virility King as a trait.
After hearing Yusuf’s answer, Şemsi spoke in his characteristically dry tone.
“It is the age for such things, and while heirs are important, there is no meaning in it if your health suffers.”
“I am not so lacking in restraint that you need worry.”
Only those with the leisure for it could ruin themselves by drowning in women and living like scoundrels. For someone like him, walking a tightrope over a thousand-gil cliff, such a thing was impossible.
Şemsi, who had been worried he might have become overly absorbed in pleasures he was tasting for the first time, nodded as if relieved.
“As Your Highness knows, your fame from this war is spreading quickly. It means more people will be paying attention to you from now on.”
“I know. My elder brothers will begin interfering in earnest as well.”
The aged sultan would take a step back and watch the situation to separate the jade from the stones, and his brothers would use every means at their disposal to knock down Yusuf, who had newly distinguished himself.
The war with Venice had already entered the stage of peace negotiations, so officials who had been unable to pay attention elsewhere because of the war would also join the succession struggle again.
‘I’m in no position to be picky about means and methods either.’
Even if countless streams of blood flowed along that path.
Yusuf turned to Hassan, who had recently begun gaining weight again.
“Hassan, you sent all the letters detailing the atrocities of the Shia to the kadis and muftis, didn’t you?”
“Of course.”
He had sent writings about the current Safavid persecution of Sunnis to the kadis, who served as Islamic judges, and to the muftis, scholars of Islamic law.
Their role within Islam was not small, so they would create unfavorable public sentiment toward the Shia.
‘The rift between the Sunnis and Shia needs to deepen even more than it is now.’
Only then would the holy war he had waged shine all the brighter.
As a bonus, an anti-Shia atmosphere would arise within the empire, allowing him to create even greater turmoil.
Satisfied with Hassan’s answer, Yusuf turned his head to Arda.
“It is fine to rejoice in victory, but isn’t it about time to tighten the soldiers’ discipline? The rumors are not good.”
“I apologize. As you said, there were some deviations among a few men, and we have entrusted the judgment to Ömer Kadi.”
“If they have committed crimes, they must receive appropriate punishment. And exclude those whose discipline has slackened from the war with Georgia.”
“Understood.”
They had already experienced their purses growing heavy from war, so they would not want to be left out of one.
Especially since the war with Georgia was highly likely to proceed without much excitement.
“Your Highness, may I ask one thing?”
It was very rare for Hassan to ask a question.
It was not easy for a slave to dare question his master, and Hassan also had sins to his name.
“What is your question?”
“Do you have any intention of selling cement to outsiders? Not only the two sanjakbeys who participated in the war with us, but also merchants who came after hearing rumors showed interest.”
“Selling it…”
It was certainly a product that would make money if sold, but he needed to think it over.
There was no concept of patents, and the materials used to make cement were not special, so it could be copied elsewhere as much as they liked.
Even if he hid the manufacturing process in his own way, there was no such thing as an eternal secret.
As Yusuf was pondering for a moment, Şemsi asked.
“Your Highness, how about instead offering the method for manufacturing cement to the Padishah?”
“To the Padishah?”
“First of all, you cannot hide the existence of cement from the Padishah. We have already sent the report of victory to the capital, but we must report the details of the war as well.”
“That is true.”
To answer the question of how he had captured five thousand Qizilbash without major losses, he had to mention the existence of cement.
There were already too many people who had experienced it firsthand for him to submit a false report.
“You mean that since the Padishah will learn of it anyway and covet it, we should offer it in advance?”
“He is not someone who would fail to recognize its value, so the Padishah will also grant you a fitting reward.”
Bayezid certainly was not a petty man. If anything, he had a bold temperament.
If he could play the part of a good son while also securing a reward, it was not a bad choice.
“I’ll have to think a little more about this.”
It was not a matter that would be too late to consider after the sultan’s response to the victory report returned.
And after a month had passed, the letter that arrived from the sultan contained words that no one had expected.
∗ ∗ ∗
A month was a span of time in which many things could happen.
The Imperial Guard, which had achieved sufficient results with a mere five hundred men, nearly doubled in number in preparation for the war with Georgia.
They were undergoing harsh training for the expedition that would take place next spring, and were rapidly transforming into elites.
The fortress of Erzurum had fully repaired the damage it had suffered from Ismail’s army, and they had also completely taken control of the surrounding villages they had not yet managed to subdue.
Since they had taken Bayburt as well as Erzurum, the size of the sanjak had effectively doubled.
‘Though it isn’t land that will bring in much money.’
Since it was a place where soldiers had to be stationed against the Safavids, it was not land that would be financially helpful.
What mattered was that the number of troops he could mobilize had increased.
While he had been spending each day fairly diligently, the letter that arrived from the capital contained enough to warrant an emergency meeting.
“To think the Padishah would tell me to come to the capital in person. How strange.”
There was a rule that those with the right of succession had to leave the capital at the age of fifteen.
In Islam, fifteen was considered the age at which puberty was attained, and from then on one was treated entirely as an adult.
The only time a successor over the age of fifteen returned to the capital was when he had become sultan.
“Even if Your Highness is still in puberty, summoning a prince who has already become a sanjakbey is unprecedented.”
“At this age, one normally wouldn’t even be able to create a reason to be summoned to the capital.”
If one was not even of an age to be treated as an adult, it was a time when, far from earning military achievements, one could not even properly fulfill the role of a sanjakbey.
What reason would there be to call a successor learning the duties of a sanjakbey from the high officials dispatched with him all the way to the capital?
‘Even so, being summoned to the capital in person was something I never imagined.’
It was difficult to discern the sultan’s thoughts in making such a decision.
“In any case, is this not something you cannot refuse?”
“That is true.”
If the sultan himself had summoned him, a prince could not refuse. It might be different if the sultan were so old as to have become a retired old man in the back room, but he was still hale for his age.
And there was no particular reason to refuse.
What he had to consider now was the calculation of profit and loss when he went to the capital.
“Considering it has been a month since we sent the report and only now have we received word, the opposition from the officials was likely considerable.”
Though he was still young, Yusuf was now being regarded as being on the same level as the other princes.
Those who supported the other princes had no choice but to worry that the sultan’s heart might have turned toward Yusuf.
“Since the Padishah overcame that opposition and summoned me, I’ll receive a great deal of attention.”
“There will also be those who try to approach Your Highness. For Your Highness, who has no major connections in the central government, this could be a great opportunity.”
If it were another prince, he would have stuck at least one straw into the capital, but Yusuf had not a single person to deliver news from within it.
It meant this was an opportunity to create a faction.
Of course, it was not an entirely good opportunity.
“The fact that we do not know why the Padishah summoned you is also a source of unease.”
“Indeed. It’s hard to say the Padishah summoned me to lend me his support.”
It was true that the sultan was fond of him, but choosing him as successor was a different matter.
He already had sons who had passed their thirties and reached full maturity. The position of sultan was not so cheap that he would hand it over at once just because a son who had not even finished puberty had done a little well.
‘Most likely, this summons is another test as well.’
Because a prince was someone who had to be evaluated by the sultan without end.
“And we don’t know what schemes those supporting other princes might pull.”
The central authority was what had pushed aside even such cunning.
It was a place teeming with those who must harbor hundreds of snakes in their hearts—one never knew what might happen.
“So in short, if I return alive, it will have been worth it?”
It isn’t difficult.
Would I really die in my hometown after so long away?
∗ ∗ ∗
The scenery of Constantinople, which he had returned to after three years, had not changed much.
The towering Topkapi Palace and the mosques were visible, and the harbor bustled.
“It really hasn’t changed.”
Thwack!
“Ah, an assassin! Catch him!”
“And here I was saying my life was in danger.”
Yusuf looked at the arrow stuck in the ground after grazing his shoulder and nodded.
Having lived in relatively peaceful Trabzon, he had forgotten his hometown was this kind of place.
“Some grand welcome.”
This city was indeed the closest to Allah. At least where he was concerned.
∗ ∗ ∗
Except for a small minority of power holders, the vast majority of people did not even know the princes’ names.
If asked whether they knew Ahmed, the eldest son with the most support, they would have answered, “Ahmed? There are dozens of Ahmeds living in this alley alone!”
In that regard, Yusuf was the most widely known of the princes.
The inoculation method, still debated among scholars, was being implemented with Yusuf’s name attached as its label, and centered around large cities with swift news, word of the great victory over the Safavids was already spreading quickly.
In other words, many had come to hear his name, at the very least.
Of course, the Sultan was not chosen by vote, so this level of recognition was not particularly helpful.
‘It’s a different situation from when people would have just passed by wondering, “Was there even a prince like that?” if I were stabbed in the street and died.’
Yusuf had also grown too prominent to be killed by assassination.
He had reached a point where openly attacking and beheading him to show off one’s skill would be preferable to killing him shabbily through assassination.
That was why the current situation was unexpected.
“Catch him!”
A gap had formed due to the chaotic harbor situation, but the royal guard who had accompanied him were no ordinary fighters.
Those who raised their shields surrounded Yusuf to prepare for any follow-up attacks, while the remaining guards rushed toward the assassin who had fired the arrow.
As the royal guards and the soldiers guarding the harbor rushed over, the assassin acted quickly.
“Shah Ismail is great!”
The assassin shouted in a voice loud enough to reverberate across the harbor, then stabbed his own neck with the dagger in his hand.
The assassin died instantly leaving those words behind, and Arda approached Yusuf, who was watching the dead assassin from afar.
“Lord Yusuf.”
“I know. It cannot be Ismail’s doing.”
If this were truly Ismail’s work, he would not have gone through the trouble of coming to the capital; he would have done it in nearby Trabzon.
Now that the assassin had died like that, rumors that Ismail was behind it would spread.
Yusuf pulled out the arrow stuck in the ground beside him.
Looking over the sharply sharpened arrowhead, Yusuf slightly furrowed his brow.
‘It seems to be coated with poison.’
One might misunderstand from movie scenes where people drop dead after being shot, but unless struck in a vital spot, one or two arrows would not kill a person.
Rather, more had died from tetanus or infection due to lack of proper treatment than from the hit itself, so coating arrows with poison to increase lethality was only natural.
However, the poison on the poisoned arrow was not dangerous enough to cause instant death, so there was ample time to respond.
‘Which means they might not have actually intended to kill me.’
Yusuf, his mind unnecessarily complicated, handed the arrow to Arda. Shortly after, Janissaries came swarming in.
Perhaps because an accident had occurred in the capital they were tasked with defending, the commander approached with a stiff expression and gave Yusuf a light bow.
“Şehzade Yusuf, I have heard much of your fame. I regret that we must meet under such circumstances.”
“I have no intention of blaming you. However, I would appreciate it if you caught the culprit without fail.”
“We will do our best.”
The unfortunates who had been near the assassin were already arrested by the Janissaries and being dragged to the interrogation chamber, so a thorough investigation seemed likely.
One more notable point was that the Janissaries showed goodwill to a clearly visible degree.
‘Actually, I was a bit worried.’
Though of different sects, the Janissaries followed the Bektashi order, a Shia mystic sect.
It was a syncretic order mixing shamanism, Buddhism, Christianity, Gnosticism, and various other ideologies, and a humanistic order that sought salvation in humans rather than scriptures or crosses.
Because of that, they did not observe Ramadan fasting while the sun was up, and openly drank alcohol.
‘Naturally they’re heretics, but there is no Sultan who concerns himself with that.’
From the Sultan’s perspective, it was enough that they followed orders well.
Anyway, seeing them show goodwill despite his having crushed fellow Shia followers meant it did not really matter in the end.
“The Padishah is waiting only for your arrival. You must enter the palace immediately.”
If he was waiting, what could one do? He had to go, of course.
Yusuf moved his steps with such composure that one would not think he was a man who had nearly died just moments ago.
As Yusuf crossed through Topkapi Palace, still vivid in his memory, he could feel the change.
‘It hasn’t even been three years.’
The palace people who had once shown only curiosity now expressed respect without hesitation, and the Janissaries who had threatened him with severed heads at the entrance of the Second Courtyard showed subtle goodwill.
He had come to be able to stroll around the oppressive Topkapi Palace, which had once felt suffocating, as if it were a park.
It was a moment when he felt he had grown that much, both inside and out.
“Your Padishah, Şehzade Yusuf has arrived.”
—Let him enter.
Once permission was granted, the eunuch opened the door to the Sultan’s chamber.
Bayezid sat in the seat of honor just as he had back then, receiving him with a benevolent face, and Yusuf greeted him with courtesy.
“Great Padishah, it has been a long time since I last saw you. I have come in answer to your summons.”
“Welcome. You have grown so much I barely recognize you.”
Having shot up during his growth period over three years to nearly Bayezid’s height, it was no wonder he said such a thing.
“So, I heard you encountered an unsavory incident immediately upon arriving in the capital?”
“By Allah’s grace, no harm came to me.”
“I am glad to hear you are unharmed.”
As if this sufficed for inquiring after his health, the Sultan immediately got to the main point.
“Things happened just as you confidently claimed they would. Even the victory.”
“Was it not thanks to the Padishah’s all-round support?”
“Hehe, it pleases me to hear you say so. Have you heard the news that Şehzade Alemshah has died?”
“It is tragic that my brother should die in such a manner.”
Alemshah was the Sultan’s eighth son.
He was the second son to die, following Abdullah the firstborn.
‘If things do not change, the sixth and seventh sons, Mahmud and Mehmet, will die next.’
Meaning the youngest ones were dying in succession, excluding Abdullah who had died long ago.
It was a result too suspicious to dismiss as mere coincidence.
“Therefore, the position of Sanjak-bey of Saruhan is vacant. Are you interested?”
Saruhan was a region that would later become Manisa in Turkey, a city not far from Istanbul.
Considering that the Sultan placed sons he considered for succession in places close to Istanbul, it might seem a good opportunity, yet…
“If it is the Padishah’s command, I will obey, but there are still matters to attend to in Trabzon.”
Softly refusing while conveying his apology with his whole body, Yusuf thought inwardly.
‘Who would ask someone to take a position where they could easily end up dead?’
Perhaps the flow of history could not be changed; despite having moved Selim to Tekirdag, Korkut the third had been ordered to move from Saruhan to another region.
That had happened last year, and Alemshah, who came after him, had died without lasting even a year.
‘There is a high possibility that Korkut’s hand touched this death.’
Whether Korkut had thought he could return to Saruhan if Alemshah died, the possibility was high—considering how Yusuf had nearly died to Selim when he first arrived in Trabzon.
Another prince would have bitten into the poisoned apple knowing full well what it was, but Yusuf, who knew the value of his own life, had no such desire.
‘Besides, I have already laid all the groundwork, so there is no need to leave Trabzon.’
Perhaps surprised by Yusuf’s refusal, the Sultan stroked his beard.
“Matters to attend to?”
“If that is what the Padishah thinks, you may send a new Sanjak-bey to the territories gained through war. I intend to subjugate Georgia, who aided Ismail, and make it a vassal state. I have already reached an understanding with the Principality of Samtskhe and plan to campaign next spring. Moreover, I have forged close ties with the Circassians, so my role will be necessary in bringing them into the Empire’s fold.”
Hearing Yusuf’s explanation, the Sultan took a step back.
“If that is your plan, it cannot be helped.”
“Thank you. I shall endeavor not to disappoint you.”
As the movement of princes between sanjaks was one of the Sultan’s powers, the fact that he had asked his opinion in advance and withdrawn the plan itself was a great consideration.
Just as Yusuf thought things were going smoothly, the Sultan brought up an unexpected issue.
“Since you say you will remain in Trabzon, I cannot help but point this out. Many say that Trabzon has grown too large to remain a single sanjak.”
Having nearly doubled in size, it was no surprise such talk had emerged, but it was sooner than expected.
‘So the checks have already begun.’
It meant they felt that much threatened by his achievements, but it was hardly welcome news.
The fortunate thing was that it was a move he had anticipated to some degree, and he had a prepared solution.
“If that is what the Padishah thinks, you may send a new Sanjak-bey to the territories acquired through war.”
“Is that truly alright?”
“Of course. However, I ask that you distribute timars to those who distinguished themselves in this war.”
The retainers who had fought alongside the sipahis could receive timars according to their merits and rise to become sipahis themselves.
‘The existing native powers are already following me, and it means I can fill even the sipahis with my own men.’
Even if the Erzurum Sanjak was newly established, it would be as if all military authority had been taken away, making it virtually no different from his own territory.
It was not that the Sultan failed to grasp this thought, yet instead he smiled as though amused.
“If one has rendered merit, it is only natural that he receive a reward. Submit a report on those who distinguished themselves. I will dispatch an official to distribute timars.”
“Thank you.”
“Yes. Since they will be sent to a dangerous region, I shall choose carefully and send only the most suitable.”
It meant he would send someone who would not meet an unfortunate death by needlessly resisting Yusuf.
The Sultan sank his aged body deep into his chair and said,
“You must be tired from the long journey, so I cannot keep you too long. Go in and rest now. We shall have the rest of our conversation later.”
“Understood.”
Yusuf paid his respects and left the Sultan’s quarters, then moved under escort to the detached palace assigned to him.
His party had already unpacked their luggage there, and Yusuf asked Arda,
“Have you looked for Koca Mustafa Pasha and Dukaginzade Ahmed?”
“I have informed Mustafa Pasha that Your Highness wishes to see him, and we are still searching for Ahmed.”
“Good. Well done.”
Koca was a byname attached to high officials of Albanian origin. In short, it meant Mustafa Pasha from Albania.
Dukaginzade meant that he came from the Dukagjini family, a powerful Albanian house.
‘The former was one of the high officials who supported Ahmed, while the latter supported Selim and distinguished himself as a vanguard commander.’
Neither of them had yet stood out greatly, but both were talents who would rise to the position of Grand Vizier, the highest office after the Sultan.
‘Now these are undervalued blue-chip stocks.’
Yusuf smiled faintly.
∗ ∗ ∗
After Yusuf left, the Sultan called to a man who had been standing to one side of the room like a eunuch.
“How did he seem to you, Grand Vizier?”
In the name of the Grand Vizier, Hadim Ali Pasha, hadim meant eunuch, and the Grand Vizier, who like any eunuch could be called the Sultan’s confidant, bowed his head.
“Despite being exhausted from a long journey and having faced the threat of assassination, he showed such composure. He seems bold and intelligent.”
“Yes, he has grown splendidly. Before he left, he was merely a child who shouted to hide the fact that he was afraid.”
The Sultan smiled as if amused, and the Grand Vizier asked carefully,
“However, what would you have done if something had gone wrong and his life had truly been in danger?”
Though many preparations had been made to ensure he would not die, Allah could still be capricious.
“Even so, thanks to that, did we not learn that he possesses remarkable mental fortitude? Still, if he had died…”
The Sultan toyed with the silver coin Yusuf had once given him and continued,
“It would have been unfortunate.”
In any case, he had many sons.
Contrary to his words, the Sultan answered coldly, then gave the Grand Vizier an order.
“As planned, let it be known that the Shiites were behind this assassination.”
“Understood.”
The movements of the Shiites within the empire had been suspicious of late, so it would serve as a suitable pretext.
The Sultan looked at the inscription engraved on the silver coin Yusuf had given him and murmured,
“My son, I shall watch and see how long you continue to be victorious.”