Catching One's Breath
Quite some time had passed since he became Yusuf, and thinking and acting as a prince of the Ottomans had become second nature.
He didn't even know why he had entered Yusuf's body, so it might be a vain notion, but he had suddenly caught himself thinking that even if he could return to the modern era, he probably wouldn't be able to adapt.
'If someone with whom I had a bad relationship appeared, I might find myself contemplating ways to kill them quietly.'
With the political maneuvering learned at the cost of his life, he might even rise swiftly through society.
So much time had passed that it didn't feel short at all—indeed, he had reached the point of having such thoughts.
'No, before that, I wonder if I'd even want to go back to the modern era.'
Of course, if he could go back right now, he would welcome it.
The war of succession was, when it came down to it, a gamble with one's life on the line. Winning battles and utilizing future knowledge were merely ways to increase the odds.
No matter how hard he prepared, he never knew what might happen.
'Put bluntly, even Bayezid, who ought to be healthy, could drop dead of a heart attack tomorrow.'
Not that he thought it would actually come to that, but even if things went according to plan, it was still like walking on thin ice.
But after ascending to the Sultanate, would he really be able to abandon everything and return to the modern era?
It wasn't that he said this simply because he held tremendous power and could keep hundreds of concubines.
It was that he wasn't sure he could so easily discard the fruits of over ten years of effort.
'The longer my life here becomes, the more things accumulate that I would leave behind with regret.'
The reason he was saying such things was because another element that would remain as regret had recently been added.
Yusuf drummed his fingers on the desk.
"Pregnancy."
In the end, it seemed Ayşe was pregnant.
'It was the news I'd been waiting for, and going by timing, it was actually rather late.'
They had spent many nights together, and only now had she conceived.
If the silence had lasted a little longer, one of them would have been suspected of being barren.
Ayşe, who had begun experiencing morning sickness, had taken a pregnancy test and was currently waiting for the results.
It was important to confirm pregnancy early for the sake of the mother and child, and just as the East confirmed pregnancy by reading the pulse, the West employed various methods as well.
In this era, those called "piss prophets" determined pregnancy by examining urine.
'But how could anyone believe such things?'
Honestly, when someone declared, "Well, your urine is clear and pale lemon-colored with foam on the surface, so you are indeed pregnant!" could there possibly be any reliability in that?
There was also a method of mixing urine with wine to check for protein coagulation, but this too was regarded as mere superstition.
In the end, he had to bring out the ancient Egyptian method using wheat and barley, and upon saying he would verify it this way, he received benevolent gazes—as if humoring an eccentricity.
Even his mother Fatima laughed, remarking that it was amusing he believed in such superstition.
"Who's the one really believing in superstition here?"
The ancient Egyptian method involved placing a pregnant woman's urine into two bags filled with wheat and barley and checking for germination.
If they sprouted, she was pregnant; if barley sprouted first, it would be a boy; if wheat sprouted first, a girl.
Determining the gender was superstitious, but judging pregnancy was a highly reliable method.
According to an experiment conducted in the mid-20th century, while men and non-pregnant women showed no germination whatsoever, pregnant women sprouted at a rate of seventy percent.
It might not be as reliable as in a perfectly controlled laboratory, but among the methods available at present, it was the most trustworthy.
Since more than a week had passed since using this method, it was about time for results to appear, and Fatima and Ayşe came to Yusuf while he was attending to affairs in his office.
"Have the results come out?"
"They have sprouted. Is it true that she is pregnant?"
If they had germinated, the pregnancy was certain, and Yusuf nodded.
Ayşe, who would have believed that people could fly if Yusuf said so, beamed with delight.
She had suffered much anguish over the child who had stubbornly refused to come.
"Ayşe, come here."
Ayşe, who carefully covered her belly with both hands, approached cautiously, and Yusuf rose from his seat to stroke her head.
"Thank you. This is an important time, so you must take good care of yourself."
"Yes, I shall."
It might have been an unnecessary remark.
Had she been from a commoner family that needed every available hand just to survive, it would have been different; but there was no reason for Ayşe to do arduous labor.
Still, as he spoke out of concern, Fatima opened her mouth.
"Nene and I will look after her, so you needn't worry about a thing. Leave women's matters to women."
"Then I shall leave her to you."
He could trust Fatima and Nene.
After the two departed following a brief, light conversation, Yusuf, once again alone in his office, gently closed his eyes.
Upon hearing that Ayşe's pregnancy was certain, Yusuf realized one thing.
"I've completely become an Ottoman prince."
He had been glad to hear that a child was coming, but it was because of the benefits it would bring rather than paternal love.
He didn't yet know whether it was a son or daughter, but simply having a child was good news. At the very least, it proved there was no problem with producing an heir.
'It would be even better if it were a son.'
He was young compared to his other brothers, so an heir wasn't urgent; still, having a son was preferable.
Furthermore, it was important that Ayşe served as a connection point to Circassia.
After the last war, Ivan from Circassia had even met with Ayşe before returning home.
'It wasn't as if Circassia could send someone to replace Ayşe.'
Unless one intended to take women from each tribe of Circassia, it was difficult to formally arrange a political marriage.
For Circassia, which had to trust and rely solely on Ayşe, news of her pregnancy would surely be welcome.
What drifted through his mind in this manner was a calculation of gains and losses, and Yusuf opened his eyes coldly.
"It can't be helped. I must become Sultan, no matter what it takes."
Yusuf steadied his momentarily shaken heart.
At the very least, the man he was now was an Ottoman prince capable of ruthlessly killing even his own flesh and blood.
∗ ∗ ∗
Following the happy news of Ayşe's pregnancy, the army that had set out for Georgia also marched from victory to victory.
The army was led by Seomsi, who advanced without hesitation as if to prove he hadn't been granted the title of Pasha for nothing.
The Georgian states, which had sent troops but were betrayed by Ismail and reduced to vassals of the Safavids, felt intense terror toward the army from Trabzon.
They knew the might of the Qizilbash all too well, having witnessed firsthand how a mere seven thousand Qizilbash had twice defeated an army numbering thirty thousand.
The army from Trabzon, which had killed five thousand such Qizilbash without suffering any significant damage, was a host of demons from hell according to the rumors that circulated.
The mere sight of the army allied with Samtskhe was enough to make cities hoist white flags; indeed, there was discontent among the soldiers who had been unable to plunder because there were no proper sieges to be fought.
In the end, before winter set in, the Georgian kingdoms declared they would pay tribute, effectively surrendering.
"No doubt Seomsi will see to the negotiations and wrap them up nicely before returning."
If they hadn't dealt a heavy blow to the Qizilbash, they wouldn't have taken Georgia this easily.
If the Safavids provided military support, an army of merely sanjak level would be unable to subjugate them.
Of course, Selim had also subjugated Georgia and collected tribute, but in 1507 there had been a reason Selim could move so boldly.
"It was because the Safavids had attacked Dulkadir, leaving them no leisure to worry about Georgia."
Dulkadir was a principality located to the south of Trabzon.
Thanks to sharing borders with three powerful nations—the Ottomans, the Mamluks, and the White Sheep dynasty—it was a state that still maintained its existence.
The Ottomans had coveted it as well, forming marriage alliances on several occasions. Selim's mother was the daughter of the current Sultan of Dulkadir.
In any case, it served as a sort of buffer zone, making it land that no one could easily touch, yet the Safavids, having grown in power, attacked Dulkadir in 1507.
"Rather than trying to seize Dulkadir, it was something of a probing attack."
They were testing the waters to see how the Mamluks and Ottomans, who claimed Dulkadir was in their sphere, would react to this move.
The Mamluks remained completely silent. The Ottomans were silent as well, but as domestic public opinion grew worse, Bayezid assembled an army.
When a great army exceeding one hundred and ten thousand gathered, Ismail startled and apologized, withdrawing.
"The important thing is whether a Dulkadir invasion will occur."
For now, the princes were like beasts crouching low in the grasslands before the hunt.
It was a situation in which they were waiting only for an opening to tear at the nape, so predicting when they would move was crucial.
If there were a Dulkadir invasion, it would serve as enough cause for the princes to move.
Yusuf, who had been pondering Ismail's past and future movements, reached a conclusion.
"The likelihood that Ismail will invade Dulkadir is high."
Though he had lost five thousand Qizilbash, Ismail had waged wars of conquest with even greater speed, making up for his troop losses.
Most importantly, public opinion held that the crushing defeat was due not to Ismail's fault but to Nebajar's incompetence, because the defeat had been so overwhelming.
Judging by the speed of conquest alone, it was faster than in the original history, and Ismail, whose pride had been wounded, was highly likely to invade Dulkadir.
'It seems like he's taking out his anger on the wrong target, but if he attacks me seeking revenge, it will lead to an all-out war with the Ottomans.'
It was fine for princes to kill one another, but being killed by a foreign nation was a different matter.
It was a matter of national pride.
In any case, there was no place better than Dulkadir for simultaneously venting anger and testing the waters.
Yusuf unfolded a map.
"Selim will move without fail. After all, he has the clear justification of aiding his maternal grandfather."
Of course, a man capable of killing his own father couldn't have such feelings for a maternal grandfather he'd never properly met, but that was simply how justification worked.
"What will Ahmed and Korkut do, having forged a fraternal alliance like a miracle in Ottoman history?"
Çorum, where Korkut had been newly appointed as sanjak-bey, was located close to Amasya.
The alliance between the two would not have formed had they merely been close, but Korkut, having been sent inland to Çorum, had no choice but to bow to Ahmed in order to survive.
'Because Korkut's power base lay at sea.'
Just as he had provided ships to Barbarossa (Redbeard), Korkut held enormous influence among sailors.
He had even paid vast sums of money to ransom sailors taken prisoner.
Moving such a Korkut inland was, in effect, no different from cutting off his arms and legs.
“I’m not either of those two, so I can’t say for certain, but there’s a high chance they’ll move.”
With his once-solid position shaken by Yusuf’s existence, Ahmed had felt enough of a crisis to form an alliance with his brother.
Ahmed would try to distinguish himself in battle to prove that he was no less than Yusuf, and Korkut would do the same in order to return to his original fief of Saruhan.
“As for the fourth, Şehinşah, I honestly don’t know.”
A variable, perhaps? In Konya, near Teke, was the fourth prince, Şehzade Şehinşah.
Though he was a prince who survived until 1511, when the formal succession struggle began, there was little information about him known to the future.
Even the reason for his death was unknown; there was only speculation that he had died of opium addiction.
Thinking of Şehinşah, whose inclinations and thoughts were both unknowable, Yusuf said coldly,
“If possible, I’d like him to keep behaving quietly, just like in actual history. Once I ascend to the sultan’s seat, I’ll give him a clean death.”
Waiting only for the day they could bare their fangs, the princes entered a period of catching their breath.
∗ ∗ ∗
The place that drew the most attention in the Trabzon Sanjak was, no matter what anyone said, Trabzon Castle.
It had always been economically important, but it was also where Yusuf first tried introducing anything new.
Even barley tea, which had now become a necessity for parents with young children, had first begun in Trabzon, and the four-field crop rotation introduced throughout Trabzon had also started there first.
After taking Erzurum, they began paving roads with cement and building sewers where waste could be discarded.
In other words, it had become a place that dilettantes and people sensitive to information would always take an interest in.
However, those who paid attention to Trabzon Castle did so out of simple curiosity or for small profits, while those with impure motives focused on a different place.
A place one could reach after riding about an hour from Trabzon Castle.
The fortress on a small hill had begun as a wooden palisade, but now it was a secure area protected by thick concrete.
To enter, one had to pass through two guard posts, and it was also a place where one could see sipahi patrolling regularly as part of their training.
Hasan entered such a place with three guards, and one passing craftsman greeted him with a delighted expression.
“You’ve come, Lord Hasan!”
“Ümit, have you been well all this time?”
Hasan nodded solemnly and asked in return, and the middle-aged man called Ümit answered with a light laugh.
“What reason would I have not to be? I’ve been well.”
“That’s good. If there’s anything lacking, tell me anytime.”
“Thank you.”
There was no one here who did not know that Hasan was a slave, but the craftsman expressed his gratitude politely.
A slave’s social status followed that of his master, and Hasan, whose master was a prince, held the greatest authority here.
On top of that, since the reason this place had first been established was cement production, Hasan and the craftsmen had worked together for a long time.
Thanks to that, they knew well just how much favor Hasan received from the prince, and even the craftsmen did not hesitate to bow their heads.
‘Though it’s all a misunderstanding.’
Hasan was treated with respect far beyond what a slave’s status deserved, but his heart was not at ease.
Hasan knew his place better than anyone. He also knew that the three guards walking with him with smiling faces could offer his head to Allah at any time.
‘I was insane. Insane. What was so important about escaping from being a mere slave?’
Regretting the past he had committed as if possessed by a demon was pointless; it was already far too distant.
The people of Trabzon did not hesitate to call Yusuf a great and merciful ruler.
Unlike Selim, who had shown interest only in the Turks who formed the ruling class, Yusuf had also taken an interest in the lives of the majority of his subjects, and he had achieved many improvements in a short period of time.
But Hasan knew all too well just how meticulous and cruel Yusuf was.
“Ümit, hang this there.”
When Hasan took bloodstained clothes from the bundle, Ümit’s expression darkened.
“Those are Sertak’s clothes. He said he’d spend a few days with his family and come back, but when he didn’t return, I wondered if perhaps…”
Recognizing the owner from the clothes alone, Ümit accepted them with a sorrowful face.
Bloodstained clothes had been nailed near the entrance to the fortress as a warning, but foolish people continued to appear.
“What happened this time?”
“The usual. He was caught trying to run away at dawn.”
People trying to pry into the secret of cement, or spies sent by Yusuf’s political enemies, tempted those gathered here.
When they were allowed to go out in order to relieve their discontent, people would sometimes fall for such coaxing.
Of course, no one had succeeded so far. Yusuf’s information network was more meticulous than the people here imagined.
If those here knew the details, it would be enough to make them distrust humanity.
“What a fool.”
Clicking his tongue lightly, Ümit moved to nail the clothes to the fortress, and Hasan immediately set off.
If he did not want to be thundered at, he had to carry out the order quickly and return.
On one side of the fortress, as cement was fired and the fired cement was ground into powder, loud noise and shouts continued to burst out.
It was the place where the greatest number of people were mobilized, but Hasan’s destination was not there, but a place made up of a small number of craftsmen.
Among those working the bellows to blow air into the furnace were men hammering iron plates into round shapes, and the craftsman who was coldly checking the quality spoke in a rough voice.
“What are you here for this time?”
“Tahir, why speak so sharply? I just came to check whether the work is going well.”
Replying smoothly to Tahir, who spoke with biting coldness, Hasan picked up a gun propped up to one side.
“Is it something you can make?”
“It’s not as if we can’t. Though one bastard who was making a fuss about testing that damned weapon nearly died.”
It was something that often happened when making guns.
Accidents where the barrel burst because it could not withstand the explosion, or where a powder keg exploded because the gunpowder was poorly handled.
Still, thanks to following safety measures, it was a stroke of heavenly luck that there had been no deaths.
“Still, isn’t it better than a cannon exploding?”
“Don’t compare it to that pig of a weapon that only stuffs itself with gunpowder! If something like that had exploded, I wouldn’t be standing here either.”
Tahir, who had made cannons and hand cannons used by the army, answered roughly and flung the gun he was holding.
“If you’re so curious, shoot it yourself!”
“My body belongs to my master, so I can’t handle it carelessly.”
“Hmph. If you said you were going to shoot it, the prince wouldn’t stop you, would he?”
Though he had not met Yusuf many times, Tahir knew roughly what the relationship between the two was, and at his words, Hasan merely shrugged.
“He would dislike it if my arm were blown off and I couldn’t properly do paperwork.”
He said it like a joke, but because it truly seemed like that would happen, Hasan felt slightly forlorn.
Of course, Yusuf, who always told him to be grateful that he was still alive, had no interest whatsoever in Hasan’s feelings.
“Enough useless talk. We made it exactly the same as the one the prince gave us, so it should be usable.”
Tahir, who had received one of the two matchlocks given by the sultan before the war with Ismail, spoke confidently.
It took a lot of work, but it could be made.
The bigger problem was the gun whose blueprints had simply been tossed at them.
“More importantly, we can’t make a weapon that needs a spring right now! Do you think that’s made out of ordinary iron?”
A spring required elastic metal, and that belonged to the category of expensive metals.
Of course, when he had first seen the blueprints, he had been impressed, and he did want to try making it at least once.
“If you want to arm soldiers with this, the prince will have to eat nothing but gruel starting tomorrow.”
“Then I’ll report it that way. That you said you’d make it if he ate nothing but gruel from tomorrow on.”
“Get lost! If you’re going to say something like that, bring me the materials first!”
When Tahir swung the barrel, which was no different from an iron pipe, with a fiery shout, Hasan rushed out in a panic.
Seeing the blacksmith’s door slam shut with a bang, Hasan let out a sigh, as if Tahir had not truly intended to hit him.
Of course, he could not actually tell the prince to eat nothing but gruel, as he had said to Tahir.
‘If I said something like that, Lady Nene would hang me by the neck from the castle wall.’
He did not even go to war, so why was his life in such danger?
∗ ∗ ∗
After hearing Hasan’s report upon his return, Yusuf lightly tapped his desk.
Perhaps thinking he would be scolded, Hasan had entered completely hunched over, but the result was roughly what Yusuf had expected.
‘It would be hard to use guns made with wheel locks or flintlocks right away. Matchlocks alone are useful enough.’
Though matchlocks were a bit difficult because one had to manage the fire carefully, they were not unusable.
‘We’re not even properly using matchlocks yet, so there’s no need to get too far ahead.’
For a weapon that would leave a major mark on history, it was treated poorly, and it would take another twenty years before it was introduced in earnest across Europe.
Of course, introducing wheel locks or flintlocks did not mean transcending the era.
The wheel-lock mechanism, similar to a lighter, was already a weapon that had been made according to a design by Leonardo da Vinci, who should be in Florence by now.
‘Da Vinci is probably painting the mural at Florence City Hall. Beside him, his rival Michelangelo should also be working on a mural.’
He had likely begun painting the Mona Lisa as well.
Raphael, famous for The School of Athens, was also alive and well in this period, so if Yusuf became sultan, it might be interesting to invite such people.
‘Of course, there’s a high chance they won’t come.’
In any case, if it was expensive, there was no need to go to the trouble of making it. Not unless he became a sultan with money to spare.
There was still time before the formal succession struggle, and this was still the stage where they needed to accumulate technology.
The West did not even know the fining process the East had used since the Han dynasty, and so could not mass-produce steel.
‘The West learned of the existence of the fining process after seeing it used in India, their colony.’
If he taught them the fining process, it would be practically a new world to them.
Besides that, there were countless other things he had to try for himself.
“That should be enough. I don’t intend to scold you, so there’s no need to be so tense.”
At those words, Hassan finally straightened his hunched body.
Securing gunpowder was a bigger problem than making guns. If he continued introducing the technologies he knew, there was ample room to solve the matter of firearms, but gunpowder had many obstacles.
“How is the procurement of saltpeter going?”
“For now, we have requested it from the conquered Georgia and Circassia.”
Places where saltpeter could be mined in its natural state were limited to a few regions, such as China, India, or the mountainous areas of Spain near the coast.
Everywhere else, one had to make saltpeter beds oneself, or scrape off the white saltpeter crystals left behind in places like cellars.
‘The best option would be to make saltpeter beds.’
Unfortunately, Trabzon was far from suitable for establishing saltpeter beds.
Potassium nitrate, saltpeter, dissolved so readily in water that the place where one made saltpeter beds had to be low in moisture, a condition difficult to expect in coastal Trabzon.
On top of that, even if one went through the trouble of making saltpeter beds, it did not end with simply drying them in the sun; the crystals obtained from the beds also had to be refined.
Since there were difficulties in producing it directly, he had no choice but to borrow the strength of those around him.
‘If saltpeter is mined on a large scale in both places, there’s a high chance the surrounding powers will notice, but it can’t be helped.’
There was no other way to secure the quantities needed.
To be honest, even if they learned he was making gunpowder, there was a chance they would not be particularly worried.
As he had said before about matchlocks, gunpowder weapons that were not cannons were not valued very highly at the moment.
“We’ll have to keep paying close attention to the gunpowder. If the day comes when we can’t use it properly because it hasn’t been managed well, you know what will happen, don’t you?”
“O-of course!”
Did he even realize how difficult the answer he had just given would be?
He would come to understand just how hard black powder was to manage once he experienced it firsthand.
Thinking of Hassan’s future, which was clear as day, Yusuf wore a mischievous smile, and Hassan, faced with a smile he had seen often before, trembled with foreboding.
Before Hassan, who was wondering whether it was still not too late to take back his words, could speak, someone else opened their mouth first.
“P-Prince! News has arrived that Lady Ayşe’s delivery is imminent!”
At the urgent news, Yusuf nodded calmly.
The moment had come for a child bearing Ottoman blood to be born.