The Shackles Came Off
To cut off the head of an envoy, a kind of special emissary, was tantamount to a declaration of war.
And yet Yusuf did it boldly.
‘They must have known the delegation they sent could die.’
If they had brazenly plotted an assassination and then expected to return unharmed, that would have been laughable.
He had shown considerable restraint by letting someone live to carry back the results of the negotiation.
As Yusuf had expected, the Safavids agreed to the conditions he sent as though nothing had happened.
‘First, fifteen thousand Venetian gold ducats.’
The other princes had served as sanjakbeys twenty years longer than Yusuf, and the capital they had accumulated was on a different level.
This amount of gold was enough to narrow that gap to some degree.
Considering that Venice, a wealthy state, had an annual revenue of around four million ducats, it was a heavy loss for the newly established Safavids.
“The gold is important, of course, but the non-aggression pact matters more.”
The non-aggression zone was the area around Trabzon, including Georgia.
Georgia in particular, which was sending taxes to Yusuf, was a place where it would not be strange for Ismail to invade at any time.
At Yusuf’s words, Shemsi warned him.
“You must not forget that a non-aggression pact can become a mere scrap of paper at any moment.”
“I have no intention of putting blind faith in this treaty either.”
Even allies could stab each other in the back at any time; a mere non-aggression pact could be overturned as often as one pleased.
Yusuf was not so naive as to be unaware of that.
“We don’t even need the promised five years. If peace continues until the succession war breaks out, they’ll have no pretext to refuse military support.”
Samtskhe, with which he had close ties, might be different, but the other Georgian states could refuse to provide troops by using the Safavids as an excuse.
The non-aggression pact would make such excuses look feeble.
“The Safavids may attack while their troops are away.”
“That would be unfortunate. Once I ascend to the seat of Padishah, I’ll have to avenge them.”
Having glibly said something that would have made any Georgian’s blood boil, Yusuf rose from his seat.
“It’s about time to depart.”
Yusuf and Ismail distrusted each other equally, and the exchange was scheduled to take place between Erzincan and Bayburt.
Two thousand cavalry would move in preparation for any possible enemy attack, but there was no need for Yusuf to risk accompanying them.
Yusuf went to Tazlu’s room to say farewell, and she, waiting only for the time to leave, was sitting quietly.
“Have you come to say goodbye?”
“Yes. How does it feel to be going back?”
Tazlu, whose heart had gone cold after this incident, spoke sarcastically.
“What answer are you hoping for, asking that? I’m truly delighted. To think I can return.”
“An excellent answer. When you meet Ismail, you should even shed tears of emotion.”
Tazlu gave a small laugh, as though dumbfounded.
“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”
As if the preparations for departure were now complete, a knock sounded at the door, and Tazlu rose lightly from her seat.
The root of all this was Yusuf, who had captured her, and yet in the end she had joined hands with him.
It was truly ironic, and as Tazlu passed by Yusuf, she said,
“I suppose I’ll never see you again now.”
If not for this absurd misfortune, so outrageous that she could only resent Allah for it, she would never have met Yusuf in her life.
At Tazlu’s words, spoken with that thought, Yusuf shrugged.
“We might meet again. If I capture Tabriz, that is.”
If he captured Tabriz, the capital of the Safavids, they might meet again. After all, that was where Ismail’s harem was located.
Tazlu burst into laughter and said,
“For a man who may die at any moment, you have grand ambitions. First, survive and become the master of the Ottomans.”
“You state the obvious.”
Tazlu, who had paused for a moment, opened the door and left as she said,
“I’ll watch from afar to see whether you survive.”
Leaving those words behind, Tazlu departed, and some time later, the chests of gold coins and the letter containing the non-aggression pact arrived in Trabzon.
∗ ∗ ∗
The letter in Ismail’s hand was no different from a receipt.
A receipt created by a single stroke of misfortune, whether it was Satan’s trickery or Allah’s caprice.
Ismail chuckled and said,
“Mohammad, have you ever held a woman worth fifteen thousand gold coins? I think I’ll be able to soon.”
“Was she not already the Shah’s woman before that?”
“Back then, she was a woman without a price.”
It was a strangely phrased remark.
It could simply be heard as saying that a woman who had no ransom now had one, but it could also sound as though she was no longer a precious woman beyond any price.
“Do you intend to cast her aside?”
She was the woman Ismail had loved most, but Mohammad thought it was possible.
She was a woman who had been abducted and held captive for several months. It was enough to make one doubt her chastity.
“If I intended to do that, I would not have spent such a large sum. I would have had her killed through the envoy sent for negotiations.”
“Do you not doubt her chastity?”
“I do not.”
At Ismail’s resolute words, Mohammad looked surprised, and Ismail gave the reason.
“Prince Yusuf swore by Allah that she is chaste.”
A faint look of bewilderment appeared on Mohammad’s face.
It meant he trusted the words of the kidnapper. But Ismail had his reason for believing him.
“He, too, is a man chosen by Allah. Such a man would not invoke Allah’s name lightly.”
If Yusuf, who believed in luck more than Allah and would sell Allah’s name thousands of times if necessary, had heard that, he would have wondered if Ismail had lost his mind.
Unaware of this, Ismail pushed the letter aside and changed the subject.
“There is no time to waste on what is already over. We have an urgent matter at hand.”
Winter had passed, and spring had come.
The soldiers who had received mobilization orders in winter began to gather quickly, and their numbers swelled with each passing day.
Though a force far larger than his own army stationed at Elbistan had already assembled, Ismail remained calm.
“How many enemies have gathered at present?”
“The enemies gathered in central Anatolia, including Ankara, already number over thirty thousand, and fifty thousand troops have already departed from the enemy capital.”
The Balkan Peninsula, including the capital Kostantiniye, and the Anatolian Peninsula were divided by the sea.
The strait that separated the two was called the Bosphorus Strait, and unless one crossed it, one had to go all the way around the broad Black Sea.
That required an enormous amount of time, and during marches, they would often create a temporary bridge with small boats to cross.
If news of their departure had reached Elbistan, then the fifty thousand troops must already have crossed the strait.
“They’ll exceed a hundred thousand.”
It was not a mob of rabble, but a great army composed mostly of cavalry.
Even Ismail, who was convinced he had been chosen by Allah, could not imagine winning against such a disparity in strength.
And Ismail knew the difference between courage and recklessness; he had no intention of fighting.
“Does Nur Ali say the preparations are already complete?”
“Yes. He says he can lay it waste in a month.”
The scorched-earth tactic of burning everything rather than giving it to the enemy was highly effective, but it also had serious drawbacks.
Because it involved burning all the farmland, the aftereffects were severe, and the people’s resistance was strong. It also required quite a lot of time to show results.
Ironically, most of these drawbacks had been resolved by Yusuf’s plundering.
The area around Diyarbakir, the most dangerous region in a war with the Ottomans, was already devastated.
“Still, it would be best if war did not break out.”
Before the enemy finished assembling, he planned to flee from Elbistan to Diyarbakir.
“Mahmud, bring me a letter and a pen.”
If the enemy pursued and followed him all the way to Diyarbakir, he would have to accept heavy losses, so he intended to leave a letter addressed to Bayezid.
Ismail picked up the pen.
∗ ∗ ∗
Bayezid, who had set out on a personal campaign for the first time in several years since Venice, felt his body changing day by day.
The twenty-day march was not easy, even though he had traveled in comfort.
More than one hundred thousand soldiers had already assembled in central Anatolia, and countless tents stood across the plain.
When Bayezid appeared in Ankara, one of Anatolia’s key cities, Ankara’s sanjakbey paid his respects.
“Dukaginzade Ahmed Pasha greets the great Padishah.”
“It has been a long time.”
Ahmed, who had become a sanjakbey after meeting Yusuf when he came to the capital, mistakenly believed it was thanks to Yusuf’s help.
Bayezid received his welcome with a benevolent expression, and Ahmed quietly drew a sheet of paper from his breast.
“What is it?”
“It is a letter sent not long ago by the enemy commander, Ismail.”
At those words, Bayezid unfolded the letter.
As befitted a man who, under the pen name Khata’i—meaning one who has erred—left behind 1,400 verses in his lifetime and exerted great influence on the literary history of Persian and Azerbaijani, the handwriting was elegant.
The letter, which began with “Glorious Bayezid,” praised the Sultan and contained words reflecting on his own faults, yet it was not servile.
In any case, the contents of the letter stated that he had no intention of fighting the Ottomans, and Bayezid passed the letter around to his subordinates.
“What do you think?”
The first to answer Bayezid’s question were the Janissary commanders.
“It is nothing but empty flattery. We cannot forgive them over a mere letter.”
“If we miss this chance, they will surely ignore the empire and invade again.”
At their insistence that punishment be carried out at once, Bayezid showed a faint hint of displeasure, and Grand Vizier Ali Pasha, noticing this, stepped forward.
“If the letter is true, the enemy has already withdrawn. Then do you intend to invade the Safavids?”
“Of course.”
“I am opposed. There are Turkmen who are potential rebels, and the supplies for an expedition have not been properly prepared.”
The Grand Vizier spoke flatly, and before long, an argument grew heated between the military and the officials.
As raised voices continued to fly back and forth, Bayezid struck the desk.
“How dare you make a commotion before me!”
At Bayezid’s fierce rebuke, silence fell.
“Yakup Agha.”
Agha was a title meaning a high-ranking commander, and Yakup Agha, as Bayezid called him, was the commander-in-chief of the Janissaries.
Yakup bowed courteously.
“Command me.”
“What do you think?”
“I believe debate among ourselves is meaningless. Do as the Padishah wills.”
At Yakup’s words, Bayezid stroked his beard at length.
They said he was still hale, but he could not be certain his aged body would endure a long campaign.
One misstep, and he might die during the expedition.
Yet the internal situation was too ominous to simply send the army without him.
‘When the realm is in turmoil, I cannot send out a large army.’
Considering not only the Turkmen but also the princes revealing their ambitions, he needed soldiers to protect himself.
In the end, there was only one decision Bayezid could make.
“Disband the army.”
∗ ∗ ∗
When the summons was lifted and the army scattered again, Yusuf clicked his tongue.
‘If he drew the sword, he should at least have sliced a radish with it.’
With that meaningless summons, the sultan had undermined his own authority.
It was not that Yusuf could not understand his choice, but it could hardly be called a good one.
Mahmud might be called the fool who died in a successful night raid, but whatever else, the death of a prince was involved.
‘A prince of one’s own country being killed is a matter of pride.’
The relationship between the sultan and the military drifted even farther apart, and since he had already ordered a summons once, it would be difficult to mobilize a great army for some time.
A gap had opened in his military strength, and there was no longer any reason to view the sultan only with fear.
Yusuf’s eyes gleamed coldly.
“The shackles binding the princes have come loose.”
∗ ∗ ∗
The father who destroyed the Eastern Roman Empire turned the Ottoman Beylik, which had been regarded as merely a regional power, into the Ottoman Empire, hegemon of the eastern Mediterranean.
The son conquered Egypt as well, expanding the empire’s territory by one and a half times, and the grandson called the Magnificent was the most famous ruler in Ottoman history.
Caught between that dazzling lineup, Bayezid II might have been lesser in name value, but he was by no means incompetent.
‘Unless he’s gone senile and lost all judgment, he must know very well what his choice means.’
In the sultan’s eyes, launching a campaign against the Safavids must have seemed a great risk.
War was like gambling between nations, with troops, supplies, and the internal unrest born of a military vacuum all placed as stakes.
Victory would bring great gains, but defeat could change the fate of the nation.
‘A campaign to subjugate the Safavids would not be an easy expedition.’
Even years of preparation would not have been enough, yet the preparation period had been only a few months, and the enemy was highly likely to take an entirely defensive stance.
On top of that, it could easily become a war lasting many years, so the old sultan must have been worried about his health as well.
The domestic sources of unrest were an added burden.
‘It’s like sheathing a sword he had drawn because he was afraid of cutting his hand while slicing a radish. He probably thought he could suppress the aftershocks well enough.’
He might have believed that he was still standing firm and that there would be no immediate problem, but however one looked at it, he lacked objectivity about himself.
Because this affair had greatly shaken his position.
Even the news coming from the capital made that clear. The princes and officials had begun to move more openly.
“Those who support Ahmed are petitioning that his sons should be appointed sanjakbeys as soon as possible.”
Ahmed had as many as five sons.
The youngest, Kasim, was far too young to qualify, but the remaining four sons were over twelve and had reached the age at which they could be appointed sanjakbeys.
That meant four sanjakbeys supporting Ahmed would be added all at once.
Yusuf smiled and said,
“Should I send my nephews into Allah’s embrace even now?”
At Yusuf’s words, suggesting that it might be best to uproot the sprouts before his nephews became nephew-brats aiming for his neck, Shemsi answered calmly.
“If you have no intention of thinking about what comes afterward, I will not stop you.”
If he were caught assassinating his nephews in the capital, there was a high chance the foundation he had painstakingly built would be shaken.
There was no need to take that risk just to kill a nephew or two.
Yusuf had not meant it seriously either. It had been a foreseeable development.
In any case, Ahmed’s four sons seemed likely to be appointed sanjakbeys one year earlier than in the original history.
“Suleiman will be appointed sanjakbey as well.”
After all, Suleiman had been appointed this year, 1508, even in the original history.
Since it was only a matter of time before five nephews were appointed sanjakbeys and became obstacles, the truly important matter lay elsewhere.
“What matters is which sanjaks they will be appointed to, but no information has come in yet.”
“Which region they take is an important question, so is that not only natural? Even so, it is not difficult to predict.”
As Shemsi said, it was not difficult to predict.
The best locations were sanjaks close to the capital, and Yusuf was doing his utmost to interfere with that as well.
In the end, they would likely try to take helpful regions as their second-best option.
“Brother Ahmed’s sons will try to take places around him or on the road to the capital, and Suleiman will go to Kefe.”
Kefe, north of the Black Sea, bordered the Crimean Khanate, so it was a place Selim might choose as his second-best option.
Of course, the final decision rested with the sultan, so no one could be certain until the results came out.
“It is a pity Şehzade Mehmed is still young. You should have had him sooner.”
At Shemsi’s joke, Yusuf laughed lightly.
“Do you think having children is as easy as a man wishes? If it were easy, Brother Korkut would have had plenty of sons as well.”
At least he had a son, whereas Korkut had not a single son and thus no hope at all.
At Yusuf’s protest, Shemsi shrugged.
“I merely meant it was regrettable. If he could be appointed sanjakbey, he would be a great help to Your Highness.”
“True, Pasha has always rated Mehmed highly.”
“Şehzade Mehmed is a genius, so is that not only natural?”
Because Shemsi himself was a talented man who had risen to the rank of pasha, he was known for judging people harshly.
To draw such lavish praise as “genius” from his mouth was no small thing.
Yusuf lifted one corner of his mouth.
“That is a surprising thing to hear from someone who called a prince a fool.”
“To be precise, I said I could not tell whether you were a genius or merely ordinary.”
He was a subordinate now, but when Yusuf had only just become sanjakbey, Shemsi had been his teacher.
His learning speed was ordinary, yet he possessed all sorts of knowledge, and Shemsi had looked at Yusuf almost like some strange creature.
While Yusuf and Shemsi bickered lightly, there were several knocks, and the door opened slightly.
“Father.”
When Mehmed peeked his face through the opening, Yusuf chuckled.
“They say when you think of a cat, the cat comes running. Come here.”
Uttering the Arabic version of the saying that a tiger comes when spoken of, Yusuf lifted the approaching Mehmed and seated him on the desk.
Perhaps pleased to be facing Yusuf, the green eyes he had inherited from his parents curved faintly.
“Well then, what brings you here?”
“It is time for me to study with Pasha, so I came.”
As it seemed he had come using that as an excuse, Yusuf playfully stroked Mehmed’s head.
“Pasha’s teachings cannot be easy.”
“They are not difficult. They are fun.”
Since when was Shemsi the sort to go easy on someone just because they were young?
When Yusuf looked at him in puzzlement, Shemsi said calmly,
“For intelligent people, studying is enjoyable.”
“I never knew that.”
He probably never would. Nor did he want to know.
As Yusuf patted Mehmed, simply telling him to work hard, a small bruise caught his eye, and he frowned.
“Did you bump into something?”
Mehmed, who had not expected that such a small, faint bruise would be noticed, hesitated for a moment before answering honestly.
“I went to see Murad and got hit.”
“By whom? Was it Hatice?”
Of course, if Hatice were the cause, there would be a proper reason.
Still, he was worried that this might lead to a fight between Ayşe and Hatice, and Mehmed gave the culprit’s name.
“…Murad did it.”
“Hm. Murad, you say.”
Murad was only about six months old, and already he found himself worrying over brotherly affection.
∗ ∗ ∗
In the capital, all manner of heated debates continued over the appointments of sanjakbeys, and each faction displayed sharp conflict for the sake of the princes they supported.
However, that was a story limited to the capital and a few regions; looking at the Ottoman realm as a whole, it was peaceful.
The Safavids who had invaded Dulkadir had withdrawn, and the summoned sipahis had all returned home, so the clouds of war had lifted.
Abroad, the Safavids, having avoided a showdown with the Ottomans, turned their horses toward what remained of the Aq Qoyunlu, and the Mamluks were in a situation where it would not be strange for war with Portugal to break out at any time.
The West was in no position to turn its eyes toward the Ottomans either.
Pope Julius II, who wanted to expand the Papal States, was preparing for war with Venice, true to his nickname of the Warrior Pope.
The one who shattered this peace that seemed likely to continue for some time was Korkut.
“Are you leaving now?”
At Ahmed’s question, Korkut nodded.
Fortunately or unfortunately, he had gained no military achievements in Dulkadir, but he had suffered no troop losses either.
His fifteen hundred cavalry, including five hundred heavily armed horsemen, had finished preparing to march.
“I did not wish to do this, but since Father rejected my request, there is no other way.”
After Mahmud, who held Saruhan, died during the night raid, Korkut had asked once more to be sent to Saruhan.
But the answer that came back was a refusal, and Korkut fell into deep despair.
When the anger toward his father showed in his sharpened voice, Ahmed patted his shoulder.
“Father is heartless as well. What sort of difficult request was it that he had to refuse?”
“He is willing to send me to inland Çorum, is he not?”
Unlike the other princes, Korkut had invested heavily in maritime forces.
It was because he had judged that entering the capital by sea would be better.
Yet being sent to Çorum had made more than ten years of effort vanish in an instant, and his despair and anger were beyond words.
“Then you need only take it back again. So, are your preparations perfect?”
“Of course. I have already finished speaking with those who followed me there. Once we arrive, we should be able to enter without bloodshed.”
Though Korkut had sided with Ahmed and was no longer treated as a proper claimant to the succession, he was highly respected in Saruhan.
At Korkut’s confident words, Ahmed smiled.
“I’m sure you will do well. I’ll be counting on you.”
“You needn’t worry!”
Ahmed sincerely hoped Korkut would succeed.
To reach the capital on the Balkan Peninsula, they had to cross the Bosphorus Strait, which meant they needed ships to transport their forces.
If Korkut took Saruhan and drew the maritime powers connected to him back into his fold, that problem could be solved.
‘And in turn, he can also obstruct those trying to cross to the other side.’
The other brothers would be left stamping their feet, unable to cross a strait less than a single kilometer wide.
Of course, if Korkut betrayed him, Ahmed could end up in the same situation, but the chances of that were slim.
‘Even after Father dies, as Korkut is now, he would likely be refused entry into the capital itself.’
By siding with Ahmed, Korkut had already become a man for whom the title of prince rang hollow.
Korkut, having mounted his horse with practiced ease, took the reins and said,
“Then I shall see you later.”
Korkut led his troops and set out for Saruhan.
∗ ∗ ∗
When word came that Korkut was moving with an army to seize Saruhan, Yusuf frowned.
“So he couldn’t endure it any longer after all.”
“It was something we could foresee, but not prevent.”
They could not denounce him to the sultan when he had yet to do anything, nor could they raise an army to stop him.
If the information had reached them, quite some time must have already passed, so he had likely advanced a great distance by now.
“The Padishah won’t be able to stop him.”
“It would be difficult to seize him by force. If he succeeds in entering Saruhan, His Majesty will have no choice but to appoint him sanjak-bey.”
Using the central army to punish Korkut would endanger the sultan’s own safety, and it had not been long since the sipahis had been dismissed from service.
As the sultan, he had no choice but to watch this situation unfold with his eyes open.
The repercussions of abandoning the Safavid campaign had already emerged like this, and Yusuf furrowed his brow.
“I’m the only one who’s been put in a difficult position.”
After all, it would not be a problem for Selim, who would move from the Crimean Khanate.
However, this was Yusuf’s misconception.
He was not the only one who found Korkut’s movements threatening.
∗ ∗ ∗
The man who had been feeling the warm sunlight with his eyes closed and his face lifted opened his eyes at the sound of hoofbeats.
“Lord Shehinshah, we have confirmed that the enemy is approaching.”
Shehinshah, whose complexion was slightly haggard, leisurely took hold of his reins.
“Let us go. It seems I shall see my elder brother’s face for the first time in a while.”
“Ha!”
At Shehinshah’s command, the three thousand cavalrymen drawn up in formation began to move.
∗ ∗ ∗
Shehinshah took a deep breath of the fishy stench of blood and looked around.
Among the corpses crushed and brutally cut down, faint groans, as though from men on the verge of death, could be heard now and then.
Shehinshah, who had dismounted with a slight stagger, stamped down on the chest of an enemy whose mouth was merely opening and closing.
Crack!
The man whose chest had caved in soon let his head fall, and Shehinshah leaned his back against his horse.
“Your Highness, please stay still. You are bleeding heavily.”
When his subordinate took out a bandage and wrapped it around him, terrible pain surged through him.
Shehinshah took opium from his pouch and tossed it into his mouth, then looked up at the sky with a mind made even hazier by anemia.
Looking at the dark, clouded sky that seemed ready to pour rain at any moment, Shehinshah muttered a single sentence.
“So this is war.”
Shouts and screams ran rampant, and he had crossed countless crises as though walking a tightrope above a cliff.
Touching the wound on his face left by a grazing arrow, Shehinshah laughed softly, and the man who approached him asked,
“What is so amusing?”
“Is that you, Ishvat?”
At the question from Ishvat Bey, whom Ismail had attached to him, Shehinshah burst into laughter.
“The death I feared so much is this light.”
“The weight of death differs from person to person. Please do not consider yourself the same as these men, Your Highness.”
“Well, let us say that is so. My elder brother, who would have told me the price of a prince’s life, has fled.”
The image of Korkut, his face twisted with rage as he screamed Shehinshah’s name, was vivid.
So too was the sight of the man who had seemed endlessly frightening when he was young fleeing in such a pitiful manner.
Feeling the drug take hold, Shehinshah slowly closed his eyes.
“I have made up my mind, Ishvat.”
“Speak.”
“Tell Shahkulu. The day of action will be next spring.”
Having cast off his shackles, Shehinshah smiled.
∗ ∗ ∗
The boy, who had been looking at three small clocks with serious eyes, furrowed his brow slightly.
It was because, though he had made them with parts as identical as possible, discrepancies had already begun to appear.
Behind the boy staring intently at the clocks, a voice mixed with a sigh was heard.
“Lord Suleiman, are you at it again?”
“You’ve come, Yaya.”
At Suleiman, who brushed off his rebuke as if it were nothing, Yaya let out a sigh.
He was still too young to speak of life’s greatest mistakes, but dragging him into this was certainly the greatest mistake of all.
“If Prince Selim finds out you have become absorbed in this sort of thing, it will not end with a simple scolding.”
“I know. That is why I am hiding it as best I can. And surely he would not kill his only son.”
“I am in more danger than you are, Lord Suleiman.”
He had met Selim in person only when he was young, but that overpowering presence remained vivid in his memory.
At the complaint tinged with fear, Suleiman gave a bitter smile.
“I shall do my utmost to protect a life as small as yours. More importantly, look at this.”
“What is it this time?”
“As Shehzade Yusuf wrote, the period it takes for a weight tied to a string to swing back and forth was unrelated to the weight of the bob. I thought again about how to apply this to a clock.”
After looking at the design for a long while, Yaya shook his head.
“As it is, it will not swing back and forth at a constant rate.”
“So it is as I thought. A difficult problem.”
At the words that it was another failure, Suleiman looked disappointed, but his eyes were full of eagerness.
Yaya, who knew well that these failures had already continued for years, returned the blueprint and said,
“Would it not have been better to meet Prince Yusuf when he came to the capital last time? He would surely know the answer.”
“Asking another prince for instruction is not such a simple matter. It would also cause great trouble for Father.”
“I am relieved you understand at least that much. Seeing you like this when you will soon be appointed sanjak-bey, I thought you had no awareness at all.”
At Yaya’s sarcasm, Suleiman merely laughed lightly.
Considering the difference in their status, it was a great discourtesy, but given how much hardship he had put him through, it was a fair complaint.
Suleiman wiped the smile from his face and asked seriously,
“Yaya, will you not go with me to Kefe? With you, I could trust and work alongside you.”
“…I am grateful for your words, but as I always tell you, we cannot be together.”
Yaya, whose father was Omer, the qadi of Trabzon who followed Yusuf, and Suleiman, whose father was Selim, were not people who could ever stand together.
It was a fact he had known for a long time, yet today it pained Suleiman’s heart, and he spoke curtly.
“Do you truly think Shehzade Yusuf can become the next Padishah?”
“Only Allah knows the future, but I believe so. And that is not my opinion alone.”
Both of them knew well how much Yusuf’s position had changed in less than ten years.
When he first came to the capital, far from knowing his reputation, the majority did not even know his name.
Even those who knew him remembered him only because of the near-miraculous assassination attempt, and no one seriously considered him a claimant to the succession.
But now, hardly a day passed without his name being heard, and especially among the younger generation, many even regarded him as a hero.
To the point that, once the change of generations took place, Yusuf could naturally take hold of power.
“I shall respect your will. But it will not be easy. Father will become the master of the empire.”
“That is Lord Murad’s favorite phrase.”
“Is it not exactly the same? I should try saying it in front of that fellow before I leave.”
As Suleiman laughed while imitating Murad, Ahmed’s eldest son, Yaya’s expression hardened and he said,
“You may find it difficult to see his face for some time. Bad news has just reached the capital.”
“What news?”
“Prince Shehinshah attacked Prince Korkut while he was moving toward Saruhan. It is said Prince Korkut lost most of his soldiers and fled in defeat to Ankara.”
It was news that could shake the Ottoman realm.
∗ ∗ ∗
Clang!
When the swords collided, the impact was enough to leave his hand tingling.
As his arm trembled, Yusuf judged that there was no longer any way to hold out and swiftly thrust his sword into the opening he saw.
He thought he had properly struck a gap, but his opponent’s sword came to rest at his throat even faster.
Arda withdrew the sword aimed at his neck, nodded, and said,
“Still, your skills have improved greatly. In the past, you would already have been rolling in the dust by now. Thanks to that, it was at least a warm-up.”
At Arda’s words, which were praise in their own way, Yusuf chuckled.
“To my eyes, it looked as though you were desperately trying because you didn’t want to lose again.”
“…I was unlucky that time.”
He had been unlucky.
Yusuf had seized the moment when sand got into Arda’s eyes to counterattack, and as Arda stepped back, he stepped on a broken piece of shield and lost his balance slightly.
It would have been fine if it had ended there, but the place where he hurriedly planted his foot happened to be slightly hollowed out, causing his ankle to twist, and he lost just like that.
Though he had won entirely by luck, Yusuf smiled slyly.
“Luck is also a skill.”
Yusuf patted Arda on the shoulder as the man merely groaned, then went straight up to his office.
A servant had come to tell him that Shemsi was urgently looking for him.
Shemsi was already waiting inside the office, and when Yusuf opened the door and entered, he showed his respects.
“You have come?”
“Pasha, you said you were looking for me urgently?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
As Yusuf took the seat of honor, Şemsi immediately gave his report.
“Five days ago, Prince Şehinşah attacked Prince Korkut while he was on his way to Saruhan.”
“Not Selim, but Şehinşah?”
Yusuf spoke with a slightly surprised expression.
Had Selim been the one to attack Korkut, he would not have been this surprised.
Even if Selim lacked sufficient motive to attack, he was fully capable of doing so as a way to keep Ahmed in check.
“That is correct. It is unexpected that someone who had been lying low would move, but considering the route, it was entirely possible.”
To reach Saruhan on the western coast of Anatolia, one had to pass through the plains between Ankara and Konya.
If one had the will, it would not be strange for a battle to break out there.
‘Though it was unexpected that he had that will.’
In truth, Yusuf had completely excluded Şehinşah from consideration.
Since Ismail had only just withdrawn, he had assumed Şehinşah, who received his support, would remain a little more subdued.
“What was the result of the battle?”
“Prince Korkut, who led fifteen hundred cavalry, seems to have put up quite a fight against an enemy twice his number. The exact losses have not been confirmed, but both sides appear to have suffered heavy casualties.”
He could roughly picture the situation.
Since Korkut had five hundred heavy cavalry, he likely would not have been easily pushed back despite the difference in numbers.
“Still, in the end, it seems my elder brother Korkut was defeated.”
“Yes. It is said that most of his cavalry were killed, and only about a hundred survived. Prince Korkut, who fled to Ankara, is also said to be gravely wounded.”
“Gravely wounded, is he?”
The fact that the wounded Korkut had shaken off pursuit and entered Ankara meant that Şehinşah’s side had also suffered considerable losses.
It was not bad news at all that enemies had fought among themselves and bled each other.
“The most important thing is that Korkut failed to enter Saruhan.”
Putting his own wounds aside, he could not covet Saruhan with barely a hundred cavalry.
“What happens next is the problem. How do you think the capital will react?”
“Opinions will likely be divided over this matter.”
During the Dulkadir affair as well, the princes had disobeyed the Sultan’s orders and raised troops.
Even so, back then their opponent had been an enemy, so it had been acceptable. This time, however, it had taken the form of a civil war between princes.
The capital would be turned upside down.
“It will depend on how they judge my elder brother Korkut, who raised troops in an attempt to seize Saruhan.”
Korkut, who had acted in disregard of the Sultan’s authority, was in a sense a rebel.
His crime only seemed minor because of his status as a prince and because there was a high chance the Sultan would overlook it. Under ordinary circumstances, it would have warranted sending a punitive force.
“Şehinşah’s side will claim that they punished Prince Korkut on behalf of the Padishah.”
“And those who follow Ahmed will condemn Şehinşah’s actions in attacking another prince without permission.”
If one had to assign blame, Korkut, who had caused this whole mess, bore the greater fault.
“What will you do?”
Yusuf pondered for a moment.
His standing was different from the days when he had struggled desperately just to form even a small network in the capital.
There were many who actively supported him, and if he so desired, he could easily sway public opinion within the capital.
“For now, let us watch a little longer.”
“Then I will have that conveyed.”
After all, even if he loudly insisted on punishment, there was little chance a severe penalty would be handed down.
“Pasha, the princes have finally clashed directly with one another.”
This incident was a kind of turning point.
Unlike before, when they sent spies at one another and worked to draw in support, from now on they would personally lead armies and try to take each other’s heads.
It meant that the countdown to full-scale civil war had begun.
“Send men to Circassia and Georgia and make sure they are ready to dispatch reinforcements whenever we request them.”
Giving such an order was the same as saying he would move within the next year, and Şemsi nodded heavily.
For the battle that would decide the princes’ fates was about to begin.
As Şemsi was sorting out in his head what needed to be done in step with that, Yusuf, who had been thinking for a moment, spoke.
“And contact Dukaginzade Ahmed Pasha.”
He was the sanjak-bey of Ankara, and Yusuf’s hidden blade, unknown to anyone.
Korkut would never have dreamed that the place he had entered to survive was the jaws of a tiger.
Yusuf smiled coldly and said,
“Tell him that it seems my elder brother’s wounds are going to fester and claim his life.”
Korkut’s fate was decided.