The Time of Princes
Ankara would one day become the capital of Turkey, with a population exceeding five million, but until the early twentieth century, its population was only thirty-five thousand.
Even that was thanks to its population having slowly grown; at present, it was merely one of countless cities with a population of only twenty thousand.
Considering that in the days of ancient Rome, it had been a transportation hub of Anatolia with two hundred thousand inhabitants, it was a city in decline.
However, its strategic importance as the center of the Anatolian peninsula remained unchanged, and Dukaginzade Ahmed Pasha, the sancakbey of this place, carefully folded the secretly delivered letter.
“Andrea.”
“Do you intend to do it? One wrong move, and our family’s already unstable position may waver even further.”
The epithet Dukaginzade meant that he bore the name of the Dukagjini, an Albanian noble house.
At the question from Andrea, a subordinate attached to him by the family, Ahmed frowned.
“Family, is it? I suffered quite a bit thanks to that magnificent family.”
When the Ottomans seized their territory, the Dukagjini were divided, and most of them joined the Kingdom of Naples or Venice and engaged in anti-Ottoman activities.
Those of them who surrendered to the Ottomans suffered all the more for it.
Andrea immediately refuted those words.
“But if not for the family, you would never have risen to this position. Surely you do not think it was thanks to Prince Yusuf.”
“Who can say?”
Perhaps now it might be different, but at that time, Yusuf’s influence had not been strong enough to place someone in the seat of a sancakbey.
It may have simply been a coincidence of timing.
Ahmed spoke coldly.
“The truth does not matter. What matters is that I seized the chance to stand on His side.”
Things were different from the past.
There were many who followed Yusuf, and already in the capital there were even those competing to prove their loyalty.
Ahmed laughed as if delighted.
“If anything, Prince Korkut coming here is a blessing from Allah.”
He knew very well what would happen from his decision.
Korkut’s death would deal a great blow to Prince Ahmed, and he would have to make every effort to contain it.
The princes would not miss the opening when a powerful rival faltered, and those who had merely been watching to see which prince to side with would surely reveal their true colors.
They would move actively for the princes they supported and, if necessary, would not hesitate even to take one another’s lives.
“A time of chaos will begin, Andrea.”
“…Give me your orders.”
“Prince Yusuf’s brotherly love is truly deep. To think he worries so much about his elder brother’s wound worsening.”
“I will see to it properly.”
Andrea bowed his head and disappeared, and not long afterward, the grim news became known to the world.
∗ ∗ ∗
Hasan wiped away the cold sweat streaming down his face and shouted.
“What idiot brought iron in here?! Get it out at once!”
At Hasan’s shout after discovering a small iron rod, one of the slaves hurriedly carried it outside.
Once the dangerous object was gone, Hasan let out a deep sigh.
“I’m insane. I must be insane, asking to be entrusted with this for no reason.”
Looking at the small wooden barrels neatly arranged in rows, Hasan’s face went hollow.
Every one of those barrels was filled with gunpowder, and this was not the only warehouse like it.
Since no one knew when it might explode, the storage sites had been divided among several locations.
“I really might die at this rate.”
Recalling the precautions Yusuf had told him, Hasan shuddered.
If gunpowder clumped from moisture was beaten to make it usable again, explosion. If they were unlucky and static electricity occurred, explosion. If iron metal objects were used and static electricity conducted inside, explosion.
For the timid Hasan, entering this place felt like being gathered into Allah’s arms.
Normally he would have finished the work without even coming in, but today he could not do that. Yusuf was watching from outside.
After quickly finishing the count with those working under him, Hasan went outside and saw Yusuf chatting lightly with Tahir.
Yusuf asked Hasan, who had returned.
“Well, what is the quantity?”
“As reported, there is enough for four thousand men to fire roughly five times.”
Five shots might seem like little, but once an actual battle began, there would be no occasion to fire all five.
Not only was the loading speed slow, but black powder also left a great deal of residue inside the gun, so after firing a few shots, it absolutely had to be cleaned.
‘It would be somewhat better if we cut rifling.’
If grooves were cut inside the barrel, there would be that much more space for fouling to accumulate, so there was the advantage of being able to fire more bullets.
However, there was no need to regret something they could not attempt immediately, and Yusuf asked Tahir.
“How many matchlocks have been completed?”
“Roughly two thousand are ready.”
“Two thousand, is it? Maintenance must be nearing its limit.”
Making a gun was not the end of it.
A gun, being a lump of iron, would be covered in rust in no time if it was not continually maintained, and that rust had to be removed periodically.
As the number of firearms in storage increased, this demand could only grow as well.
“That is what I have been worrying about. With the personnel we have now, we will soon run into our limits.”
“You need not worry about that problem. I intend to arm the soldiers with firearms soon.”
At those words, Tahir spoke with a grave expression.
“So it finally begins.”
“Basic training will be necessary, so it will not be right away, but it will not be long.”
No matter how much guns belonged among the easier weapons compared to bows or other arms, that did not mean they required no training at all.
At the very least, there could be no farce of a man being startled by the sound of the gun he himself had fired.
Perhaps because the time had come for the weapons he had made with his own hands to shine, worry and excitement coexisted on Tahir’s face.
“If everything ends well, I will not forget your efforts. Is there any request you would like to make then?”
It was an enormous opportunity.
If everything ended well, Yusuf would by then have become the master of the empire, and he would be in a position to grant almost any request.
At Yusuf’s words, Tahir bowed his head politely and said,
“What greed could this old man, who has not many years left to live, possibly have?”
“There is no need to be tactful and refuse.”
At Yusuf’s urging, Tahir hesitated slightly, then glanced at Hasan and said,
“If I must make a request, I would like to see that fool over there find his match.”
“You mean Hasan?”
At the unexpected words, Hasan was startled out of his wits, and Tahir clicked his tongue at the sight.
“Just look at that witless face. Does he not seem like something Allah made while half-asleep?”
“Old man!”
“He is sorely lacking, but if the one rib he has lost is restored, perhaps he might act like a proper person.”
In Islam, Adam, the first human, was the first prophet, and the Old Testament account that Eve was made from Adam’s rib was believed in the same way.
At Tahir’s words likening a wife to a rib, Yusuf stroked his chin and looked at Hasan.
He seemed rather moved by the request from Tahir, who usually did nothing but bicker with him.
“Hasan, next year will mark ten years since I first met you.”
“…That is so.”
“You committed a grave sin, but considering your efforts all this time, I can forgive you.”
“Thank you!”
At Yusuf’s words, Hasan immediately prostrated himself on the ground and showed his respect.
It was no ordinary crime, but the forgiveness of a traitor, so even considering the years that had passed, it could be called a generous decision.
“It is time for you to leave the status of a slave. So, is there any woman you have in mind?”
Since Hasan often went about outside, it would not be strange if there were at least one woman he had noticed.
He had no intention of forcing one upon him, but he could offer help.
At Yusuf’s question, Hasan could not answer properly and only hesitated, and perhaps finding the sight frustrating, Tahir roared.
“Is there not a woman you whined to me about so pitifully?! Shall I say it for you?!”
“N-no, you mustn….”
“What do you mean, no?”
Tahir coldly shook off Hasan, who was clutching at his trouser leg, and spoke one person’s name.
“He said he likes a woman named Nene. Do you happen to know her?”
“Nene, you say.”
How could he not know?
She was Fatima’s maid, and a woman who still gave him much help even now.
Yusuf looked at Hasan as if asking whether it was true, and Hasan nodded faintly.
“…I have liked her for a long time.”
“A love staked on one’s life. A beautiful story.”
If only the person threatening that life were not the very one he loved.
A woman’s grudge did not disappear so easily, and even now, whenever Nene saw Hasan, she radiated killing intent.
“I will speak to Nene. In return, how about staying here for a while?”
At the very least, he wanted Hasan to remain alive until he ascended to the sultan’s throne. It would be difficult to find someone to replace him right away.
Knowing the meaning behind those words, Hasan bowed his head deeply.
“Thank you for your consideration.”
Seeing that he did not ask him not to speak to Nene, it seemed he was sincere.
Yusuf withdrew his gaze from Hasan, who had gone and dug his own grave, and said to Tahir,
“Tahir, I ask you to carry out maintenance once more before the soldiers arrive.”
“Leave it to me.”
Yusuf lightly looked up at the sky.
Recalling the death of Korkut, which he had heard of before coming here, he murmured softly.
“Three more to go.”
The end was not far off.
∗ ∗ ∗
When news of Korkut’s death arrived from Ankara, the capital fell into chaos.
Bayezid expressed his grief at the death of yet another son, and those who followed Ahmed moved urgently.
The first thing they had to do was seize Çorum, where Korkut’s legacy remained.
Though many soldiers had been lost in the battle against Şehinşah, many of his followers still remained in Çorum.
The wealth Korkut had amassed all this time also remained intact in Çorum, so in order to absorb it, one of Prince Ahmed’s sons had to be appointed as the sancakbey of Çorum.
Meanwhile, Süleyman was appointed sancakbey of Kefe, and Selim made his move.
Kefe, where Prince Mehmed had died of an epidemic only a few years ago and which had even been placed under blockade, seemed to have forgotten that past entirely.
At the harbor, sailors crossing the Black Sea moved busily about, and merchants raised their voices.
Into the bustling port, one man slowly set foot.
“It has been a long time, Father.”
Selim, whose mere appearance made the harbor hold its breath, embraced Suleiman, who had grown remarkably tall before he knew it.
“You have grown so much I scarcely recognize you! Have you been well all this time?”
“Of course. This is a gift for you.”
Selim accepted the watch Suleiman carefully held out, looked it over this way and that, then chuckled.
“An amusing toy.”
“…Is it?”
“Yes, not bad.”
So saying, Selim casually handed the watch to a soldier behind him.
Selim, who had come to Kefe under the pretext of congratulating Suleiman on just becoming a sanjak-bey, took the lead and began walking.
The purpose of this journey was not merely to meet Suleiman.
“Has he already arrived?”
“He has been waiting for several days.”
“Good. Then there is no need to waste time.”
An envoy from Mengli Giray, ruler of the Crimean Khanate and, privately, his father-in-law, had arrived.
With preparations complete to field thirty thousand cavalry.
Selim smiled coldly.
“My son, the time has finally come to reclaim my place.”
The princes’ hour had arrived.
∗ ∗ ∗
The Crimean Khanate was a state founded after breaking away from the Kipchak Khanate, one of the four great khanates that emerged from the fragmentation of the Mongol Empire.
After independence, it had struggled to survive while walking a dangerous tightrope between the great powers around it, until it offended Mehmed II and was reduced to a vassal of the Ottomans.
Yet this, if anything, proved fortunate for the Crimean Khanate.
Because it had the powerful backing of the Ottomans, Western nations had to deal cautiously with the Crimean Khanate, and in the meantime the Crimean Khanate occupied the capital of the Kipchak Khanate and absorbed vast territories.
Mengli Giray, who now styled himself Kağan, a title meaning emperor among the nomads, warmly welcomed the man who entered.
“Welcome! You must have had a hard journey coming all this way!”
“I thank you for your hospitality.”
“Were there any inconveniences on the road, by chance?”
He wore an affable smile, but Selim was not fooled by it.
‘A sly old fox.’
From Kefe to Baghchasaray, the capital of the Crimean Khanate, was a journey of only three days on horseback; with a little exaggeration, it was close enough to touch.
Yet on that short journey, he had lost count of how many brutally murdered slave corpses he had seen.
Since the other side had provided the guide, it could not be dismissed as mere coincidence. This was a contest of nerves, a struggle for the initiative.
‘Even now, for instance.’
For the reception of an honored guest, there were far too many sword-bearing soldiers around, and from them flowed a savage air that spoke of countless people they had cut down.
It gave the perilous feeling of walking atop blades, but Selim smiled calmly.
“I came under such reliable escort. What inconvenience could there have been? It made me feel I should like to visit again later, when I have the leisure.”
At Selim’s words, Mengli’s expression hardened slightly.
For when a prince gained leisure, it meant he had become master of the empire, and when he personally made a journey, it was when he led an army on campaign.
Killing intent poured out at words no different from a threat, but Selim leisurely swept his gaze around.
“It seems there are too many ears listening for us to have a deep conversation.”
At Mengli’s glance, the soldiers moved away without a word, and once the two were facing each other alone, Mengli asked,
“So, what is it you wish to say?”
“That we should not waste our strength struggling over something that has already been discussed to some extent. In any case, Yusuf is the problem, is he not?”
At Yusuf’s name, Mengli let out an irritated sigh.
For Mengli, who had styled himself emperor, the order strictly forbidding raids on Circassia made him realize anew that no matter how large the Crimean Khanate grew, it remained a vassal of the Ottomans.
This was a practical problem.
“Not only Prince Yusuf, but the other two princes as well have sent me warnings. They said that if I help you, I will not be able to preserve this seat.”
The position of a vassal khan could be easily shaken by the will of the suzerain state.
That was why he hesitated despite having gathered thirty thousand troops.
“Is that all, such a trifling threat? Once I ascend to the seat of Padishah, all of it will be over.”
“Are you confident?”
“Of course.”
It was no empty boast.
Yusuf, who had taken Trabzon in his place, had undoubtedly gained a benefit so great it made one’s stomach churn.
Thanks to his many military achievements, the officers did not hesitate to show him respect, and even the sultan favored him enough to summon Yusuf to the capital.
‘But all of that is meaningless if he cannot seize the seat of Padishah, and the position of Trabzon, which has given him so much all this time, will strangle him.’
Selim spoke at ease.
“There are three princes in Anatolia. Therefore, none of the three will be able to reach the capital easily. Especially not that fellow Yusuf.”
Trabzon was far too distant from the capital.
Yusuf would inevitably have to fight the princes blocking the roads.
“If we take the lands of Rumelia, we can secure a more advantageous position than anyone.”
Rumelia referred to the southern part of the Balkan Peninsula, and because one could reach the capital without needing to cross the Bosporus, it was land not granted to princes.
If Selim could take this place, he would be seated in an exceedingly advantageous position.
After pondering for some time, Mengli made up his mind and asked,
“When do you intend to march?”
To this question, Selim gave a meaningful answer.
“Soon. The day when a brother who wishes to burn away what remains of his life will make his move.”
∗ ∗ ∗
Many things had happened in a period of less than ten years.
As soon as he became Yusuf, he experienced three crises and came to understand reality, and while serving as the sanjak-bey of Trabzon, he experienced two wars.
‘Looking back, I was lucky.’
Not only was he alive with all his limbs intact, but his main plan had also progressed as expected.
Of course, there had been many unexpected situations along the way, but in any case, he had been able to steer the flow in the direction he desired.
The information now in his hands also did not fall outside the range of his predictions.
“In the end, all our nephews have been appointed sanjak-beys. Judging by the contents, Brother must have exerted himself quite a bit.”
Ahmed’s four sons had also been appointed sanjak-beys.
The second, Suleiman; the third, Alaeddin; and the fourth, Osman, had each been assigned the sanjaks of Çorum, Osmancık, and Çankırı, cities located near Ahmed’s own sanjak of Amasya.
The most troublesome was the city of Bolu, which the eldest, Murad, had taken. It stood squarely blocking the road to the capital.
“Prince Ahmed must have known as well. That this was his last chance.”
His four sons were the last reversal card Ahmed could play.
He had failed to distinguish himself in Dulkadir, and with the death of Korkut, with whom he had formed an alliance, he had lost much of his foundation.
For a prince once considered the most likely next sultan, it was a shabby state.
Yusuf lightly stroked his gun and lowered his gaze.
“In any case, I will have no choice but to take all my nephews’ lives as well. They will become my enemies.”
“Do you feel regret?”
Though they were sanjak-beys, they were only of elementary-school age.
How much could they possibly know? They were merely serving as pieces on Ahmed’s chessboard, not acting of their own will.
But the words that came from Yusuf were cold.
“Not particularly. Other than the fact that they are young to go into Allah’s embrace, nothing troubles me.”
Perhaps he had become too accustomed to Ottoman culture.
‘Killing brothers or nephews without hesitation to seize the sultan’s throne is not particularly strange.’
Brothers, nephews—whatever they were called, they were blood relatives he had never once met face-to-face.
To speak of blood ties and call it heartless would be absurd, for their relationship was less than that of passersby whose faces he might meet on the street. If he were swayed by such meager affection, he could not wage war at all.
After all, war was something in which countless people younger and more innocent than them died.
“More importantly, what of Brother Selim’s movements after going to the Crimean Khanate?”
“There has been no particular movement yet. It seems he will likely move once winter has passed.”
Selim had settled in Kefe under the pretext of teaching Suleiman and meeting his father-in-law.
His aim was too blatant for them not to know it, and although they were applying all manner of pressure, he did not budge.
Yusuf frowned slightly.
“Suspicious. There is no way he would be sitting so quietly.”
The alliance between the two was unstable.
In terms of status, Mengli, the khan of a vassal state, and Selim, a prince, stood on similar footing.
However, the one more desperate for help was Selim, and Mengli could let go of Selim’s hand at any time.
Since there was no telling how long Mengli would withstand the pressure coming from all sides, Selim would be better off raising his army sooner.
“That means there is a reason he is enduring while taking the risk.”
“Yes. Something we do not know, but Brother Selim does.”
Yusuf tilted his head, wondering whether such a thing truly existed.
Knowing the course of the future and having sent informants to many places, Yusuf was one step ahead of the other princes in intelligence and judgment.
He did not look down on Selim, but it was hard to imagine falling behind him.
After pondering briefly, Şemsi spread out a map and said,
“There is one possibility we can predict.”
So saying, Şemsi tapped Teke, Selim’s sanjak.
“If it is here, there is a place that could obtain information of higher quality than ours.”
“…Konya. Şehinşah’s intelligence network.”
Teke and Konya were only four or five days apart on horseback, and a courier could go back and forth in two days.
No matter how much effort Yusuf put in, he could not easily learn information from Konya, where even the travel time alone took a month and a half.
Especially if it was information about Şehinşah, whose importance was relatively lower.
“Of course, it is still only conjecture, but Prince Selim may know information about Lord Şehinşah that others do not.”
The first thing that came to mind was the Turkmen rebellion that was adding strength to Şehinşah.
In particular, Shakulu, who hoped to become a second Ismail, would not have been strange to start a rebellion at any moment.
However, this was something Yusuf had anticipated because he knew the flow of the future.
“…I don’t know how he predicted it, and it may be for some other reason.”
The fact that Selim was waiting quietly meant the same as saying that something was about to happen here in Anatolia.
If so, there was no reason to hesitate any longer.
“Pasha, we must move as well.”
“Give the order.”
“Send word to Circassia and Georgia. Tell them the time has come. The planned time to gather is spring.”
“Understood.”
Watching Shemsi turn and disappear, Yusuf let out a deep sigh.
“It has been a long wait.”
Next year would mark ten years since he had become Yusuf. Then, everything would be decided.
∗ ∗ ∗
Cough, cough.
Perhaps it was because of the cold winter wind; after coughing violently, Shehinshah staggered to his feet.
Shehinshah smiled faintly at the hand that hurriedly steadied his swaying body and said,
“Okai, how long has it been since you began serving me?”
“…I have served you since you first came here, so it has been over twenty-five years.”
“A long time indeed.”
The face of Okai, who had once been young and unrestrained, was now filled with wrinkles that told of the years gone by.
Shehinshah gazed silently at his beard, now turned white, then rose after lightly pushing his shoulder away. Okai asked in a voice filled with concern.
“You have been pushing yourself too hard lately.”
“No. Rather, these days I feel as though I am truly living.”
Perhaps the time for his opium had passed; Shehinshah forced his trembling hand into a fist and leaned his back against the wall.
“Even in your eyes, am I not better now than I was in that pathetic past?”
Okai, who knew all too well the days when he had fallen asleep on the strength of drink and neglected his duties as sanjak-bey, sighed and said,
“It is not too late even now. You can do this while taking care of your health.”
“Rest is something I can do as much as I like once I return to Allah’s embrace.”
At the feeling that he was speaking like a man preparing for the end, Okai’s expression hardened.
“I know well that you are not pleased with my associating with Ismail’s ilk. So I will ask one thing of you.”
“You need only say it.”
“When spring comes, Shakulu and I will raise a rebellion together.”
Shehinshah also knew that Shakulu’s purpose was not to place him on the sultan’s throne.
In any case, for him, who knew the state of his own body better than anyone, the sultan’s throne held no meaning.
“When the army marches, have Ishvat killed in secret.”
Having ordered the death of Ishvat Bey, a man of Ismail’s, Shehinshah smiled like a child.
“Since I was born a prince against my will, when I go, I want to go like a prince by my own will.”
Even if it meant creating countless companions for the journey.