Rebellion and Opportunity
It poured as if the sky had been torn open, and beyond the harsh sound of rain, the roar of angry waves could be heard.
As torches soaked in oil flickered as if about to go out, the soldiers keeping watch on the ramparts huddled closer together.
“Ugh, when is this wretched rain ever going to stop?”
“Even if it stops, it’ll start pouring again in a few days. Why make such a fuss about it?”
The winter of Teke, located in the south of Anatolia, could be described by its chilly weather and endlessly pouring rain.
Since it rained for about ten days out of a month, the soldiers of Teke were all too accustomed to situations like this, and their complaints did not last long.
They had simply changed the topic of conversation.
“I happened to hear not long ago that our Sanjak-bey might not return.”
It had already been nearly five months since Selim left Teke, and his comrade spoke in a listless voice.
“What good does it do us to figure out what our superiors are thinking? Well, things would certainly be easier if he doesn’t come back.”
“He had us train hard and whatnot. Even the Sipahis say they feel relieved. He came back empty-handed from the last battle, too.”
Although Selim had distinguished himself in the Dulkadir War, to the soldiers, it had been a battle where they had risked their lives and gained nothing.
It had not been a battle where they could fill their purses through occupation or plunder, and Selim had not been in Teke long enough to earn their full loyalty.
Dissatisfaction with Selim’s conduct was inevitable.
“Good for us, then. At least we won’t be dragged off to some pointless battle and put in danger for no reason.”
As he spoke, the soldier let out a languid yawn.
The enemy nation was infinitely far from Teke, and even the precarious coastline had no foe capable of breaking through those rough seas to attack.
The watch was essentially a formality, and they were barely fighting back the tide of drowsiness when—
Thud-thud-thud!
The sound of mud squelching and rough hoofbeats rang out, prompting the soldiers to hurriedly survey the outside.
Black shadows surged through the village outside the castle, and at the intermittent screams, the soldiers urgently rang the alarm bell.
“Please!”
To the ears of the soldiers who had been waving their arms furiously in fear that the alarm would be drowned out by the noisy rain, there came a sound that should never have been heard.
Dozens of clashes of swords and shouts rang out, followed by a heavy vibration reverberating through the castle walls.
Boom!
—The castle gates have opened!
The castle gates, which should have held firm so the walls could fulfill their purpose, opened without resistance, and the soldiers rushed toward them in alarm.
Already, more than ten corpses lay scattered in this brief time, and facing the dozens of strange assailants defending the pulley, the commander raised his voice.
“Kill them quickly! Kill them and close the gates!”
The closer the hoofbeats drew, the more frantic his voice became, and the movements of the soldiers wielding their weapons grew more desperate.
However, the enemies defending the pulley that could close the gates did not fear death.
Even after being stabbed dozens of times, they grabbed the blades embedded in their own bodies and sagged, crying out to Allah—a madness that ran deep could be felt in their appearance.
And their efforts bore fruit.
“O Allah!”
“Judge the heretics!”
Thousands of cavalry pouring in ruthlessly slaughtered the soldiers trying to block the gates and swept through the inside of the castle.
A middle-aged man who entered the castle late, surrounded by a heavy escort, knelt on one knee before the man leaning against the pulley and gasping for breath.
“L-Lord Şahkulu.”
“Ah, my brother. How have you come to such a miserable state?”
The man called Şahkulu caressed the other’s face as if pained.
The man, who had opened and closed his mouth several times as if he had much to say, eventually let his head drop, and Şahkulu slowly closed his eyes.
Şahkulu lightly shook the blood and rainwater from his hand and shouted to those looking at him.
“Brothers, the time has come! The era of the glorious Shi’a that drives out the false faith has arrived!”
“O Şahkulu! O Allah!”
“Jihad! It is time for the holy war!”
A night like a nightmare, where blood mixed with rainwater due to the uninvited guests who had arrived in the dead of night.
In Teke, which had become like hell, Şahkulu’s rebellion began.
∗ ∗ ∗
The Ottomans were a state that had continued to expand, and accordingly, their control over the provinces had weakened.
In the provinces, they only occupied key strongholds and granted authority to local notables to govern smaller units such as villages or tribes autonomously.
This authority was such that even the central government or a Sanjak-bey could not interfere, and in places with severe tax resistance, some even resisted by force to enjoy tax exemption.
Because provincial control was thus weakened, rebellions occurred quite frequently in the Ottoman state.
However, a rebellion large enough to seize a major city was by no means common.
“Those damned scum.”
Karagöz Ahmed Pasha, who was heading south at the head of eight thousand cavalry to capture the rebel army that had occupied Teke, spoke in annoyance.
Just as there are provinces above cities, there is a higher administrative unit called the Eyalet above the Sanjak.
These Eyalets existed in Rumelia and Anatolia, the core regions of the Ottomans, and the one who governed them was called the Beylerbey, meaning the “bey of beys” and “general of generals.”
Karagöz Ahmed Pasha was the Beylerbey of Anatolia, and he bore the responsibility of suppressing the rebellion.
“Mutulu, are the enemies still staying in Teke?”
“Yes, my lord. Are they not trying to defend by holding the walls?”
“Fools. They couldn’t even guard the castle properly.”
Karagöz let out a short sigh.
If one had to assign blame, it fell heaviest on Selim for abandoning his Sanjak and leaving, but no matter what, he could not publicly denounce a prince.
“Enemy numbers confirmed at five thousand.”
This was according to those who had fled, so it was not certain.
What was even worse was that Şahkulu, who had occupied Teke and raised the rebellion, had gained fame, and those who had been merely watching were joining one by one.
No one knew how great a force he would amass as time went on.
“It is unfortunate for the subjects of Teke, but it is rather for the best. Let us blockade Teke and request reinforcements from the surrounding Sanjaks.”
“That would be better.”
The Anatolian Eyalet occupied the western regions of Anatolia near the capital and had seventeen Sanjaks under its command.
If they requested troop levies from those nearby, they would surely be sufficient to face the enemy.
Having made this judgment, Karagöz received an unexpected guest when he was about halfway from Ankara, the capital of the Eyalet, to Teke.
“It is the army of Prince Şehinşah!”
As approximately six thousand cavalry approached in the late evening, Karagöz, who had hurriedly sent a soldier, smiled broadly.
Karagöz warmly received the army of Şehinşah, which approached slowly as if they intended no threat whatsoever.
“I am truly delighted to meet you.”
“I thank you for your hospitality. I am pleased to meet the Beylerbey in this manner.”
Şehinşah, scanning the soldiers who were hastily preparing the camp again upon realizing they were not enemies, spoke softly.
“They say empty hands carry an unpleasant stench. Though I was not formally invited, how could I come empty-handed upon our first meeting? I have prepared a gift.”
“Hehe, your coming to aid us is more than sufficient.”
“There is no need to refuse. Okai.”
At Şehinşah’s call, Okai, who had been standing behind him, slowly stepped forward and reached into his bosom.
What was presented to Karagöz, who had been waiting to see what kind of gift he would receive, was the glint of a sharp blade.
“Kugh….”
Holding the blade that had pierced his throat, Karagöz’s eyes widened in disbelief, and Şehinşah spoke to him in a low voice.
“The gift is the warm embrace of Allah. Go on ahead.”
“En-enemy!”
At the scream-like voice, Şehinşah’s army, which had been waiting only for this moment, attacked Karagöz’s forces.
Karagöz’s soldiers, who had never dreamed that a prince would turn out to be the enemy, died with appalling ease, and Isubat approached from behind Şehinşah as he watched the scene.
“This place is dangerous. Please step back for now.”
“Of course, I should.”
As he moved to step away, Şehinşah turned to Isubat as if he had just remembered something and spoke.
“Isubat, you have worked hard all this time.”
Slash.
Isubat’s face, his head falling from Okai’s sword, was filled with an expression of utter incomprehension, and Okai, who had killed him, stomped fiercely on the fallen head.
Gazing emotionlessly at the shattered skull, Şehinşah moved his steps languidly.
“Okai, now let the world know.”
By killing Isubat, Şehinşah broke free from Ismail’s shadow and declared:
“I, Şehzade Şehinşah, have from this moment forth become the Sultan of Anatolia.”
∗ ∗ ∗
“It has begun.”
A vast council chamber.
Yusuf, sitting in the highest seat, looked around his surroundings.
First to be seen were Yagiz Pasha, the Sanjak-bey of Kenik, who had conquered Erzurum with him; Hakan Pasha, the Sanjak-bey of Lazistan; and Isaac Pasha, the newly appointed Sanjak-bey of Erzurum.
Behind them, Kadis and Subashis who were like Yusuf’s limbs filled the remaining seats.
It was after news had arrived that Karagöz’s army, which had been marching to suppress the rebellion, had been ambushed by Şehinşah and annihilated.
There was no one here who did not know the repercussions of this incident.
“Pasha, what of the Circassians and Georgia?”
“They have each agreed to send ten thousand and fifteen thousand troops respectively, and they are expected to arrive within a month.”
A total of twenty-five thousand was the most they could scrape together.
Both Circassia and Georgia were in a state of division, and since they were in a position to guard against foreign enemies, they did not have the capacity to send more troops.
“What of our side?”
“The number of troops we can mobilize without overextending ourselves is approximately ten thousand.”
Thirty-five thousand combined.
For a mere prince, it was a considerable force.
Moreover, if the Sanjak-beys supporting Yusuf joined along the way, their forces could increase further.
“What do you intend to do?”
To the request that he set a course of action, Yusuf replied.
“There is no need to move hastily without justification. We shall watch a while longer.”
The rebellion raised by Şahkulu and Şehinşah had already surpassed a level that could be taken lightly.
Now the only choice left to the sultan was to dispatch the central army with the Grand Vizier and designate a prince to aid in suppressing the rebellion.
Yusuf made his decision coldly.
“If I am not chosen, I will raise an army.”
Yusuf had made the same decision as the other princes.
∗ ∗ ∗
“Şehinşah, why...”
Bayezid lamented with a devastated expression.
Princes taking one another’s lives was an inescapable fate.
However, raising a rebellion was another matter entirely, and he could not help but be deeply shaken by the news that Şehinşah had betrayed him.
“…Padishah, it is already too late. The voices calling for Şehinşah to be judged are growing louder.”
Even Hadim Ali Pasha, who could be called Bayezid’s closest confidant, spoke thus.
From the moment Şehinşah killed Karagöz, it was as if he had crossed a path from which he could never return, and everyone, from the military to the officials, petitioned for his death.
Bayezid let out a long breath and said,
“Yes, I must decide. Grand Vizier.”
“Give your command.”
“I will entrust you with eight thousand of the central army.”
The Grand Vizier and the officials waited for the words that would follow.
For the prince who suppressed the rebellion together with the central army would, in effect, seize the position of the next sultan.
Bayezid, who had already pondered for a long time, uttered one man’s name.
“Inform Şehzade Yusuf. Tell him to aid the Grand Vizier in suppressing the rebellion.”
“We obey your command!”
At the resounding response, Bayezid felt a terrible weariness and closed his eyes.
A decision had been made that Ahmed and Selim could not possibly accept.
∗ ∗ ∗
Those who moved the country called the Ottoman Empire were watching the course of this rebellion closely.
It was not simply because the rebellion was large in scale, nor because a prince had joined it and styled himself the Sultan of Anatolia.
For those who sensed the end of Bayezid’s era, this was a good opportunity to learn whether the current sultan had any intention of abdicating, and whom he considered his successor.
‘Asking directly about abdication is the same as asking when he intends to die. I have no choice but to judge by reading the situation.’
There was a reason that in Joseon, whenever the king said he would abdicate and hand over the throne, everyone put on a show of prostrating themselves and opposing it.
Abdication was so sensitive a matter that even failing to actively dissuade it could become grounds for a purge.
Of course, Confucian Joseon and the Ottoman Empire could not be regarded as the same, but because royal authority was strong, it was not a subject one could speak of carelessly.
The answer that would resolve these questions arrived in Trabzon as well.
Bang!
Watching the soldiers startle at the gunshot, Yusuf said to Şemsi,
“It seems the Padishah was greatly shocked by this matter. Seeing as he has decided on abdication.”
It was nothing unusual for a prince to participate in suppressing a rebellion or in a war, but the story was different when the sultan’s seat was to be handed over, as now.
The command of the central army could pass directly to the prince moving with it, and it could plant the perception that he was the next successor.
If he had not intended to abdicate, he would have called both Ahmed and Yusuf to suppress this rebellion and made them keep each other in check.
“It seems Prince Şehinşah’s rebellion has shaken him deeply.”
A rebellion meant that one intended to seize the sultan’s seat even if it meant killing one’s father, so it was only natural to be shocked.
‘If Mehmed and Murad did that, I would be shocked too.’
He had never experienced it himself, so it was hard to fully sympathize, but he could roughly understand the feeling.
When Yusuf gave a bitter smile, Şemsi shifted the mood.
“Still, are you not pleased? The Padishah has named Your Highness as his successor.”
“I am pleased.”
It had been a full ten years.
It felt like only yesterday that he had become Yusuf, the despised youngest prince, and had struggled desperately to survive, yet now he had become the successor recognized by the sultan.
It was impossible not to feel deeply moved, and Yusuf turned to look behind him.
Şemsi, Hassan, Arda, and the others who followed him all had flushed faces.
Thinking that he was probably no different, Yusuf pulled himself together.
‘In the original history, the one Bayezid named as successor was Ahmed. Even so, Selim became sultan.’
In other words, it was far too early to count his chickens.
“Do not let your guard down until everything is over. Pasha, my elder brothers will move as well, won’t they?”
“They have no time left now. They will certainly make their move.”
The central army that suppressed the rebellion had to return to the sultan, and what Yusuf would be thinking as he headed to the capital with them was easy enough to predict.
Once Yusuf arrived at the capital, the succession ceremony would be held, so the princes would make their last desperate struggle.
“Yes, they will move when I and the central army clash with Şehinşah and Şahkulu. Toward the capital.”
The Ottoman war of succession was ultimately a game of musical chairs.
No matter how outstanding a prince was, if he lost the chair called the capital, he lost the game, and this was the only chance the other princes had to reverse the situation.
‘It might have been easier if I had been ordered to suppress the rebellion together with Brother Ahmed.’
Then he would have had an opening to eliminate Ahmed when the chance appeared.
There was no need to regret a vanished opportunity. Measures had already been taken on Ahmed’s side.
The biggest problem was Selim.
“The problem is whether the Padishah can hold out until I reach the capital.”
The troops written in the letter were four thousand Janissaries and four thousand Kapıkulu Sipahi, the household cavalry.
Eight thousand might seem small, but considering that they were fully armed elite troops, it was by no means a small number.
Rather, he had to worry about the gap in the capital’s military strength after such a number had left.
“There are only about six thousand troops left in the capital now.”
Four thousand Janissaries and about two thousand artillerymen would be all.
Of course, there were Janissary trainees as well, but it was hard to place great expectations on fledglings.
At Yusuf’s concern, Şemsi spoke gently.
“You need not worry too much. Even if Prince Selim borrows troops from the Crimean Khanate, it will only be twenty to thirty thousand. That is fewer than the sipahi who will gather from Rumelia at the Padishah’s command.”
“I know. Even without reinforcements, with those forces it would be difficult to cross the walls of Kostantiniye.”
Even though Constantinople had fallen at the hands of Mehmed II, it had by no means been an easy process.
The defending army had numbered only seven thousand, yet the Ottoman siege army had mobilized at least eighty thousand men.
Even with such a disparity in forces, the siege had been driven to the brink of failure; the walls they had barely overcome were none other than the capital’s walls.
“Yes, Father will hold out well.”
Surely Bayezid had also foreseen the situation that would unfold from here.
For now, he had no choice but to trust him, and Yusuf looked at the soldiers in training.
“It is a shame that, because we lack gunpowder, we can only give them a single chance to fire.”
“Even that single shot is already more than enough of a burden for us.”
“Still, the difference between someone who has fired even one shot and someone who has not is great.”
The battlefield was a place where even veteran soldiers made the mistake of firing a gun with the ramrod still inserted into the barrel after pushing in the powder and bullet.
The order of loading, the firing sound that seemed to burst one’s eardrums, the acrid smell of gunpowder, the vibration that made one’s arms tremble.
Only by directly experiencing all of it could they do their part.
“Arda, have the soldiers imagine the conditions of war as much as possible based on what they experienced today. It will be quite helpful.”
If one had no teeth, one had to make do with the gums.
If they could not conduct live-fire training, then they had to do image training at least.
The loud, impossible-to-hide firing sound must already have reached the ears of spies hidden in Trabzon, so the time had come to show the enemy the weapon called the gun.
Breathing in the gunpowder smell that pierced his nose, Yusuf spoke with a firm expression.
“Everyone, prepare. Before this year ends, I will be in Kostantiniye.”
It was a statement like a vow.
∗ ∗ ∗
The assembly point where they would meet the central army was set as Ankara.
Quite a lot of time had passed before the message ordering him to join the suppression of the rebellion arrived, so the troops from the capital must already have departed.
If he did not want to be too late, he had no choice but to move quickly, and the forces Yusuf would lead were the ten thousand or so main troops he possessed.
The soldiers, who had already completed their preparations to depart, were gathered on the plains of Trabzon, and Yusuf said to Şemsi,
“Pasha, I will entrust the forces of Circassia and Georgia to you.”
“Please trust me and leave them in my hands.”
The twenty-five thousand troops that would come from those two places were to swallow up Ahmed’s lands and move toward the capital once he led his troops out for it.
The broad outline was for Yusuf to suppress the rebellion quickly, join them midway, defeat Ahmed, and then move to the capital.
“Your Highness, do not forget what I told you in the past.”
“That acting hastily is the work of Satan, and that Allah rejoices in what is done slowly? I have no intention of ruining things by rushing.”
“I will believe in you. Your Highness, please trust me until the very end as well.”
Yusuf lightly patted Şemsi’s always-reliable shoulder, then turned to his family, and Fatima firmly took Yusuf’s hand.
“Yusuf, Allah will always be with you.”
At the feeling as warm as body heat, Yusuf smiled faintly.
When he first became Yusuf, in a situation where he could trust no one, she had been the only person he could believe in.
If she had not been there, he probably would not have been able to endure mentally and would have collapsed.
“The next time I see you, let it be in the capital. Until then, please stay healthy.”
“Yes, I will trust you.”
After exchanging a brief but deep farewell with Fatima, Yusuf turned his head to Ayşe and Hatice.
Mehmed, holding Ayşe’s hand, was looking up at him with bright eyes, and Murad, half again as large as children his age, reached out from Hatice’s arms.
Yusuf lightly embraced the two women.
“I will return.”
The two women looked slightly surprised.
Yusuf had not easily expressed his feelings until now.
The two women, whose lingering disappointment was washed away at once, hid their rising tears and merely nodded silently.
After embracing Murad and Mehmed once as well, Yusuf looked over all of Trabzon.
“This place is now the last as well.”
Alive or dead, he would probably never find his way to this place again.
Having filled his eyes with Trabzon, where his hands had touched innumerable times over ten years, Yusuf shook off his surging emotions.
He could not be swayed by needless emotions. Not when he was an Ottoman prince facing his final moments.
Having become a cold and composed Ottoman prince, Yusuf mounted his horse with practiced ease.
“Let us go.”
To kill all his brothers and become the master of the empire.
Yusuf’s army departed from Trabzon.
Fatima spoke to Aisha, who watched the road along which he departed without end.
“Will you not regret it, though you do not speak of it?”
“I do not wish to burden the Prince, who stands before a great undertaking.”
Aisha carefully caressed her stomach.
∗ ∗ ∗
The Grand Vizier, Hadim Ali Pasha, leading a total of eight thousand Central Army troops, marched toward Ankara, their rallying point.
Behind the Kapikulu Sipahis—medium cavalry armed with chainmail, round shields, composite bows, and swords—marched the Janissaries, armed with hand cannons, halberds, swords, axes, and more.
The Mehter of the Janissaries, called the world’s first military band, played Turkish-style tunes, adding vigor to the march.
It was a march that would later gain great popularity in the West as well, becoming the motif for pieces such as Mozart’s Turkish March.
A guest came to the Grand Vizier as he commanded the army when they passed through Bolu, where Murad, Ahmed’s eldest son, was Sanjak-bey.
“Grand Vizier, it is truly a pleasure to meet you here.”
The Grand Vizier responded to Ahmed’s visit.
“I am pleased as well. I saw you as a child, yet so many years have already passed.”
“Haha, I am not so young that one should call it mere childhood.”
At Ahmed’s words, subtly emphasizing his own age, the Grand Vizier simply smiled faintly and changed the subject.
“But why have you come all the way here?”
“I was staying in Bolu for a time to instruct Murad, so how could I not come to see the Grand Vizier when I heard he was passing through?”
It was an excuse that would not even fool an Enderun student who had yet to enter government service, and the Grand Vizier issued a light warning.
“I see. Still, it is fortunate you did not come with troops. Unauthorized military approach is strictly forbidden, after all.”
“…I see. Well, there was the matter of Shehinshah, so I suppose I understand.”
Though he said he understood, Ahmed’s face crumpled.
It meant the Grand Vizier was equating him with Shehinshah, who had rebelled.
“I am glad you understand. Because of the affair of Karagöz Beylerbey, our soldiers are also on edge. There shall be no cause for unpleasantness.”
Having once more subtly delivered the warning that approaching with an army would invite attack, the Grand Vizier spoke leisurely.
“So you came merely to exchange light greetings?”
At the Grand Vizier’s appearance of deeper wariness than expected, Ahmed asked coldly.
“Then I shall ask without omitting anything. What do you think of Yusuf?”
“That is a strange question. I think of him as a Prince.”
“…So you support Yusuf as well.”
This question was meaningless to the Grand Vizier.
Since Hadim bore the title of Inner Palace Eunuch, his answer was obvious.
“I simply follow the will of the Padishah. No personal judgment of my own exists.”
It was an answer that could be called the heart of the Padishah’s most loyal subject, but it was not the answer Ahmed wanted.
Deciding there was no longer any need to remain, Ahmed rose from his seat and spoke coldly.
“I have heard your answer.”
As Ahmed disappeared outside the tent just like that, the Grand Vizier offered a parting word.
“May Allah be with you.”
His words scattered vainly into the sky above.
∗ ∗ ∗
The road from Trabzon to Ankara was smooth.
Obstructing the path of an army numbering ten thousand was no different from asking to be killed, so it was only natural.
Rather, dealing with those who came laden with gifts just to catch a glimpse of his face had been difficult enough.
What was interesting was that village chiefs and tribal leaders seemed to have come more out of curiosity than from wanting anything in particular.
‘Since their autonomy is recognized, it means they lack for nothing.’
As had always been the case, their power would never be shaken, and it seemed they did not much care who became the next Sultan.
Yusuf had no intention of leaving the current state of affairs as it was.
‘Once I become Sultan, I’ll have to touch the administrative districts and taxation as well.’
He had no intention of leaving things as they were with a loose administrative system and weak provincial control.
Considering the backlash that would come, it would be a mid-to-long-term goal.
Except for having had to receive quite a number of guests, after a smooth journey Yusuf arrived near Ankara, where he could find the Central Army that had arrived first and established a camp.
“Elite troops are elite. Is that not so?”
“So it appears.”
Arda agreed with Yusuf’s words as he approached leisurely, leading his horse.
How well-trained a unit was could be known without seeing them fight.
Even though they had identified them as friendly forces, there was no negligence in their vigilance, and such fighting spirit flowed from them that if an order were given, they would begin battle at once.
It was an appearance befitting the Janissaries, who had to receive at least six years of training in the training corps, and the Kapikulu Sipahis, who had to achieve even better grades than the Janissaries to join.
‘I must fight a life-or-death battle with the princes, but in a way, it is fortunate that I was born in this era.’
Had he been born a prince some hundred and fifty years later, he would have had to fight hair-pulling battles with Janissaries who acted like mafiosi and even assassinated Sultans.
And that while imprisoned in the palace called the Cage, waiting with fingers crossed to become the next Sultan.
This era was a hundred times better.
As he approached with such thoughts, an old man walked out under heavy escort and paid his respects lightly.
“I greet Prince Yusuf.”
Much could be felt from the opponent’s attitude.
Going by status alone, the Prince was higher, but the Grand Vizier was the second-in-command on the administrative side.
There was no reason to show such excessive courtesy.
‘Unless he were the successor who would become the next Sultan.’
Yusuf smiled broadly.
“It has been a long time since my visit to the capital, Grand Vizier. It seems we have much to discuss.”
“Please, come inside.”
The deeper they went into the camp, the more soldiers they passed, and his trait allowed him to keenly feel the goodwill they held.
It was the result of choosing Trabzon in order to achieve military merit.
As the Grand Vizier and Yusuf entered the commander’s tent, larger than the others, Arda naturally stood fast to one side of the entrance.
Once only the two remained, Yusuf asked point-blank.
“How far has Father thought this through?”
“…As the Prince has also sensed, the Padishah now intends to step down from his position.”
Letting go of what one held in one’s hand was no ordinary resolution, and Yusuf asked with subdued eyes.
“Then he must have steeled his resolve regarding my elder brothers as well.”
“There are words the Padishah left regarding that.”
“Speak.”
The Grand Vizier steadied his breath and conveyed the Padishah’s message.
“If the two Princes cause no obstruction whatsoever, he wished for their lives to be spared.”
There were three living brothers besides Yusuf at present, but Shehinshah, who had rebelled, could not be allowed to live.
Those two would refer to Selim and Ahmed, and under normal circumstances, it was an absolutely intolerable request.
‘The Law of Fratricide exists for good reason.’
There was no need to deliberately leave behind factors that would destabilize the regime.
“Father often showed a generous side toward his sons.”
Though he was Bayezid II, even suspected of assassinating his father Mehmed II, he had often shown a fatherly side.
There was no need to quibble with original history. Even he himself had received much help from the Sultan.
Not to mention financial matters.
“He turned a blind eye to the gunpowder issue as well, so it would not be bad to show filial piety to Father once in a while.”
“…You knew?”
“All the officials who sold me gunpowder were executed. How could I not know?”
Diverting gunpowder was a serious matter, yet the Sultan had turned a blind eye, so granting the Sultan’s request once was not a bad thing.
Of course, there was another reason he accepted this proposal so easily.
Yusuf smirked and asked.
“Grand Vizier, do you truly believe my two elder brothers will remain still?”
As if they would.
The life goal of an Ottoman prince was to become Sultan, so it was obvious they would struggle desperately.
The Grand Vizier knew well how meaningless a promise it was, and he let out a long sigh as he spoke.
“Would it not be possible if Allah watches over them?”
“Then if my two elder brothers move, I shall take it that Allah has forsaken them. Then there will be no need to hesitate.”
“…Then do as the Prince wishes.”
Having obtained the answer he wanted, Yusuf shifted the topic of conversation.
“Then let us move on to practical matters.”
Having dismissed the conversation thus far as idle talk, Yusuf asked the Grand Vizier with a gentle smile.
“So, did you bring plenty of gunpowder?”
Good things are meant to be shared, after all.
∗ ∗ ∗
At the report that Yusuf’s army and the Central Army gathered in Ankara had begun their march south, Ahmed formed a cold smile.
“March south. You have made a foolish choice, little brother.”
The worst-case scenario for Ahmed was Yusuf, having joined with the Central Army, persuading the Grand Vizier to march toward the capital.
Just in case, he had gathered troops in Bolu where the eldest, Murad, was, but they would not be able to buy proper time.
Of course, it would be difficult to persuade the Grand Vizier, who obeyed unconditionally if it was the Padishah’s command, but had it been himself, he would have headed to the capital even alone.
Ahmed, who scoffed at Yusuf’s foolishness, spoke to his gathered subordinates.
“My foolish younger brother, complacent because he was chosen by Father, has given me an opportunity. Is this not thanks to Allah watching over me?”
“Yes, it is!”
By the time Yusuf heard the news that Ahmed was raising troops and heading for the capital, at the earliest they would already be closing in on the rebel army.
Even if he sensed the danger and tried to pull back, it was already too late; and even if he forced his army to turn around, there was no time left for him to catch up.
Believing that everything was proceeding smoothly according to his plan, Ahmed smiled broadly.
“It has been a long time since I last saw Father.”
Having already completed all preparations for the campaign, Ahmed saw no reason to waste any more time.
After all, there was no telling when Selim, who would be watching for an opportunity in the Crimean Khanate, would hear the news and come down.
Rising from his seat, Ahmed gave the order.
“We march!”
Watching his subordinates scatter, Ahmed slowly closed his eyes.
Feeling resentment toward the father who had chosen Yusuf instead of him surge up within him, he opened them again.
“Father, I will make certain you regret this.”
A dreadful killing intent lingered in his words.
∗ ∗ ∗
Though ten thousand soldiers had departed, Trabzon was still crowded with troops from Circassia and Georgia.
At present, Trabzon had no force capable of controlling them. Even if they had been the soldiers of one’s own country, it would have been a dangerous situation—let alone foreign soldiers stationed there.
If they suddenly turned hostile, it would not have been strange for Trabzon to burn to the ground.
However, even after Yusuf left with the army, controlling them had not been all that difficult, and the greatest contributor to that was Ayşe.
“I am sorry that we keep receiving your help at such a crucial time.”
“Not at all, Pasha. I am glad I can be of help in this way.”
Time had passed since Ayşe’s exploits in Circassia, but not enough for them to forget the woman who had once even been called a saintess.
On the contrary, the more Yusuf distinguished himself in the Ottoman realm, the more rumors about Ayşe spread once again, and her fame rose high enough to pierce the heavens.
The Circassian army would obey Ayşe’s words even if she told them to play dead, so Georgia, too, did not dare act improperly.
Nor would they have any desire to earn the displeasure of Yusuf, who had been named the next Sultan.
“It seems you will no longer need to trouble yourself. The time has come for us to move.”
The distance between Trabzon and Amasya was 380 kilometers, but for the sake of this day, temporary relay stations had been set up along the way, allowing letters to be received in only two days.
Upon receiving the news from Amasya that Ahmed had marched out, Shemsi felt the emotion called tension for the first time in a long while.
It was merely a matter of leading the army and following behind Ahmed, yet the burden he felt was that great.
“There is nothing more I can do to help, then.”
In her heart, she wanted to move with them, but in her pregnant state, it was absolutely impossible.
“You need not worry about what comes after. This is something His Highness planned.”
“Then it will go well.”
The two of them trusted Yusuf enough to exchange such words in complete sincerity.
The force Ahmed had raised numbered thirteen thousand, and if additional troops joined along the way, it could grow to fifteen thousand.
Considering that the force Yusuf had moved with, excluding the troops received in support from Georgia and Circassia, numbered ten thousand, it was not a figure that could be ignored.
‘Especially since they are mainly sipahis. If we fight, we will suffer heavy losses.’
He did not mean to look down on Georgia or Circassia, but compared to the sipahis, the quality of their troops was clearly inferior.
Even just looking at their armament, it was embarrassing to compare them.
But since they had no intention of fighting anyway and planned only to follow on Ahmed’s heels, it posed no problem at all.
“Then I shall go ahead to the capital.”
The troops that had been holding their breath in Trabzon began to move in earnest.
∗ ∗ ∗
He knew well that it was difficult to understand someone he had never once met.
Even taking that into account, Yusuf found Shehinshah’s rebellion difficult to comprehend.
If Shehinshah had truly desired the Sultan’s throne, he should not have spouted nonsense about being the Sultan of Anatolia, but instead led his army toward the capital.
Or at the very least, he should have moved to kill the other princes.
Judged by common sense, Shehinshah’s actions were hard to understand, and that remained true even now.
“A battle on the plains, is it? I cannot fathom what he is thinking.”
For Shehinshah, his chances of victory would be greatest if he fought a siege as much as possible, yet he had brought all his troops out onto the plains.
At Yusuf’s words, Arda replied.
“Perhaps he is placing his faith in the troops of Shahkulu who joined him?”
The enemy force facing them numbered twenty thousand.
Many Turkmen who harbored strong resentment toward Bayezid lived in southern Anatolia, so it was not strange that their numbers had swelled this much in the meantime.
“Shahkulu’s actions make sense. He needs greater fame.”
Shahkulu was a man whose goal was to establish a dynasty of his own, just as Ismail had raised a rebellion and founded one.
Originally, Shahkulu should have won even greater renown by killing Karagöz Beylerbey, but Shehinshah had stolen that from him.
It was only natural that he would want to gain great fame in this battle. However, Shehinshah had no need to go along with Shahkulu’s wishes.
After all, the two of them were, in truth, dreaming different dreams in the same bed.
“Well, I can ask him myself.”
Victory was already decided, so there was no need to think too hard about it.
Just as Yusuf thought that, a soldier came to him with an urgent expression and handed him a note. After reading it, Yusuf spoke to the Grand Vizier.
“In the end, my elder brother has raised his army.”
“…Will you turn the army back even now? I will do everything I can to settle matters here.”
At the Grand Vizier’s suggestion, Yusuf shook his head.
“There is no need for you to be so concerned. Brother Ahmed is currently under a grave misconception.”
“What misconception would that be?”
At the Grand Vizier’s question, Yusuf smiled deeply and said,
“The misconception that he will be able to cross the Bosporus Strait, which he must cross in order to reach the capital. My brother will never be able to cross that strait.”
Because he had made it so.
From now on, Ahmed was a rat in a trap.