Good Fortune and a Tangled Plan
Hwirem’s hand moved cautiously as she wiped the chair.
Compared to the room where she lived, this luxurious chamber was like a palace beside a stable, and even the slightest mistake would earn her a beating.
“Wipe it thoroughly so that not a speck of dust remains.”
“Yes.”
At the kalfa’s admonition, the odalık—the lowest-ranking servants in the harem—answered in unison.
Hwirem, standing among them, stealthily looked around the room.
The carpet spread across the floor was softer than the blanket she slept beneath, and the decorated tiles on the walls were beautiful.
‘A Hatun’s chamber.’
It was a room prepared for a Hatun who was not yet here, and clever Hwirem realized why they had been assigned to clean it.
Women who entered the harem began as odalık, the lowest class, but they were divided into two groups.
Ordinary women served the Valide Hatun and the other women, eventually becoming administrators like the kalfas. Those blessed with exceptional beauty or talent in dancing and singing, however, were trained as concubines.
Every woman here was being trained as a concubine, and cleaning this luxurious room allowed them to dream of becoming a Hatun.
‘How foolish.’
Of all these odalık, only a very small number would be chosen by the Sultan. Most were destined either to be betrothed to officials or to serve in the harem for the rest of their lives.
Hwirem mocked the women for dreaming of a hope so difficult to reach, but in one corner of her heart, she understood them.
Life in the harem, where everything could be overturned by winning the Sultan’s favor, endlessly planted futile ambitions in women’s hearts.
Moreover, something had happened yesterday that made that hope feel closer than they had imagined.
“Ah, Gülfer is so lucky. She was chosen by the Padishah, too.”
Yusuf, the master of this place, had visited the harem for the first time, and the women who had dressed themselves beautifully in hopes of being chosen had danced and sung.
Among the countless women, the one who received the purple handkerchief was Gülfer, and she spent the night in the Sultan’s chamber prepared within the harem.
It was the moment when another woman besides Nigar rose to the status of concubine.
When one odalık glanced at the kalfa and brought up what had happened yesterday, a few quiet voices chimed in agreement.
“I couldn’t sleep last night. The moans were so loud.”
“I imagine most of us were like that. Alexandra, were you like that, too?”
At the teasing question, Hwirem’s face instantly flushed, and the women burst into laughter at the sight.
“She’s still just a child. How can you ask her about something like that?”
“My apologies. Was it too stimulating for a child?”
The odalık, all at an age to know better, teased ten-year-old Hwirem, and when their voices grew louder, the kalfa thundered at them.
“Who is making such a racket?! If you are finished cleaning, get up at once!”
“Yes!”
After leaving the Hatun’s chamber, the kalfa selected Hwirem and several other odalık, handed them towels and clothes, and warned them in a low voice.
“You are going before the Padishah, so all of you must conduct yourselves properly.”
“Yes, yes!”
“Follow me.”
At the kalfa’s warning, the odalık wore tense expressions. A mistake before the Sultan was not something that would end with a mere beating.
Standing before the Sultan’s chamber, the kalfa cleared her throat and spoke carefully.
“Padishah, I have brought your clothes. May we enter?”
“Come in.”
The women opened the door and entered, lowering themselves in a bow. At the command to rise, they straightened.
When Yusuf rose, leaving Gülfer covered by a blanket, the women stiffened with tension.
His indifferent gaze alone made them feel as though their bodies were being crushed, to the point that they could hardly comprehend that they were about to wipe down a man’s body for the first time.
As the women wiped his body with trembling hands and dressed him, Yusuf looked at one girl and smiled faintly.
“So you are that girl from back then. Have you been managing?”
“…I have been well.”
When Yusuf recognized her, Hwirem flinched.
Only after entering the harem had she fully realized how insane her actions had been.
Seeing her reaction, Yusuf asked mischievously,
“I suppose you have realized how great a mercy I showed you?”
“Yes.”
“Judging by your face, you look much better than you did then.”
Yusuf slowly examined Hwirem.
Hwirem shrank back slightly beneath his scrutinizing gaze, and Yusuf snorted.
“There is no need to react like that. I have no interest in your half-grown body, anyway.”
She was only ten years old.
Though Muhammad had supposedly had intercourse with a nine-year-old girl, that was far from Yusuf’s tastes.
At Yusuf’s firm words, Hwirem seemed about to raise her eyes in a fit of wounded pride, but the kalfa’s murderous glare from behind made her lower them at once.
Interest flickered in Yusuf’s eyes as he looked at Hwirem. It was not simply because she was a famous figure in history.
‘Is my existence a blessing compared to history as it was meant to be, or not?’
Many things had already been twisted, and more would change from this point onward.
Hwirem alone had already seen her fate altered considerably because of him.
He did not know whether his existence would have a more positive or negative effect than history as it had originally unfolded.
The Hwirem standing before him was living a worse life than she had in the original history.
‘She lost her family at a younger age and was dragged all the way here. Besides, she will not be able to live in splendor as she did in the original history.’
One could never know what might happen, but even if he took Hwirem into his bed on a whim, he was not likely to become completely infatuated with her.
On the other hand, in the long run, her life might turn out better, since she would have no reason to be judged a villainess in history.
He wondered whether she would live content with the life that had changed, or develop excessive ambitions as she had in the original history.
“Padishah, did you have a restful night?”
When Fatima came to visit after hearing that he had awakened, Yusuf answered pleasantly.
“Thanks to you, Mother.”
“Then may I speak with you for a moment?”
“Of course.”
When he readily agreed, Fatima led Yusuf to her chamber.
Light refreshments were laid out, and at Fatima’s gesture, all the women, including Hwirem, withdrew.
After sending everyone away, Fatima spoke first.
“Now, please tell me what you wished to say to me.”
“How did you know?”
When Yusuf asked with a smile, Fatima lightly drank her beverage to moisten her throat before answering.
“I know how busy you have been lately, Padishah. You would not have come to the harem merely to take a woman to bed.”
She was not saying this as empty flattery. Even two bodies would not have been enough for him.
No matter how much work he had entrusted to the officials, there were many matters he could expedite by intervening himself, and he had no choice but to do so.
There were also many matters that required his own decision.
‘Even repairing the law immediately is one such matter.’
From Yusuf’s perspective, Ottoman law was full of loopholes, and closing them would require him to meddle with Sharia, the fundamental law of Islam.
It was obvious that not only the Islamic scholars who already looked upon him with suspicion, but also those profiting unjustly from the loopholes in the law, would voice their dissatisfaction.
There were many matters that absolutely required Yusuf’s decision, beginning with identifying those likely to oppose him.
“What level of education do the women of the harem possess?”
“As you saw yesterday, they are not lacking in learning.”
In this era, what kind of education one had received mattered more than simple intelligence.
In that regard, the women of the harem, who received extensive education so that they could later teach princes, could be considered elite beyond compare.
They were precisely the talents Yusuf needed.
“I need women who are interested in literature.”
“Literature?”
Fatima tilted her head at the unexpected answer.
“Yes. I need women who can serve as examples to the women of the Ottoman Empire.”
It went without saying, but even outside the Islamic world, it was still hundreds of years too early to call for equality between men and women.
Yusuf had no intention of forcing this culture to change, either.
‘Even so, it would be a shame to let talents who are already prepared go to waste.’
Not only the women of the harem, but also the women of wealthy and high-ranking families, possessed a basic education.
Since slaves handled the household chores, they had little to do, and the only form of social life permitted to them was gathering at the bathhouse to gossip.
Of the productive work that could be assigned to such women, Yusuf chose literature first.
After hearing Yusuf’s thoughts, Fatima spoke as though it would not be easy.
“The Padishah’s intentions are admirable, but while the harem may accept it, other men will not readily permit such a thing.”
It was an era when countless men would ask how a woman dared to write.
“There is no need to worry. Having a good woman is also a man’s pride.”
“Then the beginning will be important.”
They needed writings that would become a source of pride when shown to others.
Only then would men who felt envious encourage their own women to do the same.
‘Literature is necessary in this situation, too.’
In the modern era, science and technology were valued more highly than literature, but literature possessed the power to unite people.
There was a reason education and literature had been used to bind people within the framework of a nation despite the differences in identity from one region to another.
“I will give it a try.”
Even without explaining all these reasons, Fatima did not take Yusuf’s request lightly and firmly nodded.
Just as the cheerful atmosphere gave way to casual conversation about everyday matters, there came a knock.
“Padishah, word has arrived from the palace.”
“Come in.”
At Yusuf’s word, the kalfa entered cautiously and presented a neatly folded piece of paper. Seeing it, Yusuf’s lips curled upward.
“May I ask what has happened?”
“It says that Mehmed, Mengli’s son, died because the reinforcements led by Saadet arrived too late.”
He would now be able to place the Crimean Khanate completely in the palm of his hand.
∗ ∗ ∗
Ismail’s expression hardened coldly.
He had cleared away the rats he had endured for so long while simultaneously forming a secret pact with Venice, yet things had become tangled.
“Say that again.”
“…I-I believe we let one escape.”
“How did that happen?”
At the sound of footsteps steadily approaching, the subordinate bowed even deeper and trembled violently.
“I have committed a capital offense! The men we captured hid it so stubbornly that we only just found out.”
It was because of those men who had kept their mouths shut even under merciless torture that flayed their flesh with knives.
One of the men who had barely held out finally confessed, but by then it was already too late.
“Yes, that can happen.”
Ismail spoke gently, and the subordinate who had briefly allowed himself to hope vomited blood as a knife pierced him from behind.
“W-why?”
“But it shouldn’t have.”
Ismail answered indifferently, then sat down and watched the corpse being dragged away, leaving a long trail of blood across the floor.
Things had gone awry from the very beginning.
“This is troublesome.”
“They won’t know what was discussed with Venice.”
“Don’t take that Yusuf lightly.”
Even if he did not know what had been said, Yusuf would obviously find some way to respond.
Ismail drummed his fingers on the chair for a moment, then bared his murderous teeth.
“We’ll have to move sooner than planned.”
He had intended to wait until he confirmed that the Western fleet was on the move, but it seemed better to act at the appointed time.
Otherwise, he might lose the prey he had been waiting for.
“Yusuf, I’ll return the humiliation you gave me in full. I’ll take your women for myself.”
Ismail’s eyes were fixed on Trabzon.
∗ ∗ ∗
“Captain! Tunis is in sight!”
At the news that they had arrived at their destination, Tunis, the sailors began moving busily.
Urci had been watching the sight with an excited expression, but his face hardened at the voice he heard behind him.
“I-I must be sent to Venice at once!”
“Shut up! What does a beggar like you—”
“Argh!”
The man kicked in the foot groaned and rolled across the floor before speaking miserably.
“I really need to get there quickly.”
∗ ∗ ∗
The Grand Duchy of Lithuania and the Grand Duchy of Moscow, which had attacked the Crimean Khanate, could not be called friendly by any stretch of the imagination.
Moscow, having unified all the Rus’ principalities, now shared a border with Lithuania, and the two grand duchies had been at war since 1492.
This long war had progressed favorably for Moscow, which shared the same Rus’ heritage, and Lithuania had lost a great deal of territory.
It made no sense for two countries that regarded each other as enemies to join hands, but the Crimean Khanate had made this difficult feat possible.
“It’s those Tatars again!”
“How many times is this now?! Has the grand duke still not given us an answer?”
“What are they hesitating over? Those fellows have been weakened by that heathen empire!”
Believing that it was only natural to fill a gift bundle from someone else’s pockets, the Crimean Khanate stirred up the two states in order to prepare Yusuf’s gifts.
As the grievances of those who suffered losses accumulated, the two grand dukes grew increasingly displeased.
Sigismund I, king of the Kingdom of Poland and grand duke of Lithuania, had been on the throne for only three years, while Vasili III, grand duke of Moscow, had reigned for only five.
Such grievances were more than enough to make them uncomfortable.
‘If they’ve been weakened, they should be worth fighting.’
‘The new Ottoman emperor has such a filthy temper that he’d replace the khan even after receiving all those gifts. It seems he might not help them at all.’
After weighing the matter on their abacuses, they decided it was worth doing. Even if total destruction was impossible, they could at least beat them down so thoroughly that they would not dare attempt another raid for some time.
An agreement was reached: they would temporarily halt their war and crush those men first.
Seeking results before the Ottomans could intervene, the two states swiftly marched south and achieved a major success.
“We have taken the head of the enemy khan, Mehmed Giray!”
Mehmed, who had become khan after Mengli, had been infamous.
Even before ascending to the khanate, he had served as co-ruler and led numerous wars and raids. In this war as well, he had tormented the two grand duchies endlessly with ambushes and night attacks.
Because they had prepared themselves for heavy losses, the two grand duchies were confident of victory when they took Mehmed’s head.
That is, until the troops led by Saadet arrived.
“I must avenge my brother, the khan, who has gone into Allah’s embrace! Kill them all!”
“Their graves shall be the steppe! Charge!”
Because Saadet’s forces had marched slowly in order to let Mehmed die without interference, they had plenty of stamina left and swept over the enemy.
The cavalry of the Crimean Khanate, storming across the battlefield with murderous intent, was terrifying enough—but they were not alone on the field.
Rat-a-tat-tat!
“T-The Janissaries! They’re the heathen emperor’s soldiers!”
The enemy panicked at the appearance of the Janissaries, who wore only mustaches and distinctive hats that looked as though their sleeves had been cut off and turned into headwear.
Even without the sight of their allies dropping one after another amid the thunderous gunfire, the appearance of the Janissaries meant that the sultan had intervened in the war.
Since the conflict could easily escalate into a war with the Ottomans, the two grand duchies tucked their tails between their legs.
“Retreat! Retreat!”
“They dared trample our steppe! Don’t let them live!”
At Saadet’s stern command, they pursued the retreating grand duchy forces, and the two states suffered such heavy losses that the achievement of taking Khan Mehmed’s head was rendered meaningless.
With the revenge of the former khan and the support of the soldiers he had brought with him, Saadet ascended to the khan’s throne—but that was not the end.
“Brother, why did you harbor such vain ambitions?”
Saadet gazed impassively at his elder brother, Ahmed, who spat blood-tinged saliva as he was dragged in, filthy with animal dung and dust.
“Ptooey! You bastard who’ll be thrown to the dogs! Is there anyone who doesn’t know that you got our brother killed?”
“What ridiculous nonsense.”
“If you’d hurried just a little more, our brother wouldn’t have died!”
Saadet sneered at Ahmed’s accusation.
“If he had held out until I arrived, he would have lived. Is that not so?”
“What kind of absurd—”
“That isn’t what matters. If you tried to betray me, you must take responsibility.”
Ahmed had been caught gathering supporters in order to kill the still-young Saadet, whose power base was weak, and take the khan’s throne for himself.
No matter that they were brothers, it was a crime that could not be forgiven with anything less than death.
But Ahmed glared at Saadet as though he could kill him with his eyes and shouted:
“Didn’t you send someone to tempt me into doing it?!”
He had. Ahmed was an ambitious elder brother, after all.
So ambitious that it would not have been strange for him to start a rebellion during Mehmed’s reign, even if Mehmed had already become fertilizer for the steppe.
“Don’t say foolish things. No matter how delicious the bait, it is the fish that bites it which is at fault. Take him away.”
“You’ve become a monster! You went to the empire’s capital and came back a monster!”
Ahmed screamed and cursed as he was dragged away, while Saadet took a silk cord from inside his robe.
It was one of the silk cords Yusuf had placed in his hand before he left Kostantiniyye.
“Make sure my brother can depart in peace.”
“Understood.”
A subordinate respectfully accepted the cord and left. Saadet then spoke to another subordinate.
“Bring my brother’s woman, Shirin Bek. I will take her.”
He needed to take her as his wife in order to gain the support of the Shirin clan, which wielded powerful influence in the Crimean Khanate.
As the soldiers left to bring her to his bedchamber, Saadet leaned back in his chair.
“A monster.”
Remembering Ahmed’s final words, Saadet raised one corner of his mouth.
“How could someone like me possibly be a monster?”
As he recalled Yusuf’s face while handing him the silk cords and ordering him to kill his brothers and nephews, Saadet squeezed his eyes shut.
The true monster was in Kostantiniyye.
∗ ∗ ∗
After receiving the news from the Crimean Khanate, Yusuf clicked his tongue and said:
“What a truly unfortunate affair.”
Not only had Mehmed, who became khan after Mengli, died, but Ahmed had also been killed after attempting to start a rebellion.
It could be called a tragedy for an entire family.
“How is Mengli?”
“They say he collapsed from shock after receiving the news.”
Mengli had been forced to step down from the khan’s throne and had become like an old man put out to pasture.
It was hardly surprising that he would collapse in shock upon hearing that both his sons had gone that way.
“Dear me. We should at least send Sinan.”
Sinan had traveled all the way to Trabzon after being chosen by Yusuf, and had risen to prominence as a renowned physician after making an outstanding contribution to spreading inoculation against smallpox.
At Yusuf’s brazen remark, Shemsi gave a bitter smile.
“Do you remember that he is a surgeon?”
“He’ll have trouble getting up anyway. What difference does it make whether he’s a surgeon or not?”
Even if he had not collapsed clutching his neck, he was a man unlikely to live another few years.
He was not someone they were likely to see restored to his former health, and Mengli’s usefulness had already run its course.
At Yusuf’s cold assessment, Shemsi let out a sigh.
“Do as you please.”
“I shall. More importantly, the introduction of the four-field crop rotation system is proceeding smoothly?”
“Yes. Since it was said to be the Padishah’s will, more places than expected have moved forward enthusiastically.”
As someone who dreamed of reform in many areas, Yusuf found the Ottoman administration, which guaranteed local autonomy, deeply inconvenient.
The one fortunate thing was that the influence of his status as a prophet was still alive and well.
Many people were utterly devoted to Yusuf’s commands, and that perception would remain in place until he made a serious blunder.
‘It feels like walking a tightrope. I cannot afford to fail until I have firmly built a sacred authority.’
In exchange, if he properly established that sacred authority, he could manipulate the Ottoman Empire at will.
He only had to get through this period safely.
Unlike the development sector, which was making rapid progress through the creation of cannons, the extraction of oil, and the acquisition of iron-smelting technology, reforms in the sluggish administrative sector could also be achieved quickly.
“Padishah, I hope you have not forgotten what I told you before.”
“You say that every time. I will not rush.”
Haste was the work of Satan, while Allah was pleased by those who acted slowly and carefully.
Shemsi had repeated those words to the point of exhaustion.
‘Changing the framework of an empire isn’t something that can be accomplished in a short time. Even a thousand-li journey begins with a single step.’
Yusuf calmed his frustration and asked Shemsi:
“So, is the state being built properly?”
“The Janissary band has taken the stage, so they will present the finest music.”
“If it’s them, I have no doubt.”
Once the means to operate firearms on a large scale became available, even conscripted soldiers would be able to distinguish themselves on the battlefield.
In other words, when troops were needed for war, it would be worthwhile to make use of a conscription-based militia system.
To employ such a militia system smoothly, it was necessary to instill the notion that they were one nation, and making use of a national name, flag, and anthem would be effective.
“How is the matter of educating the orphans coming along?”
“For now, we are selecting those who wish to teach them.”
Among the words Bayezid had left behind like a will was an injunction to show compassion to orphans.
Just as the Hatun who had followed the prince appointed as a sanjakbey had opened a free cafeteria for orphans, and the qadi in charge of the city’s administration had volunteered to become their guardian.
The Ottomans had cared for orphans as much as possible, and looking after orphans was considered an act worthy of praise.
‘It’s similar to politicians visiting orphanages whenever election season comes around.’
The difference was that, unlike in modern times, it did not end with a single season but continued steadily.
Yusuf also intended to care for the orphans—and, if he was going to do so anyway, to put them to proper use.
‘We need to break away from the devshirme, and orphans could serve as its replacement.’
Of course, there was a reason why the previous sultans had made use of the devshirme, dragging in Christian boys despite local opposition, rather than employing orphans.
It was unacceptable to enslave orphans, but enslaving Christian boys was considered acceptable.
In other words, the devshirme, which allowed them to cut off a boy’s head at any time under the pretext that he was a slave, suited the sultans’ tastes better.
‘But even if we bring them in through the devshirme, once their power grows, they end up escaping our control all the same.’
In that case, it would be better to abolish the devshirme, win the favor of the Christian powers, and make use of orphans instead.
There were several advantages to employing orphans.
Since they would not have to worry about children left behind after their own deaths, the soldiers’ loyalty could grow, and they could be indoctrinated into loyalty from a young age.
Moreover, since they were orphans, there was no need to worry about relatives, and once the orphans received an education, ordinary subjects might also take an interest in educating their own children.
“You’ll do well, won’t you?”
“…That is truly a generous assessment.”
After being handed the four-course crop rotation system, Şemsi, who had once again been given a major task, expressed his gratitude with a slightly distorted face.
It was just then that Yusuf gave a soft laugh at Şemsi’s attitude.
“Padishah, an urgent report has arrived from Trabzon.”
“Give it here.”
Yusuf took the paper Ali Pasha handed him and soon knitted his brows.
“The spies planted in Tabriz have been caught, and the last thing they saw was an envoy from the West entering the palace.”
That they had dealt with the spies at the right moment meant they had already caught a scent of them and prepared to clean them up.
Hasan was truly lucky to have survived the grasp of such an Ismail.
“Hasan, is it? He’s a useful fellow. I’ll have to remember him.”
Since he shared the same name as Hassan, Yusuf need not worry about forgetting him.
After lightly joking away his unease, Yusuf gently tapped the chair.
“Ismail, what are you plotting?”
∗ ∗ ∗
Kvarqvare III Jakeli, the puppet grand duke of Samtskhe under Georgian rule, received a secretly arrived guest with a trembling face.
“I pay my respects to the true master of Samtskhe.”
The envoy of Shah Ismail raised the head he had bowed.