Rising Beacon Fires
It was dangerous to underestimate an enemy, but it was just as dangerous to overestimate one.
Even with the information that Ismail seemed to have joined hands with the West, Yusuf assessed the situation coolly.
Looking only at the circumstances, was this such an astonishing fact?
‘Not really. It’s the sort of thing that could happen at any time.’
The concept of befriending a distant country and attacking a nearby one was nothing special, and in actual history, Venice had reached out to the Safavids in order to keep the Ottomans in check.
Of course, before they could properly cooperate, the Safavids were smashed by the Ottomans and the matter fizzled out.
Once he recognized that it was something entirely plausible, his mind became noticeably calmer.
“First, we need to find out which bastards Ismail has joined hands with. For now, it won’t be the Hungarians.”
“I think so as well.”
The situation in Hungary was such a mess that Shemsi agreed without objection to Yusuf’s decisive statement.
In modern terms, maintaining a standing army like professional soldiers would be only natural, but in medieval Europe, mercenaries were used rather than maintaining expensive standing forces.
There was no country that could mobilize an enormous number of standing troops like the Ottomans, who had the central army and the sipahi, and Hungary was about the only one that had a standing army of over twenty thousand known as the Black Army.
But that had been twenty years ago.
‘With powerful nobles putting a puppet king on the throne, there’s no way the country can function properly. Their vaunted Black Army is a thing of the past too.’
There was no way the Kingdom of Hungary, where a machine that stamped documents handed over by nobles sat on the throne, would have the sound mind to reach out to the Safavids.
Thanks to that, Hungary could be easily ruled out.
“Then it must be one of the bastards who entered the Italian Peninsula.”
The Italian Wars were in full swing, and except for Portugal, every country that fancied itself important had gathered there.
‘The Papal States and Venice, rooted in Italy, and France, Spain, and the Holy Roman Empire, which barged in to seize Italian land.’
It was the true hot spot of the era, and he had been watching it while munching on popcorn.
He just had not expected the sparks to fly all the way over here.
“Shemsi Pasha.”
“Yes, Padishah.”
“Find out which stupid bastards are behind this scheme.”
As soon as the Sultan’s command was issued, they gathered every scrap of information about what was happening on the Italian Peninsula.
The Ottomans and the Italian Peninsula were separated only by the Adriatic Sea, and it did not take long for the gathered information to reach the capital.
“The Papal States, who gathered an alliance to attack Venice, have formed an alliance with Venice? They’re doing all sorts of ridiculous things.”
“It must be because France has grown too strong. And if they are to keep our empire in check, Venice needs to hold out.”
“There’s nothing especially suspicious besides that, though?”
With the Papal States and Venice joining hands, the Italian Peninsula briefly entered a state of peace.
The two allied states gathered their forces. France, which had occupied northern Italian regions such as Genoa and Milan, consolidated its occupied territories.
In a situation like the calm before the storm, they could not identify anything particularly suspicious.
However, after receiving the report, Yusuf immediately pointed out the culprit.
“It is the work of Venice and the Papal States.”
History had already diverged too much for him to make proper use of future knowledge, but his own influence as the newly enthroned sultan had not yet had a major effect on the West.
Julius II, a warmonger so notorious that he was nicknamed the Warrior Pope, had no reason to sit by and watch France rise as a new threat.
It would not have been strange if the two sides had already clashed long ago, and the fact that they were watching each other meant they had chosen a different target.
“Examine Venice and the Papal States at once.”
Since it would be difficult to explain the basis for such a judgment, Yusuf gave an order rather than an explanation, and the officials focused their attention on those two places.
And they were able to discover suspicious circumstances.
“The movements of Venetian ships are suspicious. There are also signs that the Papal States are receiving ships belonging to Spain.”
It was subtle enough that it would have been hard to find if they had not paid particular attention to the two places, but the important thing was that they had found it.
At this, the officials murmured among themselves.
‘Even those who have accumulated all kinds of experience over decades didn’t foresee this.’
‘Is Allah truly with him? How did he notice this?’
It was a little different from predicting an earthquake.
He had shown a prophecy astonishing enough to make one question the Quran, but the officials knew well that even a prophet did not always win.
Even Muhammad had suffered a bitter defeat before, and there had been people within his own ranks who openly said they should sell Muhammad’s neck and surrender to the enemy.
For the officials, who valued discerning insight into the situation more highly than prophecy, Yusuf’s conduct this time was nothing short of satisfying.
“Padishah, what will you do?”
At the Grand Vizier’s question, Yusuf quickly made his decision.
“Summon the fleet and have it stand by at Gallipoli.”
Gallipoli was a sanjak on the Dardanelles Strait, which one had to pass through in order to enter the capital, Kostantiniyye, from the West.
It was one of the key strategic points, and the fleet could depart at any time in response to movements in the West.
The West had not yet dispatched its fleet, so there was no reason to make a fuss, and Yusuf’s order was entirely reasonable.
“We shall obey your command.”
The officials, including the Grand Vizier, immediately agreed, and orders to summon ships were issued to each region.
These Ottoman movements became known not only around the Black Sea but even in the West.
∗ ∗ ∗
The Republic of Venice was a wealthy nation that had amassed tremendous riches over a long period through its outstanding commercial skill and seamanship.
The one who ruled this Venice was called the Doge, elected from among Venice’s powerful families, and the current Doge was Leonardo Loredan.
“Doge! Please make a decision at once!”
Even under pressure from the envoy sent by the Papal States, the Doge was lost in deep thought.
The Doge was a lifetime position unless there was some special reason otherwise, but recently he knew the mood surrounding him had become rather poor.
By seizing part of the Papal States, he had committed the blunder of causing the Holy League to attack Venice.
On top of that, Portugal had recently fought the Battle of Diu in India, and after Venice supported Portugal, Portugal had unexpectedly won against the Mamluk fleet.
They had brought upon themselves a crisis in which the spice trade, which had produced enormous profits through exclusive sales, might come to an end.
‘And in this situation, they want me to fight the Ottomans too?’
Of course, as discussed with the Pope, he did have the intention to fight.
If the Safavids had joined hands with him as planned.
“The envoy has not yet returned! Only when he returns can we send out troops, can we not?”
“Has the appointed time not already come?”
“Do we have the capacity to fight the Ottomans right now without Safavid aid? You people do not know precisely how terrifying an enemy the Ottomans are.”
It had only been a few years since they had fought a naval battle against the Ottomans for no good reason, lost territory, and even paid an enormous indemnity.
The nightmare from that time had not yet faded, so the thought of fighting the Ottomans again did not come easily to him.
“It is different from that time, when you fought alone. The Papal States, which carry out God’s will, will aid you. You will surely be victorious. Trust in His Holiness.”
“You told me to trust the Pope?”
The Doge snorted.
The current Pope, Julius II, had been categorized as pro-Venetian and had even borne the nickname Il Veneziano.
Yet he had formed the Holy League and attacked Venice on the grounds that Venice had occupied Papal territory.
To Venice, he was an enemy. What was there to trust?
At the Doge’s sneer, the envoy’s eyes turned fierce.
“No matter what unpleasant matters occurred, he is the Pope who carries out God’s will. Please watch your words.”
“God’s will…”
After briefly drawing out the end of his words, the Doge replied coldly.
“Come to think of it, I heard that the heathen emperor predicted an earthquake. Wouldn’t that mean he is the one who serves God’s will more faithfully?”
“Are you mad?! To believe such absurd rumors!”
At the fierce backlash, the Doge waved his hand with an apologetic expression.
“Do not be so angry. It is just that such stories have been circulating among our sailors these days. They are a people originally prone to vain delusions, are they not?”
“…Even so, please be careful with your words.”
“I understand. I shall be careful.”
The Doge, who offered an easy apology, nodded inwardly.
It was clear that the Papal States were reacting sensitively to the news that Yusuf, the newly enthroned sultan, had made a prophecy.
That must be why they were inciting Venice and urging them to fight the Ottomans.
“In any case, my thoughts are firm. I intend to go to war only after the envoy sent to the Safavids returns and cooperation is assured.”
“…Understood. Let us hope the envoy returns quickly.”
At the Doge’s firm words, the envoy turned away fiercely and disappeared.
Watching the envoy leave, the Doge frowned slightly.
“More importantly, what has become of the envoy I sent?”
Surely, no matter how beastly those heathens were, they would not have killed an envoy, and even if things had not gone well, it was strange that he had not returned.
Because of the envoy who did not return, the Doge was gripped by doubt, and the Papal States grew anxious.
∗ ∗ ∗
Mzechabuk, who had raised himself to the position of Atabeg, similar to a regent who protected a young ruler and governed the state in his stead, wielded immense power in Samtskhe.
Like many regents throughout history, even after his nephew and prince, Kvarkvare III, had grown old enough, he did not step down from that position.
Since he was a man who had fallen for Yusuf’s temptation, killed his own elder brother, and taken that place, it was only natural behavior.
In any case, Mzechabuk thought this power would last forever.
“Atabeg, it seems the time has come for you to step down from that position.”
Mzechabuk, who had been roughly thrown to the floor, glared at his nephew looking down at him from the throne.
“…Kvarkvare, in the end, you foolishly joined hands with the Safavids!”
“I do not wish to hear that from someone who was defeated by that fool.”
At those mocking words, spoken with one corner of his mouth raised, Mzechabuk clenched his teeth.
If it had been an ordinary situation, he would never have been beaten so absurdly.
‘I was too careless with a major undertaking ahead.’
Yusuf had made up his mind to deal with several states within Georgia that had created a major crisis during the war of succession.
He had intended to reorganize Georgia around the countries that clearly obeyed the Ottomans, including Samtskhe, and Mzetchabuk had been absorbed in that work.
He had never dreamed that, in the meantime, the Safavids and his nephew would join hands and oust him.
It was undeniably his own blunder, and the result was bitter indeed.
“Kvarkvare, you have made a tremendous mistake. Do you realize that?”
“I fail to see what is wrong with taking the hand of someone who will be of help.”
“You grasped a rotten rope, and you still fail to see what is wrong? That is why you are a fool.”
At those words, Kvarkvare stormed down, seized his uncle by the hair, and growled.
“My choice was right! Just wait and see. The Shah will take the head of that man you hold in such high regard.”
“I shall watch well as the country falls to ruin because of your idiotic choice. You have made an enemy of a dangerous monster!”
“…Get him out of my sight!”
If he had followed his heart, he would have cut off the man’s head on the spot, but his foundation was still weak, and he could not kill him recklessly.
As Kvarkvare swallowed down his boiling rage, the envoy Ismail had sent spoke.
“The Ottoman fleet has already moved. They will have to stop the fleet coming from the west, so they will not be able to spare any attention for this side.”
“I know. His Majesty the Shah is moving as well, is he not?”
“Of course.”
Ismail planned to lay siege to Trabzon in order to take Yusuf’s two women hostage.
If the Qizilbash swept through the land, they would not dare even think of fleeing by road.
That was why Samtskhe’s role was important.
“Therefore, please make certain the sea is blockaded.”
“You need not worry. Not a single ship will leave Trabzon.”
It was the decision of Kvarkvare, who had finally seized power in Samtskhe.
Not long afterward, ships set sail from Samtskhe’s harbor.
∗ ∗ ∗
Ismail lightly closed his eyes.
In Tabriz, the capital of the kingdom he had built, there was everything he had taken until now.
The beauties captured in the course of his wars of conquest filled his harem, and delicacies gathered from all across the kingdom always delighted his palate.
All who faced him knelt and submitted, and with a single gesture he could have anything he desired.
It was as if the life of paradise had been brought down to earth.
‘But that alone is not enough.’
Ismail tightened his grip on the reins in his hand.
The longer his life in the splendid capital continued, the emptier his heart became, as if it were whispering to him where he truly belonged.
“O Shah, the preparations for departure are complete.”
At his subordinate’s words, Ismail slowly opened his eyes.
Dust rose from the dry, crumbly ground, and instead of meat drenched in oil and spices, he had to chew on jerky that made his jaw ache.
He never knew when he might be struck by a blind arrow, and a comrade who had been laughing today might become food for wild beasts tomorrow.
That was the life of the steppe, and the life of a conqueror.
“This is my true life.”
Ismail murmured in a low voice.
A life of fighting on, conquering, and proving that he was the one chosen by Allah.
It was a life meant to fill his hollow heart, and the sound of his heart pounding in anticipation of the cruel time to come was like a drumbeat announcing war.
“You said the preparations are complete?”
“Yes.”
There was no need to be held back by cumbersome supplies.
Within the kingdom, they could extort what they needed from the cities they passed, and once they reached Trabzon, a plan had been made to receive supplies through Samtskhe’s ships.
What he had to do was seize the prey by the leash before it could flee.
‘From here on, there is no turning back.’
It was the moment of choice, but Ismail spoke without hesitation.
“We depart!”
With that declaration, Ismail swung a gigantic scythe toward Trabzon.
∗ ∗ ∗
Ten years had passed between Yusuf’s appointment as sanjakbey and his ascension to the sultan’s throne.
It was the time he had spent as the master of Trabzon, and the traces he had left during those years were by no means shallow.
This did not simply refer to material things, such as the walls reinforced with cement or the roads laid between major cities.
As if he were a dynasty that had ruled for hundreds of years, Yusuf’s presence was deeply rooted in the hearts of the subjects of Trabzon.
When they heard that he had predicted the earthquake, they had gone so far as to regard him almost as a saint.
‘If it were an ordinary sanjakbey, he would insolently have disliked this sort of atmosphere.’
Arda, who had become the succeeding sanjakbey thanks to his past military achievements and Yusuf’s favor, assessed the situation coolly.
Even if Yusuf was the sultan, for a sanjakbey who operated his sanjak independently, having the shadow of his predecessor loom so large was an uncomfortable matter.
After all, if the people longed for their former ruler no matter what he did, it would be no wonder if he felt his guts twist with resentment, to put it crudely.
But to Arda, who regarded himself as an advance guard temporarily entrusted with Trabzon in order to prepare for war, it was not a problem.
Rather, he felt great pride in being able to act as Yusuf’s proxy, and he had been carrying out the duties entrusted to him without issue.
At least, that was what Arda thought until the bad urgent report arrived.
“…It is my mistake. I have no face with which to meet the Padishah.”
Arda clenched his teeth so hard that blood flowed from his lip.
Not long ago, the spies in Tabriz had been discovered and destroyed, creating a gap in their intelligence.
So much so that they had only belatedly learned that Shah Ismail was advancing from Tabriz at the head of the Qizilbash.
At Arda’s self-reproach, Ömer, the judge of Trabzon and a qadi who held influence over administration, consoled him in a low voice.
“There is no need to blame yourself for what could not be done. To be honest, did we have anyone we could send to Tabriz right now?”
“…We did not. But if we had pulled personnel from Georgia…”
“Pointless talk.”
Ömer cut him off firmly.
“Reorganizing the Georgian kingdoms was the Padishah’s will. Disobeying an order because of a danger that might or might not occur makes no sense. If you had tried to do so, I would have stopped you.”
Even if there had been signs that he had joined hands with the West, no one had expected Ismail to act so aggressively.
There had been no logical basis for neglecting Georgia, where a major task had been immediately ahead of them.
A woman’s gentle voice joined the conversation between the two men.
“That is right, Arda Pasha. You were not at fault. Hatice and I both think so.”
“…Thank you, my Hatun.”
Arda showed respect to the two women looking at him.
Aside from the Valide Hatun, they were the two noblest women in the Ottoman realm, and no matter that they were women, they had more than enough right to be present here.
“So, what are the Shah’s current movements?”
At Ayşe’s question, Arda unfolded a map and traced his finger from Tabriz to Erzincan.
“The Qizilbash led by the Shah are estimated to number thirty thousand. The Shah’s objective is likely our Trabzon.”
Trabzon’s south was made up of rugged mountains, making it difficult to invade easily, and one had to pass through Erzurum, Bayburt, or Gümüşhane to enter.
Unless, that is, one set foot in the rough terrain where Yusuf had swept away five thousand Qizilbash last time.
As it was a region bordering the Safavids, Yusuf had put that much effort into its defensive facilities, and even the Qizilbash would find it difficult to trespass lightly.
“The problem is that the Shah, after reaching Erzincan, is making a wide detour.”
Avoiding the heavily defended southern and eastern regions, Ismail was maneuvering as if making a broad scything stroke.
There was no way for the west to stop as many as thirty thousand Qizilbash, and they were advancing at a fearsome speed.
“We estimate that it will take them three days at most to reach Trabzon.”
At Arda’s explanation, the conference room fell into a deep silence.
It meant that in three days, peaceful Trabzon would turn into a battlefield.
Ayşe asked with a composed expression.
“What about reinforcements?”
“We have already sent messengers. However, it will be difficult to expect large numbers. Their advance is too fast, and if we are not careful, the reinforcements could be defeated in detail.”
Although he had known nothing but victory while following Yusuf, Arda did not underestimate the strength of the Qizilbash.
Even if they gathered and sent reinforcements from the surrounding areas, a few thousand men would be the limit, and with numbers like that, they would be a force that could be smashed before they even caught sight of Trabzon.
They would have to face thirty thousand Qizilbash with Trabzon’s own forces alone, so it would be no easy fight. Arda spoke in a firm voice.
“The Shah’s objective is likely the two Hatuns and Princess Hasna. Therefore, you must flee even now.”
No matter how much the Safavids were a rising sun, the gap in national strength between them and the Ottomans was overwhelming.
Ismail’s attack was also one that involved tremendous risk, and he had to inflict a heavy blow on the Ottomans.
That blow was none other than the three women staying in Trabzon, and Hatice, who had been quietly keeping silent, answered in a stiff voice.
“Very well. We will follow your will.”
Traveling a long distance with Hasna, who was not yet even a year old, was dangerous, but remaining here had become even more dangerous.
“Thank you. I have already ordered the ship to be prepared. You can leave at once, so please make ready.”
That was why, after receiving the urgent report, he had hurriedly summoned the two Hatuns.
As befitted intelligent women, they had not insisted on useless stubbornness, and just as Arda felt a slight sense of relief…
—Sanjakbey! This is terrible!
“Come in!”
With Arda’s permission, the soldier who rushed in immediately prostrated himself and shouted.
“A fleet from Samtskhe has appeared at the harbor!”
Samtskhe, ruled by Mzetchabuk, who had maintained a long friendship with Yusuf, was in a firm alliance with the Ottomans.
But at the report that a fleet had appeared when they had not even requested aid, Arda felt a sense of foreboding.
That foreboding proved exactly correct.
“Samtskhe’s fleet has blocked the harbor and is attacking any ships that come out.”
“Damn it!”
As Arda flew into a rage, he felt dazed, as if someone had thrust a hand into his head and was stirring it around.
Samtskhe betrayed us? What about Mzetchabuk? What are we supposed to do?
As complicated questions drifted through his mind, a sharp voice rang out.
“Arda Pasha!”
“Yes, yes! My Hatun!”
Arda, answering Ayşe’s rebuke, found himself facing calm green eyes.
“Calm yourself. You are the only one we can trust now.”
“…I apologize for showing such an unsightly state.”
“It is quite alright. The port is blocked, so leaving by ship will be difficult, will it not?”
At Aishe’s words, Arda—who had been pondering briefly—nodded.
“If Samtskhe has indeed betrayed us, the ships currently in port will be unable to break through the encirclement.”
“Then what of moving by land?”
“I am ashamed to say it, but that path also seems difficult.”
The main force would arrive in three days, but the vanguard—which marched day and night—was expected to reach Trabzon far sooner.
Moreover, with Ismail’s army sweeping in from the west like a sickle’s stroke, there was a high likelihood of being caught before they could flee to another city.
With war underway, there must have been many spies watching around Trabzon, and venturing beyond the city walls was even more perilous.
“Then there is only one answer. We must hold out here, in Trabzon, until the Padishah’s aid arrives.”
The troops that could be gathered in short order amounted to barely four thousand; they would have to endure against an enemy numbering thirty thousand.
While waiting for reinforcements that might come at any moment—or never.
Three days later, the sickle was pointed at Trabzon.
∗ ∗ ∗
Yusuf crumpled the urgent report from Trabzon in his fist.
His eyes blazed with a rage so fierce that it made one’s knees buckle; no one dared raise their head before him.
‘Ismail, so you have finally moved.’
Had he let his guard down? No.
His opponent was none other than Ismail. And not in a ruined state after some great defeat, but a conqueror who could justifiably call himself a god.
Yusuf was not so foolish as to let his guard down against such an enemy.
However, the present situation had arisen due to two reasons.
‘That my eyes had been clouded by the spy purge begun in Tabriz, and that Samtskhe had betrayed us. These two things were the problem.’
Within Safavid territory, spy operations had been stifled; covert intelligence was one thing, but operating conspicuous couriers had become impossible.
And the absence of spies had not even been lengthy.
It had been a mere three months since he received word that all but one of the spies in Tabriz had been killed.
It was an absurdly short time to gather personnel for dispatch and reorganize the intelligence network.
‘Even if the spies had been operating properly from the start, avoiding this move would not have been easy.’
Had he been in Trabzon, perhaps, but handling affairs in Tabriz—a place five times the distance between Seoul and Busan—as clearly as the lines of his palm was impossible.
‘And the betrayal of Samtskhe was the greatest problem. Without it, this would not have been a threat.’
It might sound cold, but Trabzon was merely one of many sanjaks.
Even if it fell, it would not have posed a grave threat; had his two Hatuns and daughter not been in danger of becoming hostages, he would have dismissed it as courting death.
In any case, Mejechabuk—who should have held power for five more years—seemed to have been driven from Samtskhe, and what was done was done.
Yusuf issued his orders with cold precision.
“Grand Vizier!”
“Yes, Your Padishah!”
“Send an urgent order to the fleet at Gelibolu. Their destination is Trabzon.”
Fortunately, the fleet assembled from Venice and the Papal States had not yet sailed; it could be dispatched immediately.
If the fleet arrived before Trabzon fell, Ismail would be forced to withdraw empty-handed.
“And prepare the Janissaries. I shall lead the campaign personally.”
“Understood!”
That the Padishah was personally leading the army meant this was a battle of the utmost importance, and it revealed the depth of his fury.
Watching the bureaucrats move in haste, Yusuf wore a bloodthirsty expression.
‘Ismail, do not cross the line. Unless you wish to see your kingdom reduced to ashes.’
The beacon fire rising in the east had awakened the Sultan’s wrath.
∗ ∗ ∗
Ismail gazed upon the fortress of Trabzon.
The city was so prosperous that one might momentarily forget one’s purpose and succumb to vain greed, and the very culmination of that prosperity stood before him in this fortress.
The walls descended from the hills, stretching all the way to the sea to encompass the port, and atop those thick ramparts, the enemy soldiers stood in rank—tense, but without fear in their eyes.
‘A splendid fortress. This will not be easy.’
It was so well prepared for defense that even he, who had conquered countless fortresses, made such a judgment.
As he was thinking this, several ships blockading the fortress approached the shore, and Ismail went out to greet them.
The vessels dropped anchor at the pier used by ordinary fishermen; surrounded by the Qizilbash, a middle-aged man stepped onto land under the escort of tense soldiers.
“I have the honor of meeting Shah Ismail, ruler of the Safavid Kingdom. I am Sargis of the Principality of Samtskhe.”
Ismail nodded to Sargis, who observed the formalities with a stiff countenance.
“Enough with the unnecessary courtesies. Tell me, the port was blockaded without delay?”
“You need not worry. Even before surrounding Trabzon, we monitored all ships leaving the port, and no suspicious vessel has departed.”
“Are you certain?”
The question, asked as if in doubt, was enough to give offense, and Sargis replied in a rigid tone.
“This is a battle upon which the fate of our principality hangs. Please do not think we approach it with a lighter heart than the Safavid Kingdom.”
“How dare you disrespect the Shah! Do you wish to die!”
At Sargis’s words, the Qizilbash gripped their swords and growled; faced with a murderous intent that seemed ready to strike at any moment, Ismail waved his hand.
This operation would have been impossible to even begin without Samtskhe’s aid, so there was no need for a needless emotional confrontation.
“It is not wrong. You are in the same boat as I.”
“…That is correct.”
Samtskhe had no choice from the beginning. To be precise, Qvarqvare had no choice but to side with the Safavids.
Qvarqvare knew well that time waits for no one, and that Mejechabuk’s power was not eternal.
However, the reason he had been forced to take such a desperate risk was that he was not the only one waiting for Mejechabuk’s death.
Sargis let out an inward sigh at the thought that his country had stepped onto a dangerous path.
‘Had it not been for Lord Manuchar, we would not have betrayed the Ottomans.’
Manuchar was another of Qvarqvare’s uncles, and the instigator of this affair.
He was a pro-Ottoman figure who had led armies in the Ottoman succession struggles in place of the regent and the puppet ruler, and one who openly coveted the seat of Mejechabuk’s successor.
To the Ottomans, rather than choosing Qvarqvare—whose resentment they had incurred while turning him into a puppet—it was obvious they would choose Manuchar, who behaved as if he would offer up his liver and gall for them.
‘How desperate must he have been to behead Lord Manuchar the very moment he seized power?’
It meant he had been that afraid.
Whatever the reason, having crossed an irreversible bridge with the Ottomans, this battle was crucial for survival.
He had to achieve his goal even at the cost of his life, and at the determined light in his eyes, Ismail offered a brief assessment.
“A fine gaze. It is the gaze of a Qizilbash.”
To be treated with the same regard as the Qizilbash, who had overcome countless adversities alongside him, was the highest praise Ismail could give.
“Do not worry. I have not come with a light heart, either.”
The march from Tabriz to Trabzon in such a short time was no ordinary feat. And he was not speaking merely of the cavalry’s fatigue.
To maintain speed, they could not bring supply trains; they had to advance by receiving provisions in the cities they passed.
This was only possible if they obtained smooth supplies in each city without wasting time, and within Safavid, there was only one person who could make this happen: Shah Ismail.
He was also the only one who could lead the wild-horse-like Qizilbash on a forced march.
That Ismail himself had taken the field already spoke to the importance of this matter.
“The opportunity to stop the new Ottoman Sultan is now. Is that not why you agreed to this?”
“It is. He is a fearsome man.”
“‘Fearsome.’ I wonder if that is the precise word.”
He had not thought he would utter such a weak word with his own mouth, but Ismail agreed.
It had been less than ten years since the name Yusuf became known, yet now that name alone was enough to put the surrounding nations on edge.
The West, which had held its nose high while invoking heretics and pagans, had hurriedly come seeking cooperation; the Mamluks were driving Yusuf as a heretic and keeping their lips sealed so that baseless rumors would not spread.
No Ottoman Sultan in history had ever weighed so heavily upon the surroundings by his mere existence, and he had made everyone realize it:
That if that monster was not shackled now, he might devour them all.
“There is no need to be afraid. What we need is time.”
They only needed to turn the hearts of the Mamluks—who worried over Ottoman growth yet could not reach a decision—and hold out until the chaos in the West subsided.
When all surrounding nations pointed their blades at the Ottomans, they would finally be freed from this fear.
Therefore, he had to capture the hostages needed to buy that time.
“Sargis, are all supplies prepared?”
“Of course. Not only our Samtskhe, but other nations as well will take responsibility for the provisions.”
Samtskhe’s betrayal had exposed movements to subjugate certain Georgian kingdoms, and they had turned to the Safavids.
With their support, there was no need to worry about supplies.
After abandoning their supply trains to advance quickly, the necessary provisions would be received through Samtskhe, which had seized the coast.
Until now, everything had proceeded according to plan.
“My Shah, I have returned.”
While conversing briefly with Sargis, the subordinate who had departed on a command returned and bowed deeply.
“What happened?”
“When we arrived, it was completely destroyed. It seems it will be difficult to confirm the methods of cement manufacture or the research conducted there.”
Hearing that the place they had striven so hard to infiltrate with spies had become a ruin with nothing to salvage, Ismail replied without much concern.
“It is done. In any case, those who know the methods are hiding inside. We need only cross those walls.”
The hostages to buy time, and the technologies Yusuf had hidden away so carefully, were all inside those walls.
There was simply one more reason to cross them.
“Prepare the siege.”
The Shah’s command was given.
∗ ∗ ∗
“When the Padishah arrives, I will tear those Samtskhe bastards apart.”
Arda declared it in a furious voice, and the grim-faced sipahis voiced their agreement.
They had been forced to watch as even siege equipment was supplied through Samtskhe’s supply lines, so it was no wonder their insides burned with rage.
“Sanjakbey, the cement blocking the gate has more or less hardened as well.”
Hassan, who had climbed up onto the wall drenched in sweat, roughly wiped his face as he spoke.
In any case, there would be no opening the gate until the Sultan’s reinforcements arrived, and they had completely sealed it off with stone and cement.
It was as if they had formed a last stand, declaring that they would do nothing but hold out as long as possible.
“Thank you for your hard work, Lord Hassan.”
“There is no need to show me such courtesy!”
When Arda answered politely, Hassan waved his hands in refusal.
After all, the difference in status between Hassan, who had only just been freed from slavery, and Arda, who had even been granted the title of Pasha, was enormous.
“Lord Hassan, you are the Padishah’s man, so courtesy is only proper. When you return to the capital, you may well receive an official post.”
“Even so, would it be higher than yours, Sanjakbey?”
“That, too, is something no one can know. The Padishah is not one to treat merit lightly.”
He had played a part in the creation of cement, gunpowder, and guns, and now he was even in charge of research into saltpeter fields.
The tasks entrusted to him were by no means light, which was why Arda’s words were not empty flattery.
Watching the enemy’s catapults being completed one by one, Arda spoke in a firm voice.
“Thank you for all your help until now. Please withdraw to somewhere safe.”
“If I go back with my tail between my legs before the battle has even begun, that would be even more dangerous.”
“Hahaha, you are still living under her thumb, I see.”
Not only Arda, but the others nearby burst into laughter as well.
There was no one here who did not know that Hassan was completely at Nene’s mercy.
“What can I do? I have sins to answer for. She said that if this place falls, she would kill me herself. She said I know too many secrets.”
“That does sound like her. Does it not hurt your feelings?”
Being told to his face that he would be killed to preserve secrecy—even if it was the correct decision—could still sting.
“It’s fine. I knew long ago that she was that kind of woman. In exchange, she said she would die after me, so I suppose I should take comfort in that.”
As Hassan laughed heartily, Arda spoke to him in a resolute voice.
“You need not worry. Such a thing will not happen. Even if it costs us our lives, we will hold out. Now, please return to the safe fortress.”
With the booming of drums, the catapults that had finished being assembled slowly began to move forward.
It was the moment that signaled the beginning of the siege in earnest, and the soldiers gripping their weapons let out heavy breaths laced with tension.
“From here on, it is our time.”
Having said that, Arda turned and shouted loudly.
“Prepare the catapults!”
—Attack! Attack!
As the enemy army surged forward, the catapults inside Trabzon Castle hurled their stones.
The siege had begun in earnest.
∗ ∗ ∗
News of Samtskhe’s betrayal and the Safavid attack spread quickly through the surrounding regions.
That was because Trabzon had swiftly sent urgent reports in every direction, and the news soon reached Circassia as well, which lay closer than the capital.
“How many troops can we muster at once?”
“Even if we gather as many as possible, only six thousand.”
Even those six thousand were only possible because Circassia, divided among numerous tribes, had recently united around the central pillar known as the Ottomans.
For Circassia, a collection of tribes rather than a single kingdom, maintaining a standing army was no easy matter.
“Then we must send even those troops in support.”
“What help could a mere six thousand be! Did Trabzon itself not tell us not to send reinforcements?”
Trabzon needed every last man for its defense, but since it was completely surrounded and no one could enter, they had sent such a message.
Six thousand was not a small force, but no fewer than thirty thousand Kizilbash had gathered—Kizilbash who, with a mere seven thousand, had ground down enemies several times their number.
The disparity in strength was such that they would be annihilated without even holding out for long, and Ivan agreed with that assessment.
“I know that. However, we must provide support.”
“Even if Ayşe Hatun is there, that is impossible!”
Just as Yusuf was treated like a prophet within the Ottoman realm, Ayşe was treated as a saint in Circassia.
However, no matter how much they had to save Ayşe, they could not pointlessly throw away six thousand men.
“It is not only because of Ayşe Hatun. This is an opportunity for us. I trust you have not forgotten how much has changed since we came under Ottoman protection.”
“That is…”
It had become difficult even to see the shadow of the Crimean Khanate, those brutal plunderers, and even the newly established Astrakhan Khanate to the north barely launched raids, wary of the Ottomans.
For Circassia, it was the most peaceful period they had experienced in decades.
“This is a chance to earn more of the Padishah’s favor. He is not someone who will be shaken by danger of this level.”
“So you mean to throw away six thousand soldiers for nothing?”
At that point, Ivan lifted the corners of his mouth.
“You are mistaken about one thing. We will not be heading to Trabzon.”
“Then where do you mean to go?”
“I intend to attack Samtskhe’s port. What do you think? Is that not feasible?”