The End of Fools (2)
The life of a spy is harsh.
Because the families left behind in their homeland are hostages, betrayal is not even something they can dream of, and if they are caught, they suffer torture so cruel that suicide would be the better choice.
Even if they die after such loyalty, not a single person will recognize it. That is the life of a spy.
For a mere spy like that, facing the master of the empire was an immense honor, but for Hasan, it was a disaster.
“Hasan, Hasan, is it.”
It was a place where even breathing felt difficult.
The Janissaries’ gazes, as if they would kill him at the slightest movement, made him feel as though his head were laid upon a guillotine.
He had only heard his name spoken, yet his heart, which should have been tempered by a long life as a spy, seemed to drop with a thud.
“You have a good name.”
“…It is an honor, Padishah.”
Even as he lamented that he should have changed his name after all, he tried his utmost not to show it.
A man who shared the cursed name Hasan was looking at him as though gazing upon a comrade, but he deliberately ignored him.
Because he had nearly shouted that it was because of him that this name had become cursed.
“There is no need to exchange glances with Hassan like that. I did not call you here merely because of your name.”
Hasan, who had almost jerked his head up in surprise, hurriedly lowered it.
He had not been permitted to face the Sultan’s countenance.
“Then tell me what you have seen and experienced in Safavid until now.”
“Understood, Padishah.”
And so, as he calmly related his experiences, he failed to notice the smile growing deeper on Yusuf’s lips.
Had he known, he would have hurried to end the story, but by the time he finished, Yusuf had already seen through Hasan in every detail with his ability to discern talent.
“That was quite interesting to hear. From your experiences alone, I could tell how useful a man you are.”
“I-It is an honor.”
He was absolutely not trembling from emotion. It was because the survival instinct tempered by his long life as a spy was ringing an alarm with all its might.
In his heart, he wanted to turn around and run, but here on Ottoman soil, there was no way to escape the Padishah’s reach.
Toward Hasan, who trembled faintly like a pitiful butterfly caught in a spiderweb, Yusuf spoke benevolently.
“Hasan, you said you were from here, Trabzon, did you not?”
“That is correct.”
“Then you, too, should understand my wrath. Look upon Safavid’s atrocities. How dreadful they are.”
Restoration work was underway in earnest, but the traces of the fierce fighting remained vivid.
Trabzon was his hometown, and since he had personally experienced the brutal siege, the horrors of that time were still vivid in Hasan’s mind.
“I have no intention of letting this atrocity pass lightly. You feel the same, do you not?”
What would happen if he said no here?
He could be certain that then, he would be going not before the Padishah, but before Allah.
“…I do, Your Majesty.”
“I trusted that you would say so.”
He said it shamelessly after creating a situation in which not even the Grand Vizier, let alone Hasan, could deny him, but Yusuf felt that it was about time to throw him a carrot.
“If this matter is concluded well, I shall take you in, considering your past merits as well.”
It meant he would use him properly, not merely as a nameless spy, and in the Ottoman Empire, where the Sultan’s favor was status itself, it was an enormous opportunity.
However, the offer that truly shook Hasan’s heart was another one.
“And I shall build a mosque for those who died while working as you did.”
“…Truly?”
“There are no falsehoods in my words. I will leave their names behind so that they may be honored.”
Even if their names were left behind, since they all used similar names, it would probably be impossible to tell who was who, but even that felt like something.
Faces came to mind—men who had laughed and chattered like family because they were in the same position, never knowing when they might suffer some terrible fate in a foreign land.
And the sight of them throwing away their lives like blades of grass to help him escape.
It was the reason he had stepped once more, as if possessed, upon this cursed land, and Hasan roughly wiped his face with his hand.
“I must have been mad. I was definitely possessed by something back then.”
He did not know why he had come crawling back here out of pity for men who were surely living grandly at Allah’s side.
Rumors were widespread that the Padishah was a prophet, and while Hasan did not know whether he was a prophet or not, he did seem to possess the ability to bewitch people.
‘Though even without a reward, I couldn’t refuse anyway.’
In the Ottoman Empire, the lives of all imperial subjects rested in the Sultan’s hands.
Refusing an order meant death, and even without the reward he had offered, Hasan would have had to come here.
After lightly rubbing his face dry, Hasan opened his eyes coldly.
He had received his command; now it was time to carry it out properly.
“What is the current situation?”
“As expected, they are preparing for the empire’s attack. They are carrying out scorched-earth tactics as secretly as possible, but because it is being done over such a wide area, rumors are beginning to circulate little by little.”
Scorched-earth tactics are as difficult to execute as they are effective.
To see proper results, supplies must be destroyed only after the enemy army has approached to a certain degree, which means preparations must be made in advance.
In other words, the people are watching with tears of blood as preparations are made to burn down the lands they cultivated with such hardship at any moment.
“There are also people being beaten to death after resisting the soldiers.”
“That must mean they are that anxious.”
It was only natural for the people to resist in order to protect their property, but the fact that Safavid could not properly control this discontent meant that cracks were forming within them.
The news of the uprisings in Georgia was probably playing a part as well.
Hasan gave orders to his subordinates.
“We must spread rumors widely so that the people of Safavid tremble with even greater unease.”
“Haha, we’ll have some fun too, like our friends up north.”
There was a thrilling taste to obtaining intelligence, but stirring up trouble through agitation and fabrication had its own kind of fun.
To those who were already smiling as if their hands were itching, Hasan issued a warning.
“It is good that you are enthusiastic, but do not forget that our true mission comes later.”
Looking out at the vast land from which he had escaped alive with such difficulty, he twisted his lips.
“Because then, it will be even more enjoyable. Our comrades in Allah’s embrace will be pleased as well.”
The spies sharpened their own blades, waiting only for that day to come.
∗ ∗ ∗
The request to accept Circassian women into the harem was somewhat unexpected, but it was not an incomprehensible demand.
The opportunity given this time was not one that came easily, and it had to be used for the future.
The most representative thing they could ask for was land, but there was one major problem with demanding Georgian territory.
‘Because there’s a mountain range blocking Circassia and Georgia.’
And not just any mountain range, but the Caucasus Mountains, which included Mount Elbrus, more than twice the height of Mount Baekdu.
Thanks to that, travel between the two regions was not easy, and even if they received land, there would be the question of which of the many tribes would take the lead in managing it.
‘Compared to receiving land, there’s no immediate benefit, but if they send women into the harem, they’ll have the advantage of naturally seeping into the Ottoman Empire.’
That was why he had called it a clever choice.
“Very well. I shall accept the women sent by Circassia.”
“Thank you!”
Ivan immediately paid his respects.
Because he had thought the offer might be coldly rejected as an insolent one.
However, it was still a little early to raise a toast.
“Ivan.”
When he called him in a low voice, Ivan felt a chill for an instant and raised his head without realizing it, meeting the green eyes looking down at him.
Seeing those savage eyes devoid of even the slightest warmth, Ivan hurriedly lowered his head.
“I do not care what kind of women you choose. Whether they are extraordinarily beautiful, clever women, or even the daughters of chieftains, it does not matter. Remember one thing: I am always watching.”
There could be no greater warning than that, and Ivan hurriedly knelt and paid his respects.
“I-I shall always keep it in mind.”
“Good. You may withdraw now. Should you not go and convey this joyous news?”
Where Ivan had stood, only a small stain of sweat, seemingly left when he pressed his hands to the ground, remained.
“You are mischievous, Your Majesty. It seems they will not even be able to receive their gift with a happy heart.”
“One must also know how dangerous the gift one has received is. Ivan is an intelligent man, so he will act properly.”
In truth, this warning was aimed more at other Circassian power holders than at Ivan.
Those who had not actually met Yusuf might harbor foolish thoughts without fear.
Though since they heard it indirectly, it might not take proper effect.
‘Then I need only take up the whip.’
The position of Sultan was one in which there was no need to fear wielding the whip.
“Still, it was not a bad proposal for me either. Since I gave them a warning as well, they will send women suitable to give as gifts.”
The best way to receive the loyalty of officials beneath him was to arrange political marriages with princesses, but the number of daughters available for marriage was limited.
The ones who filled that gap were the women of the harem, and the harem was both a dwelling for prospective concubines and a school for raising women who would strengthen the loyalty of subordinates.
‘The life of a harem woman is still better than that of a court lady in the Joseon era.’
After all, even if a Joseon court lady left the palace, she was forbidden to marry, while women who left the harem were permitted to marry.
Shemsi agreed with Yusuf’s words as well.
“There are indeed many who prefer Circassian women. That tendency has become even more pronounced recently.”
It was only natural, since the most noble woman in the empire, the Valide Hatun, and the next after her, the first concubine, were Circassian women.
Another major reason was that now that Circassia had fully entered the empire’s embrace, Circassians were no longer being brought in as slaves.
‘The fantasy they already had about Circassians has simply grown even larger.’
Because there were various peoples around them, each country’s harem had ethnic groups it preferred.
In the case of the Ottoman Empire, they preferred Circassians or blonde beauties from Europe, while Persian dynasties such as Safavid preferred Armenians.
They were a people classified as white, but with features similar to Indians, and since ancient times, they had wielded great influence in the surrounding regions.
There was no need to say more, given that they had produced as many as eleven Eastern Roman emperors.
“Armenians, hm.”
“Why do you suddenly mention them?”
“Are they not useful people?”
There were quite a few Armenians within the Ottoman Empire as well, whose presence had continued since the Eastern Roman era, and they played central roles within the empire.
In modern times, Jews were often named when speaking of outstanding peoples, but the Jews’ explosive growth came as the British Empire expanded.
At present, they were being driven out from all over Europe and fleeing into the Arab world, to places like the Ottoman Empire or Egypt.
‘If you apply the modern image of Jews to Armenians, it fits perfectly.’
Compared to their golden age, when they possessed power mighty enough to drive out Jews and held in their hands the trade routes stretching from the Mughal Empire to the Ottoman Empire, they were weak now, but they had potential.
Since the northwestern Safavid lands that would soon fall into his embrace were their base, they were worth remembering.
They would become a useful card in the future.
—Padishah, an envoy has arrived from Akhaltsikhe.
“Let him in.”
The Janissary who entered at his command knelt, and Yusuf spoke with a languid expression.
“The arrival of a mere envoy would hardly be important. What is it?”
Even before the war broke out, he had hung the heads of every envoy who came upon the castle gate, so there was no need to say what he would do now that victory was already assured.
It was not a question of whether or not to hang the man’s head on the gate; since they had reported that he had come, there had to be a separate reason.
“They say Qvarqvare has taken his own life.”
Hearing that he had killed himself without even thinking of making a final struggle, Yusuf naturally let out a sneer.
Rising from his seat, Yusuf gave an order.
“Inform the entire army. We are going to Akhaltsikhe.”
It was time to bring matters in Georgia to a close.