Playing with Fire
It had been only a little over a year since Yusuf ascended as sultan, too short a time to clearly imprint his name upon the world beyond his borders.
In the West, where the occult was popular, he was regarded as fodder for gossip: a pagan king who had foretold an earthquake.
In the Islamic world, including the Mamluks, he was seen more as a heretic who played prophet and slandered the Quran and Muhammad.
Because predicting the earthquake had been such a shocking event, the current tendency was to focus on and judge him by the prophecy rather than Yusuf’s personal abilities.
However, the Safavids alone feared Yusuf more as a ruler than as a prophet.
Because they had suffered at his hands ever since he was a sanjak-bey.
-The Ottoman army led by the sultan will soon invade!
No one would welcome the news that their homeland was about to become a battlefield, but the fact that the man leading the enemy army was Yusuf made their anxiety even greater.
Not only was he the only opponent to have blemished Ismail, who was revered like a god, he was also the very man who had devastated the lands from Erzincan to Diyarbakir during the invasion of the Dulkadir Principality.
Because he had prioritized widespread destruction, he had not massacred the people, and that had left behind countless refugees, causing tremendous chaos.
For a time, western Safavid territory had become so overrun with bandits and beggars that it was practically lawless. Now, when they had only just managed to settle that situation, he was coming again, so it was inevitable that their trauma would flare up once more.
“Those useless Georgian bastards.”
Nur Ali Khalifa, who ruled Diyarbakir, crumpled the paper in his hand.
It contained intelligence that the Ottoman army, having concluded its conquest of Georgia, was gathering troops and supplies at Akhaltsikhe.
“If only they had held out for two more months!”
Summer was already slowly nearing its end, and if they had dragged things out just a little longer, winter would have come, making it impossible for the Ottomans to move recklessly.
That had been the only method he could place any hope in, and even that was no longer possible now that Georgia had fallen.
Nur Ali, his eyes raised fiercely, asked his subordinate,
“How are the scorched-earth preparations progressing?”
“The preparations are complete, but the resistance from the subjects is no small matter. More than twenty soldiers have already died.”
“Of course the resistance would be fierce.”
A scorched-earth operation was already bound to invite resistance from the subjects living there, and Nur Ali’s region had only just recovered from the damage Yusuf had inflicted.
It was only natural that they would meet extreme resistance when they said they were going to destroy it all again.
‘This is why I tried to prepare as quietly as possible.’
He had moved with some caution, but the news that they were preparing a scorched-earth operation had spread uncontrollably fast.
As if someone had been working behind the scenes.
“His filthy tricks have not changed.”
The Safavid leadership knew well that Yusuf’s favored methods were incitement and fabrication.
After all, it was almost certain that the one who had spread the rumors that put Ismail in a difficult position when he seized Tabriz and became shah had been Yusuf.
When one considered that he had pulled such vile tricks at the mere age of thirteen, it was honestly frightening.
Now that he had gained more experience, there was no telling how much more sinister his methods would be.
No matter how snake-like the man they had to face might be, what they had to do was obvious, and Nur Ali gave a firm order.
“We are nothing more than tools that follow the shah’s will. We must always be ready to obey the shah’s commands, so show no mercy in your methods.”
“Understood.”
The subordinate left with a heavy expression, and an ominous tension settled over the entire Safavid realm.
As mosques overflowed with people trying to overcome their fear, calamity was preparing to set foot upon the land, as if there were no Allah to aid them.
∗ ∗ ∗
An army was a monstrous organization that swallowed enormous quantities of supplies.
To feed the fifty thousand troops under Yusuf’s command, including cavalry, for a month, more than fifteen thousand camels were needed.
That was considering only food, and when other military supplies were taken into account, the scale grew even larger.
‘Supplying an expedition is difficult on an entirely different level.’
When troops moved within the country, they could receive supplies from the food depots established throughout the Ottoman realm and make up the shortfall by purchasing locally.
But once they crossed into enemy territory, that became impossible, and since the enemy would likely conduct a scorched-earth operation, even local procurement would be impossible. They needed to prepare thoroughly.
“Padishah, what should we do about the merchants who have come outside?”
“They certainly have a keen nose for the scent of money.”
By sweeping away all the nobles within Georgia, he had created an administrative vacuum, but by confiscating the wealth they had accumulated over hundreds of years, he had reaped enormous profit.
Yusuf was not the only one whose purse had grown heavy; the soldiers who had seized plunder were in the same state.
It was only natural that merchants would swarm in like bees.
“Well then, are there any supplies for us to purchase?”
“The food currently prepared amounts to about one month’s worth. Of course, we can gather more food, but…”
“We lack the means to transport it.”
“That is correct.”
In the humid Balkan Peninsula, the Ottomans moved supplies with oxen and horses, while in the east they mainly used camels. These camels were not usually obtained through requisition.
They were camels brought in through purchase and lease, and because of that, there was the problem that their numbers could not be easily increased.
If they had more camels than they did now, managing them would also become difficult.
“For us, one month’s worth of supplies is enough, but they would not know that.”
When passing through Safavid lands, the time required would be about one month.
Even if Ismail gave up on the scorched-earth operation and they attempted to occupy territory, they could replenish to some extent through plundering the surrounding area.
However, that was a fact known only to the army’s command.
“Yes, there is a high possibility they will follow us in order to sell the supplies we need.”
When an army moved, it was not only soldiers who moved; numerous merchants moved with it as well.
They were a kind of war merchant, following armies and profiting by supplying food, weapons, and equipment.
“If they intend to follow, let them follow. They are not the sort who would listen even if we tried to stop them.”
“A merchant’s greed for money is indeed not something that can be restrained.”
Even during the Crusades, merchants were the sort who traded regardless of religion as long as there was money to be made.
While agreeing with Yusuf’s cynical response, Shemsi spoke cautiously.
“However, if they come up empty-handed in this war, they may harbor dissatisfaction.”
“Enough. Even if they are dissatisfied, merchants are the kind who will cling to us again the moment they smell money.”
If this were around the seventeenth century, perhaps he would have been a little more cautious.
Beginning with the Armenians, the power of Middle Eastern merchants would grow tremendously, and by around the eighteenth century, they would be strong enough to depose a sultan.
But that was still two hundred years in the future, and there was no need to go out of his way to mind them now.
“And if we truly end up fighting Ismail, will they not be useful?”
“Then I will grant permission for the merchants to follow.”
Yusuf looked down outside the castle with a leisurely expression.
Soldiers preparing for the imminent war, merchants hawking their wares to them, and supply units hauling cannons, food, carts, and more.
The preparations were complete enough that they could depart at once.
“Shemsi Pasha, the heat has eased. I do not wish to spend winter on a cold field.”
Yusuf turned his head south and continued,
“Inform the entire army. We march in three days.”
“Yes, Padishah!”
After Shemsi departed with a bow, Yusuf thought of his formidable enemy, Ismail.
In the original history, Selim defeated Ismail, but he did not seize much territory.
That was because the Janissaries had been greatly dissatisfied, and he had feared rebellion from pro-Shia forces operating within the Ottoman realm.
‘But I am different from Selim, Ismail.’
Unlike Selim, who had failed to properly win their loyalty, he had the Janissaries well under control.
There was only one point of concern: the fact that a few followers who obeyed Ismail still remained within the Ottoman realm.
They were persistent as cockroaches, but it was not incomprehensible.
After all, he was a ruler charismatic enough to be revered as a god.
“So before the main game begins, I will gnaw away at that reputation of yours.”
With a murderous smile, Yusuf turned away.
Three days passed like that, and the drums announcing the campaign resounded.
The time had come to force an unreasonable choice upon them.
∗ ∗ ∗
Seated upon the throne of Tabriz, Ismail looked coldly at the men who had come to see him.
Unlike his own face, tanned brown beneath the blazing sun of the steppe, theirs were white and ruddy.
“Are you calling that an excuse?”
It was spoken quietly, but the envoy from Venice felt as though a blade had been placed against the nape of his neck.
The killing intent of Ismail, who had endured countless battles and slaughtered his enemies, was far too vicious for a mere envoy to calmly withstand.
“P-please calm yourself. Since the envoy did not return, we could not know the shah’s will. Did we not move the fleet, even if belatedly?”
“You did move it. After ruining everything.”
Ismail toyed with a small dagger as he glared at the envoy.
To think that he had moved his forces trusting men like this; he felt rage boiling up inside him.
Rising from his seat, Ismail approached the envoy and drew the dagger across.
Drip, drip.
“Sh-shah.”
After cutting his own palm, Ismail smeared the blood pouring from it onto the envoy’s white clothes.
The envoy, trembling at the fishy scent of blood, met Ismail’s eyes.
“Do not forget. Because of you, ten thousand of my brothers died in vain.”
“O-of course. We of Venice will do our utmost to aid the shah.”
At that answer, Ismail released the clothes he had been lightly gripping and returned to his throne as he spoke.
“We will withstand this Ottoman offensive. So do not forget your promise either. This is the last chance I give you.”
“Understood. This time, we will be certain to keep our promise.”
“Leave.”
Once permission was granted, the envoy fled in a panic, and Ismail silently glared after him for some time.
Mohammad Khan Ustajlu, Ismail’s most favored subordinate, wrapped Ismail’s wounded hand with his own turban.
“You endured it well.”
“Because killing that swine of a wretch will not avenge the resentment of the brothers who departed before us.”
Suppressing the nausea that surged up within him, Ismail clenched his hand as a stinging pain washed over it and spoke.
“So, the Ottoman army has begun its campaign?”
“They have. The Ottoman army that set out from Akhaltsikhe is moving toward Yerevan.”
Yerevan, located in the Armenian region, was a key city, and it lay close enough to Tabriz that a messenger could arrive in less than three days.
In other words, it was a city that had to be defended at all costs.
“Your Majesty, are we truly beginning the scorched-earth operation?”
“There is only one choice we can make.”
If they did not carry out the scorched-earth operation, that bastard Yusuf was the sort of man who would truly set a blade against his neck.
Having been routed at Trabzon, and with Yusuf moving with a coldness unfitting his age, Ismail had no choice but to select the option forced upon him.
“There will be no changes to the plan. Burn everything so it does not fall into enemy hands.”
“We obey the Shah’s command.”
Ustajlu left, and Ismail, now alone, ground his teeth.
A profound sense of defeat surged over him.
∗ ∗ ∗
Yusuf’s army, having won a perfect victory in Georgia, had morale that pierced the heavens, and there was nothing to hinder their march.
When Yusuf’s army arrived near Gyumri, which belonged to the Armenian region, what greeted them was pitch-black smoke.
Farmland reduced to ashes and villages abandoned like ruins.
Looking upon a region where there was not even a single small grain to salvage, Yusuf raised the corner of his mouth.
“So the delightful fire games have begun.”
They were fire games that would tighten around Ismail’s throat.
∗ ∗ ∗
Desolate.
Without any need for flowery modifiers, it was the word best suited to describe the land beneath their feet.
The mountains were barren hills made of dry earth, and the occasional rough sandstorm made him keenly aware anew of the necessity of the turban he usually found bothersome.
And whenever he chewed on the dust that rose in clouds during the march, he was made to understand just how much this bleak land wore down the spirit.
‘The Caucasus isn’t called the graveyard of empires for nothing.’
The Caucasus region, including Circassia, Georgia, Armenia, Azerbaijan, and others, had been infamous since ancient times.
There was even a saying in Persia that if a king went mad, he went to wage war in the Caucasus, and it was a region that had disgusted even the vast Mongol Empire and the Timurid Empire after they invaded it.
It was already famous for being rough terrain, and now an even more murderous scene unfolded before them.
“They’ve destroyed it neatly, haven’t they? Without leaving a single thing to salvage.”
The vineyards, which likely had not even been properly harvested, remained as blackened firewood, and not a single human shadow could be seen in the villages made of earthen houses.
They had already seen villages emptied like this several times, and Yusuf lifted his head slightly.
Gyumri, the border city closest to Georgia and a place that, in the distant past, had occupied a passage of the Silk Road, could be seen far in the distance.
It was clear that even the area around the tightly shut fortress, where the evacuation had already ended, had been reduced to ashes.
At Yusuf’s words, Arda spoke as if making a declaration.
“Those who defied the Padishah will suffer just as much.”
Many who had lost their farmland to the scorched-earth operation would starve to death, but if he were the sort to feel pity over that, he would not have started a war in the first place.
Turning his gaze indifferently away from Gyumri, Yusuf spoke of what he had felt so far.
“This scorched-earth operation will end up being a blunder for them, but if we truly come to invade this land, then next time it will catch us by the ankles.”
If the Ottomans invaded, the Safavids would have no choice but to carry out a scorched-earth operation, and conversely, to conquer the Safavids, they would have to overcome that strategy.
In the end, it meant victory or defeat would be decided by how smoothly they could bring in supplies.
“The most stable method would be to slowly swallow up their lands.”
“The war would last that much longer, so it isn’t a usable method.”
If they maintained a conquering army for years, even the Ottomans, whose finances Bayezid II had stabilized, would have their backs bent under the burden.
On top of that, there was no telling when another country might interfere, so they could not afford to test every stone bridge before crossing it.
“What bothers me most is, as expected, the fact that the Dulkadir Principality lies near the supply route.”
“Surely they would not foolishly hinder the Padishah’s path? And because of the previous invasion, they bear a deep grudge against the Safavids.”
Because of Ismail’s invasion, their capital Elbistan had been completely reduced to ruins, and Dulkadir had been forced to move its capital to Marash.
By common sense, they seemed more likely to help the Ottomans than to hinder them.
“We’ll know that when we see it. Bozkurt Bey of Dulkadir is a man who may jump in any direction.”
Even though his nephew, who posed a threat to his rule, was in Ottoman hands, Bozkurt was the man who, without fear, stabbed Selim in the back when Selim set out to conquer the Safavids.
In exchange for cutting off the supply route and plundering food and weapons, he would be executed by Selim’s hand the following year along with his four sons.
‘If things turn out exactly as they did in the original history, I’ll have to take revenge without fail.’
Of course, even if things did not turn out like the original history, he had no intention of leaving Dulkadir alone.
If Shemsi had been present, they could have discussed the matter a little more deeply, but at present he was struggling in Georgia.
It was not an immediately important matter, and once they went to the capital, there would be many capable people who could use their heads in Shemsi’s place, so Yusuf focused on the current situation.
“Our next destination is Yerevan, is it? Let us go and see just how far they intend to burn.”
Yusuf’s army ignored Gyumri, which had prepared its defense while trembling in fear, and continued southward.
When the Ottoman army, having passed by Gyumri—a city they could have occupied with two or three days of effort at most—reached the vicinity, Yerevan trembled in fear.
Refugees whose homes had been forcibly burned gathered in Yerevan, and the voices of people sunk in despair echoed throughout the day.
Boom, boom!
At the sight of the Ottoman army approaching in a black mass along with the faint sound of drums, the people of Yerevan were overwhelmed.
The enemy seemed more numerous than the population inside the fortress, and it felt as if the notorious Ottoman army might smash their sturdy walls at any moment.
They were so afraid, as though their lives had been given a death sentence, that the current situation was all the more incomprehensible.
“Th-the Ottoman army is passing by!”
As the Ottoman army passed by as though it had no interest whatsoever in Yerevan and disappeared to the south, a heavy silence fell over the city.
A terrible emptiness wrapped around everyone.
If they had barely survived after a fierce struggle, they would not have felt like this.
At the very least, they would have been able to rationalize the burning of their homes.
At the end of that emptiness came anger, and that anger turned toward the Safavids who had forced the scorched-earth policy upon them.
The bizarre march caused division within the Safavids, and their movements threw the Safavids into extreme confusion.
∗ ∗ ∗
News arrived that Yusuf’s army, having simply passed by Yerevan, was heading toward Khoy, which lay close to Tabriz.
According to the plan they had set, they should have already begun the scorched-earth operation there, just as they had in the Armenian region they had passed through, but they could not readily put it into action.
“Do not burn it! How are we supposed to live if you do that?”
The villagers, unable to properly resist the blades pointed at them, poured out tears and despair.
A soldier holding a torch in his hand cautiously asked his commander.
“Are we truly going to burn it? Did you not say the Ottoman army is coming down without fighting?”
“Even so, if we do not burn it, the fact that it will fall into enemy hands does not change.”
It was an age when pillage was a basic virtue for an expeditionary army, and if they left it behind, it was obvious it would be plundered.
Even after that cold order, when the soldier hesitated slightly, the commander spoke firmly.
“Everything is the Shah’s will.”
In the Safavid realm, no further explanation was necessary, and the hesitant soldiers burned the village.
Feeling the scorching heat, the commander frowned slightly.
Even if it was an order, it was already an act that left a bad taste in his mouth, and the thought that they were creating meaningless damage, just as the soldiers had said, kept coming to him.
He nearly wavered for a moment, but the commander steadied his heart.
“It is something the Shah commanded. It must be right.”
He did not say it because his faith in Ismail was deep.
Rather, it was a statement uttered by an unconscious desire to shift responsibility onto Ismail.
Reactions like this occurred everywhere the operation was carried out, and it did not take long for word to reach Ismail’s ears.
Ismail spoke coldly to the one who reported it.
“Even if dissatisfaction is great, is there any other way?”
As Ismail’s icy gaze fixed on them, his subordinates bowed their heads deeply.
They had won battles close to impossible, but never before had they felt as powerless as they did now.
“The scorched-earth operation cannot be avoided. No matter how foolishly Yusuf’s army pushes its way down.”
He spoke boldly, but Ismail had not expected Yusuf to go this far.
In ordinary war, there was a reason armies advanced while capturing cities and fortresses, even if it was difficult.
It was because their supply lines could be cut off, and they could be isolated in enemy territory.
The movements of the Ottoman army at present went against common sense.
“Mohammad.”
At the call, Mohammad Khan Ustajlu stepped forward, and Ismail asked.
“How much food do you estimate the enemy possesses?”
Not occupying cities was the same as saying they would not establish supply lines, and if they could not plunder because of the scorched-earth operation, they would have to endure solely with the food they carried.
“Judging by the number of camels they lead, it seems they can last for about a month.”
“A month…”
By the standards of an ordinary war, supplies sufficient for a month would be nowhere near enough, but that was irrelevant to the Ottoman army at present.
They were merely passing through without fighting.
“That much would be enough for them to trample through my kingdom, would it not? In any case, once that period passes, winter will come, so they will have no choice but to return.”
“Forgive me, but yes.”
Ismail ground his teeth hard.
His ill-fated connection with Yusuf had gone on far too long, and each time, he could not shake the feeling that he was dancing in the palm of his hand.
Forcing down the terrible sense of helplessness, Ismail rose roughly from his seat.
“Muster the Qizilbash. I will take the field myself.”
“Your Majesty, please calm yourself. You must not fight yet.”
If he had not seen the power of cannon at Trabzon, he would not have opposed it.
Though they were outnumbered, they had always overcome such disadvantages and won; they would have thought this time would be no different.
But in the minds of the Qizilbash, the sight of the Samtskhe fleet sinking helplessly amid that tremendous roar remained vivid.
Without weapons like theirs, there was simply no way to wage a head-on battle.
“I have no intention of fighting a reckless battle either. But should we not at least make an effort to drive them out?”
The gates of Tabriz opened, and twenty thousand Qizilbash marched out.
∗ ∗ ∗
Turning a scorched-earth strategy back on the enemy and leading them to ruin was possible because several conditions had aligned.
Ordinarily, if troops were mustered, it could not end merely with inflicting damage on the enemy; there had to be a clear gain.
If he summoned troops simply to threaten the Safavids and force losses upon them, as he was doing now, discontent could have erupted everywhere.
‘But not this time. We gained Georgia, after all.’
Yusuf and his soldiers alike had already lined their pockets handsomely, and since they had to return anyway, taking a bit of a detour was no problem.
On top of that, no matter how boldly Yusuf trampled across Safavid lands, there was nothing Ismail could do.
Having personally experienced the Ottoman army’s firepower, Ismail would not dare to fight.
That was why there was no reason to be surprised even now, when Ismail had led his army right up to their doorstep.
“Padishah, a letter from the enemy.”
“Bring it here.”
Yusuf unfolded the letter that had been tied to an arrow and shot over, and examined its contents.
Just as Latin served as the language of refinement in Europe, Persian played that role in the Middle East; having been educated as a prince, he had no difficulty reading it.
After reading the letter, Yusuf’s lips curled upward.
“What does it say?”
“He needlessly padded it out, but the gist is simply that we should go back.”
As expected of Ismail, who was also famed for his literature, the wording was quite polished, but the conclusion was that they should not pointlessly make each other suffer and should live in peace.
Seeing that, Yusuf snorted.
“Who dared to start this in the first place, and now he says such nonsense?”
If Ismail had not attacked Trabzon, Yusuf would not have set foot on Safavid soil years ahead of schedule.
Yusuf urged his horse forward, and the soldiers quickly withdrew to either side and knelt.
Passing through the parted ranks, Yusuf looked at Ismail’s army facing them.
‘Is that Ismail?’
His face could not be seen clearly, but one man who appeared to be Ismail had stepped out ahead of the soldiers.
Though he had never met him in person, Yusuf strongly felt that it was Ismail and gave Arda an order.
“Bring the cannon forward.”
“Yes!”
At Yusuf’s command, the cannon loaded on carts were brought to the front, and Ismail’s army fell into a panic and retreated.
It was a scene that made it painfully clear just how much of a threat they considered the cannon, and Yusuf sneered.
“If you can block my path, then try it, Ismail.”
Yusuf turned his horse and returned to the camp, and the Ottoman army began marching again despite the Qizilbash threat.
The fireplay that would begin with Gyumri and stretch all the way to Diyarbakir had only just begun, and now was the time for them to feel their powerlessness in the most miserable way.