Return
There was a clear gap in strength between Yusuf’s army, rampaging across Safavid lands, and the Qizilbash led by Ismail.
Since he had no intention of conducting sieges, he had left the Urban cannons—burdensome even to drag along—in Semsi’s hands, but the cannons loaded on wagons alone numbered three hundred.
On top of that, with forty thousand Sipahis and Janissaries armed with guns, it was a force capable of waging a war of conquest as it was, so long as there were no supply problems.
Even so, the Qizilbash, watching for an opportunity like hyenas, were not an enemy he could simply ignore, and the conflict between the two sides turned into a contest of spear and shield.
“Make the preparations against night raids even more thorough!”
“Keep your wits about you!”
For Ismail, the Ottomans’ gunpowder weapons were frightening, but he was also bound by the condition that he could not afford to lose any more of the Qizilbash, his royal guard.
The Safavids, founded less than ten years ago, were still in danger of rebellion at any time, and the notorious Qizilbash served as the deterrent against revolt.
The ten thousand Qizilbash he had already lost at Trabzon were enough to make him bolt upright in his sleep; he could not lose any more.
Yusuf was aware of this as well, and he knew perfectly well that in the end, the only thing Ismail could aim for was a night raid.
‘And a night raid is hardly impossible to stop if one prepares thoroughly.’
Inflicting heavy damage on the Ottomans through a night raid, or burning their provisions, was the only method left to Ismail.
Yusuf and the Ottoman army were not so naïve as to fall victim when they knew perfectly well the enemy was aiming for a night attack.
Since a night raid could backfire and cause great losses instead, Ismail did not dare attack the Ottoman army while it was so thoroughly prepared.
“He has chosen a plight worse than shutting himself up in Tabriz.”
Yusuf sneered as he looked at the Qizilbash visible in the distance.
He was on his way to Diyarbakir, where he had abducted Tajlu, after striking Khoy, which blocked the road to Tabriz, and circling the vast salt lake called Lake Van.
All the Qizilbash had done in the meantime was trail after him, stamping their feet in frustration.
Though Arda agreed with Yusuf’s assessment, he cautiously offered his opinion.
“The fact that he does not take a reckless gamble despite his impatience is impressive in itself.”
“If he could not manage even that much, he would not have survived until now. It is only natural.”
As befitted a fine strategist, Ismail understood well when to strike and when to withdraw.
Even in the Battle of Chaldiran, which in the original history hurled him into the abyss, the result could be called a crushing defeat, but his losses amounted to only around five thousand.
Considering that the victorious Ottoman army lost two thousand, the damage was not gravely severe, and it would not be excessive to say that he at least knew when to flee.
“But will his subjects, whose villages have been reduced to ashes and who have been driven to the brink of starvation, understand that?”
At least, Yusuf had no intention of leaving things so that they would.
∗ ∗ ∗
The Ottoman army ravaged Safavid lands so thoroughly it was enough to inspire despair.
In regions that had already been devastated once before by Yusuf’s past raids, there were even places where people finally disobeyed Ismail’s orders and did not carry out the scorched-earth strategy.
However, Yusuf had no reason to quietly pass by and watch that happen, and he burned everything that entered his sight.
Unable to endure it any longer, Ismail attempted several night raids, but each time he was discovered in advance and forced to swallow the bitterness of failure.
“Shah.”
Ismail stared with bloodshot eyes at Yusuf’s army as it passed Erzincan and entered Ottoman territory.
The face of Ismail, once revered like a god, was twisted like that of a demon risen from hell, and a killing intent so dense that even the Qizilbash who had shared his hardships felt fear seeped out from him.
“…Mohamad, how severe is the damage?”
“It seems it will take at least three years to restore the northwestern lands of the kingdom. In particular, for the lands that suffered damage like last time, it is difficult to estimate the time required.”
At Mohamad’s report, Ismail coldly reached a conclusion.
“We will give up on restoring the regions that border the Ottomans.”
At Ismail’s words, those who followed him widened their eyes.
It was an unexpected conclusion, and various problems—refugees that would arise from it, worsening public sentiment, and more—were already circling through their minds.
“Is there any reason to be surprised? In any case, they will invade us again, so there is no reason to restore those lands with great effort.”
At first glance, it seemed like a rational choice, but there were many problems that would have to be endured for it.
However, there was no way Ismail was unaware of that, and if it was the Shah’s command, they could only carry it out.
“And send an envoy to Ashraf Qansuh al-Ghawri, the Sultan of the Mamluks.”
“Shah, forgive me, but were we not already refused once?”
The Mamluks’ attitude toward the Ottomans was governed by practical interest.
While checking the expanding Ottomans, they also restrained the fleets of the West, and when it came to trade, they cooperated closely.
That was why they had refused the proposal to bring down the Ottomans together, but Ismail, filled with venomous hatred, spoke with murderous intent gleaming in his eyes.
“Tell them this. If they do not help us, we will hand the western territories over to the Ottomans.”
“Shah?!”
At Ismail’s declaration, everyone could not help but start in shock.
Of course, he likely did not mean he would offer up the territory, but it was the same as saying he would not actively defend it.
“If things go wrong, even Tabriz may be in danger.”
“If necessary, I am prepared even to move the capital.”
It was a statement that revealed how great his resolve was, and it showed just how deeply this incident had shaken Ismail’s state of mind.
The fortunate thing was that Ismail was not saying this because he was steeped in defeatism.
“In any case, they cannot completely conquer our Shia kingdom.”
Even if the west were taken, the remaining territory was vast, and to conquer the Safavids completely, their supply lines would become absurdly long.
Rather, if Yusuf grew greedy and advanced, Ismail was confident he could repay the humiliation of today.
In any case, what mattered was that if the Ottomans occupied the western Safavid lands, the place they would aim for next was highly likely to be the Mamluks.
The road leading to the Mamluks would be thrown wide open. The Mamluk Sultan should know that well too.
“In the end, if only to survive, the Mamluks will have no choice but to join hands with us.”
“…I will convey the Shah’s resolve clearly to the Mamluk Sultan.”
“Even if it is disgusting, you may accept the help of those swine from Venice. Bring the Mamluks in no matter what.”
“I will keep it in mind.”
At the order to forge an alliance with the Mamluks even if it meant begging for the help of Venice, which had broken its promise and created the current situation, Mohamad accepted the command with a heavy expression.
Self-made men were usually proud, and that went without saying for Ismail, who had founded a nation at a young age.
He had already shown tremendous patience simply by sparing the Venetian envoy’s life, but now he had learned to suppress his pride and take practical gains.
“Let us go. We must return and prepare for a decisive battle against the Ottomans.”
It was the moment Ismail finally broke through the eggshell called arrogance.
∗ ∗ ∗
They had stirred up the Safavids for only a month, but because they always had to be prepared for night raids, it had been a schedule that left them with tremendous fatigue.
They had not fought a proper battle, but by the time they reached the vicinity of Trabzon, the soldiers’ condition was so haggard that one could fairly call them defeated remnants.
Even so, they had inflicted indelible damage on the Safavids, enough that this hardship did not feel meaningless, and Yusuf had gained a fearsome notoriety.
Conversely, Ismail’s authority had been eroded as he had been forced to watch the damage with his eyes open, and an ominous air began to swirl around the regions that had suffered harm.
“Beyond this point, it will depend on Hassan’s hands, will it not?”
“He is a man chosen by the Padishah, so he will never disappoint you.”
“Naturally, he had better not.”
From what Yusuf had gleaned through conversation, Hassan’s talents lay less in intelligence work and more in agitation and fabrication.
Now that the stage had been set, Hassan, harboring an intense desire for revenge, would surely run wild on his own.
After conquering Georgia and then dealing the Safavids a major blow without fighting a single battle, Yusuf set foot in Trabzon Castle, whose restoration was nearly complete, and was able to face an enormous crowd.
There were no noisy cheers.
There were only those who worshiped the Padishah.
The crowd of tens of thousands who had gathered to meet the Padishah who had won a great victory stretched all the way to the citadel of Trabzon, and they knelt in worship without daring to let out even the sound of their breathing carelessly.
The reverence flowing through the scene, as though welcoming a god, was enough to awaken emotions dried out by every manner of experience, and Yusuf tightened his grip on the reins.
‘Was this the sight I wanted to see?’
After becoming Sultan, he had taken the goal given by the system as his new objective, but compared to when he had struggled to survive as Sultan, it was merely on the level of a bucket list.
If he had instead hoped to cross over to the modern era through the choice offered as a reward, perhaps he would have been a little more desperate.
However, for Yusuf, who had already resolved to live as the Sultan of the Ottomans, such a reward was meaningless, and it was only a goal he could abandon at any time.
For Yusuf, who had been moving according to the inertia of life as Sultan, the scene before him now drew up the feelings that had secretly taken root inside him.
“Arda, it seems I truly do love this empire.”
“Padishah?”
“This is a strange thing.”
It was not as though his life after becoming Yusuf had been happy.
He had struggled under the fear that he might be killed by his brothers at any moment, and he had continued to overcome moments when his life was in danger.
Having been thrown one day into an unreasonable situation, he had always kept the words “my empire” on his lips, but he had not possessed affection to match them.
No, he had thought he did not.
“At the very least, I hope my subjects may live peaceful lives.”
It might be a selfish thought, but he did not possess enough love for humanity to work for the happiness of all mankind, nor did he have the ability to do so.
Only the thought came to him that, with his abilities, perhaps he could make the lives of those he held in his arms a little better.
“I hope they do not starve to death with empty bellies, and I hope they do not live in fear of enemy attacks.”
It was likely the kind of life most people living in this era dreamed of.
Because it was an era in which even modest wishes were difficult to realize, he felt all the more desire to create such a nation.
“Everything will be accomplished according to the Padishah’s will.”
“Yes. It must be accomplished according to my will.”
The more he thought about it, the more he realized it was by no means an easy goal.
He would have to instill such fear that they would not dare make an enemy of the empire, and he would have to tear out and remake many things within the empire itself.
It might well be easier to wage war against monsters like the ever-threatening Ismail, or Charles V, who would soon inherit a vast empire.
And yet, even so, he could not help wanting to challenge it.
“We greet the Padishah who has won a great victory.”
“Ah! Aba!”
Ayşe and Hatice knelt to welcome Yusuf, and Hasna, who somehow recognized her father despite hardly having seen him, flailed her hands.
Holding Hasna, whose cheeks had grown plump and round, in his arms, Yusuf said to his two women,
“Let us return to Kostantiniyye. There is much to be done from now on.”
Seeing the green eyes that had, at some point, come to hold boredom and coldness now shining as brightly as they had in his childhood, Ayşe felt her heart begin to pound.
More pleased by Yusuf’s change than by the fact that she was entering the heart of the empire as a concubine, Ayşe answered with a radiant face.
“Understood. I will prepare to depart.”
Yusuf, newly awakened to ambition, heralded turbulence for the empire.
∗ ∗ ∗
The country most shocked by the pirates’ attack on the Papal States was Spain.
Exchange between the Italian south, including Sicily, which Spain had absorbed, and the mainland depended entirely on sea routes.
For the Italian Wars and the stabilization of occupied territories, supplies had to move actively, and the Barbary pirates who plundered them midway were always a thorn in their side.
The news that pirates they had always kept a close watch on had attacked the Papal States meant they could attack Spanish territory at any time, and the Spanish fleet, which had been confronting the Ottomans, had only one decision to make.
“We will withdraw.”
“What are you saying? Withdraw! Do you mean pirates are more important than the infidels over there?!”
At the declaration of Hugo de Moncada, Viceroy of Sicily, the captains of the Papal States and Venice were startled and objected, but Hugo’s attitude was firm.
“What is more frightening than the infidels over there are the pirates. And we are not the only ones thinking of returning, are we?”
At Hugo’s remark, the two wore embarrassed expressions.
The fleet belonging to the Papal States, whose port had been attacked, was in a position where it was only waiting for the order to return.
Venice, which remembered being harshly beaten by the Ottomans, had no intention of maintaining the front alone if Spain and the Papal States returned.
The only reason they had tried to dissuade Spain from returning was to wait for the Pope’s decision, and Hugo left them with a warning.
“Convey this well to His Holiness. He who wants everything loses everything.”
It was a Spanish proverb that cut straight to the situation of the Papal States.
They surely disliked the new sultan, who was known as a prophet and was undermining the authority of Christianity, and they likely wished to check the expanding Ottomans as well.
However, the situation in Italy was not one in which they could afford to turn their eyes outward.
Leaving behind words that pointed this out, Hugo led his fleet back, and in the end, the remaining two powers also chose to withdraw.
It was tantamount to giving up on directly checking the Ottomans, and having confirmed this, Kemal Reis also returned.
About a month had passed since the capital regained stability thanks to the fleet that had returned without major losses.
An unusual atmosphere settled over the peaceful Bosporus Strait.
“From this moment on, all ships are forbidden to depart.”
“At least explain what is going on! A sudden ban on departures?”
“Departure is forbidden. If you resist, you may be executed on the spot.”
It was true that Kostantiniyye’s trade had declined compared to the days of the Eastern Roman Empire, but even diminished, it was still Kostantiniyye.
The soldiers who occupied the normally bustling port rested their hands on their weapons, and even sailors, rough men second to none, did not dare raise their voices carelessly before the soldiers’ momentum.
Beside a merchant who was asking those around him what the reason was and looking bewildered, a captain he was usually close with spat and said,
“This is not merely a ban on departures. Can’t you see over there?”
Beyond the port where departures had been forbidden floated three or four ships, warships that anyone who traveled for trade could not help but recognize.
At the sight of those warships floating there as if they would attack anyone who ignored the orders and put to sea, the merchant’s eyes widened in surprise.
“The Bosporus Strait itself is being controlled. Not a single ship has passed through the strait since earlier.”
“What on earth has happened for the soldiers to block it so fiercely?”
“It is not that something has happened. Someone is coming. It seems the quick-witted have already realized it, don’t you think?”
As he said, there were those who complained that departure had been blocked, while others wore faintly excited expressions.
In particular, those who appeared to be sailors gathered in clusters and headed somewhere.
The captain gave the merchant’s shoulder a tap, and the merchant, struck by an arm as thick as his thigh, staggered slightly. Laughing heartily at the sight, the captain said,
“Who else would be important enough to close even the port? The Padishah is returning.”
If it was the master of the empire, this uproar was understandable.
The merchant, still inexperienced, did not know whether they had done this for other sultans of past generations as well, but considering the current sultan’s reputation within the empire, it did not feel excessive.
Though not much time had passed since his enthronement, the support of his subjects was so firm that if one so much as uttered a small complaint about the sultan, one might be found dead under suspicious circumstances the next day.
“So what will you do? If you want even to glimpse the Padishah’s feet, you must move now.”
“Is there any need to go to a place where one wrong move could cost me my head?”
“What kind of person is the Padishah? Is he not one with whom Allah walks? If I see even his feet, I may share in that grace and achieve a safe voyage. Do as you like. I am going.”
No matter that the Mediterranean was a comparatively safe inland sea, sailing was always dangerous, and seafarers always sailed with their lives on the line.
For that very reason, they were the sort to believe in all kinds of jinxes and superstitions.
Not only sailors who held the same belief as the captain, but also the people living in the capital gathered to witness the sultan’s return.
A large galley flying the sultan’s banner docked at the port.
It was the return of the great Padishah.
∗ ∗ ∗
The road from the harbor on the Golden Horn to Topkapi Palace was short, less than one kilometer, but the crowd gathered along that brief path was immense.
It was far too large a crowd to have gathered simply because of the successful conquest of Georgia and the retaliation against the Safavids.
Even the two women, who were fairly accustomed to such welcomes, widened their eyes, and Hasna, held in her father’s arms, blinked and blinked.
“Does it amaze you? But this is not a cheer you will ever receive.”
Those kneeling packed both sides of the road he passed, and voices praising the sultan rang out loudly.
This was a welcome that only the master of the empire could receive, and in the Ottomans, a woman could not become the master of the empire.
Of course, in other countries, there had been cases of sultanas, female sultans, appearing from time to time, but the possibility of a female sultan being born in the Ottoman Empire, either before or after, was slim.
Looking at Hasna, who stared up at him, Yusuf lifted the corners of his mouth slightly.
“Still, if those who adore you were lined up, perhaps they might form a road as long as the one we just passed.”
He did not know how great Hasna’s charm would be, but with her high status added in, it seemed possible.
Of course, the phrase “a beauty who topples nations” did not exist for nothing, and in this era, it was hard for a woman overflowing with charm to live a smooth life.
But having become the Ottoman sultan, he was not in a position to worry over problems that might arise because of a mere woman; he only had to enjoy watching his daughter’s future.
‘As long as Charles V does not fall for Hasna, there should be no problem.’
While he was briefly thinking of Hasna, they entered Topkapi Palace, where a crowd led by two children welcomed him.
“Father, have you returned safely?”
“I missed you!”
Unlike Mehmed’s calm greeting, Murad’s bright smile as he threw himself into Yusuf’s arms clearly showed the difference in their dispositions.
After lightly patting both their heads, Yusuf tapped the shoulders of the two boys, who kept stealing glances at their mothers.
“They are faces you have not seen for a long time, are they not? Go on.”
Once Yusuf’s permission was given, the two scampered over to Ayşe and Hatice.
Smiling lightly at the sight, Yusuf asked the Grand Vizier, Hersekzade Ahmed Pasha,
“Grand Vizier, has anything happened in the meantime?”
“Thanks to Allah’s watchful grace, there were no major problems, but Mengli Giray passed away not long ago.”
“Mengli?”
He had been half-forced down from the throne of the Crimean Khanate, and after the news that his eldest son had died, he had been wasting away; in the end, it seemed he had not been able to endure.
“Send his body to the Crimean Khanate. Saadet should be allowed to hold the funeral.”
Saadet was not a fool, so he would surely make political use of it on his own.
Aside from Mengli’s death, there was no special news, and Yusuf turned his head toward his family, who had enjoyed their reunion.
“Ayşe, Hatice.”
“Yes, Padishah.”
“What do you intend to do? Will you go to the harem?”
At Yusuf’s question, the two gave the same answer.
“We will pay our respects to Valide Hatun and inform her that we have returned safely.”
“If the Padishah permits, I would like to go first to the harem where I will be staying from now on.”
“You may do as you wish. And Mehmed, Murad. You two are also to live in the harem from now on.”
He was going to have busy days ahead, and there was a high chance he would not be able to pay much attention to the two of them.
In that case, it was better to have them live in the harem.
Of course, they could remain there only until puberty, so that period would not be long.
“I will follow your will.”
“Understood!”
His family left for the harem, and Yusuf, returning alone to the Third Courtyard, sank into the chair where he always sat.
Yusuf looked around his bedchamber.
Because he had been away for quite a long time, it had become slightly unfamiliar, but the scenery was unchanged.
‘I gained a great deal through this conquest.’
He had obtained the lands of Georgia, where Şemsi was working to stabilize matters, and by confiscating the nobles’ property, he had also gained financial benefit as additional income.
On top of that, by devastating the western part of Safavid territory, he had hobbled Ismail.
“And as a bonus, I gained 40 points for the conquest of Georgia.”
Of the 100 points he had gained upon enthronement as sultan, 80 points had remained, and when the new year came, he had gained an additional 40 points thanks to variolation.
Altogether, he had gathered a total of 160 points, enough to buy a new trait.
He had spent a long time wondering what trait to buy, and the one he ultimately chose was “exceptional immunity.”
“If I keep going on campaigns like this, the most frightening thing will be disease.”
Going on campaign placed one in an environment perfectly suited to falling ill.
Water to drink was scarce, so there were countless people around who could not wash, and since they wandered through unfamiliar foreign lands, the chances of contracting an endemic disease were high as well.
Having that trait did not mean he would never get sick, but the fact that it would reduce the likelihood was valuable enough.
After all, even Selim of the original history was often said to have died from the anthrax he contracted while on campaign.
As Yusuf thought of the next expedition, his eyes filled with killing intent.
“And next time, I must kill Ismail without fail. He has become far too dangerous.”
The Ismail of the original history had lacked patience.
Even after going so far as to use scorched-earth tactics to wear down the Ottoman army, Ismail was the one who had prattled on about chivalry, fought a pitched battle, and been crushed.
But the Ismail of the present had enough patience to endure suffering damage in vain.
It was a more dangerous change than expected, and if he failed to kill him in the next campaign, there was a high chance he would return as an even greater monster.
“If they get in my way, I will fight the Mamluks as well.”
His green eyes held a blazing heat.
∗ ∗ ∗
Peace did not come to the harem simply because the sultan was absent.
No new woman had risen in status by newly receiving the sultan’s favor, but there were already women who had received that favor.
In the harem, where the power struggle between the two women who had taken the positions of favored concubines was in full swing, a new wave struck.
“You must have had a difficult journey coming all this way.”
“I am relieved to see you in good health, Valide Hatun.”
The women of the harem looked slightly surprised when they saw Fatima, wearing a benevolent expression as she held the hands of the two women.
Fatima, the Valide Hatun, was a woman who clearly showed what kind of woman could survive in the harem.
Behind her smiling face, a blade was hidden, and even the words she let slip lightly carried a heavy meaning beneath them.
They had never dreamed that such a woman could smile so kindly, and when they thought that this was the difference between the two Hatun and themselves, shadows fell across the women’s faces.
“From now on, this is where you will live. Are you satisfied?”
At Fatima’s question, Ayşe leisurely looked over the women one by one.
When those green eyes, the same as the Valide Hatun’s, swept over their bodies, even the fierce women of the harem could not help but tremble.
“I do like this place. Though it seems there are many here who fall short of being women of the Padishah.”
“Hatice Hatun, what about you?”
“From now on, I will assist the Valide Hatun and see to it that they are properly educated.”
At the two women’s answers, the Valide Hatun smiled brightly and replied.
“I shall watch how you educate them.”
“Please trust us and leave it to us.”
“We will not disappoint you.”
At the conversation between the three women, the women of the harem, including the two favored concubines, turned pale.
It heralded new turmoil in the harem.
∗ ∗ ∗
“Baba Oruç, say that again. Who did you say these two bastards were?”
“One of them said he was a Venetian envoy, and according to himself, the other is a useful sculptor named Michelangelo.”
“These two bastards, looking like beggars?”
Looking at the two men with soot-blackened faces and shabby clothes, Yusuf pondered briefly.
‘…Are they impostors?’
They looked that utterly untrustworthy.