Justification?
Ismail looked up at the sky.
When he let out a breath like a sigh, a faint plume of white vapor scattered like drifting clouds.
In Ismail’s eyes, as he looked down over the panorama of Tabriz, he could faintly see people scooping last night’s fallen snow into tubs before it melted.
Before long, what they would be gathering in those tubs would not be snow, but rain, and that meant war was not far off.
“What are you thinking so deeply about?”
At the question from Mohammad Khan Ustajlu, the subordinate he favored most, Ismail answered.
“I was remembering that day. The day I first saw his fleet.”
That day, when a thunderous roar had sounded just as they were on the verge of reaching their goal, remained vivid in Ismail’s mind.
The sight of Samtskhe’s fleet being swallowed helplessly into the sea had left him with a terrible sense of powerlessness, and it was the moment he had begun to doubt himself.
For it had seemed as though, at the very moment he needed only take one final step, Allah had abandoned him and raised the hand of that damned Yusuf instead.
Ustajlu, understanding Ismail’s heart, spoke as if to console him.
“This time, we too have firearms like theirs. Allah will smile upon us this time.”
“Yes, this time we have them too.”
He did not care for those Venetians who had ruined everything, but he had imported their firearms nonetheless.
There were only two hundred cannons, but considering the advantage of defense, it was not a force to be taken lightly.
On top of that, by pouring in every available resource, they had prepared nearly two thousand matchlock guns as well.
This time, he had every reason to be confident, and yet his heart pounded harder than it had when he had fought tens of thousands of enemies who had blackened the grasslands with only seven thousand cavalry.
“Through this war, I must prove it. That I am the one chosen by Allah.”
“Do not worry. Allah, who has led the Shah to this place, will not turn His back on you.”
“Naturally, that must be so.”
If it were not, it would feel as though his entire life had been denied.
Ismail, who had been looking down at the kingdom he had built with heavy eyes, turned away.
“Have you sent back the envoy from Kabul?”
“Yes. I informed the envoy sent by Babur of the current situation and sent him back.”
If not for the war, he would have accepted the proposal to occupy together the lands of Shaybani, whom he had killed before, but right now he had no room to spare.
He had not even granted him an audience, which was no different from turning him away at the door, but someone more important than an envoy from far away had arrived, so it could not be helped.
Ustajlu asked about the matter he had not heard while meeting the envoy.
“Did they say it is proceeding according to plan?”
“It was not a complete success. Ramadan showed a lukewarm response, while Dulkadir said they would aid us.”
“Dulkadir did?”
Ustajlu asked back, sounding somewhat surprised.
It had not even been five years since Dulkadir, their capital, had been reduced to ruins by Ismail’s hand.
Elbistan had been so devastated that they had even had to move their capital, and yet they were joining hands with them. It was hard to understand.
“It is because that old man fears his nephew, who is in the hands of the Ottomans. It means that, if it is to protect his power, he can turn a blind eye to the suffering of his own subjects.”
Ismail sneered.
The Ottomans, who had aided him at the time, had lost one prince and thousands of soldiers, and yet that black-hearted old man had repaid goodwill with betrayal all too easily.
It was an act utterly devoid of faith, but it did not matter. Even a beast of a man was enough if he proved useful.
“If they plunder the Ottoman supplies, we will have considerably more leeway.”
“It will be an unexpected attack, so it will be all the more devastating. In any case, the core of this war will be a war of supplies.”
If an army could not even be supplied properly while passing through the desolate western lands, it would collapse more easily than expected.
The outcome of this war would depend on how well they could sever the supply lines.
∗ ∗ ∗
Kayseri.
A city located on a plateau more than one thousand meters above sea level, and during the age of the Crusades it had also been the capital of a small kingdom.
If one turned one’s head, from anywhere in the region one could see Mount Erciyes, the symbol of the area, 3,916 meters high and piled thick with eternal snow.
“Ugh, it’s cold.”
Winter had not yet fully passed, so the cold was enough to make one shudder, and the flock of sheep huddled together as they grazed.
Just as the shepherd, the tip of his nose red, was blowing on his hands to drive away the cold, the rough sound of horses’ hooves came to his ears.
Baa-aa!
Woof! Woof!
As the ground trembled, the flock of sheep, as if sensing danger, tried to scatter, and the sheepdogs ran this way and that, driving the flock into one place.
The cavalry galloping toward him, kicking up the unmelted snow, might well have been frightening, but the shepherd waited for them calmly, not even tightening his grip on the staff in his hand.
It was a situation he had already experienced several times.
As the shepherd expected, the roughly two hundred cavalrymen stopped in front of him and raised their voices.
“Let me ask you something. Has the Padishah already arrived?”
It was a question he had already heard several times, and the shepherd gave the answer he had repeated each time.
“Of course. Even in winter, people have been gathering in the city to see the Padishah.”
“What about the others! Have many other sipahis gathered as well?!”
“There isn’t even room to set foot around the castle anymore.”
“Damn it!”
At the shepherd’s answer, the sipahis hurriedly seized their reins and hastened onward.
That was why the shepherd was not particularly worried, even though soldiers on the move were not much different from bands of thieves.
On the road to Kayseri, it was not difficult to see sipahis moving in units of hundreds and thousands, and Kayseri, where they had gathered, was truly bustling.
“What is the state of assembly?”
At Yusuf’s question as he looked out beyond Kayseri Castle from atop the walls, the Grand Vizier answered cautiously.
“My apologies, Padishah. Only about half, roughly thirty thousand, have assembled so far. It seems it will take more time for the azabs to gather.”
“Enough. There is no reason to blame you.”
Because winter had not yet fully passed, there were many places throughout Anatolia where snow still lay, and it was only natural that gathering would take more time.
It was not for nothing that he had taken ships to reduce overland travel, despite having to move a greater distance as a result.
“It cannot be helped that gathering will take time, but strictly forbid quarrels between soldiers once they have assembled.”
“I will warn the commanders once more.”
Outside Kayseri, thirty thousand sipahis and ten thousand central troops were encamped. Though this was only half of the total force, the area outside the castle was already crowded.
When hot-blooded men were gathered together like that, trouble was bound to arise, and since many of them were confident in their strength, most disputes ended in fights.
If they were not managed with strict discipline, it would turn into a complete mess in an instant.
‘Sixty thousand sipahis, ten thousand central troops, and around forty thousand azabs. As for the navy, ten thousand.’
There were more than ninety thousand sipahis registered under the timar system, but it was not possible to mobilize all of them.
They needed sipahis to guard the fortresses of the homeland and to collect revenues in place of the sipahis who had gone on campaign.
Of course, a total force of one hundred and twenty thousand was not small, but when considering the troops that would be diverted to logistics to maintain the supply lines, they had to consider themselves outnumbered by the enemy.
Moreover, the more land they occupied, the longer the supply lines would grow, and since they would have to leave troops behind to maintain public order, the available forces would shrink even further.
“Has everyone gathered in the council hall?”
“Yes. They are all waiting only for the Padishah to arrive.”
“Then let us go.”
Kayseri derived its name from Caesarea, meaning the emperor’s road in the days of ancient Rome, and it had a deep history, to the point that the Apostle Paul had once been active there.
As such, there were many old buildings, and the castle where he was currently staying was also a sturdy fortress redolent with the scent of time.
Having already stayed there for about a week, Yusuf moved through the now-familiar castle and entered the council hall, where all the assembled retainers paid their respects.
Yusuf sat in the highest seat and spoke to the retainers kneeling before him.
“All of you, rise.”
At Yusuf’s command, those who filled the council hall stood.
Though the council hall was fairly spacious, there were so many people that it felt packed.
There were many who had followed him from the capital, such as the Grand Vizier, the viziers, and the Janissaries, but there were also quite a few sanjakbeys.
Since a sanjakbey usually participated in war while leading around two to three thousand sipahis, there were about thirteen sanjakbeys here alone, and even that was only half of them.
Some sanjakbeys were familiar from the last conquest of Georgia, while there were also several he was seeing for the first time.
“Grand Vizier.”
“Yes, Padishah.”
“What do you think is the most important thing for us to win this war?”
“I believe the outcome of this war depends on supplies.”
“You are right.”
This was a simple question, simple enough that even a Janissary trainee who had yet to see real battle could answer it.
“The Safavids, whom we must occupy first, may have obtained cannons, but their main force is still cavalry. There is no way they will simply remain holed up in their castles.”
The true strength of the Qizilbash emerged when they held the reins, so expending them in siege warfare would be a waste of power.
However, just because they came charging out of the castles did not mean they would fight a full-scale battle against the Ottomans.
“The Safavids and the Mamluks will doggedly harass our supply lines. It will be the surest way for them to win.”
The importance of supplies was greater for the attacker than for the defender, and it was obvious they would cling to that point tenaciously.
But if they committed many troops to logistics because they feared enemies attacking the supply lines, it would only put the cart before the horse.
At Yusuf’s words, the Grand Vizier asked cautiously.
“What wise plan does the Padishah have in mind?”
“First, what answers did Dulkadir and Ramadan give?”
“Ramadan said they cannot participate in this war. They said that, if we wish, they can open Mersin to us, but no more than two hundred soldiers may enter the city.”
“And Dulkadir?”
“They are similar. They expressed reluctance to participate in the war, saying the damage they suffered from the last Safavid attack was too great. However, they said they would allow our logistics units to pass through.”
At this reply, Yusuf twisted the corners of his mouth.
“Both emirates are treating us like fools. Fearlessly, no less. Wouldn’t you say?”
An emirate was a state that, in Western cultural terms, could be called a principality; in Arabic it was called an imarah, and in English, an emirate.
The modern United Arab Emirates was also named for the union of seven emirates.
In any case, between the Ottomans and the Mamluks were two emirates that served as buffers, Ramazan and Dulkadir.
Ramazan was a state that included the port of Mersin, while Dulkadir was a landlocked state.
Because of these two countries, the Ottomans and the Mamluks did not share a border.
“Both have long been countries where Mamluk influence is strong, but Dulkadir giving up on avenging themselves against the Safavids looks suspicious.”
“They are insolent, Padishah, but as long as we can maintain our supply route, it will not be too late to punish them afterward.”
At this, Yusuf gave a cold smile.
“If the Dulkadir dogs keep their promise properly, that is.”
“Surely Dulkadir would not betray us after seeing what happened to Georgia?”
“The world is wide, and fools are many. Is that not so, Ali Bey?”
Ali Bey, nephew of Bozkurt Bey, the ruler of Dulkadir, bowed his head deeply in agreement.
Even in the original history, Bozkurt had been the sort of man who cut off and plundered the Ottoman supply route because of his nephew Ali Bey, so the possibility was more than sufficient.
Of course, since history had changed, Bozkurt’s actions might change as well.
‘It doesn’t matter. It is better to remove any bud that might become a danger from the very beginning.’
He was not such a fool as to leave a danger alone and then get stabbed in the back later.
“The same goes for Ramazan. If we merely occupy that place, we can shorten our supply route with certainty.”
Considering the port of Mersin, and the fact that they would no longer need to pass through the highlands of Kayseri, it was an enormous gain.
Realizing that Yusuf had made up his mind to occupy both emirates, the grand vizier spoke.
“In that case, a justification will be important.”
“A justification. Yes, it is important. Bring Hasan in.”
At Yusuf’s command, a Janissary went outside and brought in a man.
It was Hasan, who had wandered barren lands for nearly two years under the curse of his name, and Yusuf asked Hasan, who knelt and paid his respects.
“Are all the preparations complete?”
“Yes. A noble of Dulkadir has pledged to attack our scouts. We have arranged for there to be no casualties on our side, so there is no need to worry.”
A justification?
If there was none, one simply had to make one.
After all, playing the victim was not a difficult thing.
∗ ∗ ∗
The Mamluk cavalrymen, wearing splendid helmets that covered even their cheeks, changed direction at their commander’s signal, then twisted their bodies and shot arrows backward.
The arrows flew straight without a single one tumbling, proving just how well-trained the cavalrymen were, but the Mamluk sultan watching the scene kept his lips tightly shut, as though displeased.
At this, a Royal Mamluk following him asked cautiously.
“Sultan, why is your mood so troubled?”
The position of Mamluk sultan was not passed down by blood, but took the form of being elected from among the Mamluks whose base was the Cairo Citadel.
They did not hesitate even to assassinate others to become sultan, and among those who climbed to that seat, there were none who were not ruthless, and none who were incompetent.
In a place where even those who ascended the throne in this way failed to last an average of seven years before losing their lives, the current sultan, who had maintained power for over ten years already, was by no means incompetent.
The sultan, whose beard had been black when he ascended the throne at the age of sixty but had now turned pure white, glared at the other man with a sinister face.
“Do not dare try to peer into my mind.”
“F-forgive me, Sultan.”
The sultan coldly passed by the Mamluk who begged for forgiveness.
Mamluks were beings who could turn into political enemies at any moment, while at the same time being indispensable for maintaining power.
‘That is precisely why this is all the more not something I can say to them.’
The reason he had not been able to introduce the matchlock guns that not only the Ottomans but even the Safavids had adopted was because of the Mamluk cavalry.
To the Mamluks, who maintained their power through force, matchlock units that became excellent fighting forces after only a short training period were a threat that would shake their authority.
If he said he would introduce matchlock units, he would lose his life at their hands in less than half a year.
The sultan looked back at the Mamluks training.
Beneath their bodies covered in splendid animal skins lay chain mail, and the horses they rode wore expensive barding.
Ordinarily, and especially in war, they would have looked reliable, but today they felt endlessly insufficient. Just then, a subordinate came running swiftly.
“Sultan! Urgent news!”
Sensing the urgent report, the sultan asked.
“…Have they finally moved?”
“They have! The Ottoman army has begun its advance. Their direction appears to be Diyarbakir!”
It was news announcing the beginning of war.
∗ ∗ ∗
Warm spring had arrived, and as the frozen earth thawed, the plains were dyed green.
The time had come to begin planting crops in earnest, and a farmer moving with a sack of seeds on his back tilted his head and put his ear to the ground.
The sound he had heard faintly became clear through the earth, and the man raised his head with a startled expression.
“Wh-what in the world is going on?!”
The shocked farmer lifted his head, and in the far distance, he could faintly see a cloud of dust rising.
As if the village had already seen that sight as well, a dull bell rang out, and the man hurriedly grabbed his sack and fled back to the village.
After climbing up to the village, which stood on ground slightly higher than the surrounding area, the man could clearly see what he had witnessed.
“Allah.”
The man called upon God in a low voice.
As the sun set and dusk fell, the broad grassland was gradually being swallowed by an enormous force.
The man, who had spent his whole life in a small village where barely a hundred people lived, had never in his life seen so many people.
The cavalrymen riding at the front moved like a thick castle wall in motion.
And the infantry and herds of camels trailing behind them in long lines felt like a city he had only ever imagined.
For a moment, the man was overwhelmed by their numbers, then spoke in a trembling voice.
“Sh-shouldn’t we run?”
“Where to?!”
It was an army that seemed as though it would leave only ruins behind if it simply trampled over the village, and fear spread rapidly.
Though they had never encountered an army of that size, an army was sometimes something that became more frightening than a band of bandits.
As if they had heard the villagers’ hope that they would simply pass without incident, the army passed the village by in the distance.
It was a force so vast that it took about an hour to disappear completely, and only then did the villagers finally let out sighs of relief.
However, half a day later, when the villagers saw the main force, even larger than the troops that had gone ahead, they had to live in fear for some time.
It was because people who had only heard rumors of war were now feeling its reality in earnest.
Yusuf, the very person who had plunged southeastern Anatolia into terror, stroked the mane of the horse he was riding.
“As expected, marching is torture.”
Yusuf had already participated in several wars, but marching was never easy.
Even when it came to food, no matter how many cooks accompanied them, it was shabby compared to the food he ate at Topkapi Palace.
If this were the capital, the cooks’ heads would probably have flown hundreds of times over.
As for water, if they could not obtain clean water during the march, it was far better to simply drink wine.
Eating and drinking were not the only problems.
Within a unit on the march were not only people, but horses, camels, and even sheep being driven along as provisions. Many livestock were included.
Thanks to that, the places the troops passed through could fairly be described as fields of dung, and people who could not wash properly gave off unpleasant smells.
It meant there were frequent moments when he hated his sense of smell.
When Yusuf grumbled lightly, the grand vizier following beside him laughed softly.
“I have lived a long life and gone to many battlefields, but it is never an easy thing. Still, since the Padishah is with them, would that not be why the soldiers find strength?”
When the ruler personally went on campaign, it was only natural that more troops could be mobilized and morale would rise even higher.
Since Yusuf, who already received great support among the Ottoman subjects, had personally taken to the field, morale was soaring without knowing the limits of the sky.
“It is good that morale is high, but what matters more is maintaining that morale.”
There was no romance in war.
During the First World War, Europeans who entered the war with romantic ideas were confronted with the terrible realities of war.
One needed only look at how European culture had, in large part, taken on a pessimistic and cynical atmosphere to understand.
Even in this era, when the value of human rights and life was relatively low, fear of death was the same.
“Is not the best way to maintain morale to win?”
At these words, Yusuf raised one corner of his mouth.
“And when it comes to giving them a taste of victory, there are no easier opponents than Dulkadir and Ramazan.”
The Safavids were gathering troops around Diyarbakir and Tabriz, while the Mamluks had assembled in their northernmost city, Halab.
Halab meant milk in Arabic, and it was a place associated with an anecdote in which the Apostle Abraham gave his sheep’s milk to hungry people.
In any case, the Mamluk forces gathered in this place, called Aleppo in the West, were estimated to number roughly fifty thousand.
Neither the Mamluks nor the Safavids were opponents against whom victory could easily be guaranteed.
“If we occupy Dulkadir’s Aintab and keep the Mamluks in check, conquering the Safavids will become far easier.”
Aintab was the place that, in the twentieth century, would gain the title of Gazi (protector) and become Gaziantep after three hundred militiamen fought a desperate eleven-month battle against five thousand enemy soldiers to defend it.
It was an appropriate land from which to keep the Mamluks in check.
“Then it only needs to proceed well according to plan.”
Receiving Yusuf’s gaze, Hasan bowed his head deeply.
“You need not worry.”
“See that I do not have to.”
Receiving Yusuf’s sharp gaze, Hasan nodded with a firm expression.
The preparations were perfect, and there was nothing at all that could become a problem.
∗ ∗ ∗
When the main force led by Yusuf arrived near Elbistan, which was already half in ruins, the sipahis moving ahead had reached the vicinity of Malatya.
Including the logistics units managing supplies and spare horses, it was a great army numbering nearly forty thousand.
Most did not know that Bozkurt had resolved to strike the Ottomans in the back, but the men of power in Dulkadir watched these movements closely.
For just as a lion inspires fear even when it is inside a cage, they could not help but be afraid even knowing it would not attack.
Moreover, since Yusuf was the very man who had laid waste to the west of the fearsome Safavids, their fear was all the greater.
On top of that, the Ottoman army deliberately added to their unease.
“I need to inspect the condition of the livestock. Move aside!”
“Goodness, how could we possibly cheat a sanjak bey, my lord?”
The sanjak bey, who was buying sheep for food and renting camels to transport supplies from the merchants of Dulkadir, sneered at those words.
“What exactly am I supposed to see in you Dulkadir bastards that would make me trust you?”
“Pardon? How could you say such a thing…”
As the merchant’s eyes darted about in bewilderment, the sanjak bey spat roughly.
“Hmph. When you lot were attacked by the Safavid bastards, we helped you, and now what are you doing for us? Far from helping, you are merely standing by and watching.”
Among the justifications Yusuf had publicly put forward for attacking the Safavids was the death of his own brother at the hands of the Qizilbash.
A man of noble blood had died while helping Dulkadir, yet they were not even helping with his revenge. There was no way such conduct would look favorable.
Fortunately, the transaction was completed normally, but the merchant, who had been subjected to the murderous gazes of the sipahis, went back and spread the story.
As an ominous air gradually spread throughout Dulkadir, the sipahis in charge of scouting encountered a group of men.
“Is it them?”
“Yes, Subashi.”
In peacetime, the subashi of the sipahis assisted the sanjak bey in major cities, serving a role akin to a chief of police; in wartime, he commanded troops by the hundreds.
Having received confirmation, Anil looked toward the other side.
They could not communicate, but he could clearly see the hardened faces of men who appeared to be nomadic warriors.
“Everyone knows our mission, I trust?”
At Anil’s question, a sipahi with a sly smile answered.
“We’ll make sure to get injured just enough. Do not worry.”
“Let’s finish this properly and eat our fill of mutton. There’s nothing like meat for healing wounds, is there?”
“I’ll make sure you eat your fill.”
Anil smiled lightly at his cheering subordinates and clenched his tense hand tight.
The task they had been given was not difficult.
They were not putting their lives on the line; they only had to leave wounds that made it look as if they had suffered losses.
There was no coward among the sipahis who feared getting a wound on his body, so it was something they could do with a laugh.
‘His Padishah is watching this matter. We must succeed no matter what.’
If this failed and Yusuf was disappointed, Anil did not even want to imagine what would happen afterward.
The roughly two hundred enemies seemed to have steeled themselves as well, and they began leading their horses forward, slowly increasing speed. Anil drew his sword.
“Let’s go!”
Having already heard that there were several witnesses nearby, the sipahis increased their speed, and the forces of both sides, spread out widely, soon collided.
Clang!
When the two swung swords met, a groan burst through clenched teeth along with the shock.
Anil endured the recoil and slammed his shoulder into his opponent, causing the man to lose his balance and stagger.
As he drove his sword toward the opening, a burning pain flared, and the briny smell of blood spread into the air.
“Damn it!”
Feeling blood stream down his forearm, Anil slashed at the side of the opponent who had barely managed to regain his balance.
After one clash, the sipahis passed by, wheeled their horses around, and collided with the enemy once again.
They avoided truly dangerous attacks against each other, but it did not take long before the leather armor they wore was stained with blood in several places.
And then the accident occurred when their bodies had grown hot from spilled blood and the heat of battle.
“Kuh?! Why, why?”
An excited horse moved and struck the opposing horse, and the sword whose direction had shifted in that instant pierced a sipahi’s chest.
The man who had been wearing a sly smile only moments before flailed with a startled expression, and when the sword that had run him through was pulled free, he toppled straight to the ground.
“%@#!!”
When the convulsing sipahi soon breathed his last, the warrior gripping the bloodstained sword waved his hand as if flustered.
But in the eyes of the sipahis who saw their fallen comrade, sparks flew.
“Kill them all!”
∗ ∗ ∗
“Seventeen of our men dead, and fifty enemies killed. You fought well. Wouldn’t you say?”
At Yusuf’s icy question, Hasan’s body began to tremble.
“In consideration of your past efforts, I will not take your life. Bring them all in.”
There was no need to say whom he meant.
As Yusuf withdrew his gaze from Hasan, who hurriedly left his place, the grand vizier spoke.
“Was the original plan not to accept sacrifices among our own men? If we consider only the pretext, this is far better.”
“I know. I simply feel displeased. Grand Vizier.”
“Yes, Padishah.”
“Tell Bozkurt that I have received his declaration of war.”
∗ ∗ ∗
“What sort of damned nonsense is this?!”
Bozkurt clutched his head.
Unable to even crumple the paper in his hand, Bozkurt shouted.
It had not even been a few hours since he had heard the news that a battle had broken out between the Ottoman army and a tribe under his command.
He had not yet even grasped the exact situation, but when he saw the personal letter brought by the Ottoman envoy, his mind went blank.
‘A declaration of war?! By us?’
Bozkurt was so timid that when the Safavids attacked, he had fled without resisting even once.
He had not intended to clash head-on with the Ottoman army, not even for something as relatively easy as plundering supplies. This was, quite literally, a bolt from the blue.
Since there were dead on both sides, he could not even properly deny it.
The Ottoman envoy who heard Bozkurt’s shout growled.
“Did you just call the Padishah’s words damned nonsense?”
“Th-that is not what I meant!”
“Then are you saying my ears have gone deaf and I heard nonsense?”
The life of an envoy who had come to deliver a declaration of war was already halfway in Allah’s embrace, but the envoy, who had come prepared for death, spoke in an overbearing tone.
Cornered, Bozkurt was seized by a fierce urge to cut off the envoy’s head, but he knew well that if he put it into action, there would truly be no turning back.
Exercising patience, he quickly changed the subject.
“That is not what matters right now. What do you mean, we declared war? Were our losses not greater?”
“That is because you are incompetent.”
At the envoy’s sneering words, Bozkurt was left speechless.
They had been about twice as numerous as the Ottomans, yet the exchange ratio had been around three to one, so no rebuttal came to mind.
As injustice welled up in his aged face, the envoy continued.
“What matters is that our forces suffered losses. I trust you will not spout some nonsense about a force of roughly two hundred men merely passing by.”
“That is something I do not know either.”
“How truly incompetent of you.”
At the envoy’s immediate retort, Bozkurt’s hands trembled with rage.
A thought even sprang up within him that, even if he could not kill the man, perhaps taking an arm or a leg would be all right.
In place of his father, who looked ready to explode at any moment, his son Shahruh Bey hurriedly stepped forward.
Attacking an envoy who seemed madly intent on dying would only add to the Ottomans’ pretext.
“I understand that the Padishah is enraged. But think about it. How could we attack an Ottoman army we had permitted to pass through? If we were truly going to attack, we would have laid an ambush.”
Logically speaking, Shahruh’s words were correct.
If they were going to provoke his displeasure and openly declare war, the normal course of action would have been to set a trap and inflict heavy losses.
To Shahruh’s reasonable words, the envoy answered coldly.
“How are we to know why you did such a thing? And I am merely a messenger conveying the Padishah’s words.”
“…Did you truly have to come out like this? We will compensate the victims sufficiently.”
“The Padishah said this. If you spoke so, I was to answer thus.”
At those words, the envoy twisted his lips.
“The price of blood can only be paid in blood.”
“Blood only calls for more blood!”
He shouted a common Arab proverb, but the envoy, having already said all he had to say, turned away and left his final words.
“It is too late. The Padishah has already moved.”
The personal letter that Bozkurt had not dared crumple in front of the envoy was crushed mercilessly.
Like the future of Dulkadir.
∗ ∗ ∗
Rough clouds of dust rose into the air.
The roughly ten thousand sipahis took only a few days’ worth of provisions and swiftly headed south.
One might have expected them to complain about the forced march that had continued for nearly three days, but there was not the slightest discontent in their minds.
“The place His Padishah spoke of is not far!”
Dukaginzade Ahmed Pasha, the beylerbey of Anatolia, calculated the remaining distance.
The reason he had headed south with only ten thousand soldiers from among the forty thousand troops moving as the vanguard was that Aintab had to be occupied quickly.
‘We must occupy it before word reaches Aintab.’
If they failed to occupy Aintab in time, Bozkurt might flee to the Mamluks, and the Mamluks might seize the place first.
It was a key stronghold that would block the Mamluks’ northward advance, so if it were taken from them, they might cause the Sultan great disappointment.
At the thought that they might, by one misstep, become the main culprits who ruined the plan, the sipahis rode without showing any sign of fatigue and arrived at their target.
“That must be it.”
Having reached the destination by way of a rough road not formally built, but formed solely by the passage of people’s feet, Dukaginzade raised his head.
The city was small overall.
Judging by the number of households, the total population seemed to be, at most, under three thousand.
Of course, if one included the surrounding farmers they had passed during the march, the number would increase, but even then, the population would not amount to half the troops he had brought.
Clang, clang, clang! Clang!
“You realized it quickly.”
Dukaginzade gave a mocking smile.
For a small town, the castle situated at the center of Aintab was splendid.
Though it had been built over a thousand years ago, repeated renovations and expansions had turned it into a sturdy fortress with a circumference of over one kilometer and twelve towers.
However, no matter how splendid a castle might be, if those within it were incompetent, it was worth less than a sandcastle.
“What shall we do? Shall we wait for the follow-up troops?”
Since they had arrived first, there was time to wait for the follow-up force of a little over thirty thousand men with the cannons, but Dukaginzade shook his head.
“We go straight to the castle.”
Of course, he had no intention of laying siege with the sipahi cavalry.
The castle, built atop a high earthen hill, was difficult enough just to climb up to the base of its walls.
At the belated alarm, the subjects living there had not even managed to flee properly into the castle and had shut themselves inside their homes.
Fearful gazes poured out from within the buildings, but ignoring them, Dukaginzade stood before the castle.
—Who goes there?!
Were there barely three hundred soldiers in the castle?
The sight of them trembling in fear atop the walls, clutching their spears, looked truly pitiful, and to the question that came from the castle, Dukaginzade answered brazenly.
“We are the army of the Empire, come here according to the will of the great Padishah. We have received permission from Bozkurt Bey to use this castle!”
For a moment, a murmur rose, and soon an answer came back.
—We received no such message!
“Are you telling us to disobey the Padishah’s command and turn back? Can you take responsibility for those words?”
At that, the castle lord, who had been conferring with his men, broke out in a cold sweat.
It was a small city on the frontier, but not so remote that he did not know the reputation of the Ottomans.
The force before him alone was more than enough to turn the city into a sea of flames, and he spoke again in a much softer voice.
—Proof! Do you have proof?
“None! Is that not the fault of you people for failing to receive the message?”
At the sight of the other party acting so utterly confident, the castle lord’s thoughts grew tangled for a moment.
They were suspicious in every possible way, yet in his heart, he found himself hoping their words were true.
After all, he did not even want to imagine that such a large force was the enemy.
The words he uttered next could be said to contain that faint hope.
—By Allah, is what you say the truth?
“I swear it!”
At Dukaginzade’s answer, given without even a moment’s thought, the subordinates behind him widened their eyes.
Perhaps never imagining that he would lie while invoking Allah, the castle gates began to open, and his subordinates spoke with concern.
“Beylerbeyi, will this truly be all right?”
No matter how little interest Yusuf showed in Islam compared to the previous Padishah, it was still a statement that could cause trouble if mishandled.
“The Padishah said this: if it can reduce the sacrifice of our allies, then we must be able to sell even Allah’s name.”
At that answer, his subordinates felt dizzy.
The Padishah who had said such a thing was shocking enough, but Dukaginzade, who had put it into practice, did not seem normal either.
By trading on Allah’s name, Aintab fell into Ottoman hands without a single drop of blood being shed.
∗ ∗ ∗
Yusuf’s main army, which had been in Elbistan, moved toward Marash.
The distance between the two places was close enough that a messenger could travel back and forth in less than a day, but Yusuf did not hurry at all.
Rather, he began the march at such a leisurely pace that it almost seemed slow.
—It’s comfortable, sure, but is this really all right?
—The Padishah must have his own thoughts.
Such conversations were common even among the ordinary soldiers.
All the more so because, when he had declared that he would occupy Marash and take the life of the traitorous Bozkurt, they had braced themselves for a forced march.
‘It would not be difficult to cut off Bozkurt’s head before he flees.’
The troops he could mobilize numbered thirty thousand, so it was not a small force, but to the elite Ottoman army, they were no different from scarecrows.
What was there to fear from troops who had fled in terror from a little over twenty thousand Qizilbash?
The reason they were moving slowly toward Marash, the enemy’s capital, was all part of the plan.
Yusuf checked the letter that had just arrived through a messenger.
“It says that the follow-up troops have also joined our forces in occupied Aintab.”
By now, Bozkurt had probably also received the news that Aintab had been taken.
The troops stationed in Aintab numbered only forty thousand, but in terms of strength, it was a number even the Mamluks could not easily attack.
Handing the letter to the Grand Vizier standing beside him, Yusuf asked the gathered retainers.
“Have you been frustrated by our leisurely movements thus far?”
At Yusuf’s question, the Beylerbeyi of Rumelia, which referred to the Balkan Peninsula, replied with a smile.
“I have suffered greatly in restraining the brave sons of Rumelia.”
“They are at the height of their hot-blooded youth, are they not?”
At the joke from Yusuf, who was among the younger ones not only among those gathered here but even among the soldiers participating in the war, everyone burst into laughter.
Though it had been said as a joke, there were surely many who had been waiting impatiently.
War was a terrible nightmare for some, but for others, it was an opportunity.
After all, the easiest way to rise in status was to achieve merit on the battlefield.
Having lightened the atmosphere with laughter, Yusuf gripped the gun he always kept at his side.
“The prey that had been floundering about, not even knowing where it would die, has been caught in the trap.”
Bozkurt must have been startled by the news that Aintab had been occupied.
The forty thousand troops led by Dukaginzade would serve to prevent him from fleeing to the Mamluks.
‘Of course, if he abandons all his troops and flees with only a handful of men, he would be hard to catch.’
But there was no way he would do that.
Those thirty thousand troops were indispensable to maintaining his power.
Why else would he have abandoned even his important capital when the Safavids attacked, yet made certain to preserve those troops?
As a man more than capable of betraying the Ottomans for the sake of power, he would surely try to preserve that force.
“From above, we are descending upon him, and from below, forty thousand of our allies are blocking his retreat.”
For Bozkurt, it must feel as though his breath had been cut off.
He had wasted only a few days, yet now a blade was at his throat.
“A beast caught in a trap is bound to struggle. Let us see how he struggles. Grand Vizier.”
“Yes, Padishah.”
“Inform the entire army. We advance toward Marash at full speed.”
“I shall obey your command!”
As soon as Yusuf’s order was given, the music of the military band, which had maintained its silence until then, rang out across the entire army together with the beat of drums.
It was the signal to advance.
When Bozkurt received word that the main army led by Yusuf was swiftly moving south to occupy Marash, he fled with his thirty thousand troops.
∗ ∗ ∗
The Ramadan Emirate, protected by the mountain range that rose like the back of a bull, called the Taurus, or Toros, Mountains.
A guest came to this land, which possessed fertile plains sheltered by rugged mountains.
“S-spare me!”
“A-are you mad?! What do you think this place is, coming here?!”
Mahmud Bey, the master of the Ramadan Emirate, shouted as he stared at Bozkurt with a horrified face.
The guest’s name was ruin.