The Board Was Set for War (1)
Cilicia, where the Ramazan Emirate lay, was a plain between the Taurus Mountains and the Nur Mountains, and the two rugged ranges served as a natural fortress that kept foreign enemies at bay.
It was not merely an isolated region, but also a crossroads connecting Syria and Anatolia, and it even possessed ports on the Mediterranean.
In geographical terms, it was a land well suited to commercial prosperity.
So much so that, in the days of the Roman Empire, Tarsus—the administrative capital of the region and the birthplace of the Apostle Paul—was said to have a cultural level comparable to Athens and Alexandria.
On top of that, the Cilician Plain was so exceedingly fertile that it could be harvested three times a year.
‘A blessed land where it is easy to stop enemies, that sits at the center of transportation, and even has plains where crops grow well.’
It was a land lacking nothing, so they must have only hoped that the sparks of the great war between the Ottomans, the Safavids, and the Mamluks would not fly their way.
Until not long ago, the Ottoman army had been marching east, so they would have been at ease.
As he led the army through the Nur Mountains, which stood east of Ramazan, Yusuf spoke as if in pity.
“Was it Mahmud Bey who was said to be the lord of the Ramazan Emirate? He has become truly unfortunate because he had the wrong neighbor.”
Bozkurt was like the pathetic older brother in the story of the Three Little Pigs, who got his own house blown down and fled to his younger brother’s house with the wolf in tow.
Or like the infuriating character in a zombie movie who hides the fact that he has been bitten and runs into a shelter.
After all, he had given the Ottomans a pretext to attack Ramazan.
“It is not as though he is entirely without fault. Would it not have sufficed if he had actively stopped Bozkurt’s incursion?”
“The army he led numbered thirty thousand, so it may have been difficult to hold him back. Of course, even if he had, the result would not have changed.”
Even if the Ramazan Emirate had cut off Bozkurt’s head and brought it to them, they would have found some forced pretext and continued the occupation.
Of course, they would claim it was unjust, but in the cold relations between states, the voice of the weak was never heard.
Whether a person or a nation, one had to become strong in order to avoid suffering unreasonable treatment.
‘Otherwise, one gets trampled like this place.’
That was the reason he had to make the Ottomans into an empire greater than any other.
The conquest of Ramazan, which began as they entered the Nur Mountains, went smoothly.
For the Ramazan Emirate, which had enjoyed a relatively long period of peace, the mighty Ottoman army, tempered through repeated wars, was nothing short of a calamity.
The smaller cities were cowed by forces greater than their own populations and surrendered, while the occasional fortress that refused to surrender was simply bypassed.
There was no need to waste strength by capturing them in haste.
The Cilician Plain they reached in this manner was so abundant that it seized Yusuf’s gaze.
Fruit trees shyly in bloom filled the broad plain, and on the other side, crops that had grown up to knee height caught the eye.
As befitted spring, bees could be seen moving among the flowers, and the place seemed more focused on agriculture than livestock.
“A fine land. Enough to covet.”
After seeing only dry lands where dust rose in clouds, or grasslands where nothing grew but fodder for livestock, the sight of so many crops growing was enough to put him in a good mood.
Of course, for the people living here, these uninvited guests would be anything but welcome.
Just looking at the farming tools abandoned forlornly in the fields after their owners were startled by the army made it obvious what they must be feeling.
Yusuf stared at those tools for a moment, then opened his mouth.
“Grand Vizier.”
“Yes, Your Padishah.”
“Tell the soldiers to exercise restraint. These people have not resisted, and they will soon become my subjects.”
At the cold gaze driven into them, the Grand Vizier and the other retainers swiftly dropped to one knee.
“F-forgive us, Your Padishah.”
“I am not saying plunder is forbidden. I am saying to do it when it is necessary, and when it is permitted.”
Plunder was an excellent tactic, and also a good way to maintain morale, but it was something that always had to be carried out within proper limits and under control.
If mishandled, it could lead to the farce that befell Napoleon’s army when it invaded Spain, abandoning weapons and food to cling to plunder, only to surrender to starvation.
At Yusuf’s warning, the Grand Vizier answered from the front.
“We will take care not to disturb the Padishah’s peace of mind!”
“Yes, see that you do. If such a thing is repeated, even you will not escape punishment.”
“…I will bear it in mind.”
Yusuf withdrew his gaze from the Grand Vizier.
He had not truly intended to punish the Grand Vizier.
It was a warning he had planned together with the Grand Vizier after hearing reports that the cavalry in charge of scouting had not been concentrating on their duties lately.
As expected, it seemed to have worked effectively; not only the other retainers but even the soldiers were visibly tense.
Since they had begun to grow lax after starting the war without encountering any particular threat, there had been a need to tighten the reins once.
“Your Padishah, an envoy sent by Mahmud Bey has arrived.”
It was only natural that he would be anxious, with the Ottoman army advancing while trampling across the plains of which he was so proud.
Yusuf stroked the neck of the horse he rode, and as he patted the horse that snorted as if pleased, he asked the messenger who had come.
“Is he an envoy of surrender?”
“He said he came to resolve a misunderstanding.”
“Is that so? Then it is not surrender.”
Even if they brought him here, the story would be obvious.
He would no doubt explain at great length that they had nothing whatsoever to do with Dulkadir’s actions.
Without changing expression in the slightest, Yusuf spoke casually.
“Kill him and send him back. I will accept nothing but surrender.”
It was a merciless decision.
∗ ∗ ∗
“That pig Bozkurt! If he was going to die, he should have died alone!”
Mahmud spat curses in a furious voice, but the deed had already been done.
The Ottoman army, which had advanced in pursuit of the fleeing Bozkurt, regarded them as accomplices of Dulkadir.
He had tried to clear even this misunderstanding, but the Ottoman army was utterly unreasonable.
Mahmud Bey nervously chewed his nails as he looked at the head of the envoy they had sent back to him, even salted so it would not rot.
“I heard that the new Sultan of the Ottomans was merciless, but to think he would not even listen to a conversation.”
The face dyed with shock plainly showed how bewildering his final moments had been.
Through the merchants who came and went through Ramazan, stories of Yusuf, who had ascended as the Sultan of the Ottomans, had often reached them.
They said he was capable enough to have repeatedly outmaneuvered the Shah of Persia, who had achieved a succession of astonishing victories, and to have killed all his formidable brothers.
They said he was a monarch firmly supported by his subjects, as books telling of his prediction of an earthquake and of the childhood in which he overcame hardships had gained great popularity throughout the Ottoman lands.
And they said he was a cruel sultan toward other nations, one who cut off the fingers of rude envoys and even beheaded envoys who requested peace.
It was only natural to feel terrible fear now that such a man had become his enemy.
“Damn it. I should have killed that bastard even if I had to accept the losses.”
While he hesitated because the thirty thousand troops Bozkurt had led in were a burden, the quick-witted old man had promptly fled to Mersin.
He wanted to muster an army at once and go kill him, but the approaching Ottoman army was too much of a burden for him to put it into action.
Regretting it now would do nothing, for it was already past, and if he made one wrong move, his head would fall before that man’s.
“I must speak with him.”
Surrender was the final resort; should he not at least speak with him properly first?
At those words, a retainer asked worriedly.
“But they do not seem to have any intention of listening to us. I fear it may only increase the number of victims.”
No one here wished to return inside a bundle soaked through with blood, and seeing them stealthily avert their eyes, Mahmud clicked his tongue and steeled his heart.
“I will face the Sultan of the Ottomans myself. If he has any sense of propriety, he will not take my life.”
∗ ∗ ∗
Click!
“Are you the one called Mahmud Bey?”
At the sight of the long piece of iron aimed at his head, Mahmud Bey’s hands trembled.
The pain in the toes of his right foot, where he had long suffered from the chronic illness of gout, vanished in an instant.
He did not know exactly what the long piece of iron pointed at his head was, but it was certainly a weapon capable of taking his life at any moment.
“…I am.”
When he answered as calmly as he could, Yusuf raised one corner of his mouth.
“You have a fair bit of nerve.”
As the muzzle aimed at him slowly lowered, he inwardly let out a sigh of relief.
But the muzzle had not been lowered without reason.
Bang!
When the trigger was pulled, the flint spat sparks, and gray smoke burst forth.
With a roar loud enough to make his eardrums sting and an acrid smell stabbing his nose, Mahmud hurriedly turned his head.
Where the smoking muzzle was aimed, he saw one of his retainers collapsed with a large hole pierced through his head.
Only belatedly smelling the blood, Mahmud asked in a trembling voice.
“W-why have you committed such a dreadful act?!”
At that question, Yusuf handed the gun to the Janissary beside him and answered.
“He insolently raised his head before me without permission to set aside the rites. A fitting reason to die.”
It was the end of a loyal retainer who had raised his head after hearing the sound of a gun being aimed at the Amir he served.
Having answered thus, Yusuf dropped heavily into the ornate chair placed at the meeting site.
The armies of two nations were facing each other on the plain, and this was the meeting place located at the very center.
It was a place that might become the heart of battle at any moment, yet Yusuf’s face was perfectly composed, as though he were in his own home.
It was a sight that might easily have felt arrogant, but it was so natural that such a thought did not even arise.
“Now it seems the mood for conversation has finally been set. What did you wish to say, calling me all the way here?”
“…Please withdraw your army. Our Ramazan has nothing to do with the deeds of Dulkadir.”
“After I have come all the way here, you tell me to return empty-handed?”
A sneer formed on Yusuf’s face.
“We will surely capture Bozkurt and send him to the Padishah.”
“I can capture that man myself any time I wish. And I cannot believe your words that you have nothing whatsoever to do with him.”
“I swear by Allah that we are not involved!”
“For the sake of life and power, a lie or two is easy enough, is it not? What is so difficult about a false oath? You can simply go to a mosque later and beg forgiveness for your sin.”
Some people had no trouble selling theirs just to gain a single castle.
Perhaps he had not expected such words to be spoken so openly, for Mahmud asked in shock.
“Th-they say Your Padishah is a prophet of Allah. Is it truly all right for you to say such things?”
“I have never called myself a prophet, and today I need only go to the mosque in Adana and apologize to Allah. Merciful Allah is one who always forgives the mistakes of men.”
Mahmud forced down the words that, far from forgiving him, it would not be strange if Allah took offense and punished him for it.
“In any case, I cannot trust your oath. If you truly wish to prove your innocence, open the gates of Adana. I will confirm your innocence myself.”
It was called proving his innocence, but in truth, it was no different from being told to surrender.
At Yusuf’s coercive manner, Mahmud’s face hardened in anger.
“Will you only be satisfied once you have seen blood?”
“Had I feared seeing blood, I would never have entered this war. And in my opinion, the blood that stains this plain will not be ours.”
If these talks broke down, war would begin at once.
The battle wagons loaded with cannons had already moved to the front of the army, and the sipahis waiting only for the order to be given did not hide their fierce anger.
Against Ramazan’s forces, scraped together from here and there, with even soldiers clutching farm tools for lack of proper weapons, the difference in strength was overwhelming.
Mahmud, who had inwardly suspected it might end this way, lowered his head.
“…I will surrender. Show me the Padishah’s mercy.”
“Good. I will preserve your position.”
Even if he occupied this place, he could not immediately send men to govern it.
There were already many places to conquer ahead, and the administrative power needed for them would be enormous.
‘Come to think of it, I wonder if Şemsi and Hasan are all right in Georgia.’
He had heard that they were practically coughing blood to normalize Georgia, but he did not know whether they were still alive and well.
They said no news was good news, and since no obituary had reached him, they were probably fine.
“Mahmud.”
“Yes, Your Padishah.”
“Where is Bozkurt, the man who ruined your country?”
Yusuf had known what sort of man he was from the moment he abandoned the capital at once during the Safavid attack. He truly was a quick-footed fellow.
At Yusuf’s words, Mahmud, his resentment deepening, clenched his teeth and answered.
“He went to Mersin. It seemed he meant to occupy the place, board a ship, and flee to the Mamluks. You must catch him quickly!”
At his excited cry, Yusuf gave a faint laugh and waved a hand.
“If it is Mersin, that is enough. He has walked into his grave.”
∗ ∗ ∗
It was good that he had captured the resisting city of Mersin.
There had been some losses along the way, but until he requisitioned every vessel, not only merchant ships but even fishing boats, and left the harbor, his heart burned with vengeance.
‘I will surely take revenge together with the Mamluks. Surely.’
There were not enough ships, so he had only been able to take about half his men aboard, but with this many troops, even the Mamluks would welcome him.
The revenge Bozkurt imagined did not last half a day.
Boom! Kaboom!
“A-Allah…”
Under the cannonballs fired by the fleet that had dyed the sea black, a ship packed with his subordinates was dragged down beneath the waves.
It was the Ottoman fleet, which had been ordered to occupy Mersin by force if necessary when they brought the next supplies.
At last, the board for war had been set.
<To be continued in Volume 6 of 『I Became the Sultan of the Ottoman Empire』>