The Siege of Rhodes
Muslims abducting Christians as galley slaves, and Christians selling Muslims into slavery—these were as common as the wind blowing across the Mediterranean.
That an envoy was captured by pirates on his return journey was a coincidence, but it was something that could very well happen.
The Knights, upon receiving the pirates' demand for ransom if they wished to have their prisoner back, flew into a fit.
—This is a heathen trick! They ordered the pirates to capture the envoy!
The Ottoman Empire responded to the Knights' accusations with apparent absurdity.
—If you intend to slander us, bring proof. And one cannot help but wonder how incompetent the Knights must be to be captured by pirates; if they had any backbone, they would have scuttled their vessel rather than be captured.
They had ample suspicion but no proof, and when mocked for being so precious about their lives that they chose to survive as prisoners rather than knights, they had nothing to say.
—Even so, should you wish to pay the ransom, the Empire will exert itself to act as mediator. Do not forget that this is an enormous courtesy.
Since the Empire had stepped forward as mediator, there was no need to worry about losing the money, but the sum demanded by the pirates was too great.
It was an amount they would have agonized over hundreds of times even in normal circumstances, and with war looming, they could not pay it; yet they had to endure the mockery that they had abandoned a comrade for money.
Yusuf, who had been thoroughly getting under the Knights' skin all this time, spoke calmly.
“I think it's about time we stopped this jest.”
It was time to end the amusement that had lasted for about a month as well.
The Grand Vizier, who had submitted his resignation only to have it rejected when Yusuf declared the Rhodes campaign, had a dark expression.
To the extent that last night, he had spent time pouring out his troubles to his predecessor, Hersekzade, who was struggling with the census.
Sensing the Grand Vizier's disposition, Yusuf consoled him.
“Grand Vizier. No, Hadim Ali Pasha. Once this war is over, I shall entrust you with civil office again, so endure a little longer.”
“Since you say this old man is needed, I shall do my utmost.”
Yusuf smiled faintly at the Grand Vizier's petulant words, emphasizing that he was already old enough to have retired long ago.
Originally, this was the kind of thing one had to pretend not to hear and let pass.
It was not that there were no talents to replace the Grand Vizier, but it was better to have one more pair of hands.
“Kemal Reis is properly blockading Rhodes Island, I trust?”
“It is the final mission he wishes to complete before retirement—the occupation of the island. He has set out with overflowing zeal, so you need not worry.”
Kemal Reis, who by original history should have met his death in a storm seven years ago, was already in his late sixties. He was more than old enough to be thinking of retirement.
At any rate, the Order of the Knights of Rhodes had possessed seven ships; three had been sunk while attacking Murat, and one had been captured by pirates.
With only three ships remaining, the blockade would not be difficult.
“How far along is the troop assembly?”
“Most of the mobilized troops have already crossed to Rhodes Island by ship.”
From atop the walls, Yusuf looked down at the fleet flying the red Ottoman banners loading supplies including cannons.
The morale of the artillerymen, increased in numbers compared to the past, and the Janissaries armed with guns was high enough to tell even from this distance.
Looking at the purple dynastic flag fluttering high above Topkapi Palace, Yusuf spoke.
“It will not be long until that flag is raised again.”
Having declared so, Yusuf turned back toward the palace, and after a few days, the fluttering dynastic flag was lowered.
It was an imperial campaign after four years.
∗ ∗ ∗
Grand Master Caretto looked beyond the walls from the Palace of the Grand Master.
The palace had been built upon the site where the Colossus of Rhodes, one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World made of bronze, once stood.
From the palace where the city of Rhodes could be seen at a glance, Caretto let out a groan.
“Is this not a truly dreadful sight?”
“It seems the whole world is bathed in blood.”
Wherever he turned his eyes, he saw red flags symbolizing the heathens.
The red flags covering the plains beyond the walls were chilling enough to feel like the army of demons crawled up from hell.
The Knights numbered barely six hundred, and even combining soldiers and residents, they did not reach seven thousand.
They were at a complete numerical disadvantage, and Caretto asked the Grand Marshal, the Order's second-in-command.
“What is the state of the Knights and the residents?”
“Their morale is high enough that Your Highness need not worry. We are fully prepared to recreate the glory of forty years ago!”
“That is a relief.”
At the words “the glory of forty years ago,” Caretto smiled.
In 1480, Mehmed II had invaded Rhodes Island with Orban's cannon in the vanguard, but the Knights had successfully repelled the invasion, earning fame throughout Europe.
The Grand Master had even received the rank of cardinal, and at the words that this glory could be recreated, Caretto clenched his fist.
“All preparations that we can make are finished.”
The time to prepare had been short, but it was possible because they were an order that always had to be ready to fight the heathens.
The crops had all been harvested and burned, and all cover that might aid the enemy had been removed.
Chains had been installed at the harbor where the enemy fleet could invade, perfectly blocking entry.
“If there is one thing to regret, it is that our stockpiled supplies are low.”
Because the Ottomans had blockaded so swiftly, there had been no time to replenish supplies.
To Caretto's lament, the Grand Marshal answered confidently.
“Even so, these are supplies enough to endure for eight months. If we conserve them, the period will increase further, so this is sufficient.”
If the siege lasted for about eight months, the majority of the heathens gathered there would fall into hell with time to spare.
The Grand Marshal's words that it was sufficient were not false.
“Your Highness! The ship of the heathen Emperor has appeared!”
At the report of the Lieutenant Commander leading the Italian-born knights, Caretto's gaze turned toward the sea.
The enemy ships mobilized for this war were judged to number over two hundred, yet among those many vessels, the massive ship approaching the island displayed a unique presence.
Watching the purple flag become clearer as it approached, Caretto placed his hand upon the white octagonal cross emblazoned on his chest.
“Loyalty, faith, charity, glory and honor, compassion for the poor and the sick, reverence for the Church.”
Having recited six of the eight doctrines symbolized by the corners, Caretto recited the remaining two.
“Courage and the spirit that fears not death.”
Having recited all eight doctrines, Caretto's eyes blazed brightly.
“We shall not retreat before any persecution. Our deaths shall become the glory of the Lord, so fear not.”
Caretto steeled himself for a fierce siege.
∗ ∗ ∗
Descending from the great sailing ship built for the naval battle to come, Yusuf kicked his foot toward a familiar face.
“Agh!”
“Don't exaggerate, Murat. You actually came all the way here.”
Murat, clutching his kicked shin, grumbled at Yusuf's cold words.
“Would it not be better to participate here than to idle away time in Cairo anyway? At least I can gain experience. I am a talent who has even captured an enemy commander.”
He should have gone down to Yemen, but the plan had gone awry due to the heavy damage to the troops that were to accompany him from the Knights' raid.
Given the situation in Yemen, quite a considerable force was needed, but the war had overlapped, delaying reinforcements.
Yusuf clicked his tongue at the long scar on Murat's cheek.
“You brought danger upon yourself, yet you speak well. Of all things, carving a scar onto a face that already looks old—you've done a fine job.”
He had matured quickly and already had an old-looking face; with the scar added, standing next to Yusuf they looked like brothers rather than father and son.
Withdrawing his gaze from Murat scratching his scarred wound, Yusuf looked at the gathered subordinates and raised the corners of his mouth.
“There are many faces I haven't seen in a long time.”
Kemal Reis, who returned to the capital from time to time, was not unfamiliar, but there were many faces he hadn't seen in a long time, including the two Beylerbeys governing the Balkans and Anatolia.
Even the welcome face of Arda—he hadn't seen him since the Egyptian campaign, so it seemed about five years.
“It is an honor to stand upon the battlefield again with the Padishah!”
“To love the battlefield—you are born warriors.”
Ottoman officials were not strictly divided into civil and military officers.
Most worked as civil officials in peacetime and served as military officers in wartime, so they possessed both literary and martial abilities.
Still, people had their dispositions, and here there were many belligerent types like military officers.
To Yusuf's words, Dukaginzade, the Beylerbey of Anatolia, answered in a firm voice.
“How could I shrink back from a place where we punish those who attacked Prince Murat and the Khatun?”
“That is so. The subjects who live by the Padishah's grace were also greatly angered by this affair. I am merely glad for the opportunity to step forward.”
In the Ottoman Empire, the position of the dynasty was solid.
Though the rapid reforms had caused great hardship for the ministers and even for Yusuf, the Empire had changed so quickly that even the lowliest subjects could feel it.
Even if the change was not great, the hope that life had improved even a little was what mattered.
At any rate, the news that the dynasty—which enjoyed strong support regardless of religion—had been attacked was enough to incite fury, and the morale of the assembled Ottoman army was high.
“High morale is always a good thing.”
So answered Yusuf, looking toward Rhodes Castle.
There was no need to mention the towering Palace of the Grand Master; even the fortress of Rhodes surrounding the palace was harder to besiege than any he had seen before.
“Dukaginzade.”
“Yes, my Padishah.”
“Does that fortress not look difficult to assault even to your eyes?”
“If you but entrust it to me, I shall quickly place that fortress in the Padishah's hands!”
“This is not something to undertake with zeal alone.”
In original history, it was not because Suleiman was incompetent or lacked cannons that he could not capture it for six months and suffered tens of thousands of casualties.
‘By modern standards that would continue for hundreds of years, not by present ones, it is an excellent fortress.’
Rhodes Castle was a fortress built thoroughly to withstand cannons.
Unlike the fortresses they had faced before, it could not be battered down with cannons; the reason was that rather than being built up, it had been carved out.
With solid earth supporting the stone walls from behind, bringing them down with cannon fire would be tremendously difficult—and meaningless.
‘And on top of that, the walls were built at an angle to reduce the impact of bombardment.’
If they truly tried to take that fortress with cannons alone, even using up all the gunpowder stockpiled in the empire would not be enough.
“If we are to take that fortress by a frontal assault, we will need at least a hundred thousand men. And half of them will die.”
“You value that fortress very highly.”
“It is a place worthy of such an assessment.”
The retainers, who had already smashed walls higher than those several times with cannons, found it puzzling, but they did not refute Yusuf’s words.
After all, it was only natural to them that the Padishah knew something they did not.
“Shall we muster additional troops, Your Majesty?”
The forces that had crossed over to Rhodes Island numbered only sixty thousand.
For most nations, that would be a vast army they could not even dream of, but compared to the hundred thousand Yusuf had mentioned, it fell far short.
Even when told that they had to muster more troops and that this place would become the grave of tens of thousands, the retainers did not suggest retreat.
‘No matter how many soldiers we lose, we must take that place and exact revenge.’
If they feared sacrifice and failed to properly retaliate for an attack on royalty, the same thing would only happen again.
Yusuf shook his head at the retainers, who were prepared for great sacrifices.
“The dead do not return, and there is no resource harder to restore than people.”
It took at least ten-odd years from a person’s birth until they became a single unit of labor.
The Ottoman Empire was seeing population growth close to a baby boom, thanks to reduced taxes on the lower classes through the abolition of the jizya and increased food production through the agricultural revolution.
Even so, a hundred years would not be enough for it to catch up to Europe’s population.
“If we can reduce the losses, should we not reduce them to the minimum?”
“What do you intend to do?”
“If we are to spare people, then we have no choice but to invest without stint.”
Yusuf’s gaze fixed on the sacks piling up in heaps.
∗ ∗ ∗
The acrid smell of gunpowder and enemy troops surging in without giving them a moment to breathe.
A desperate and honorable siege battle in which they closed the eyes of comrades who collapsed bleeding and vowed to the Lord that they would punish the infidels.
The knights, who had imagined such a thing, stared blankly at the scene unfolding before their eyes.
“…Your Excellency, the infidels have begun building a wall.”
“I can see that.”
Carretto looked with a dreadful expression at the massive construction site where tens of thousands had been mobilized.
The wall being built as if to encircle Rhodes Castle was going up at a speed so fast it seemed as though Satan himself were working some trickery.
∗ ∗ ∗
Looking at Rhodes Castle beyond the wall being rapidly constructed with cement, Yusuf sneered.
“I wonder how long they can hold out in that little castle.”
If they could not endure it and came out, they would die to the Ottoman army behind the wall; if they held out, they would starve to death.
For the knights, it was a dilemma with no way forward or back.
“There is a reason people say not to pick a fight carelessly with a man who has money.”
The Ottomans had more than enough leeway to flex.
∗ ∗ ∗
Boom!
Cannon fire rang out from Rhodes Castle in the distance, which they were attacking, but the soldiers building the wall did not even glance that way.
As a soldier ignored it as though it were some dog barking and mixed cement with water, the voice of a soldier keeping watch on the enemy reached his ears.
“Sector 45!”
“Sector 46!”
“Take cover! Take cover!”
Along with the repeated calls, the soldiers assigned to those sectors hid behind the wall and objects that could provide cover, as though well accustomed to it, and the sound of cannonballs falling rang out.
Some of the cannonballs must have struck the wall under construction, for the wall shook and the sound of stone shattering could be heard.
Yet even in that threatening situation, the soldiers’ reactions were calm.
“I don’t know why they’re wasting their time like that.”
Leaning against the wall and grumbling, the soldier chewed on tough, coarse bread.
It could never be called good-quality bread, but compared to bread like stone that had to be softened with saliva for ages before eating, it was a luxury.
At a distance from the wall, in the braziers from which heat rose in shimmering waves, bakers who had come over from Anatolia were sweating away.
They were the main reason the soldiers could enjoy such luxury in wartime.
Pat, patter.
‘I wonder if I’ll ever fight in a war this safe again.’
The soldier brushed the stone dust off his bread and thought that as he chewed it together with the chunk of meat he had been issued.
On a battlefield, the first to die were neither the soldiers at the front nor the weak soldiers, but the unlucky ones, and this time as well, there had been a few comrades who died that way.
“Still, it’s better than dying while crawling up that place.”
The process of building the wall under the direction of the Janissary engineer corps was exhausting, but having one’s body worn out was better than dying.
Simply having avoided the hell of climbing over comrades’ corpses and becoming a foothold in death was enough to keep the morale of the Ottoman soldiers high.
“Bombardment ceased! Resume work!”
The bombardment, which had failed even to interfere properly, let alone inflict damage, came to a stop, and the soldiers began building the wall again.
Watching the scene of a fortress being built with tens of thousands mobilized, Yusuf used his rifle like a cane and asked Dukaginzade,
“Beylerbey of Anatolia, there will be no disruption to the supplies, will there?”
“You need not worry about the supplies, if nothing else.”
A battlefield was a series of uncertainties, and in an ordinary war he would not have answered with such confidence regarding supplies, but this time was an exception.
From Rhodes Island, the Anatolian Peninsula was close enough to be right under their noses, and the Greek regions including Athens were also nearby, not to mention that it was maritime transport.
Compared to the last war, when they had operated tens of thousands of camels, supply could not possibly be easier.
“Mistakes come from complacency, so do not neglect the supplies even so, and pay attention to the soldiers’ hygiene so that no epidemic breaks out.”
“I will keep it in mind.”
There was nothing more futile than soldiers dying off because of disease rather than the enemy.
Rhodes Island was a large island, three-quarters the size of Jeju Island, so there were water resources enough for basic sanitation management.
After giving his orders, Yusuf’s gaze turned toward Rhodes Castle, standing firm.
If the wall had still been in its earliest stages, not even sufficient to serve as cover, that would be one thing. But now that it had risen above shoulder height, the stage at which bombardment could deal it a blow had already passed.
“They will begin their final struggle soon. Wouldn’t you say?”
“Your servants judge the same, Padishah. If they are not going to declare surrender, they will surely come out.”
From the moment they began building the second wall the knights had never asked for, it was as good as declaring that they would starve the enemy to death.
The moment the wall was completed, time would no longer be on the knights’ side.
They would have to despair over their dwindling food day by day and worry about internal divisions.
Yusuf gazed at the fortress upon which darkness was settling with sunken eyes and gave an order.
“Show them just how futile their last struggle is.”
It was laughable—a siege in which attack and defense had been reversed.
Just like the future of the knights, who would collapse in vain.
∗ ∗ ∗
Today, there was no chain mail beneath the black mantle emblazoned with the white eight-pointed cross to groan aloud.
The heavy breathing of those wearing leather armor scattered beneath the night sky, and the knights and soldiers lined up there all knelt on one knee at once.
“Your Excellency, preparations are complete.”
Carretto, the Grand Master of the Order, met the eyes of each of the assembled troops one by one.
There was no fear of the death soon to come in those eyes filled with strong will, and under the wretched moonlight, Carretto let out a lament.
“A hundred knights and six hundred soldiers. Tonight, you will become sinners before the Lord.”
These were men facing a mission where they might not merely die, but could do nothing except die.
Carretto’s feelings as he looked at them were unbearably bleak, and as if he understood that heart, the deputy marshal, who had been the first to volunteer for the suicide mission, smiled.
“It was an honor to be with you, Your Excellency.”
“It was an honor for me as well to be with all of you.”
The reasons they had first joined the Order had varied—honor, money, revenge, and so on—but in the end, the most precious thing they had gained here was their bond.
It was a farewell as painful as carving out living flesh, and so that Carretto’s heart would not grow any heavier, the deputy marshal and the troops moved quickly.
Rhodes Castle had eleven gates, but half were on the blockaded coastline side, and the remaining gates were the first areas under Ottoman watch in preparation for a night raid.
In the end, the troops hanging from ropes descended in perfect order into the dug-out moat, and Carretto turned his gaze toward the enemy camp.
“Their guard is strict.”
On top of the enemy wall, countless tiny fireflies could be seen.
That meant there were that many Ottoman sentries swinging around the lit match cords of their matchlocks to keep them from going out.
Yet there was no despair in Carretto’s wrinkled eyes as he looked at the tight watch.
“It was good that they set a strict guard, but using matchlocks was their mistake.”
They were excellent weapons that had made the Ottoman army feared, but all weapons had to be used according to the situation.
If they showed that there were sentries there, and even allowed one to estimate where they were, it would become easier to burrow into the enemy lines.
How long had he stood on the wall waiting for the Order to move? Along with the sound of crossbow bolts cutting through the air, screams rang out.
—Aaaagh!
—The enemy! It’s the enemy! The enemy has appeared!
—Kill all the infidels! Chaaaarge!
The Ottoman soldiers announcing the enemy’s appearance and the knights rushing in to burn away the last of their lives collided.
Seeing the shadows of his subordinates vaulting over the wall under construction with nimble movements, Carretto clenched both fists, feeling that they had done it.
If they successfully delayed the Ottoman army’s construction, then finding a new breakthrough so that their sacrifice would not be in vain was the task he had to undertake.
As he pondered the next step, he realized the situation was taking a strange turn.
—Aaaagh! You damned infidels!
—The Lord will strike you—kuhuk!
What reached his ears were not the screams of infidels that should have been heard, but only the screams of his allies who had safely crossed the wall, and the tremendous flashes of exploding gunpowder dazzled his eyes.
They looked like the cries of those who had lost their lives in vain, and a dreadful silence gnawed at Rhodes Castle.
∗ ∗ ∗
Yusuf sneered at the prisoners in their wretched state.
“You should have been careful entering a construction site. You lack the fundamentals.”
He had predicted a night attack, but the greatest concern was whether he could properly defend the long fortress wall.
Setting traps during the wall’s construction would only stand out, so what he had devised was placing fortress construction materials around the perimeter of the unfinished wall.
On a dark night, materials whose very presence could scarcely be perceived were traps and obstacles in themselves.
‘Using sentries armed with matchlocks deliberately was a deception in itself.’
By openly displaying sentries who busied themselves keeping their lit fuses from going out, he made them overlook that Janissaries armed with flintlock muskets might be lying in wait.
Of course, it did not matter if they were sharp enough to realize that the Janissaries were holding their breath, waiting for prey to walk into the trap.
In any case, the Ottomans’ goal was not to inflict damage on the enemy, but to buy time until the fortress was completed to a certain degree.
“Y-you infidels who should be torn to shreds, you cow... *cough* ...ards! Can you not fight with honor?!”
Hearing the prisoner’s words through an interpreter, Yusuf smiled faintly.
“Did you say vice commander? A funny thing to hear from one whose trade is piracy.”
“It is not piracy, but a holy war! What is done to you infidels would please the Lord!”
Whether he truly believed that, or if it was simply something weighing on his conscience, was unimportant.
Toward the vice commander who was shouting furiously and denying it vehemently, Yusuf replied indifferently.
“Even a knightly order can engage in piracy. I, too, happen to quite enjoy piracy and plunder.”
It was a tactic that killed two birds with one stone, tormenting the enemy while reaping profit.
Where in the world was there such a profitable investment that it yielded a Michelangelo as compensation merely for providing some support?
One could say he loved piracy and plunder without exaggeration.
“However, one must do so within limits one can endure. Unless you wish to cut as wretched a figure as you lot.”
“Your Majesty, what should we do with the prisoners? Shall we execute them all and put their heads on display?”
Impaling enemy heads on poles was hardly a refined pastime.
He had only done so out of necessity, and this time it would likely backfire.
“No, forget it. Doing so would only give the enemy cause to rally together.”
He had belittled them as mere pirates, but they were indeed knights unafraid of death.
There was no need to do anything that would stoke the fires in their hearts.
“Then what should we do? Please issue your command.”
The captured enemies numbered around 200. Looking at them, drenched in their comrades’ blood with fierce, gleaming eyes, Yusuf twisted his lips.
“Sever the tendons of their four limbs, and return them to the enemy at dawn tomorrow to the sound of the military band.”
Heroes were completed by death; surviving wounded soldiers were nothing but burdens, not heroes.
At the order to hurl a source of discord into the enemy’s midst, Dukaginzade burst into a hearty laugh.
It was not difficult to predict what situation the enemy would find themselves in, burdened with extra mouths to feed amidst their meager provisions.
‘The more humans are driven to the brink, the more they become cruel animals.’
Whether they died lonely deaths cursing their comrades in abandonment, or became a source of conflict between the knightly order and the populace desperate to save them.
It would not be the honorable situation they had dreamed of.
The Janissaries who heard Yusuf’s command severed the prisoners’ tendons, including their Achilles tendons, and screams and blood spurted between the torches.
“Murat.”
“...Yes, Your Majesty.”
Though his frame was that of an adult, Yusuf placed his hand on the shoulder of his son, who was still immature.
“Decapitating the enemy commander and winning with dignity is one form of war, but digging at the enemy’s weaknesses and maximizing our army’s strengths is also war. Remember that. The most important thing is victory.”
“I understand.”
“Then return to Cairo for now. I intend to return to the capital.”
The war was already as good as won, and the master of the empire lacked the leisure to kill time in a conflict whose outcome was obvious.
It had not even been a month since he set out on campaign, so his words to the Grand Vizier that he would return quickly had become reality.
Yusuf’s gaze turned to the fortress wall under construction.
‘There was no real need to go so far as building a wall.’
This fortification held meaning beyond the occupation of Rhodes Island—it was a flex, in other words, a display of might.
The Ottoman Empire was a nation that shone brighter when it stood as a symbol of terror to the West, rather than a friendly neighbor.
What would Europe, watching these events, think?
Far from thinking the Knights of Rhodes were putting up a brave defense, they would fear a capable madman who built walls to slowly strangle the enemy to death.
The Rhodes siege would not be a battle that glorified the knightly order’s fame as in the original history, but an event that would instill terror of the Ottomans.
“This is enough. Silahdar Agha.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Prepare to depart.”
Watching their comrades return as ruined wrecks, and the purple flag of the Ottoman dynasty growing distant, the knights felt utter despair.
For what remained to them was no glorious future.
∗ ∗ ∗
“Mother, everyone has gathered.”
“I see.”
At Mehmet’s words, Aisha covered her face with a hijab and rose from her seat.
In the port city of Kefe at the northern end of the Black Sea, the city where she would make her home from now on, her steps were light.
When the door blocking her path opened, the commotion inside vanished as if washed away, and those gathered simultaneously paid their respects.
“We greet Prince Mehmet and Hatun Aisha!”
A seat one step lower than the seat of honor.
Aisha sat in the place she would occupy from now on and made an elegant gesture.
“Saadet Khan, Ivan. It has been a long time.”
“It is truly an honor that Hatun remembers us.”
From the Crimean Khanate’s officials lined up on the right with Saadet Khan at their head, to the Circassian officials seated on the left with Ivan at theirs.
Looking at them, Aisha smiled.
The harem, where women’s political participation was strictly restricted, was a shackle that would have felt like hell without Yusuf.
“Your Highness, then please declare the meeting begun.”
There was no woman in this place who rejoiced in the Padishah’s favor.
There was only a single Hatun who had cast off her shackles and shared her life with the prince.
The eyes of the mother and son sparkled like jewels.
<To be continued in Volume 7 of 『I Became the Ottoman Sultan』>