The Red Flag of the Red Sea
The atmosphere in Rhodes Castle worsened with each passing day.
While they tended the graves of comrades who had returned as corpses and the wounds of comrades reduced to wrecks, the enemy’s walls only grew higher.
They had reached a level that could no longer be scaled with bare bodies, and as provisions dwindled, anxiety deepened.
“Your Excellency! We must come up with a plan at once. At this rate, we have no future!”
“Even the residents who had been soothing their fears in the church are now voicing their grievances toward the Order.”
At his subordinates’ pleas, Caretto asked with a hard expression.
“Then what plan can I present? Shall I lead the knights and soldiers, rush out of the castle, and slaughter the enemy? Or shall I loosen the chains and sink the Ottoman fleet with three ships?”
At Caretto’s question, those gathered in the council chamber fell silent as if their mouths had been sealed with honey.
Each member of the Order was a killing machine worth a hundred men, and they were adept with countless weapons, including firearms, but so long as they were humans made of flesh and blood, they had limits.
“Perhaps when the Vice-Marshal went out, we should all have gone with him.”
If they had, they would have broken through the enemy’s defenses and dealt them a heavy blow, and they would not have been fretting over provisions that dwindled like the remaining days of a terminal life.
At least they could have taken pride in an honorable death, but now it was far too late for that.
Now it would be nothing more and nothing less than a dog’s death.
As meaningless time flowed by in a situation with no answer, an urgent voice came from outside the door.
-Y-Your Excellency! This is terrible! A fight has broken out! A fight has broken out between a knight and the residents!
A fight between a knight and the residents.
At ordinary times it might have been one thing, but in wartime it could become a grave problem, and Caretto, who hurried to the site in question, twisted his face into a ferocious scowl.
In the middle of the standoff between the Order and the residents stood a knight with blood dripping from the gauntlet on his hand, and a resident who was as good as dead.
“Sir Charles, why have you done such a thing!”
“Your Excellency! That man insulted our comrades lying in the ward! He said they should have died instead of surviving in disgrace and burdening them!”
The faces of the knights, who had not yet known the exact situation, twisted wretchedly.
Those lying in the ward receiving care were not to be treated like burdens. They were men who had been prepared to die for their comrades, and who had returned with wounds from which they could not recover.
Even treating them with honor would not have been enough, so to have insulted them was intolerable.
“He is a criminal who insulted a noble and a knight. He must be beheaded.”
At his subordinate’s advice, Caretto’s eyes naturally turned toward the gathered residents.
Seeing the residents marked by anxiety, worry, and fear, Caretto felt bitterness rise within him.
It had not been long since they had vowed to unite as one and face the infidels, yet they had already split apart like grains of sand.
“Treat him.”
“Your Excellency!”
“No matter how difficult or insulting the situation may be, we must not lose mercy. Do not mistake where your sword should be swung.”
At Caretto’s command, two knights approached the resident foaming blood at the mouth and examined his condition, then soon shook their heads.
“It is too late. He is dead.”
Having suffered merciless violence at the hands of a knight whose entire body was a weapon, it was a predictable end.
The worst part was that he had died in front of the gathered residents without receiving any proper measures.
“Sir Charles, I order you confined to quarters.”
“…Understood, Your Excellency.”
The knights resented that he had been punished with confinement merely for killing a resident who had insulted a comrade and a noble.
The residents resented that, despite someone who was their family, kin, or acquaintance dying so miserably, the punishment had ended at confinement.
Sensing their mood, Caretto looked beyond the castle walls with a heavy heart.
He could see Ottoman troops bringing firewood from the mountain at the center of the island to endure the winter.
“It will be colder and longer than any winter before.”
And thus a despairing year passed.
∗ ∗ ∗
The discord between the Order and the residents was not cooled even by the freezing winter.
When burying comrades who had succumbed to their wounds became the knights’ main duty, Caretto sent an envoy to the Ottoman army.
“They will surrender and hand over the castle, so allow them to retreat with honor?”
At the news that had flown in from Rhodes Island, Yusuf gave a sneer.
If he accepted their surrender, he could save the supplies being consumed, but the answer that came from Yusuf’s mouth was firm.
“Denied.”
He was not the sort of man to begrudge such trifling losses now and leave behind trouble for the future.
Yusuf’s will was conveyed unchanged to Rhodes Castle, and the Knights of Rhodes eased their conditions and sent envoys several times.
They even removed the phrase “honorable retreat,” and their request to leave behind their weapons and go with nothing but their bodies to the nearby Venetian territory of Crete was also rejected.
In the face of the Ottomans’ ironclad refusal to accept surrender, the opinion that they should rather die gloriously became mainstream within the Order.
And this differed from the residents’ opinion.
“It seems the situation inside the castle is no ordinary mess, for such an offer to come flying in.”
A resident who had fled the castle late at night proposed that if they gave the signal, those inside would respond and open the gates.
It was a proposal that indirectly revealed how far apart the Order and the residents had grown.
“What should we do? It may be a trap.”
“It may be a trap, and it may not be.”
Trap or not, the fact that they would have to fight the furious Order did not change.
Yusuf smiled faintly and made his decision.
“Feed him until he is full, then send him back to the enemy castle.”
Following Yusuf’s order, the Ottoman army fed the resident to his fill, then neatly wrapped up the resident who whined that he did not want to go home and delivered him to the enemy’s castle gate.
Not long after, when Rhodes Castle realized the residents’ betrayal, an uproar broke out, and before long even black smoke rose.
“I never thought that tiresome qahwa would become the finest drink on the battlefield.”
Dukaginzade drank coffee with the commanders as they looked at Rhodes Castle.
“It is land His Padishah will have to rule from now on, so I hope the sacrifices will not be too great.”
“They are people who lived in plenty on wealth plundered from the subjects of the Empire. They are no different from the Order, so this incident will become an opportunity for them to repent for their past sins.”
A few days after the great commotion broke out, a white flag was raised over the castle, and those who had disarmed themselves walked out with haggard faces.
On the faces of those who, at the end of the madness of war, had killed with their own hands the residents they had sought to protect, it was hard to find any trace of knights anymore.
“…You are Satan. The Lord will punish your empire.”
At Caretto’s rebuke, Dukaginzade laughed.
“Compared to the horrors you committed in the castle, that is excessive praise. His Padishah will decide your disposition.”
The banner of the Order that had flown over Rhodes Castle was lowered, and the Empire’s red flag rose.
It was about seven months later, before they had even consumed all the provisions they had stockpiled.
News that Rhodes Castle had been captured quickly spread to the capital, and Yusuf’s lips curled at the words appended to the end.
“They say the Grand Master of the Order denounced me as Satan. Since he has judged me so, I have no choice but to show him what Satan looks like.”
“Do you intend to behead them all?”
At the question of Hadim Ali Pasha, to whom he intended to hand over the office of Grand Vizier, Yusuf shook his head.
“Do you think I have some hobby of collecting heads?”
“Those in the West seem to believe you do.”
“A foolish imagining. Is there any need to do such a thing for the sake of relieving emotions that brings no benefit?”
Yusuf could give cruel orders if they benefited the Empire, but he did not like creating unnecessary losses either.
Though the knights were second and third sons who had inherited no wealth, they were nobles all the same, and there was no need to kill prisoners and deliberately build resentment with hundreds of families.
“If you do not kill them, what do you plan to do? Do you intend to make them rowers?”
“Stubborn fools like those would only cause trouble even if reduced to rowers. I intend to conduct an experiment.”
During the Korean War, there was a method by which many American soldiers taken prisoner by the Chinese Communist forces became defectors.
It was not torture and violence, but a psychological method that began with small things and made them large.
At first, they would be asked to write on subjects that seemed light at a glance, then gradually induced to write on more serious topics.
When they looked back on this process at some point, it would already be after they had written something that looked like defection, and prisoners who believed they had changed voluntarily rather than under coercion would become defectors from then on.
‘The Knights of Rhodes turned pro-Ottoman defectors, is it? That would be amusing.’
It did not matter if it failed.
It was literally no more than an experiment, so if it failed, he could take ransom and release them; if they truly became defectors, that would be good as well.
He would be able to use them as tools for shaping public opinion.
The most important thing was that by occupying Rhodes Island without major losses, he had pulled out the thorn lodged in his throat.
“I hope the canal is connected soon.”
Yusuf took out stationery for a letter to send to Shemsi.
It was the kind of letter Shemsi, who lived in an age without blocking senders, hated most.
∗ ∗ ∗
1520.
A solemn voice reached the ears of the man kneeling before the Archbishop of Cologne.
“Will you preserve the holy faith?”
“I shall.”
“Will you defend the holy Church?”
“I shall.”
“Will you protect the kingdom?”
“I shall.”
“Will you uphold the laws of the Empire?”
“I shall.”
“Will you preserve justice?”
“I shall.”
“Will you show proper obedience to the Pope?”
“I shall.”
The man who had given the same answer to the six questions placed two fingers on the altar and swore an oath.
When the man who would become the new emperor received confirmation, those gathered spoke in unison.
“Do you accept him as king!”
“We do!”
The cry was repeated three times, and the archbishop recited a blessing for the new emperor as he anointed him with holy oil.
“I anoint the king in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.”
Like the figures in the Bible, the anointed man donned the imperial robes, received the sword, orb, and scepter that symbolized the emperor, and knelt.
The most important step of the coronation, the ceremony of receiving the crown, still remained.
When the archbishop-electors placed the splendid imperial crown upon his head, the man, Charles V, rose from his seat.
It was the day a new emperor of the Holy Roman Empire ascended the throne.
∗ ∗ ∗
The news that Charles V, a man of extraordinary fortune, had been crowned emperor of the Holy Roman Empire reached Yusuf as well.
“Neither holy, nor Roman, nor an empire.”
Those were the words Voltaire, the philosopher of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, had spoken of the Holy Roman Empire.
However, that was because an unfortunate succession had reduced the emperor to a mere puppet; at present, it was by no means a power to be underestimated.
Perhaps because the Ottoman threat had become greater than in the original history, Charles V’s coronation had been moved up by several months.
‘It is not a particularly important change.’
He had ascended to the imperial throne only after borrowing 850,000 ducats and using the funds to bribe the prince-electors.
François I, King of France, had mobilized 100,000 more ducats than in the original history, scattering a total of 400,000 ducats, but it had not been enough to twist the flow of history.
“A new enemy has risen for the empire.”
The Atlantic route to the Americas would be blocked by Charles V of Spain.
And in Europe, his younger brother, Ferdinand, who would govern the Holy Roman Empire on Charles V’s behalf, would become an obstacle.
‘He is a new obstacle, but not a stone I must struggle to remove immediately.’
For the empire had yet to consider stretching westward, toward the New World.
Yusuf took his eyes off the letter and looked straight ahead.
He was standing upon a desolate land. What was more, it was the very place where he had stood seven years before.
It was a magnificent sight, an unending succession of pits so deep that anyone who tumbled down would find it hard to survive.
A change had come to this parched space.
Rumble!
“P-Padishah! The water is coming!”
When the earth that had blocked the lake and the canal was pierced through, water surged in through the canal like a wave.
It was the moment when the canal, which had been nothing more than a giant ditch of earth, gained life, and many of those who had suffered because of the canal shed tears.
More than twenty thousand prisoners had died during construction, and its opening had come two years later than expected, but in this moment, those facts did not matter.
“Şemsi Pasha, you have worked hard all this time.”
“Not at all, Padishah. To see something so many said was impossible reborn as reality fills this servant’s heart to bursting.”
“Without the labors of you and many others, it would have ended as nothing more than a dream.”
Having heard of the countless incidents that had occurred during the construction of the canal, Yusuf truly thought so.
Fearless desert tribes had come to plunder, epidemics had broken out, and the prisoners had risen in revolt.
This arduous and difficult construction project could not have succeeded without the empire’s many talented people.
Watching the water fill the canal, Yusuf declared,
“From this day forth, the empire’s world shall grow even wider.”
Not long after, a fleet flying red flags set foot in the Red Sea through the canal.
It was the most shocking event in Europe since the capture of Constantinople.
∗ ∗ ∗
The man holding the brush stared blankly at a single painting.
His eyes were fixed on the painting so completely that he did not even properly notice the pungent smell of oil mixed with paint stinging his nose.
The sight of a girl with radiant blond hair and luminous green eyes smiling innocently was a painting he himself had made, yet it made his heart flutter.
How long had he stared at his own masterpiece, painted two years ago, without starting a new painting?
A sigh reached his ears.
“Tiziano.”
At the voice calling him, the man, Tiziano Vecellio, turned his head.
It was Giovanni Barbaro, with whom he had become acquainted while taking part in Venice’s delegation to the Ottomans.
“I called you several times, yet you did not even turn your head, and here you are looking at that painting again. You have put off all your many commissions, too.”
“It is not simply because of that painting.”
“Even so, that painting must account for the largest share of it.”
Giovanni Barbaro looked at Tiziano with pity.
Where money flowed, art also developed, and in Italy, Florentine painting and Venetian painting were the two great pillars of Italian art.
Though he was only twenty-nine years old, after the death of Giovanni Bellini, the master of the Venetian style that emphasized color, the person enjoying the greatest renown in Venetian painting was Tiziano.
It was only natural to feel regret that the one who would lead Venetian art in the future had fallen into a slump.
“Is it not time you began accepting the commissions piling up? Nobles, as a rule, tend to hold grudges for a long while. The higher their position, the more true that becomes.”
“I suppose I must accept commissions.”
As Giovanni said, he could not ignore commissions from nobles and palaces forever.
Seeing Tiziano put down his brush despite his answer and merely gaze at the painting he had made, Giovanni spoke as if he had no choice.
“In that case, would you rather come with me to the Ottomans again this time?”
“To the Ottomans?”
The Ottomans were physically close, but emotionally distant.
That was why not only Tiziano, but many others, harbored fantasies about the Ottomans yet could not easily think of going there.
“I hear the canal has finally been connected in the Ottomans. I intend to meet the Padishah in order to receive a permit to use the canal, so rather than staying like this, how about coming with me?”
Tiziano, who at the very least wished to see that statue again, brightened slightly, but soon his expression hardened.
“Have we not sold the paintings of the Ottoman princess to nobles? I wonder if entering their lands might put me in serious trouble….”
The painting he kept was the best of the several paintings, and the rest had been sold to nobles who came after hearing rumors.
He had been enticed by the pressure from the nobles and the enormous sums they offered, and had sold them off, but that was what was now holding Tiziano back.
At Tiziano’s concern, Giovanni patted him on the shoulder.
“Was it not a transaction with nobles? Even an emperor would not know of that, so do not worry too much. Do you think he has so little to do while managing that vast empire?”
“If it will be all right, I would like to go.”
“Good. If the opportunity arises, I shall also arrange a meeting with Michelangelo Buonarroti, who made that statue.”
At Michelangelo’s name, Tiziano clenched his fist.
He was an artist who had been kidnapped by pirates and fallen into slavery. The amusing thing was that after falling into slavery, his fame had spread even farther.
That was how powerful the title of artist favored by the Ottoman emperor was.
“Will that truly be possible?”
“Is it not common for artists to interact and exchange inspiration with one another? And they say that though he is nominally a slave, he is not being oppressed, so it should be possible.”
“Then I shall accompany you.”
Tiziano gave a firm answer with a bright face.
A representative painter of the Renaissance, who had received commissions from all over Europe, including Charles V, recently crowned emperor of the Holy Roman Empire, and François I, King of France.
A painter who, in the distant future, would be overshadowed by the fame of Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo Buonarroti, and Raphael, but who at the time was the most renowned painter in Europe.
Tiziano, about whom there was an anecdote that Charles V had personally picked up his brush and said he deserved to be served by an emperor, boarded a ship bound for the Ottomans once again.
∗ ∗ ∗
The canal connecting the Mediterranean Sea and the Red Sea had been completed. The shock and value of this fact were not simple.
Of course, the fact that the Ottomans had succeeded the Mamluks and were digging a canal was known in Europe as well.
With a construction project of that scale, it was impossible to block all eyes and ears.
However, most people who heard the news were half in doubt, and there were many skeptics who firmly declared that it could never be done.
‘Now that is merely a story of the past with no meaning at all, and Portugal must be in a desperate state.’
To begin with, sailing all the way around Africa to reach India was no ordinary matter.
Just from the fact that they had named the southern tip of Africa the Cape of Good Hope, one could indirectly understand how dreadful the ten-thousand-kilometer voyage along Africa’s western coast had been.
‘The risks of the voyage itself are tremendous, too.’
It was so dangerous that if half the ships they sent returned, they had to thank God for a tremendous success.
And yet they continued to sail because if even a portion returned, it would still be profitable.
Even Magellan’s fleet, which crossed the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans, had only one ship return out of five, yet they say it covered all the costs of the voyage and still had profit left over, so the profits of maritime trade went without saying.
In any case, now that a new risk called the Ottoman navy had been added to this, Portugal must be going mad with frustration.
“Portugal, whose lifeline has been cut, will struggle desperately.”
“Is that not why you sent the fleet to the Red Sea?”
“That alone is not enough to erase Portugal’s room to resist.”
At the words of Dukaginzade, the new Grand Vizier, Yusuf answered firmly.
Portugal was a country that had been striving for a hundred years to open a new eastern route to replace the Mediterranean.
Now, just as they were about to taste its sweetness, it was being snatched away, so it was obvious they would stake the nation’s fate on resistance.
“The enemy is not only Portugal. With the opening of the canal, Egypt’s value has risen to an incomparable degree from before, so they may even try to launch another crusade.”
“If they dare come forward so fearlessly against the empire, I shall turn all of Europe into a sea of fire.”
At that nonsense about trying to accelerate global warming, Yusuf clicked his tongue.
“The Grand Vizier has not drunk much qahwa yet, I see. Do you not see those resentful gazes over there?”
If they waged war against all of Europe, the Ottomans, too, would have to stake the nation’s fate and throw in their full strength.
That meant the workload would increase like mad, and the retainers glared at Dukaginzade as though they would pickle him in coffee.
The vizier spoke on behalf of their resentment.
“Grand Vizier, it is good to see your loyalty to the Padishah, but it has not even been a year since we began leaving work before sunset.”
“…I misspoke.”
Though many officials were appointed through examinations every year, the Ottomans suffered from such a large administrative void that there were even regions where they had given up on collecting taxes.
Trying to fill that void meant that no matter how many talented people they selected, they were sucked in like a black hole, and it had not been long since they had finally begun living like human beings.
It was to the point that, after Yusuf ascended the throne, the birthrate among his retainers plummeted.
“If we can avoid war with the West, then we should. The place we must reach toward at once is the East.”
Once trade expanded, it would extend beyond Southeast Asia into China and the rest of East Asia, but for now the top priority was India.
‘Spices are important, but saltpeter is important too.’
They could not keep making saltpeter from kneaded dung forever just to produce gunpowder, could they?
Seizing India, where saltpeter could be obtained by digging into the earth, was the foremost objective, and until then it would be better to avoid war with Europe.
Yusuf turned his head to the other side.
“To buy time, we will have to sow discord among the nations of the West. That is why your role is great, Hasan.”
“I shall merely fulfill my duty.”
Hasan, who had left behind the legend of Satan’s tongue, bowed his head.
Yusuf looked with satisfaction at the man talented in agitation, fabrication, and incitement, then dismissed the gathering and turned away.
Leaving the conference hall, Yusuf changed course and climbed to a fortress from which the Bosporus Strait was plainly visible.
Standing with his hands clasped behind his back, Yusuf gazed at the strait flowing like a surging torrent and spoke.
“Hassan Pasha.”
“Yes, Padishah.”
A dry, brittle voice.
It was not because the thick black hair he had once had was gone without a trace, leaving him old.
“Did you send Nene off well?”
“Thanks to the care shown by the Padishah and the Valide Hatun, she was peacefully gathered into Allah’s embrace.”
“Then that is a relief.”
Strictly speaking, she had been nothing more than a maidservant, but Nene was not a woman to be judged by status.
When he had just become Yusuf, aside from his mother Fatima, she had been one of the few people he could trust.
‘Had it not been for childbirth at an advanced age, she would not have been a woman to leave like this.’
She had safely given birth to her son, Alhasan, but there had been no helping the weakening of her once-healthy body.
Even to Yusuf, who had seen many deaths, Nene’s death was no small matter, and for Hassan especially so.
“Has your heart settled somewhat?”
“Thanks to the time the Padishah granted me, I was able to be with her at the end. She told me to serve the Padishah well together with our son. She did not even worry about me, left behind.”
It was just like Nene.
Hassan let out a hollow laugh as if dumbfounded, but Yusuf could feel a terrible longing within it, so he gave him time to sort out his emotions.
After a warm breeze swept past as though soothing Hassan’s heart, Yusuf spoke.
“If Nene said that, then I must entrust work to you now.”
“Please give your command.”
Yusuf pointed toward the Bosporus Strait with his hand.
“I intend to build a bridge across this strait.”
“A bridge across the strait, you say?”
The narrowest part of the strait dividing Europe and Asia was seven hundred meters wide, about the same as the Han River.
In this era, building a bridge of that length was difficult enough, and because the current was swift, there was a high possibility that the pillars would not hold properly.
He already had a sense of how hard it would be, and at his gaze asking whether Yusuf truly meant to entrust it to him, Yusuf patted him on the shoulder.
“Grief can be forgotten through work. All of this comes from my consideration for you.”
“…I shall obey your command.”
At Yusuf’s shameless excuse, Hassan agreed powerlessly.
Now that he had already been caught in the spiderweb of labor, there was no way to flee.
Having forcibly handed Hassan a task, Yusuf looked out over the strait where countless ships came and went.
Before long, envoys from Venice and France were scheduled to arrive.
‘Even if we monopolize the canal, it will only breed resentment and give them a reason to unite, so we must share the profits to some extent.’
François, whose enmity with Charles V had deepened over the seat of the next Holy Roman Emperor, was someone the Ottomans could afford to support.
As Yusuf was thinking as far as an alliance with France, someone came running toward him in haste.
“What is it?”
“They say the Portuguese fleet and our fleet have clashed at Mocha!”
In the original history, it had been the world’s largest coffee trading market, becoming the origin of every word beginning with mocha, such as café mocha, and it was the capital of Ottoman Yemen.
In other words, it was the city where Murad was.
∗ ∗ ∗
The man who swung a sword half again larger than those wielded by others wiped the blood splashed across his face with his hand.
Mounted on horseback, the man drove his sword into the mound of piled corpses and shouted.
“Are there no more who wish to go into Allah’s embrace!”
At the voice that rang thunderously across the battlefield, the enemies who had been charging in began to edge backward.
Murad, who had turned the long scar on his cheek into a symbol of terror, spat when the enemy troops withdrew.
“What bothersome wretches.”
Murad casually pulled the sword from the corpse and listened to the faint sound of cannon fire.
Compared to a few hours ago, the cannon fire had certainly diminished.
As Murad used a cloth from his bosom to wipe away the blood and human fat clinging thickly to his blade, Yagiz Pasha, who had come as an adviser, let out a sigh.
“Your Highness, why do you push yourself so hard? If the Padishah saw this, he would scold you.”
“They are a fierce lot. If I am to crush them down, I have no choice but to show them strength.”
The Bedouins, the Arab nomads he had seen and felt since coming here, were like beasts.
That did not mean they were barbarians, but that they were hard to control, and whenever they saw an opening, they bared their teeth to bite at one’s nape.
After roughly wiping off the blood, Murad sheathed his sword and smiled.
“And because there is at least amusement like this, I can remain here, can I not?”
Yagiz lightly shook his head.
There were also many Bedouin warriors who submitted after being captivated by Murad’s martial prowess, so it was not easy to stop him.
When the forces of the Tahirid dynasty, which had lost western Yemen to the Ottomans and made the southern port of Aden their last stronghold, withdrew, Murad asked.
“What happened with the naval battle?”
“They merely exchanged cannon fire from a distance and then fell back. They must intend to gauge our level.”
“It seems this place will become the empire’s main battlefield from now on.”
With a light laugh, Murad trampled over the corpses and returned to the port of Mocha.
∗ ∗ ∗
Michelangelo stopped the hand with which he was sculpting.
It was a rare thing for him when he was focused, but there was reason enough.
“You painted a picture after looking at the statue of the princess that I made?”
He had no idea what this fearless man was saying.
Michelangelo hurriedly looked around, then seized Titian by the collar and whispered.
“Run at once. If you do not want to be cut off.”
Following Michelangelo’s gaze downward, Titian’s complexion turned pale, and he seemed to hear the faint sound of the Janissaries’ footsteps.
It was one day when the meeting with the envoys had been postponed because of the naval battle with Portugal.
∗ ∗ ∗
Yusuf flicked his hand.
Though the Ottomans were in the Mediterranean, that did not mean they were ignorant of the state of new sea route exploration.
Even in the original history, less than two years after Magellan’s death, a copy of Magellan’s navigation chart had entered Topkapi Palace.
It was safe to assume that nearly all news reached them, and Yusuf wore an irritated expression.
‘If they think they cannot have it, they should quietly give up and grow sugarcane in Brazil or something.’
The Portuguese Empire was still something of a distant age, and this was a country that had only just begun to taste money, yet it was fearless.
They seemed to have gained confidence from crushing the Islamic allied fleet, including the Mamluks, at the Battle of Diu, but it was utterly laughable.
“What Portuguese territories have been identified?”
“You may consider the necessary ports along the route from Africa to India occupied. They have advanced much farther than that as well.”
“They are mad for money, so that is hardly strange.”
Yusuf was not one to fall behind when it came to acting recklessly, but the Europeans of this era often went one step further.
If there were no goods to sell, they sent the shopkeeper up to Allah and engaged in free trade.
In any case, Portugal had already occupied even the Strait of Malacca in Malaysia, one of the most important shipping routes in the world in modern terms, alongside the Panama and Suez Canals.
“Whatever the case, the basic policy remains the same. We must build ships and ensure they can never set foot here again.”
The Portuguese, armed with the belief that anything was permissible against infidels destined for hell, were nothing more and nothing less than pirates.
The retainers who heard Yusuf’s command agreed.
“Even now, the shipyards are exerting themselves to build vessels. Though the price of timber has soared, it is well within our capacity to bear.”
“There is no need to worry about cannons or gunpowder either.”
More ships and more cannons.
That was always the right choice.
Unlike Portugal, which had to come all the way around Africa, for the Ottomans this was a fight in their own front yard, so there was no chance of running short on gunpowder.
The retainers who received Yusuf’s orders departed, and Yusuf turned his head.
“I have kept you waiting.”
“Not at all, Padishah.”
Giovanni Barbaro offered a courteous bow.
He was not so foolish that he failed to understand the meaning of holding a meeting with an envoy beside him.
“I was worried when I heard Portugal had made a move, but it seems I may put those worries aside.”
To the Venetians, sharing the same religion was not important. What mattered was not infringing upon their interests.
For Venice, already in a state of severed diplomatic relations with Portugal, which had infringed upon its interests by breaking the monopoly on the spice trade, this was a welcome measure.
Yusuf gave a gentle smile toward Giovanni, who had understood his intent well.
“Yes, there is no need to worry. The time has merely come for them to pay the price for the sins they have committed.”
“We too were shocked to hear of their atrocities. I cannot understand how they could wear the skin of men and do such things.”
It was amusing because these were the words of Venice, which fell not at all behind Portugal when it came to evil deeds.
Of course, even villains had their uses, so Yusuf did not show it.
“In any case, even if we drive Portugal out, direct trade will not be easy. Because of the things Portugal has done.”
It was to the point that the moment they saw a white man, they would come with an axe to split his skull.
That was why the French envoys who had visited earlier had put off using the canal and withdrawn after only receiving trade benefits in Cairo and Konstantiniyye.
At these words, Giovanni answered confidently.
“It will be difficult, but we can certainly manage it. We have ties with the Arab merchants, and when we fought the Portuguese at sea, we even gave them aid, so their antipathy toward our nation should not be too severe.”
“If that is how you have judged it, then so it must be.”
In any case, direct trade was not a choice for Venice, but a necessity.
Now that France had opened trade with the Ottomans, the monopoly was broken, and if they wanted to gain even a little more profit, they had to take the risk.
While speaking with Giovanni, Yusuf slowly turned his head and looked at one young man among Giovanni’s party.
“Was it Tiziano Vecellio? The artist who spoke with my favored Michelangelo.”
“Y-yes, that is so, Padishah.”
Tiziano hurriedly bowed his head, his voice trembling.
Michelangelo’s advice to run away was still echoing in his ears, and he felt as though if he let his guard down, his trousers would grow damp.
He was terrified that at any moment an order would be given to make him like the eunuch standing beside him.
“There is no need to be so nervous. Would I, who favor excellent artists, persecute you?”
Yusuf, who knew very well how tremendous the power of art and culture could be, was not speaking empty words, and Tiziano relaxed slightly.
After all, it seemed the emperor still did not know what he had done.
‘Well, how would he know about paintings the nobles bought in secret?’
Recalling Giovanni’s words, which had persuaded him to come here, Tiziano eased his tension.
“I hear your paintings are that splendid? You have piqued my interest.”
“They are at least not so poor that I would be ashamed to show them to the Padishah.”
“Ho, what remarkable confidence. Then again, even Michelangelo said that in painting, you were likely better than he.”
Of course, comparing a sculptor and a painter was somewhat absurd, but for Michelangelo, who was filled to the brim with pride, to admit that another was better than him, even if only in painting, was quite a great compliment.
“Since meeting like this is also a form of fate, if the opportunity arises, you may come to the capital from time to time. I shall keep the door open for you always.”
“Truly?!”
Tiziano beamed so brightly that he committed the discourtesy of asking again.
The moment he saw the statue again this time, Tiziano had felt inspiration explode within him, and he had realized it was his muse.
As an artist, it was unthinkable to give up a muse that granted inspiration, so it was only natural for him to rejoice.
“Indeed. We have already concluded discussions with the French, but in the future, many more people will visit the empire.”
Not only Jerusalem, the Holy Land, but also Kostantiniyye was a city of great significance to Europe, and with fantasies planted by Yusuf’s life story and the like, many wished to visit.
‘Anyone who can afford to travel abroad in this era must be wealthy anyway.’
There was no reason at all to turn away people who would spend money lavishly and return home with a favorable impression of the Ottomans.
“At any rate, I will also allow you to meet Michelangelo, so if the opportunity arises, you may come.”
“Thank you, Padishah.”
Thanks to Tiziano’s genuine delight, the atmosphere became even more cordial, and the talks themselves proceeded smoothly.
The envoys departed to adjust the details they had discussed, and Yusuf left the audience hall.
“Father!”
“Yes, Hasna.”
When Hasna saw Yusuf, she smiled radiantly.
Yusuf patted Hasna’s head as she nestled into his arms, and heard the child chattering beside him.
“Qasim said he’d draw a picture of me, but he drew it so strangely. And Mustafa found something I lost a little while ago, and it feels like he finds everything that gets lost in the harem!”
“Did he now?”
When one lived buried in work, one tended to neglect what was close at hand. Hasna, who often came to visit, filled that gap.
Hasna, who had not stopped talking the entire time they walked, clapped her small hands together and said,
“Grandfather Michelangelo said there might be a new attendant coming into the harem. What happened?”
“Hmm, unfortunately, there will be no new attendant.”
“Huh? He definitely said there would be one.”
Watching Hasna tilt her head, Yusuf smiled deeply.
“There is no need to be impatient. I am simply waiting until the prey already in my grasp grows plump.”
Tiziano was different from Michelangelo.
He was not someone who would achieve great fame in the distant future, but one who would enjoy wealth and glory along with great renown during his lifetime, so there was a need to wait until he grew a little more. Yusuf laughed coldly, and that night, Tiziano had a nightmare for no reason he could fathom.
∗ ∗ ∗
Five ships entered the natural harbor of Muscat, where rocky islets lined up like breakwaters and the land was surrounded by rocky mountains.
Vasco da Gama carefully examined the thirty or so ships already in port.
Sunken marks left by cannonballs could be seen here and there, but the overall damage was minor, and the soldiers repairing the ships did not look all that bad.
Vasco da Gama, who had only heard news of the naval battle after arriving near Muscat, disembarked, and there was someone waiting at the harbor to greet him.
“It has been a long time, Your Excellency.”
“It has been a long time, Governor.”
Vasco was the first person in Portuguese history who was not a member of the royal family to be raised to the rank of count, which showed just how highly his achievements were valued.
After receiving the respectful greeting of Diogo Lopes de Sequeira, the Governor of India, Vasco looked over the harbor.
Muscat, located in the southeastern part of the Arabian Peninsula, was a harbor close to India and had grown into an important trading port.
“The harbor is deserted.”
“Haha, is this not originally that sort of place? Please come inside.”
Although ten years had passed since most of the inhabitants had been massacred and the harbor burned, it was far too short a time to recover from such damage.
It was only natural that it looked empty.
Seeing the local residents working like slaves in their ragged state, Vasco frowned.
“Are those heathen bastards not living too comfortably?”
“I will take measures, Your Excellency.”
Diogo, frowning at Vasco’s look, signaled the soldiers with his eyes, and the soldiers lashed a resident who was moving cargo.
Even as flesh and blood flew because of him, Vasco showed not the slightest sympathy.
When he had sailed to India, he was the man who had committed atrocities such as plundering ships, hanging corpses up for target practice, or cutting them into pieces and sending them to the locals to use as curry ingredients.
Treating the pain and pleas to spare their lives as nothing more than the howls of beasts, Vasco entered the fortress and asked Diogo,
“I hear you fought a naval battle with those filthy heathens. How was it?”
“The situation seems different from the naval battle at Diu. The enemy’s firearms are superior to ours.”
“Mere heathens? In what respect?”
Thinking back to the skirmish that had taken place not long before, Vasco let out a sigh.
“From range to rate of fire. Overall, our weapons lagged behind theirs. At this rate, we have no chance of victory.”
“So the claim that they may be the best in the world when it comes to gunpowder weapons was not an empty reputation. How could the Lord have left that heathen empire to grow unchecked?”
Vasco lamented briefly.
Just as the Ottomans were sitting back and hearing even all news of the exploration of the New World, Europe also knew quite a lot about the Ottomans.
Among those things, the most famous militarily was that they loved cannons so much it was rumored they chewed gunpowder instead of eating meals.
“Hoo. The one who says that if firepower is lacking, one need only fire more cannons is the heathen emperor. It cannot be helped if we are outmatched in cannons.”
Since the Ottomans were the subject of jokes that their soldiers dragged cannons around instead of swords, Vasco did not doubt Diogo’s words.
Vasco fell into deep thought. Since he had come appointed as an adviser on Indian policy, he had to present a solution.
“If this turns into a war of attrition, we cannot help but be pushed back by those heathens. Is that not so?”
“That is correct. The enemy can now bring in many ships from the Mediterranean after digging the canal, but it is not easy for our side to replenish our vessels.”
Diogo did not go so far as to bring up financial problems.
It had not been long since they began the spice trade, but it already accounted for forty percent of Portugal’s profits.
Considering that fewer than eight ships departed from Lisbon each year, there was no need to state how profitable it was, and this was not the time to be weighing financial issues.
“…What if we bring Spain in instead?”
“Are you serious?”
What had been the reason Portugal tried to obstruct Spain’s Magellan from setting out on his circumnavigation of the world?
It had been to prevent Spain from taking a share, so Diogo could not help but be astonished when Vasco, who had argued that they would lose their rice bowl to Spain, said such a thing.
“At this rate, spices and everything else will be finished anyway.”
They had committed so many atrocities up to now that there were mountains of people who gnashed their teeth at the very name of Portugal.
They were bowing their heads now, crushed by force, but if Portugal began to be pushed back by the Ottomans, it was obvious they would declare that they would smash Portugal’s skull.
“If we obsess over small profits, we may not be able to set foot in this region at all. It would be better to share the profits instead.”
“The king may oppose it.”
“We will have to try to persuade him. There is also the matter of the Treaty of Tordesillas.”
After the American continent was discovered and Portugal and Spain each sought routes to India, bringing them to the brink of war, the treaty mediated by the Pope was Tordesillas.
According to the demarcation line, Spain held rights to all of the Americas except Brazil, while Portugal held rights to the entire eastern region, including Brazil.
This was also why Spain could not go to India by sailing around Africa as Portugal had, and instead tried to find India by moving west.
“Not only our king, but Charles V as well will be wary of the Ottomans’ growth, so we should reach a favorable conclusion. First, I must return home to convey this fact.”
To convey the seriousness of the situation to the king, Vasco rose to his feet.
There was no time to spare.
∗ ∗ ∗
“Prince! A fleet of Portuguese bastards ahead!”
Murat, who had been aboard a scout ship yawning, smiled brightly at the shout.
Five enemy ships were approaching.