Two Monsters
The war now unfolding between Venice and the Ottomans held great historical significance.
It was the event in which Venice lost the exclusive position it had held in the eastern Mediterranean for hundreds of years since the Fourth Crusade, and having been burned so badly, Venice would never again face the Ottomans alone.
‘Not that any of this is my concern.’
He was headed in the exact opposite direction, and he had neither the attention nor the leisure to spare for brawls out west.
Because securing a physician, which he had not been too worried about, had run into difficulties.
He realized the problem during his first interview with a physician.
“So, what did you say one does to bring down a fever in the head?”
“One must draw out the blood that possesses the attribute of fire. It occurs because there is an excess of blood, which has a hot and moist nature.”
Was he speaking to a wizard instead of a physician right now?
Yusuf felt a throbbing headache at all this talk of attributes, and soon recalled one memory.
“Ibn Sina?”
“Oh! You know of Ibn Sina?”
The physician brightened, and Yusuf pressed a hand to his forehead.
Ibn Sina (Avicenna) was a great philosopher, but he was also renowned in later generations for medicine.
He had died in 1037, yet his Canon of Medicine was regarded as the bible of medicine until the seventeenth century.
‘The problem is that this is still medicine of this era.’
The theory he took as his foundation was the theory of the four humors, extended from the theory of the four elements.
Blood was fire, phlegm was water, yellow bile was earth, and black bile was air.
With those correspondences set, treatment consisted of removing the bodily fluids that caused problems and supplementing what was lacking through diet.
Of course, in an era when medicine and surgery had not properly developed, it was not entirely ineffective medicine. If it had been, it would not have been used for more than six hundred years.
‘But if you follow this medicine, you also end up performing truly absurd treatments.’
For example, in the case of the first president of the United States, George Washington, they drew as much as 2.35 liters of blood to treat his pneumonia and killed him of excessive bleeding in three days.
This kind of bloodletting treatment also took place during the medieval Black Death, and it was a method that killed even people whose condition had been improving.
Of course, just as regular blood donation is not a problem, it was fine in moderation; the issue was that, to modern eyes, they did it to an ignorant degree.
Still, since all the medicine being learned now was in this state, he had intended to let it pass for what it was.
“For treatment, an excellent musician is also necessary.”
“A musician?”
“Yes. Music has powerful healing effects, after all.”
“Oh! Music therapy is good for the mind. But could you leave for now?”
After sending out the bewildered physician, Yusuf knew one thing for certain.
One must not fall ill in this era.
After the first interview, Yusuf cleanly gave up on internal medicine.
Since one could avoid most illnesses just by maintaining basic hygiene like washing one’s hands, he intended to focus on cleanliness.
He might be unlucky and contract a serious disease.
‘Then I’ll just have to die.’
He now knew for certain that this was a world where, once one contracted a serious illness, there was no way to treat it.
He was not the sultan, so it was not as if he could conduct research that would change the current paradigm of medicine.
Thinking of it that way actually put his mind at ease, and he turned his thoughts to finding surgeons instead.
At present, surgeons in Europe were looked down upon.
Compared to Europe, where they were not even treated as physicians and had to fight barbers for their livelihood, the Islamic world was in a far better situation.
Al-Zahrawi, born in the tenth century during the Islamic Golden Age, was the father of surgery, and many of the two hundred or so medical instruments he created were still recognized even in modern times.
Even among the Ottomans, there had been Sabuncuoglu, who devised a surgical method for pediatric hydrocephalus a hundred and fifty years before Europe.
‘Even the fact that surgeons work in hospitals is incomparable to Europe.’
It was that kind of era.
In any case, since even the Janissary corps had military physicians attached, there were quite a few decent surgeons, and Yusuf looked for exactly one thing.
Someone whose emotions were easy enough to read that he could detect betrayal without difficulty.
As a result, the man before him remained.
“I’ll be counting on you from now on, Sinan.”
“Haha, I swear upon my surgical tools that I will devote myself wholeheartedly.”
Sinan’s face was cheerful as he patted his large surgical bag.
So much so that it was hard to believe that, during their first meeting, he had been beaten by the guards after laying out and bragging about the scalpel, saw, and other quasi-weapons inside.
Contrary to his seemingly frivolous appearance, he had been a military physician active on the front lines of war, and his skill was also well recognized.
“Good. I will trust you, then. Hasan, guide him to where he’ll be staying until we depart for Trabzon.”
“Understood, Your Highness.”
After sending Sinan out, Yusuf sank into thought.
The three months the sultan had granted him had passed in the blink of an eye, and it was nearly time to depart.
It had been as frantically busy as the time had passed quickly.
For over two months now, he had learned the basic knowledge a sanjakbey ought to possess from Şemsi, who still did not reveal his true thoughts.
And he had to learn all sorts of scholarship from the six teachers Şemsi had brought.
Information he had never once encountered in the modern age had to be crammed into his head with ordinary intelligence and much groaning, and in his remaining time, he had to draft plans for the future.
It was a schedule difficult for the body of a mere eleven-year-old to endure, but.
“In the future, I’ll probably think this was better.”
At the thought of stepping into the middle of a bloody struggle, his heart pounded fiercely without taking any hint.
As Yusuf looked outside, feeling an emotion he could not tell was tension or anticipation, a soft voice reached his ears.
“Your Highness.”
At that call, he turned his head, and a blonde girl stood there shyly.
“Ayşe.”
She wore a plain maid’s outfit, but it was not enough to conceal her appearance.
Her complexion was healthier than when they had first met, and her lustrous blonde hair was neatly tied up, revealing a beautiful neckline.
If this were the modern era, hers was the sort of dazzling beauty that might make one think she was a celebrity, but.
‘At the end of the day, she’s a child.’
It was not something he should say when he was four years younger than Ayşe, but because of his memories of the modern world, she simply felt like a cute younger sister.
Yusuf gave Ayşe, who was standing there hesitantly, a playful smile.
“Why? Trying to come in again in the middle of the night?”
“Th-that was because Lady Nene told me to. She definitely told me to go and come back.”
“How strange. She said she never told you to come in during the night.”
Ayşe’s pale skin flushed red, and she lowered her head deeply.
She looked so different that it was hard to imagine the way she had once cursed at him first, and Yusuf gave a small laugh.
‘It must be embarrassing. She endured her shame and came in, only to be scolded by the other party.’
He had been too startled to send Ayşe back politely out of consideration for her.
He had thought another assassin had come.
The incident that had left only embarrassment and surprise for both of them was obviously a trick played by the two women.
Since they had taken quite a liking to Ayşe, who stubbornly kept up even with harsh education, it was only natural that they would try to pair them.
‘I can see why Fatima would like her. Setting aside her feelings or appearance, she’s the kind of person you rarely see in this era.’
She was acting like a graceful young lady, but he could not be fooled by that.
She had endured all sorts of filthy words and learned the language solely with the determination to curse back, so she was no ordinary gutsy girl.
She was so impressive that not only the weak-minded and weak-bodied Hasan, but even the five Circassian guards who had been sold along with her, could not move a muscle in front of Ayşe.
‘If she had been born a man, she probably would have become at least a pasha.’
Perhaps because his thoughts had gone on too long, Ayşe asked cautiously.
“What are you thinking so hard about?”
“I was thinking that you have the makings of a general. No, how about aiming to become the first female pasha of the Ottomans?”
“No, thank you. I’m going to do something far greater than becoming a pasha. For our Adyghe and for Your Highness.”
Circassian was the name used for them by others, such as the Turks and Russians, while they called themselves Adyghe (Адыгэ), meaning people who lived in the highlands by the sea.
Ayşe’s resolution was something he could only welcome, and Yusuf smiled brightly.
“If things turn out as you say, I’ll grant you one wish. Even if it’s freeing a slave I bought for an expensive price.”
“If that slave trader heard that, he’d clutch the back of his neck and collapse.”
“Why? You don’t want that?”
“As if. I’ll be sure to remember it.”
Ayşe smiled radiantly, like a flower blooming.
“So why did you call me?”
“Lady Fatima has summoned you. She said she wished to have a comfortable conversation with you before you leave.”
“Is that so? Then I should tell her about the promise I made with you today, too.”
“Y-Your Highness?!”
Watching Ayşe flap her arms in panic, Yusuf burst into cheerful laughter.
It was truly an insignificant conversation, but it lightened his complicated mind.
What did a bloody future matter?
‘What matters is who the owner of that blood will be.’
Yusuf steeled his heart.
∗ ∗ ∗
“Load it carefully!”
Feet bustled about as luggage was loaded onto one small sailing ship and four galleys.
Because there were many valuables, including gold coins and treasures granted by the sultan, the eyes of those watching the laborers were sharp.
With the people going along and their accompanying families added together, more than fifty people were moving, so it was inevitable that there would be a great deal of luggage.
While the loading was underway, Yusuf looked around the galley, whose long oars left a strong impression.
It was not that there was no stale smell, but it was not unbearable.
‘Is it because this is exactly the period when they’re transitioning to the a scaloccio method?’
A scaloccio was a method in which several people gripped one large oar.
Unlike when each individual held one oar, the need for skilled rowers decreased, and slaves could fill those empty spots.
From this point on, the whipped slave rowers we think of were born.
‘There are stories that hundreds were chained up, soaked in sweat and filth, so that one could tell a ship had reached port by the smell even before it arrived.’
Honestly, he could not imagine a stench of that degree.
Treating them this horribly was why they would rise in revolt during war and cause defeat.
‘It’s not as if I’m some vicious boss quibbling over “paying in passion.” Frankly, if they’d made emancipation conditional on victory in the war, would they have rebelled?’
Once he became sanjak-bey, he would have galleys he could operate, so it was worth considering.
While he was looking over the galleys that would remain in active service in the Mediterranean for at least another hundred years, the loading was completed.
The sailing ships and galleys, carrying all the people and supplies, spread their sails wide.
Aboard the ship cutting through the current, Yusuf gazed at the capital growing farther and farther away.
‘The only time a prince who has once left the capital can return is when he has become sultan.’
He would survive, and from the highest place, he would look upon this scenery again.
Yusuf made that firm vow and looked straight ahead.
There was no need to linger over a land he would one day have to return to.
Because his future lay in the land where he would soon arrive.
∗ ∗ ∗
“Welcome! Brother!!”
…Damn it, why are you here?
A strange foreign object had intruded upon his future.
∗ ∗ ∗
When one hears of the Age of Discovery or the pioneering of the New World, one might imagine the romance of sailing ships cleaving through the open sea.
In truth, there was no such thing.
The staple diet was meat so hard it could break a fang, and soup boiled from dried beans whose nutrients had all been destroyed; after only a short voyage, the drinking water would be crawling with insects.
Even that wretched food and water were strictly controlled, to the point that anyone caught stealing it would be punished by having both hands nailed to the mast and being starved to death.
There were countless alcoholics thanks to the liquor they drank in place of water, and diseases like scurvy and typhoid fever came as a bonus.
‘They say scurvy would have been different if there had been bean sprouts, but you can’t grow proper bean sprouts in filthy water.’
Unless it was coastal sailing, where fresh water could be regularly supplied, bean sprouts were meaningless; and if one could receive clean water, one might as well simply buy food.
To overcome scurvy, it was better to provide limes, as Britain had done.
‘Though to obtain enough at a price sailors could eat, you’d need colonies in their places of origin, like India or Malaysia.’
Perhaps because he had been aboard a ship for so long, his thoughts were drifting too far, and Yusuf shook his head.
He had grumbled about the difficulties of sailing, invoking the Age of Discovery and whatnot, but compared to the voyage he was on now, it was the difference between a deep-sea fishing boat and a pleasure cruise.
The Black Sea was an inland sea, so the waves were not severe, and they sailed along the coast, stopping at ports from time to time.
Considering navigation in this era, it was practically a sightseeing trip, and even that time was now coming to an end.
“Your Highness, they say we have nearly arrived at Trabzon.”
At Ayşe’s words, Yusuf nodded.
He had already known, since they had met a ship from Trabzon some time ago.
Yusuf went up onto the deck and looked at the city drawing closer and closer.
“So that is Trabzon.”
The Sanjak of Trabzon was long and narrow along the coastline, and in the case of Ordu, the westernmost city, they had already arrived ten hours ago but had simply passed it by.
It was because he wanted to set foot first in Trabzon, where he would spend the most time while serving as sanjak-bey.
Though it could not compare to the capital he had left in scale or splendor, the thought that it was his own domain sent a pleasant exhilaration rising within him.
But as the ships entered the harbor where vessels were anchored, he sensed that something was a little strange.
“What is this?”
“Perhaps a welcoming crowd?”
Even Ayşe, who said so, did not look certain.
There were too many people gathered at the harbor for it to be merely a welcoming crowd, and many of them were armed.
“Your Highness, what will you do?”
At Şemsi’s words, Yusuf pondered briefly before making a decision.
“Bring the ship alongside the pier. I will see for myself.”
“Understood.”
A rebellion against a newly appointed sanjak-bey? And one who was a prince, at that?
That would be enough for the city to burn to ashes under the sultan’s wrath, so he was not greatly worried.
‘And Selim would never handle matters so sloppily.’
If a major incident worthy of being recorded in Ottoman history occurred, then Selim, his predecessor, would not escape unscathed either.
With that conviction, he disembarked with dignity, but this was not what he had expected.
“Welcome! Brother!!”
…Damn it, why are you here?
A curse he had not uttered even when the ship had nearly been shot full of holes almost burst out of his mouth.
Surprise was surprise, but Yusuf took the hand the other man extended.
‘This man is Selim I.’
A hearty laugh, and a large, firm hand.
He was not tall, but the two eyes looking down at him flickered hotly and exuded a heavy pressure.
‘He is definitely different from the sultan.’
His face was plainly different as well, but more than that, the very temperament he gave off was different.
If the sultan was like a sharp dagger hidden within a smile, Selim seemed like a fire that would burn away everything that stood in his path.
He was every bit the monster who would usurp the throne and, in a mere five years, create an empire spanning Asia, Europe, and Africa.
Selim asked with a smile.
“Well then, have you finished observing me?”
“Forgive my rudeness.”
“Not at all. I am the elder brother you are seeing for the first time, so it is only natural.”
Selim treated it as nothing and patted Yusuf on the shoulder.
It was an exceedingly friendly gesture, but Yusuf frowned so subtly that it went unnoticed.
‘In the Ottoman dynasty, the only good brother is a dead brother. Friendly, my foot.’
It was so blatant it almost made him laugh.
From the way he addressed him to his attitude, everything clearly treated Yusuf as a subordinate.
Strictly speaking, with age, rank, and power, there was not a single point in which Yusuf surpassed him, so he was indeed below Selim.
‘But showing that in front of the people I’m about to rule is another matter. Well, shall I play along for now?’
Anyone who would be swayed by this sort of trickery was someone who ought to be cut away anyway.
Selim was treating him like a greenhorn and not even hiding his feelings, so it was a good chance to learn about him.
Having reached that conclusion, Yusuf smiled brightly.
“It is good to see you in person, Brother, but why are you still here? I thought you would have gone to Teke long ago.”
He was genuinely curious.
Teke was a Mediterranean city, so if one traveled by ship, one had to take a long sea route through Kostantiniyye; it was better to go by land.
Their routes should not have overlapped, so he had not even expected to meet Selim, and yet here he was, standing right in the harbor. How startled would he be?
“There is no need to hurry just to go to Teke. Is it not enough as long as I leave three months from now?”
“That is true.”
Though normally, rushing off happily to Teke would be more natural.
When Yusuf stared at him, unconvinced by the explanation, Selim burst into a hearty laugh.
“I waited in order to meet my brother. The other brothers grew up around the same time and were raised together, but you did not. If not for an opportunity like this, when would I see you? And…”
Selim drew out the end of his sentence, then his eyes flashed.
“I heard that you requested to be appointed to Trabzon in my place, so I was very curious. About you, Şehzade Yusuf.”
So that was it.
For someone at the level of a prince, he would surely have at least one straw stuck into the capital, so it would not have been difficult to find out.
Leaving aside Trabzon’s importance or scale, to a prince, it was a rural backwater.
The sultan was growing old, and Selim had been stuck in the countryside, anxiously chewing his nails; Yusuf had freed him from that situation.
It was indeed something worth going out of his way to meet him for, but Yusuf must not mistake that for goodwill.
Look at him playing tricks from the very beginning. If Yusuf let his guard down, the man would take his nose clean off.
“Rather than standing here talking, let us go inside. The banquet preparations are already complete. Will Hatun be joining us as well?”
Fatima, her face covered by a hijab, shook her head.
She was worried about what sort of scheme he might attempt against Yusuf, but even if she joined them, it would only give others the impression that he had not yet left his mother’s arms.
“It is not a place for women to intrude, so I would like to rest at ease.”
“Understood. Once you arrive, I will have you guided to the place where you will be staying.”
It was an invitation Yusuf could neither refuse nor had reason to refuse, so he called Hasan.
“Hasan, you will take responsibility for overseeing the disembarkation.”
“Understood.”
Someone like Hasan, whose emotions showed too easily on his face, would be of no help, and in any case, someone had to watch over the transfer of the baggage.
With Selim and Yusuf at the head, the party walked through the citadel of Trabzon.
Streams ran along both sides of the citadel, and the fortress extended all the way to the Black Sea.
The farther inland one went, the higher the elevation rose, and at the end of it stood the castle that had served as the royal residence during the days of the Empire of Trebizond.
As Selim walked through the city, he spoke in a voice tinged with sentiment.
“Do you see that market over there? In the early days of my appointment, a fire broke out there and gave me quite a headache. In that alley over there, there was a murder three years ago, and we investigated it together.”
At first glance, it seemed as though he still had lingering affection for the city he had been with for so long before leaving.
‘If he were the sort of man to be so sentimental, he would never have earned the nickname Yavuz.’
Yavuz was a nickname that could be interpreted as “the cold-blooded” or “the resolute.”
Part of the reason was that he mercilessly killed family members who posed a threat to his power, but more than that, it was because he was strict in rewarding and punishing: he certainly rewarded good deeds, but conversely, when problems arose, severe punishments and executions were hardly rare.
Whatever the reason, it meant he was not the sort of person to peddle sentiment, and naturally, he had an aim.
“Are you speaking of the fire that was concluded to be an accident?”
“Haha, there was such a matter as well. I remember that Your Highness took a great interest in the investigation.”
Those following behind chimed in repeatedly, and Selim’s words were, in effect, directed at them.
‘You intend to leave the scent of your predecessor behind until the very end?’
The larger a predecessor’s footprints, the more a successor would suffer.
Even if he noticed this trickery, it was not as though he could stop that conversation.
It was a difficult method to block, since interfering for no reason would only make him look petty and strange, but Selim was mistaken about one thing.
‘I have no intention of dragging along people who don’t want to follow me.’
When a new king ascended the throne, it was only natural for a purge to take place.
Yusuf’s eyes, having lost interest, gleamed coldly.
After passing through the lower city in the lowlands and climbing the hill, they came upon the wall that formed the boundary with the upper city; after receiving salutes and passing through the gate, the upper city appeared.
In the upper city stood numerous mosques and large bathhouses, including the Fatih Mosque, which had been built as a church in the tenth century but was converted into a mosque when the Ottomans conquered the city.
Only after Yusuf reached the end of this upper city could he take in, with his own eyes, the castle where he would live from now on, and which would serve as a refuge fortress in times of war.
It was the full view of Trabzon Fortress, steeped in a long history recorded as far back as the fifth century BCE.
“We can look around at our leisure once we go in. Even if I am to leave, I would like to taste more of the food here before I do.”
“Very well. Since this will be my territory from now on, I ought to assess the quality of its cuisine.”
At Yusuf’s answer, drawing a clear line between them, the corners of Selim’s mouth lifted.
The tension that formed in an instant kept everyone silent all the way to the banquet hall.
Yusuf and Selim sat side by side at the seat of honor in the banquet hall, and the others took their places as tactfully as they could.
Once everyone was seated, Selim rose from his chair.
“Today is both a regrettable and a joyous day. I am saddened to leave this city that has been with me for so long, yet truly glad to meet my brother in this manner. I shall never forget the time I spent with you all. Brother, you should say a few words as well.”
At Selim’s words, Yusuf stood.
“Looking around Trabzon today, I could tell how much effort you and my elder brother have put into nurturing this land. There is still much I lack, but I believe that if you all assist me, I will be able to carry out my duties admirably. I look forward to working with you.”
Applause rang out at the words of the two brothers, and the banquet began in earnest.
Islam forbade alcohol, but the Turks, who had once been nomads, were tolerant of drinking, and among the sultans of past generations there had even been heavy drinkers.
As long as no one caused trouble from excessive drinking, it was fine, so wine was served alongside the food in the banquet hall.
Fish dishes, which he had rarely eaten in the capital, were served in abundance befitting a port city, and once the alcohol began to circulate, cheerful laughter burst out from every corner.
Selim’s face had reddened from the drink, and his eyes fell on Ayşe, who stood quietly behind Yusuf.
“You have quite a fine slave there.”
“I was fortunate.”
“How about it? Have you any thought of selling her to me? I will pay you generously.”
At the eyes gleaming with desire, Yusuf smiled faintly.
“I have no such intention whatsoever, so do not concern yourself with her. I never let go of anything that has come into my hands.”
As the gazes of Yusuf, who had answered firmly, and Selim tangled together, the noise in the banquet hall slowly died down.
When the tension the two of them had created settled heavily over the hall, Selim burst into laughter.
“Indeed! If one is a prince, of course one should answer that way. How could a man who cannot protect what he holds in his grasp be called a prince?”
“Naturally.”
Yusuf laughed with him.
As the atmosphere that had seemed ready to break into swordplay at any moment subsided with their laughter, relieved sighs could be heard here and there.
For princes were beings who could kill one another at any time.
When the atmosphere in the banquet hall loosened once more, the doors opened and a small child walked in.
“Father, did you call for me?”
“Oh, Süleyman! Come here.”
At Selim’s bright smile and the name he called, Yusuf’s eyes gleamed.
Two monsters, and a hunter who could live only by killing monsters, had gathered in one place.
∗ ∗ ∗
Yusuf was only eleven years old.
Considering that one was usually appointed as a sanjak-bey only after turning twelve, being appointed even half a year early was an exceptional matter.
This had been possible because of the sultan’s trust, gained by selling Allah and knowledge of the future, and because, even if a new kingdom was not born as Yusuf had warned, there was a high possibility that trouble would arise in the east under cover of the war.
It was a kind of consideration from the sultan, telling him to prepare with plenty of margin.
Yet even compared to Yusuf, Süleyman was far too young.
‘Well, he is five years younger than me, so I suppose he is a kindergartener.’
It was simply fascinating that this child would grow up to be a man called a magnificent emperor even in Europe, achieving tremendous results in both conquest and domestic rule.
Selim sat Süleyman on his knee and asked Yusuf,
“How does my son appear in my brother’s eyes?”
“He looks remarkably clever, just like his name.”
After all, the name Süleyman itself was the Turkish form of King Solomon.
Yusuf added playfully,
“He is more handsome than you as well, elder brother.”
“Ha ha! Yes, our Süleyman is indeed clever and handsome.”
Though small in stature, he had the looks of a fine young man, enough to make one look forward to his future.
Of course, thanks to the points he had put into charm, Yusuf, in whom the genes inherited from Fatima were shining, had no reason to fall short either.
If not for the amiable mood, the two of them would have looked like brothers, while Selim would have looked like a kidnapper.
“I am thinking of sending him to Kostantiniyye around next year to receive his education.”
“That is an excellent idea. There is no better place to be educated.”
The school called Enderun, located deep within Topkapı’s Fourth Courtyard, was responsible not only for educating the children selected through the devshirme, but also for the education of princes.
Yusuf had simply failed to adapt properly due to his weak nature, so his tutors and Fatima had taken charge of his education instead.
To make up for all the studies that had piled up, he had been forced to suffer like a dog for more than two months.
In any case, that education was the beginning of Süleyman’s path down an ultra-elite course.
‘Honestly, it is better to compete with Selim. If I had been born as Selim’s son and had to compete with Süleyman, there would have been no answer.’
If King Sejong was the product created by the finest education in Joseon, Süleyman was the culmination of Ottoman education, and in the realm of scholarship, he was truly a monster.
‘If I capture him later, lock him up, and put him to work, wouldn’t industrialization be done in no time?’
He was in no position to be certain of even the next step before him, yet greed welled up in him.
One could ask what on earth he was doing talking about an Industrial Revolution all of a sudden, and whether it would really be that easy.
‘At this point in time, the Ottomans are closer to an Industrial Revolution than Europe.’
It would be a mistake to think of the Ottomans of this era as some mustachioed fool being thoroughly fleeced by Europe while crying, “Hawawa, what is an Industrial Revolution?”
The Ottomans had inherited the legacy of what was called the Islamic Golden Age, when Islam, from the ninth to the thirteenth centuries, had absorbed various cultures and achieved great accomplishments in both the sciences and literature.
Thanks to that, the Ottomans continued to make steady scientific progress even into the sixteenth century.
‘Then they got hit by religion’s counterattack.’
From the seventeenth century onward, the Islamic spirit came to be considered important, and mathematics, philosophy, and astronomy disappeared from school lessons, ultimately causing science to decline.
The present Ottoman Empire possessed the scientific capability to create even a rudimentary steam engine a few decades from now.
Thinking that way, Yusuf was able to offer his blessing with sincerity.
“If you go to the capital, study hard for the future.”
As he spoke those words and gently stroked his head, Süleyman, who had looked surprised, soon nodded with a bright smile.
“Yes! I will work hard.”
The sight of him clenching his small fist and making his vow was quite adorable, to the point it was hard to believe he had been born to Selim, who looked like a bandit chief.
Though the future was unknowable.
‘If I become sultan, I do not necessarily have to kill my nephew.’
His brothers, however, would have to die.
Hiding his murderous intent behind his smile, Yusuf said to Selim,
“It is getting late, so how about we bring this gathering to an end?”
“Mm, keeping those who have only just arrived tied down for too long would indeed be unkind.”
Selim readily agreed, and with the will of the two rulers behind it, the banquet was brought to a close in no time.
Selim spoke to Yusuf as he left the banquet hall.
“Thanks to my brother, I have had an enjoyable banquet.”
“I am a little regretful. I find myself wishing it had been a banquet I hosted for you instead, elder brother.”
If so, even if I could not make radioactive tea, I could at least have served you some liquor with the taste of heavy metals.
“Would such an opportunity not come someday?”
“When that time comes, I shall be sure to host you.”
As your last supper, that is.
Yusuf swallowed the rest of those words.
For when the brothers met again in the future, it would only be to kill each other.
∗ ∗ ∗
Returning to the room where he had stayed for nearly twenty years already, Selim erased the faint smile that had lingered on his lips.
Selim looked back at the son who had followed him into the room and asked,
“Süleyman.”
“Yes, Father.”
“How did he seem to you?”
There was no need to ask whom he meant, and Süleyman fidgeted with his hands as he thought.
When he had first seen him, he had not felt like one of his father’s brothers.
He had heard about him, but seeing him in person, the age difference was far too great, and though he felt sorry to his father, there was too much difference in their appearances as well.
That difference stirred his curiosity, and the maturity unbefitting his age was enough to make Süleyman admire him.
As his thoughts continued, Süleyman’s hand rose to his own head without him realizing it.
‘It was warm.’
It felt as though the warmth from the hand that had stroked his head still remained.
“He seemed like a good person.”
“A good person, you say… Süleyman.”
At Selim’s voice, which had turned stern, Süleyman flinched.
As if displeased by that weak display, Selim furrowed his brow slightly and said coldly,
“For a prince, the only good brother is a dead brother. Just like your brothers.”
At Selim’s words, from which not even a speck of fatherly affection could be felt, Süleyman merely nodded faintly.
A cold hand was placed roughly atop Süleyman’s bowed head.
“You need only follow this father’s words. Then, after me, the master of the empire will be you.”
“…I understand.”
Watching his son nod obediently, Selim smiled in satisfaction and sent Süleyman away.
Left alone in the room, Selim stroked his beard and looked back on the day.
Trabzon was a place of love and hatred to him.
After the death of his eldest brother Abdullah, whose face he had never properly seen even once, he had taken charge of it, and so he had spent most of his life in Trabzon.
By now, this place felt more like home than the capital, whose memories had grown faint.
Yet at some point, this place had become a prison to him.
A place far from the capital, a remote borderland to which no one paid much attention.
When he realized that he had to wither away here, worrying that another brother might become sultan, he felt suffocated beyond endurance.
It was a time when rage and despair thrashed within him, as if he were trapped in a swamp from which no amount of struggle could free him.
‘And then the order came down.’
An order saying that a young brother who had never once seen his post would fill his place.
Afterward, when he heard that his brother had volunteered for this position, what he felt was not joy but a deep, gnawing suspicion.
And so he waited, and met him.
“Şehzade Yusuf, should I kill you, or let you live?”
If Yusuf were to die under suspicious circumstances, Selim himself would be the first to be suspected, so it was a dangerous course to take.
“My instincts keep telling me to kill you.”
Selim looked up at the night sky, where not a single sliver of moonlight shone.
Should he ignore his instincts, or take the risk?
As his deliberation deepened, Selim recalled what Yusuf had said for the sake of his slave, and made his decision.
“Brother, I pray you do not covet what is not held in your own hand.”
If you wish to live even one more day, that is.
∗ ∗ ∗
Yusuf patted Ayşe on the shoulder as she followed him all the way to his room, her face flushed.
“I made you see something ugly for no reason.”
“No, sir. More than that, I’m worried that your relationship with him has been ruined because of me. I would rather….”
The hand clutching her skirt trembled, and Yusuf gave an answer to her courage.
“Eek!”
“If you’re going to spout nonsense, go collapse into bed and sleep.”
Watching Ayşe clutch her forehead after being flicked, Yusuf continued bluntly.
“Just because I keep calling you pretty, do you think you’ve become something? You’re still a slave, you know? Do you really think the brotherly affection between princes would crack over a mere slave?”
Yeah, no. That kind of brotherly affection never existed from the day we were born.
If it had, would my life have been dangling by a thread?
“And as I said, I’m not such a kind person that I’ll meekly let something in my hand be taken from me.”
He was a man trying to turn the Ottoman Empire upside down and become sultan in order to protect his own life.
If someone wanted to take what was in his grasp, then naturally, they ought to put their life on the line.
Yusuf silently stroked Ayşe’s hair as she kept her head lowered.
“Don’t entertain useless thoughts. Go in quietly and rest. Once you become the mistress of this place, you’ll have more work to do from now on.”
“…Understood.”
Ayşe, unable to raise her face until the end, fled the room as if running away, and Yusuf clicked his tongue lightly.
“Selim, that bastard really doesn’t sit well with me.”
They were the sort of people destined to stab each other in the gut, so he had never intended to grow attached in the first place, but the man’s behavior made him think of Russia’s specialty product: radioactive tea.
Well, it wasn’t as if there had been no benefit.
He had been able to get a clear grasp of the atmosphere here.
“As expected, I’ll need to make it perfectly clear who the master is from now on. There’ll be some growing pains, but it can’t be helped.”
If they missed the former master, then so be it. He would simply have to make them miss him so badly they went mad.
Of course, if he simply rammed into them head-on, it was not the embedded stone but the newly rolled-in stone that would be bounced away.
So first, he had to split apart those who were united as one.
“A few methods come to mind, but I’ll need to draw up a plan after investigating this.”
Yusuf, who had sunk into thought while fiddling with a single ducat gold coin, set that matter aside for the time being.
It would be enough to move after Selim left.
“Selim is one thing, but Süleyman is a dilemma.”
Could he let him live?
He was cute now, but in a dozen or so years, when the war of succession broke out, he would become that nephew.
Who knew if that innocent face might one day say, ‘Uncle, may I measure the thickness of your neck to see how far the blade will go in?’
Succession was fundamentally a fight between brothers, but in this era’s wars of succession, even nephews were killed if they got in the way.
“I still don’t know.”
He decided to think of it simply.
If Süleyman got in the way of him becoming sultan, he would kill him. If he could somehow leave him alive, he would grind Süleyman down and use him like an engineer.
He reached a neat conclusion, but if there was still one outcome he hoped for…
“It’d be nice if I could spare him.”
Because the bright, clear face of a child who was only six years old still lingered before his eyes.
Fatigue washed over him from the long voyage and his battle of nerves with Selim, and just as he thought he should sleep now…
[Assassination avoided. Score +1]
“…No, this damnable older brother of mine?”
Selim was absolutely going to die.
Yusuf made up his mind.