The Butterfly Effect
A heavy silence hung over the harem, where once had drifted the scent of women’s perfume and the sound of coquettish laughter.
Valide Hatun Fatima looked down at the woman prostrated before her with disheveled hair, her eyes devoid of emotion.
To such a degree that it was hard to believe they had been smiling together only moments ago.
“Naime.”
“V-Valide Hatun. Please, have mercy!”
Trembling violently as she crawled forward, Naime failed to even notice that her clothes had slipped, baring her body.
Naime’s pitiful gestures were blocked by the sword scabbards aimed by the eunuchs, and toward Naime, her face stained with tears and terror, Fatima spoke coldly.
“Naime, the reason you have been dragged here is not simply because you accepted petitions from merchants.”
“Th-then why….”
“First, you accepted petitions beyond your capability. Did you think that merely because you had lain in the Padishah’s arms a few times, you could issue canal passage permits?”
Trade with the East through the canal was like raking in money with a pitchfork, so it was not permitted to just anyone.
It was allowed only to those whose past records were deemed satisfactory and who could offer corresponding returns equal to the benefits they gained.
Those with enough money to offer such bribes had usually amassed their wealth through corrupt means, and a mere concubine could not bestow upon them a passage permit.
“While you are in the harem, you too are the Padishah’s woman. For one beneath the dynasty’s banner to utter falsehoods is to insult the Padishah’s banner.”
“Th-that is not so….”
“Second, you showed the subjects that a woman belonging to the harem could influence policy. Did you mean to make the Empire a laughingstock?”
“I-I absolutely did not! I never had such thoughts!”
Though she vehemently denied it, Fatima had no intention of changing the punishment she had decided upon.
“Take her to the Bosphorus.”
“Yes, Valide Hatun.”
An order to take her to the strait—a place where the corpses of the executed were also disposed of—meant only one thing, and seeing the eunuchs bringing a sack, Naime spoke urgently.
“The Padishah! I beg to plead my guilt before the Padishah!”
At Naime’s desperate cry, Fatima clicked her tongue.
It was nothing short of pitiful that a woman who had lain in the Padishah’s embrace only a few times still did not know his temperament.
“This is a punishment permitted by the Padishah. Take her away.”
Had he been one whose heart softened simply because he had once shared a bed with someone, he would never have sent Ayşe and Hatice to follow the princes.
The eunuchs struck Naime, who tried to resist, and placed the unconscious woman into a large sack.
For the harem was no place for blood to be spilled.
Fatima swept her gaze across the harem.
As the Empire’s size grew, so too did the women of the harem, their number now well exceeding five hundred.
Space had become so scarce that the harem had to be expanded, and to the women flaunting their various charms, Fatima issued a warning.
“I trust you all know well how you must conduct yourselves from now on.”
Passing between the women bowing their heads in silence, the Valide Hatun entered the room.
“Have you returned?”
Nodding at Tazlu’s question, Fatima patted Mustafa, who was looking up at her, on the head.
Black hair and dusky skin.
His eyes, blinking innocently rather than sharply, still retained a childish look.
“Mustafa, thanks to you, it was resolved well.”
“But it was just a treasure hunt?”
“Did I not permit it? You searched well.”
Had the discovery been delayed, it would not have been resolved with only one person’s blood; thus, it could be seen as a meritorious deed.
“Is there anything you wish to have?”
“Hmm… a map.”
“A map?”
At the unexpected words, Fatima was puzzled, and Mustafa broke into a bright smile.
“Father said it. That the world is wide, and there are many treasures.”
“Did he now?”
If it were Yusuf, he would not have said such words simply for a child’s innocent heart, but Fatima did not ponder deeply and looked at her finger.
An old silver ring, unbefitting a noble Valide Hatun, was worn there.
A keepsake of a friend who had waved her hands in refusal, yet when it was placed in her grasp, had smiled with a flushed face.
‘There is no need to worry about too distant a future. Is that not right, Nene?’
A person’s life is finite, and its end is not so far away.
Fatima’s fingers, tracing the deeply carved scratch on the silver ring like a memory lodged deep in her heart, were quite careful.
“A map, you say. I shall ask the Padishah once. He will likely permit it.”
The value of a map was by no means trivial, but it was not something a prince could not possess.
Mustafa smiled brightly.
∗ ∗ ∗
Yusuf gazed at the Golden Horn, the bay north of Constantinople also known as the Golden Horn Bay.
Thanks to the Golden Horn, the capital was surrounded by sea on three sides and not easily conquered, but the inconvenience in passage was unavoidable.
The wasted detour alone was well over ten kilometers.
‘But I can’t have a pontoon bridge laid every time either.’
It was not for military purposes, and one could not lay temporary pontoon bridges just for the people’s passage.
The bridge under construction across the Golden Horn was important in that regard, and Yusuf smiled at the figure standing with a displeased face.
“Michelangelo, do you so dislike that bridge?”
“To be honest, yes.”
“He is already dead. Is there any need to concern yourself?”
“Leonardo—I still cannot forget that he said a sculptor looks like a baker covered in flour.”
Though it was wrong to belittle sculpture, Michelangelo had likewise held painting in contempt, so to Yusuf, the two were much the same.
Indulging the childlike behavior he occasionally displayed, Yusuf played along.
“He was in the wrong.”
“I am glad that the Padishah thinks so as well.”
Yusuf looked at the bridge under construction.
It was a bridge that Leonardo da Vinci had proposed to his father, Bayezid II.
Its greatest feature was that it had no piers supporting the bridge, for piers could hardly withstand the swift current of the Bosphorus Strait.
Instead of piers, this innovative design withstood the load through an arched bridge, but it had been rejected by Bayezid for lacking realism.
‘It was understandable. For a 280-meter bridge, there would be at least ten or more piers.’
It was only in the 21st century, after being verified through various methods, that the conclusion of its sufficient feasibility was reached; until then, it had merely appeared absurd.
“Is it not fine? Think of it as your sculpture covering the bridge designed by Leonardo. It would be like applying a new coat, would it not?”
Michelangelo stroked his beard at Yusuf’s words and gazed at the Golden Horn.
If completed, it would become the longest bridge in the world, and the idea of overlaying that place with his sculptures was not so bad.
“Ahem, let us speak of such matters after the bridge is completed. I still do not find that man’s design trustworthy.”
“Yes, there will be plenty of time to speak after it is completed.”
If he lived according to original history, Michelangelo would live another forty years or so. There was still a very long time they could spend together.
While conversing with Michelangelo, Hasan, who had arrived in haste, paid his respects.
“You have come, Padishah?”
“You have worked hard, Hasan.”
Hasan’s face, overseeing the massive construction, was full of fatigue, but he had more vitality than when they had met after Nene’s death.
“How is the construction progressing?”
“Without delay. The iron sent by Prince Mehmet is arriving on time.”
Da Vinci had designed it without using any adhesive substances like mortar, fitting the stonework together like blocks, but there was no need to follow that strictly.
Safety was the most important thing for the bridge, so whether iron or cement, he had no intention of sparing any.
Yusuf patted Hasan on the shoulder and spoke.
“This bridge is meaningful in itself, but it is also a rehearsal before building a bridge across the Bosphorus Strait. You must not forget this.”
“I understand well, Padishah.”
Of course, he did not intend to carry over Da Vinci’s design exactly as it was for the Bosphorus bridge either.
‘The difference in length alone is more than threefold; it would be insane to think of them the same way.’
Even the narrowest point of the strait was 750 meters, and there was a limit to how much load an arch could bear.
However, if Da Vinci’s design could be incorporated to reduce the number of piers, that alone would be valuable.
‘How long will it take until both bridges are completed?’
It might be a miracle if they were built before Hasan died of old age.
For no matter how much cement and rebar they had, the limitation of an era without heavy machinery was clear.
Perhaps they might not be completed even until he himself died of old age.
‘It can’t be helped. Even if I started steam engine research right away, I couldn’t produce heavy machinery.’
Moreover, Yusuf had no intention of creating a steam engine anytime soon.
Trying to crudely instigate an industrial revolution without the proper foundation would only cause suffering for the subjects below.
That did not align with the future Yusuf had declared, and he intended to leave the industrial revolution as a task for future generations if possible.
In any case, Yusuf, resigned to the fact that the bridges would take a long time to complete, patted Hasan on the shoulder.
“Live a long, long life.”
“…Yes, Padishah.”
Yusuf smiled at Hasan, who responded half-heartedly, and moved on.
For while waiting for Hasan, interesting news had arrived.
When Yusuf entered the audience chamber, a man quickly paid his respects.
“I greet the Padishah.”
“Piri, was it? I recall you greeting me alongside Kemal Reis.”
“Thank you for remembering, Padishah!”
Piri looked deeply moved.
Considering the numerous bureaucrats under Yusuf, remembering the face of one who had not even become an admiral was practically an honor.
Yusuf, seated upon the high seat, gave a slight nod.
“Enough with the greetings. Are these the ones who sailed with a man called Magellan?”
“That is correct, Padishah.”
Though there were many surviving sailors, only two were bound before Yusuf.
“Juan Sebastián de Elcano, Antonio Pigafetta.”
At the sound of their names, the two hurriedly lowered themselves.
Even though they were nothing more than sailors, they knew all too well just how dangerous and extraordinary the man seated in the place of honor, looking down at them, was.
“Is Magellan, who led the fleet, dead?”
“Y-yes! He fell in battle while fighting a chieftain named Lapu-Lapu.”
“That must be because you fools did something pointless. I suppose you tried to force them to convert.”
When he guessed it as though he had seen it himself, the two trembled, and Yusuf clicked his tongue.
Somehow, though it seemed history had changed greatly because of him, the things that were supposed to happen still seemed to happen.
‘Is it because the situation changed, but the people did not?’
If only they had not been greedy about things like conversion, they would have returned with a hefty load of spices.
They would not have wasted time either, so they would not have been captured like this.
“I suppose I should send a gift to that chieftain Lapu-Lapu someday.”
“I will remember it, Padishah.”
Since he was a Muslim chieftain, there was nothing strange about sending a gift in the capacity of Caliph.
Yusuf looked at the two terrified men.
Elcano was the one who could truly be said to have circumnavigated the world more than Magellan had. After all, he had led the remaining survivors back to their point of departure.
Pigafetta was a man who, over the three-year voyage, left behind various records that would greatly influence later explorers and cartographers.
“Padishah. I translated their voyage records bit by bit on the way to the capital.”
“Bring them here.”
Piri respectfully handed the book to a eunuch, and Yusuf received it through the eunuch and skimmed it with his eyes.
The records of their journey through South America to the Philippines were written in detail, and there were many points that Yusuf could use as reference.
“Interesting. Karl’s insides will turn upside down. Wouldn’t you say?”
“It seems likely.”
As a navy man and a cartographer, Piri understood better than anyone the value contained in the voyage records.
More than the spices that had been completely seized by the Ottomans, these voyage records could be an even more painful loss.
‘I cannot tell how the course of history will change from here.’
Since the New World was not yet profitable land, he could not be certain how Spain would respond.
They might devote themselves even more fervently to developing the New World, or they might attempt to pioneer the sea route once again.
In any case, word that Magellan had reached the Philippines would reach Spain’s ears.
‘Perhaps they might find the return route connecting Cebu and Mexico earlier than in history and bring forward by decades the eastern trade route through the New World.’
The future was unknowable, so he needed to watch a little longer.
Yusuf changed the subject.
“That aside, where in the world did the viceroy of India you were chasing go?”
∗ ∗ ∗
“V-viceroy! Are we truly attacking?!”
“If this continues, we will starve to death! There is no other way!”
The country called Ming treated them like pirates and continued to refuse them entry into port, and in the end, they had been driven as if fleeing all the way to a small country in the Far East.
When even this country refused not only their entry into port but even their approach, Diogo gave the order to attack, and the Portuguese fleet fired its cannons.
∗ ∗ ∗
“Y-Your Majesty! The Western barbarians! The Western barbarians have plundered Ganghwa Island and gone south!”
“Wh-what?!”
In another land, Jungjong sprang up from his seat.
It was the butterfly effect that had begun from a far distant place.
∗ ∗ ∗
Charles V maintained an upright posture.
Having been thoroughly trained in etiquette from childhood as a member of royalty, he exuded dignity even while simply sitting still.
Even the pungent smell of oil had not made him properly wrinkle his nose once, and when a knock sounded, he raised a hand.
“Let us rest for a moment.”
At Charles’s words, Tiziano Vecellio set down his brush.
He had painted many people of noble birth until now, but this subject was of a different order, and even a single small stroke of the brush was enough to make sweat bead on him.
While he wiped away the sweat flowing from tension, the door opened, and the attendants bowed to Charles.
“We have brought the paintings you ordered.”
“Well done. Bring them here.”
Tiziano swallowed as he watched the paintings pass before his eyes.
He was confident in his skill at painting, but what was needed to receive a commission from a king of a nation was fame rather than skill.
Those two paintings were what had made up for the fame he still lacked, and Tiziano’s eyes filled with unease.
“Tiziano, there is nothing for you to be anxious about. As promised, the story of these paintings will not leak outside.”
“Understood.”
In any case, now that he had come this far, withdrawing was no longer an option.
Taking his eyes off Tiziano, Charles carefully examined the first painting he saw and stroked his beard.
“So this is what he looks like, this fellow called Yusuf.”
Yusuf, wearing a turban and leaning on a staff, was so handsome that it stirred a slight jealousy, but what mattered more than that was the atmosphere emanating from the painting.
His firmly closed lips and the green eyes looking down arrogantly felt utterly natural.
Even looking at only the portrait, it seemed no wonder he had built up the achievements he had until now.
“Tiziano, how closely does this painting resemble him? There are many paintings circulating that claim to be his portrait, are there not?”
Venice and one printer had been struck down for violating copyright, but if anything, that incident had allowed Yusuf’s book to spread rapidly throughout Europe.
The book was read even in England across the sea, and it was only natural that people’s curiosity would flow toward the protagonist of the story.
Although they could not confirm the faces of the women in the tale, fortunately, portraits of Yusuf existed throughout Ottoman lands, and painters commissioned by nobles made imitations of those portraits.
“It may sound rude, but to compare my painting to such shabby things would be an insult to my work.”
“Enough. A painter ought to have that much pride. In the first place, how similar could paintings drawn from memory be?”
There was no way they would permit the imitation of the portrait of the Padishah, who was treated as sacred, and if caught, the punishment was enslavement.
They looked as hard as they could, trying to commit it to memory, then painted it back in their own country, but how similar could it possibly be?
‘It would be one thing if they merely failed to paint him accurately.’
There were even cases where, reflecting the client’s wishes, they painted him half-naked or superimposed him with the form of a demon.
In the end, those who wished to see his face properly even crossed over to the Ottoman Empire in person to view the portrait.
“Since I copied exactly the portrait that was presented to the Padishah, you may consider it almost identical.”
“I see. So this is his true face.”
There were many nobles and royals who despised Yusuf as the emperor of infidels, but Charles knew well that they hid fear within that contempt.
‘For I am the same.’
He had inherited vast territories and had even been crowned Holy Roman Emperor, but until not long ago, he had been racking his brains to suppress the rebellion that had arisen in Spain.
Charles knew all too well how remarkable it was to govern the enormous territory called the Ottoman Empire without major problems.
“And this is the portrait of his daughter.”
For the first time, Charles experienced being entranced by a mere portrait.
After staring for a long while at the bright-faced girl, Charles asked in a slightly trembling voice.
“…How closely does this portrait resemble her?”
“I beg your pardon, but I did not paint it after seeing the princess in person. I painted it after seeing a picture of the statue carved of the princess.”
“I see.”
At Charles’s clearly disappointed attitude, Tiziano hurriedly added words.
“However, from what I heard from Michelangelo, who carved her in person, the real person is likely better than that, if anything, and certainly not lacking.”
“Did you not say you did not actually see her?”
“Because of her hijab, I could not see her face directly, but by good fortune, I did exchange a few words with her, however briefly. She was someone whose beauty even a hijab could not fully conceal.”
Though half in doubt at Tiziano’s words, Charles could not take his eyes off the painting.
After looking at the painting like that for a long time, Charles asked the chief chamberlain.
“What would you do if I said I would marry the Ottoman princess?”
“Your Majesty?!”
“It is a joke. A joke. I only said it because the marriage negotiations with Portugal have become uncertain, and I am frustrated.”
Portugal had been achieving tremendous growth by pioneering the sea route to the East, but misfortune came upon them one after another.
The previous king, Manuel, had died of the Black Death, and not long after João ascended as the new king, news arrived that the fleet sent to India had vanished.
‘At the very least, it is not damage they can recover from in a short time.’
It would have been one thing if it had ended with the eastern trade being cut off, but losing that many ships was fatal.
Portugal was plunged into great chaos, and as its value plummeted, the marriage negotiations had also become uncertain.
“Though she is an infidel princess, I merely thought that we could convert her and then arrange the marriage. Since the emperor is conciliatory toward Christianity as well, would conversion not be possible?”
“Putting aside the Ottoman response, domestic opposition would not be light.”
“That is why I said it was a joke.”
Lightly waving his hand, Charles clicked his tongue as he thought of Portugal.
“More importantly, I hear that not only were they defeated, but several ships were captured? How pathetic. To think they did not even have the courage to scuttle them.”
Just as Charles was clicking his tongue, an urgent voice was heard, and the nobleman who entered after receiving permission hurriedly bowed.
“Your Majesty. We have confirmed the whereabouts of Magellan’s fleet, which departed for the Malacca Islands.”
At those words, Charles’s face brightened, but at the words that followed, his face soon crumpled miserably.
“They are said to have been captured by the Ottoman forces near Malacca and taken to Constantinople.”
Charles, who had just been mentioning capture and scuttling moments before, spoke with his face reddened.
“Prepare to send an envoy.”
Everyone who had received orders left, and Charles let out a deep sigh as he looked at the painting.
“Perhaps truly pursuing the marriage would be better….”
Tiziano, left behind in an uncomfortable position, rolled his eyes.
∗ ∗ ∗
Yusuf looked annoyed at the news that had flown in from Europe.
“It seems the years have indeed passed. Seeing as they dare to say they will send me an envoy. Perhaps it has been too long since I last saw blood.”
Even five years ago, anyone who said they were going to the Ottomans as an envoy would have at least written a will before coming.
“I hope Prince Kasim grows up quickly.”
Recalling the past envoy tragedy, Suleiman answered, and Yusuf nodded.
“I think so too. He’s sly and black-hearted, so he might do even better than me.”
“My Padishah, he is listening from beside you.”
Pressing down on Kasim’s head as he hung it as if hurt, Yusuf clicked his tongue.
“You’re still far from deceiving your father. You need to learn more from the high officials.”
For a thirteen-year-old, he was quite good at hiding his emotions, but he was still far from evading Yusuf’s discernment.
Under Yusuf’s gaze, as if watching a performance, Kasim scratched his cheek.
“Kasim, it is good to package yourself, but you must not become a swindler without integrity.”
“I will keep that in mind.”
As Kasim bowed his head with a serious face unbefitting his age, Yusuf smiled and asked.
“So, do you still take outings to the slave market these days?”
“No, that’s not it.”
“Enough. It is an age where one has abundant curiosity. Suleiman, young Kasim is frankly better than you.”
“My Padishah. Why me…”
Suleiman, who was standing beside them and had gotten hit by stray sparks for no reason, made a sour face.
“Should you not look to having successors before it is too late?”
“I have much work entrusted to me, so I will allow myself a bit more time.”
“Suleiman.”
At the low voice calling him, Suleiman raised his head and saw Yusuf smiling benevolently.
“You need not watch my moods. My authority is not so frail as to be threatened by you.”
Even if he had been stripped of the Şehzade title, a royal was still a royal.
Since he was preserving his life by Yusuf’s grace, that life could be taken at any time.
To Yusuf’s words, Suleiman answered in a firm voice.
“It is not that I begrudge the life Your Padishah has graciously preserved. I merely worry that I might cause even the slightest harm to Your Padishah.”
“If that is your worry, you need not have it. Have you never heard the saying that nothing is as unfortunate as having no child to lighten your burdens?”
It was a proverb that originated in Cairo.
“Or is there perhaps another woman you keep in your heart? Hurrem, for instance.”
At Yusuf’s mischievous words, Suleiman’s face hardened stiffly.
“Absolutely not. I will look into marriage on my own.”
He had considered quietly pushing Hurrem onto him like in the original history, but Suleiman answered firmly.
It seemed the memory of having to correct that disastrously written letter was stuck too unpleasantly.
“If that is your thinking, it cannot be helped.”
Since Suleiman had refused, it seemed he would have to keep Hurrem.
She had gained fame while writing a book related to him, so she was in too precious a state to hand over to another bureaucrat.
I wonder if I can have a child this time.
So far, he had only five children. Compared to the number of women he had lain with, it was an absurdly insufficient number, and Yusuf found the cause in luck.
All five children possessed outstanding respective talents, as if a child with mediocre talent would simply not be born.
Of course, his busy work was also to blame.
“If there is no suitable woman, tell me. Do not drag on time needlessly.”
“I will keep that in mind.”
The situation after the war of succession was that Selim’s image had fallen to the pits, and the influence still remained on Suleiman, who had been pardoned.
He was in the midst of thinking that he should help a bit from behind.
“My Padishah, there is news that must be delivered urgently.”
“Enter.”
As soon as Yusuf gave permission, the eunuch who entered the audience chamber performed the ritual greeting.
Receiving the paper the eunuch held out, Yusuf let out a hollow laugh.
“They’re asking to borrow pirates?”
A request had come from France to borrow Barbary pirates.
∗ ∗ ∗
The plundering of Ganghwa Island, which was close to Hanyang and at the mouth of the Han River, was a great shock to Joseon.
Quite a long time had passed since the plunder, but the dark atmosphere flowing in the pavilion was proof enough of that.
“Ho ho, the navy that tried to stop the enemy’s advance south suffered more damage. Is that not so, Chief State Councillor?”
At Jungjong’s question, Nam Gon bowed his head.
“There was a limit to the mangseon.”
When grain transport ships carrying 800 seok or less of rice were used for military purposes, they were called mangseon, and in the case of the largest daemangseon, 80 sailors boarded.
At the Chief State Councillor’s words, the other subjects also voiced their agreement.
“Even the waegu ships are using larger vessels than the mangseon. It was insufficient to catch their ships.”
“The mangseon are modified grain transport ships, so they are too slow to catch enemy vessels.”
“I did not ask to hear excuses! It is frustrating! Frustrating!”
Already suffering from the waegu, to have barbarian-like fellows come from that far western land and plunder, only to let them go helplessly—how could he not be angry?
Feeling a headache, Jungjong asked.
“Then what was the identity of the enemy?”
There had been much dispute over the name of the newly appeared enemy.
Some called them Seoi because they were barbarians from the west, while others said they came through the Southern Barbarians and proposed calling them that.
Of course, the exact name had not yet been decided.
“As we have heard, they are said to be those who engaged in piracy beyond the Southern Barbarians.”
This was the reason they had not been given water and food when they first arrived, and sounds of tongue-clicking were heard here and there.
“It seems there are indeed waegu-like fellows even in such far lands.”
“There are ugly people everywhere.”
Jungjong raised his hand to stop the murmuring and asked.
“Why did they come all the way to our country?”
“According to what we hear, they say they fled here driven by a great empire beyond the Southern Barbarians.”
To have been defeated by fleeing men—on one hand he was angry, but on the other hand he grew curious about that great empire.
“So where did the enemy go?”
“According to what we hear, they say they were trading in Japan, got driven out, and moved northeast.”
“Strange indeed.”
It felt strange that those fleeing from the west disappeared to the east.
After pondering briefly, Jungjong made a decision.
“We must send envoys to Ming.”
∗ ∗ ∗
The disheveled blonde hair on his chest moved smoothly, and a sweet voice was heard.
“What thoughts are you having so deeply?”
At the ticklish voice, he lowered his head slightly.
The girl who had looked up defiantly had now become a woman in her twenties.
Much time has indeed passed.
Since it was Hurrem who had entered not long after his enthronement as Padishah, it meant that that much time had passed since he took the empire.
Recalling Aisha, who was also blonde and similarly defiant when they first met, Yusuf tidied the disheveled hair with his hand.
“What thoughts, you ask. I was thinking that if there is something that changes, there is also something that does not.”
In the original history, much had changed with a human named Yusuf intervening. Even Hurrem beside him belonged among those whose fate had completely changed.
However, there was also a flow that did not change.
Like the Italian Wars.
War was about to break out again on the Italian Peninsula, a famous landmark of this era.
It was the war between the French-Venetian alliance and the allied forces of Spain, the Holy Roman Empire, and the Papal States.
Though it had been delayed by a few years compared to the original history, the flow was treading the existing history exactly—though perhaps that was only natural.
Because the cause of the war was Francis, who lost to Charles V in the imperial election, rising up in dissatisfaction.
If the canal had been opened much earlier and Francis had abundant bribe money to hand out to the electors, it might have been different, but since that was not the case, history flowed as it was.
Not understanding what he meant, as Hurrem looked up, Yusuf patted her head and slowly rose from his seat.
“It is just that kind of matter.”
“I understand, my Padishah.”
Having learned in harem life that needless curiosity hastened death, Hurrem swallowed her curiosity.
As Hurrem wiped his body, Yusuf threw on clothes and went outside the room.
“Ali Pasha.”
“Yes, my Padishah.”
To Ali Pasha, who bowed his head respectfully, Yusuf gave an order.
“The envoys?”
“They are already here waiting.”
“I see.”
Though it meant they had summoned them since early dawn and left them in the ownerless audience chamber for a long time, Yusuf moved his steps leisurely.
In diplomatic relations, this level of power play was always common.
As the door to the audience chamber opened, those who had stood for a long time showed no sign of it and performed the greeting.
“Enough. No need to perform etiquette with words I cannot understand. So, what business did Carlos have in sending envoys?”
At Yusuf’s attitude of calling their own king’s name openly, the envoy slightly furrowed his brow and answered.
“It is the king’s message to return the kingdom’s ships and sailors captured by the empire.”
“Hmm, I do not know which ships you mean. Hadim Ali Pasha, have there been any ships recently received from the Barbary pirates?”
“To my knowledge, there are none.”
“They say there are none, as you heard.”
Though Yusuf spoke cunningly even bringing up the pirates, Spain’s old headache, the envoy answered calmly.
“We are speaking of the vessel captured near Malacca.”
“Hmm. I remember now. Are you speaking of that pirate ship?”
“It is not a pirate ship but the kingdom’s exploration ship that was exploring a new route. Did you not capture the innocent vessel as it was trying to return to its homeland after completing its mission?”
At the envoy’s words, Yusuf asked sharply.
“An exploration ship that goes around killing people for refusing to convert is innocent? What ridiculous words you speak.”
“…Is that not unrelated to the empire? It happened to uncivilized people.”
Setting aside the discriminatory thought of calling them uncivilized, what happened on that distant island was indeed unrelated to the empire.
Whether they killed each other or not, it was none of their concern, but this time there was sufficient justification to intervene.
“I am the Padishah of the Empire and the Caliph of Islam. To say forced conversion is unrelated to me—how laughable.”
Seeing the envoy become instantly speechless, Yusuf felt he understood anew why missionary work had been used in the age of imperialism.
Even if he could not use the missions at will like mere lackeys, the seeds the missions had sown could become useful tools, just as they were now.
Meeting Yusuf’s cold gaze, the envoy let out a sigh.
“I shall convey the Padishah’s will to the king. And this is a personal letter from the king.”
As he looked at the letter handed to him through the chamberlain, Yusuf’s eyes gleamed.
“So this is the real thing.”
Spain must have known that no matter how much they demanded it, they would never get it back.
They were not on good terms to begin with, and if one looked only at North Africa, it was as good as being at war.
After all, battles were breaking out now and then between the Barbarossa brothers, who had occupied Algiers, and Spain, which sought to take it back.
‘The exploration ship is the pretext shown on the surface, and if this letter is the real matter…’
It meant it contained something that could not be easily revealed to the outside.
Yusuf broke the seal of the letter closed with sealing wax, skimmed through the Arabic translation, and raised the corners of his mouth.
“Is this truly Carlos’s will?”
“So I was told, Your Majesty the Padishah.”
From the answer he received, it meant even the envoy did not know what was written in the letter.
‘The translator who translated the letter must have been killed as well.’
That was how dangerous the contents were, not to be carelessly leaked, and Yusuf wondered what was going on inside Charles’s head.
‘A marriage alliance, is it? Marriage.’
It said that he would marry Hasna, and in return they should form an alliance.
After considering it slowly, it was not hard to understand why Charles had reached such a conclusion, and Yusuf handed the letter to Ali Pasha.
“What do you think? An amusing idea, is it not?”
“Indeed, Your Majesty the Padishah.”
He had failed to obtain Magellan’s voyage records, and now that the canal had opened, even if a new route were pioneered, its profitability would be poor.
In this situation, if he formed an alliance with the Ottoman Empire, he could use the canal, and it would have the effect of separating France and Venice, with whom he was on bad terms, from the Ottomans.
As for the criticism of marrying an infidel, he could blunt it to some extent by converting Hasna.
‘If this marriage goes through, there will be a union between Charles, who holds vast territories in Europe, and the Ottoman Empire.’
It would send a shock through the world, enough to turn it upside down.
Yusuf smiled as if amused, then handed the letter back to Ali Pasha and said,
“Give it to Hasna.”
“To the princess, you mean?”
At Ali Pasha’s question, as if asking whether he was serious, Yusuf nodded.
“I hear she is raising a foal these days. Tell her to give it to the animal as feed. What a thoroughly worthless letter to have arrived.”
When the envoy heard through the interpreter that the king’s personal letter was to be used as horse feed, he flared up.
“What discourtesy is this! To treat the king’s personal letter in such a way—what greater insult could there be?!”
“If he is going to waste paper so pointlessly, it would be better to use it as horse feed.”
Utter nonsense, if ever there was any.
An alliance with Charles? Well, it was not bad. After all, Charles ruled the largest swath of European land in the thousand years between Charlemagne and Napoleon.
A collusion between the two empires would have that much impact.
‘But what am I supposed to trust to form an alliance?’
The Spanish lands that Charles directly ruled were regions where the Reconquista, which had driven out infidels, had continued for nearly eight hundred years.
It would not be strange if Hasna were stabbed somewhere along the way for being an infidel, and if Charles, having fattened his fleet through the canal, betrayed them, the empire would have to bear the loss in full.
For Yusuf, considering the risks and the benefits, there was no reason to accept it, and he clicked his tongue at the envoy, whose face had reddened with anger.
“If you are done speaking, return. Carlos will express no complaint at being told it was tossed to a horse as feed.”
Rather than tossing it to a horse, making the letter public to pressure Charles would be a foolish act.
Revealing such a secret letter would be worse than killing the envoy, and since it was a translated letter that had passed through a translator’s hands, Charles could excuse it as an Ottoman fabrication.
It could be said that Charles had taken the bare minimum of precautions.
In any case, when weighing gains and losses, it was best to bury this matter.
“What are you doing? Why are you not leaving?”
At Yusuf’s irritated words, the envoy bit his lip hard, paid his respects, and withdrew.
“It seems it has been a long time since I saw an envoy’s blood.”
As Yusuf glanced sidelong at the Silahdar, Ali Pasha spoke firmly.
“You must not behead him, nor cut off his fingers.”
“I know.”
“Nor may you have pirates abduct him.”
“Hm. I suppose it would indeed be difficult to use a trick once used before.”
He had used it once with the Knights of Rhodes, so this time he would not be able to deny it properly.
When he had gone to the trouble of painting a favorable image in the West, there was no reason to build up infamy again over the trivial life of an envoy.
“Still, frightening him should be all right. Attach some of our ships to him until he crosses into Spanish waters. We have supplies and letters to send to Algiers anyway.”
The journey from the capital to southern Italy alone would take quite some time, and if he was stalked throughout that period, it would thoroughly unnerve him.
At Yusuf’s mischievous order, Ali Pasha let out a sigh.
“Then I shall give orders that there is to be no bombardment or capture.”
“Did I say anything of the sort?”
Answering thus, Yusuf flicked his finger.
He had refused the alliance as well, and considering that war would soon break out in Italy, relations were certain to grow worse than they were now.
“We will have to give France an answer.”
The reason France wanted the Barbary pirates was surely to keep Spain and the Papal States, along with the Italian Peninsula, in check.
‘If I take one step forward, I could form an alliance with France as well, but there is no need to go that far.’
He still did not feel the need to directly intervene in the Italian Wars.
Eastern trade had just begun in earnest; there was no need to stick his head into someone else’s fight.
While he fanned the flames from the side and urged them to fight harder, the empire could reap the benefits from behind.
“We will provide additional weapons to the Barbary pirates. Have them pay a suitable price, or make a deal by taking a portion of the plunder.”
The quality of the iron Mehmet produced was not exactly outstanding, but it was decent enough for manufacturing cannons and cannonballs.
To begin with, iron cannons, less stable than bronze cannons, were used because they were cheap.
“Ask France and Venice for their opinions as well. Whether they intend to import cannons, that is.”
“France aside, would Venice purchase them?”
Venetian-made cannons had, in their own way, a reputation for performance.
“Even so, are they not lacking compared to the empire’s cannons? If they think they need them, they will buy. Tell them payment may be made later.”
It was a kind of installment plan, but there was no worry of not being paid.
As long as he held the leash that was the canal, they would never dare wipe their mouths and pretend nothing had happened.
‘And the chances of the weapons we sell now being aimed back at us are slim.’
Venice, which clung to whoever suited it like a bat, could not betray them because of the canal, and France was surrounded by enemies on every side.
Why else, even in the original history, would they have allied with the Islamic Ottoman Empire?
“The empire’s eastern trade is still in its infancy. We need more time to expand its scale.”
For now, pepper from India alone was enough to turn a sufficient profit, but once a little more time passed, they would have to sail farther for the sake of profit.
In the end, it meant that trade routes would have to be established all the way to Ming.
‘It will not be easy to open Ming’s doors because of the maritime ban, but with enough time, it is possible.’
Ming, which had imposed the maritime ban because of pirates and focused on its domestic economy, was not a country that would open its doors easily.
On top of that, if they approached with their heads bowed, Ming, bound up entirely in pride, was likely to keep looking down on the Ottomans.
‘That, too, I cannot allow.’
Even if they did not wage war, to at least stand on equal footing, they needed to display strength.
To resolve the inevitable problem of a gap in military power, he had to make it difficult for the West to turn its gaze toward the Ottoman Empire.
“In that case, we must move on multiple fronts, Ali Pasha.”
“Give your command.”
“It seems I shall have to throw in some kindling.”
Yusuf gave a mischievous smile.
∗ ∗ ∗
Less than two years had passed since Leo X died and a new pope took office, yet the mood in the city of Rome was poor.
“A pope who cannot even speak Italian? Absurd.”
“They’ve dragged in a barbarian and made him pope! The world has gone mad! Has it not?!”
To the citizens of Rome, who treated even noble Italian aristocrats as country bumpkins if they came from the north, a pope from northern Europe was the very embodiment of a barbarian.
Unlike the previous pope, Hadrian VI was frugal and sought to purify the secularized Church, but his reforms were failing time and again due to the hostility of Rome’s citizens and the opposition of the Italian cardinals.
With the winds of the Reformation blowing, the pope was becoming increasingly isolated instead of seeing any improvement, and then a personal letter arrived in the Papal States.
-…Amid the winds of the Reformation, it is truly desirable to see you cast off the excessively secularized appearance and return to the original purity of religion. If the opportunity arises, I would even wish to hold close discussions for the future of sound religion. I look forward to the bright future of the Papal States.
The pope’s hands trembled as he read the letter.
The letter that had begun in Constantiniyye was one he should never have received.
At the news that the pope had been praised by an infidel emperor, Rome was turned upside down.