The Ottoman Empire (2)

Three ships drifted on the sea.

The sea breeze fluttered the white cross emblem painted on the red shield, and on the deck, the knights shone with excitement.

“Admiral, it’s a ship!”

“Whose ship is it?”

“It’s the infidels’ galley!”

At the mention of an infidel ship, the Admiral opened his eyes and shouted.

“Unfurl the sails! We’ll capture the infidels!”

At the Admiral’s command, flags waved, and the three ships fully unfurled their sails.

With a wobbling motion, the ships turned and moved without hesitation, and just as they got closer to the approaching galley, a scream-like shout burst out.

– Oh, the Ottoman fleet! The fleet has appeared!

Hearing the watchman’s cry, the Admiral was astonished as he saw the fleet rushing from behind the galley.

“Turn around! Turn around!”

“Turn around at once, you fools!”

The ships of the Knights of Rhodes fled, even firing threatening shots at the galley, trying to cling on to prevent any escape.

On the Karak, Yusuf clicked his tongue at the sight of the three ships hastily fleeing.

“Those are the Rhodians?”

“Since this is their territory, Your Padishah, they likely are.”

“They’re indeed quite bothersome.”

The Knights of Rhodes dominated the route from the Syrian region carrying goods overland to the capital, Constantinople, from Egypt.

There’s a notion that sins committed against Christians, Muslims, or infidels are irrelevant, making them akin to pirates selling Muslims as slaves.

“I think so too, Your Padishah. My dream is to drive them out before I leave this position.”

With Kemal Reis’s usual duty being to suppress the activities of the Knights of Rhodes, it was evident he harbored substantial ill will.

Though Kemal was already in his old age and running out of time, Yusuf lightly tapped his pistol on the deck, leaning on it like a cane.

“Don’t worry. Your wish will be granted.”

The island’s citadel, the Knights of Rhodes’ stronghold, had been fortified after the conquest of Constantinople, boasting robust defenses against bombardment.

No wonder the historical Suleiman gathered a hundred thousand troops and three hundred ships to besiege a castle guarded by seven hundred knights and seven thousand residents.

The siege lasted six months, causing casualties in the tens of thousands.

Ultimately, though the Order lost the island, they retreated after negotiations, heading to Malta and becoming an even greater nuisance.

‘It’s not an easy fight, but we must drive them out.’

The Knights of Rhodes were a thorn in the side.

“When the Empire resumes its march after rest, the first footprint will be on that land.”

Yusuf pledged as he glanced at the passing Rhodes Island.

As time passed, the Sultan’s flag was raised in the palace.

It was the flag heralding the return of the great conqueror to the heart of the Empire.

*

The brush bending under even light pressure expressed anger, and its bulging eyes drilled into the canvas.

In a mix of anger and sulking, Yusuf spoke in a gentle voice.

“It wasn’t a force; it was merely a suggestion. I’m not Satan to castrate those who refuse.”

“…Please consider the difference in status.”

A suggestion to a slave was practically a command, and had someone else viewed the letter, they would have quietly taken it away to seek the help of a skilled technician.

Michelangelo, sweating to thwart Sinan’s interest in the letter’s contents, sighed.

“Is this how the Valide Hatun and the Hatuns appeared?”

“Indeed, remarkable skill. There’s no artist better than you under the sun.”

Yusuf exclaimed in admiration.

Crisis often leads individuals to transcend their limits, and Michelangelo, whose life hung in the balance, certainly surpassed his limits.

Not using something is different from not having it to use, and to escape castration, he put his utmost effort into thinking.

The best method was to cultivate a talented female disciple, but there wasn’t enough time for that.

In the end, what he did was closer to producing a montage, resulting in five portraits.

“It seems like you saw it with your own eyes and painted them.”

“It wasn’t an easy task.”

After hearing descriptions of features and appearance and referencing portraits drawn by harem women that bordered on royal mockery, he revised them countless times.

Michelangelo could confidently say it was the hardest work he had ever undertaken in his life.

“Now that I know all their faces, you can come wearing a hijab when posing for the portrait.”

Michelangelo confidently remarked, but the reply that came back made him break out in a cold sweat.

“I plan to request a family portrait every year, but wouldn’t it be hard to continue in the same manner? Perhaps you should reconsider now.”

“…It’s fine, Your Padishah. I will do my best to train an excellent disciple.”

Michelangelo, who had never considered taking a female disciple (not even a pretty boy), revised his thoughts.

It might be better to raise a talented disciple with superior painting skills so he could focus solely on sculpture.

As he made this vow, a light knock and a voice could be heard.

-Daddy!

-Princess, you must call me Padishah. You might get scolded by the Valide Hatun and the Hatuns.

-Padishah!

-If you call me so rudely…

At the flustered maid’s voice and the clumsy child’s exclamations, Yusuf lightly shook his head.

“Come in.”

The door opened, and a child rushed in.

With golden hair flowing like her mother’s, the child clung to Yusuf’s leg.

“Hasna, what’s the matter?”

“I came to see you because I missed you, but you weren’t here! So I came!”

Yusuf lifted Hasna, who beamed at him, and ruffled her hair roughly.

Her hair bobbed side to side in his rough hands as Hasna laughed brightly, wiggling her feet.

“…What about that person?”

“This is my daughter, Hasna.”

Not all women wear a hijab upon birth.

In Islam, the hijab is enforced due to a Quranic verse stating that no alluring qualities should be displayed, but it isn’t typically enforced before the onset of puberty when issues concerning the opposite sex aren’t prevalent.

When Michelangelo looked at Hasna’s face, he gazed intently as if analyzing her.

“I think I understand why the Padishah wishes to keep a portrait each year.”

“Why do you think so?”

“Perhaps it’s out of concern that as she ages, she might lose her current appearance?”

Given that Michelangelo had viewed women as beings that pollute, it seemed that Hasna’s charm was indeed apparent to him.

Had Michelangelo been a platonic homosexual, he might have reacted differently if Hasna had been an adult, but it was indeed a special reaction.

Yusuf tickled Hasna’s head as she looked up at him.

“Worry not. No matter how appearances may change, she’ll always be my daughter.”

“Is that also true regarding your feelings for the other princes?”

No matter how much he would be praised as a great artist in the future, he was presently just a captured slave.

Though a cheeky question, Yusuf kindly replied since he had some guilt.

“I do possess feelings of familial love. However, there are priorities to consider before familial affection as the lord of the Empire.”

If the Empire thrived, it was only right that even if he were a son, he would face hardships.

‘If the desire is to rest, they must either become Padishah or give birth to a son who will treat others the same. One of those must be done.’

It was a painful truth for a prince who could not become a king.

“I’ll take that into account while painting. But, may I ask one request?”

“Speak.”

“May I create a statue resembling the princess?”

The inspiration of an artist may sound like a flight of fancy to ordinary people, but seeing Michelangelo’s sparkling eyes indicated that he felt some indirect inspiration.

Feeling the blazing emotions, Yusuf nodded.

“If all family portraits are completed, I will grant permission.”

“Thank you, Your Padishah.”

Watching Yusuf return with Hasna, Michelangelo’s passion ignited.

He intended to present the finest statue encapsulating that charm to the world.

Michelangelo harbored dangerous thoughts.

*

In nearly half a century, never had the atmosphere in the capital been this good.

Like a heartbeat, countless crowds were bustling to and fro, reveling in prosperity at the Empire’s heart.

Merchant ships heading to Cairo under Ottoman rule constantly loaded goods and dropped anchor, drawing Muslims to see Muhammad’s relics stored in the Hagia Sophia Cathedral.

With people gathering, the economy flourished, symbolizing the Ottoman’s prosperity.

“Your Padishah, although I’ve stepped down from my position as Grand Vizier, I will always hope for the Empire’s prosperity from behind the scenes.”

“Ahmed Pasha, I will not forget all the hard work you have done thus far.”

The expression of Herzegovinian, who had stepped down from the Grand Vizier position, was not very pleasant.

It wasn’t because he had relinquished the second-in-command position of the Empire.

Yusuf, rising from his seat, looked down at all the ministers in the conference room.

“There have been far too many citizens in the Empire with the same name. Even ministers have difficulty distinguishing between names, causing inconvenience, and the subjects feel the same.”

“That’s right, Your Padishah!”

“In the future, Ahmed Pasha will be the head of the newly established Family Affairs Bureau and will grant a second name to the subjects.”

“That’s a fitting idea!”

“I shall abide by your wishes.”

Ultimately, feeling that the moment had arrived, Herzegovinian darkened his expression.

Naming each and every citizen was no ordinary task.

A census must begin as a baseline, and due to the high illiteracy rates, the subjects wouldn’t name themselves, meaning they had to be named directly.

Fear of whether he would be able to finish it all before he died sent chills down his spine.

“Ahmed Pasha, I trust you, but there’s something you must remember.”

“What is it, Your Padishah?”

“It’s a name that will be carried on by generations of subjects, so I hope you will name them carefully.”

This concern wasn’t without merit.

The culture of the Ottomans, who lacked surnames, extended to modern-day Turkey, and it wasn’t until the 20th century that family names were assigned to the whole populace through family law.

The problem arose since, with over 30 million people receiving surnames, clerks tended to create haphazard names, resulting in absurd and rude-sounding ones like ‘fool’ or ‘madman.’

“It would not do for someone who enters the role of a minister to have their name sound like indecency or abuse.”

“…I will remember.”

“Very well, if you cannot name them properly, you shall hear countless slanders at Allah’s side.”

The Grand Vizier, sweating coldly at the thought of potentially being vilified for generations to come, elicited a small chuckle from Yusuf.

“Alternatively, creating surnames in various languages or attaching completely meaningless phrases could be a good idea.”

“I will take that into account.”

“And if you require personnel, feel free to ask Hadim Ali Pasha who has taken back the Grand Vizier’s position.”

Having stepped down from the Grand Vizier role to serve as a chamberlain, Ali Pasha rose to the Grand Vizier position again at Yusuf’s request.

To effectively manage the rapidly developing Empire for the upcoming years, someone with experience was necessary.

The talk of personnel dispatch sparked light in Ahmed Pasha’s eyes, and the ministers quickly knelt.

After a light farce had passed, Yusuf rose from his seat.

“It is time.”

The year 1514 dawned, and the army began its march towards the last remaining Baghdad.

Once the Persian Gulf was fully occupied, the Empire planned to stabilize the territories it had conquered.

“When news arrives that the Persian Gulf has been conquered, I will publicly declare the name and banner of the Empire.”

It would be the moment the name Ottoman Empire would officially be known to the world.

*

Yusuf gently embraced a woman from behind.

Feeling the fragrant scent of her skin and her soft touch, Yusuf kindly inquired.

“Were you playing with Mustafa, Tazlu?”

“Yes, Your Padishah.”

Seeing the joy on Mustafa’s face, who flailed his short arms and legs at the sight of his parents, Yusuf chuckled.

He was the fourth prince born after Mehmet, Murad, and Kasim, and his chubby baby fat wobbled before his eyes.

Tazlu, now a Hatun after giving birth to a son, turned to Yusuf with a bright expression.

“Your Padishah, something amazing happened.”

“What is it?”

“Look at this.”

Tazlu shook a small marble in front of Mustafa, whose eyes followed the marble as it moved.

Captivated by the marble, Tazlu then turned her hands behind her back and suddenly presented her clenched fists towards the child.

“Mustafa, where is it?”

Mustafa, giggling and perhaps understanding Tazlu’s question, placed his chubby hands on her left hand.

With a radiant smile, Tazlu then opened her hand wide, showing Yusuf the marble resting in her left hand.

While Yusuf looked on, thinking nothing of the scene, an unbelievable statement reached his ears.

“This is already the 30th time! He’s never missed a single one until now!”

Yusuf looked down at what he had done, perplexed, as he watched Mustafa simply smiling.

An oddly useful son had unexpectedly emerged.