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4명의 왕자(2)

Hungary’s occupation shocked the Duchy of Austria the most.

The Ottoman and Habsburgs had signed a peace treaty, but it could become scrap paper at any moment.

For Austria, with Vienna as its capital turned into a border city, the threat of the Ottomans became a harsh reality.

Prince Ferdinand, the Duke of Austria, who had been collecting taxes to prepare for the Ottoman attacks, was flustered when Prince Kasim of the Ottomans came directly to Vienna.

“How is Prince Kasim doing?”

Ferdinand asked his attendant, recalling his previous encounters with Kasim.

“He is meeting with nobles in a building he purchased.”

“…Does he still attract a large crowd?”

The attendant bowed his head silently, but no further answer was necessary.

Ferdinand frowned displeased.

Unlike the already well-known Princes Mehmet and Murad, who had made names for themselves throughout Europe, Ferdinand had initially thought Kasim was merely skilled in etiquette.

‘It’s impressive that he knows European etiquette and can speak various languages, but I thought that was all there was to him.’

Kasim proved to be more than just a good talker; he was a shrewd prince.

Adorned with exotic Ottoman decor, the building he had permission to buy was bustling with nobles drawn in by the coffee he served.

When Ferdinand felt something was amiss, the building he named the Ottoman House was already packed with coffee-loving nobles and ladies who had taken a liking to Kasim.

“It’s intolerable that he roams my city as if it were his own home, but I can’t stop him.”

He had already granted permission, and withdrawing it would only provoke the Ottomans.

With the ongoing war in Lombardy against France, they had to avoid conflict with the Ottomans even more.

This meant that Ferdinand had to stand by and watch as Kasim built goodwill while roaming Vienna like his backyard.

“I wish he would return to Buda soon. At this rate, anyone would think this place belongs to the Ottomans.”

With irritation, Ferdinand took a sip of the coffee that Kasim had gifted him.

*

Yusuf savored a sip of coffee.

“It seems Kasim is doing well.”

Even concerning Hungary, Croatia, and Bohemia.

Ferdinand had been pleased to hear of the gift of coffee despite the numerous disruptions from the Ottomans.

At Yusuf’s words, Hasan, who had just returned from India, grimaced.

“Although it’s a relief that Prince Kasim is doing well, I’m worried about the coffeehouse situation within the Empire.”

“Why, is a lot of chatter going on there?”

“Yes, indeed, Padishah.”

There’s no such thing as a universally satisfying policy, and that holds true even for Yusuf’s Ottoman Empire.

Dissatisfaction arises, and it’s not unusual for grievances to be expressed in crowded coffeehouses.

Yusuf remained unfazed as Hasan voiced his concerns about it needing to be addressed.

“It’s fine. No need to take it too seriously. Besides, trying to suppress it isn’t the solution.”

If such things were feared, coffee should have been strictly prohibited from the very beginning.

Back when it was merely a fad in Mecca, it could have easily been wiped from history.

Considering how common coffee is in modern times, it’s unsurprising that coffeehouses have sprung up, given that coffee is a rare treat today.

‘I’m aware that coffeehouses could pose a threat to the dynasty.’

In addition to the Ottomans, coffeehouses across European nations like Britain and France served as gathering spots for intellectuals and hotspots for revolutionary ideas.

As time passes and the dynasty weakens, if seeds of rebellion are to sprout, coffeehouses will be the first place they take root.

“If impure talk from coffeehouses turns the nation upside down, it would only mean the nation was already in peril. It would simply hasten the inevitable.”

Yusuf’s words startled Hasan.

He spoke so casually about the tragic possibility of the royal family collapsing.

When the Empire’s top intelligence agent like Hasan couldn’t even keep a straight face, Yusuf chuckled softly.

“Why are you so surprised? It’s up to my descendants to handle it.”

“While the princes are all exceptional, one can never tell how the future holds.”

“You may be right; a fool may inherit the throne.”

It’s the very reason Machiavelli, once enslaved and forced to labor, now traveled from Venice, pushing for a republic.

There’s always a chance of a lunatic rising to kingship, driving the country to ruin.

“The Empire won’t fall easily if just one or two madmen emerge.”

Even the historical Ottomans boasted a line of splendid madmen starting from Selim II, yet they survived until the early 20th century.

Given how formidable the Ottomans were, it wouldn’t be easy to tumble down.

“Of course, if there’s more than one, then it’ll be time to perish, but if the signs are already there, then that’s how it should be. It would be better for the subjects.”

“Padishah.”

If the words had been spoken by someone other than the Empire’s master, it would have warranted severe punishment, and Hasan looked pale.

“Let’s refrain from talking about distant futures I may never live to see. Hasan Shaitan Bal Pasha.”

Hearing his full name, Hasan clenched his teeth.

The introduction of surnames started with the census, and it came to a final format of full names consisting of first name, father’s surname, and mother’s surname.

Due to the abundance of common names, a single surname wasn’t enough to identify someone.

Nonetheless, surnames began to be attached around the capital, and Hasan’s was determined as well.

Shaitan meant devil, and Bal was a term for honey.

With a surname of “Devil’s Honey,” Hasan clenched his fist, while Yusuf smiled.

“Your name was a final decree from the late Herzog Ahmad Pasha. I hear he insisted it be so.”

“If Allah hadn’t taken him, I would have grabbed him by the collar.”

“Still, it’s a unique surname in the Empire, so perhaps there’s some consideration in that.”

With the Empire’s vast population, duplicate surnames were common.

Aside from the Ottoman royal family, who shared only the surname Ottoman, this was a luxury exclusive to Hasan.

Seeing Hasan forced to laugh in resignation, it didn’t seem that bad after all.

Yusuf glanced at the half-empty cup of coffee.

In Turkey, coffee is said to be as dark as hell, as strong as death, and as sweet as love.

It was a fitting medium to think of his old friend who had departed.

“Ahmad has also finally left this world. Time has passed us by.”

Ahmad, the father of Hatice Hatun and grandfather of Murad, departed just before the surname reform.

His longtime acquaintance, who had known him since his princely days, had passed away not to overwork but from old age, indicating how much time had flown.

‘This year is 1528, so I’m forty now.’

Born in 1489, considering how the Ottomans count age from birth as one, he was indeed forty.

“Feels like just yesterday that I was crowned; I’ve aged considerably.”

Yusuf stroked his beard as he spoke, and Hasan bowed his head.

“Padishah, it seems time has been kind to you. You’ll continue to lead the Empire for a long time.”

If he looked young, it was simply due to all the traits he had accumulated.

Scores required to buy traits had multiplied, but unlike his days as a prince playing in a shallow well, the scores he gained after becoming Padishah couldn’t be overlooked.

Thanks to that, he could purchase traits like longevity and vitality, and just as Hasan said, he was in excellent health.

Yusuf smirked.

“Not every statesman thinks like you. I’ve heard there’s much thought about which prince to support.”

“That’s….”

“Succession worries could arise. That’s why there are those assigned to fret about such matters. Besides, many worry about the princes amassing greater power.”

“I apologize for that, but you’re right.”

The Ottomans didn’t follow primogeniture, and it was common for civil wars to break out when it was time to succeed.

Thus, there were none who wished for princes to grow more powerful and incite war.

‘If time goes by and a civil war breaks out, the country could be split apart.’

Mehmet, who could amass immense wealth through the steel industry, and Murad, who could build an army with cheap African slaves while controlling coffee production, along with Kasim, who could showcase diplomatic prowess to elevate Western powers, and Mustafa, who aimed to create a massive enterprise like the East India Company with investments.

“If the princes start a civil war, it would be nothing compared to the succession chaos I faced.”

In the last succession conflict, over 100,000 troops were mobilized, but the scale of war would indeed be much larger.

Even if his martial traits suggested that princes would succumb to him first, ultimately, it would be the grandsons fighting each other in civil strife.

“A void of solutions to prevent civil wars doesn’t exist. I can simply pass down the throne before I die.”

“Padishah.”

In the Ottoman Empire, Yusuf’s decisions were absolute.

Even in coffeehouses, where discontent was heavily concentrated, all that could be heard were praises for Yusuf.

As long as Yusuf passed the throne and supported the newly ascended prince in solidifying his position, other princes wouldn’t dare initiate rebellion.

Yusuf twisted his lips at Hasan’s shocked expression.

“Did you think I would cling to this seat for dear life until I die? Or that my mind would change with the passage of time?”

“How could I doubt the Padishah’s intentions for the Empire?”

“Even if you suspect, I’d understand. Is there anything sweeter than power?”

The power possessed by the Padishah was immense. If there was something he wanted, whether it be items or people, he could take it at will.

Even a miser would find it difficult to give up a few coins; let alone powerful authority.

This desire could wear down over time, leaving behind only a wretched image of someone unable to relinquish power. Or, one could fall into stubbornness thinking that the Empire must only be led by him.

‘But that shouldn’t be the case.’

Yusuf coldly looked at the gun hanging on the wall.

It would be better to die than remain in such a pitiful state.

“If you think I’d do something that foolish, wouldn’t you rather kill me?”

“Padishah?!”

Jumping in surprise, Hasan looked at Yusuf as he smiled brightly.

“Just kidding. I’m not the kind of weakling who’d wither away with age. It wouldn’t be bad to step down and experience the world I can only see on maps.”

The Padishah’s life was directly tied to the Empire’s stability, restricting his freedom of movement.

It wouldn’t be too bad to step down from his position and finally see the world he could only glimpse on a map.

Saying this, Yusuf stood up.

“Recently, my mother has been unwell.”

“I heard rumors that Valide Hatun is in poor health. Many of us, including myself, are concerned.”

Fatima was nearing sixty.

Although people could live beyond one hundred even in this era, she was at an age where one had to worry about the unexpected.

Yusuf instructed Hasan.

“My mother has expressed a desire to see the princes and hatuns. I plan to summon everyone to the capital while she’s still able to see them.”

While it seemed like a simple command to fulfill his mother’s wish, it wasn’t just any simple order.

It was about gathering all the princes who had gone to the sanjakbey and hatuns who had left the harem back to the capital.

Unlike the brief stay of Mehmet and Murad before, this had the potential to shake the Ottoman Empire’s history like never before.

Hasan bowed his head at the thought of the royal family assembling in one place.

“I shall obey your orders.”

As Hasan departed, Yusuf crossed his arms behind his back and looked at the family portrait on the wall.

Staring at the childhood forms of the princes and the faces of Aishe, Hatice, and Gulper among the hatuns, Yusuf smiled softly.

“It seems I will see them after a long time.”

*

-Kyaa!

Murad, gripping the neck of a small animal, turned his head.

“What did you say?”

As he asked again, Yagiz Pasha repeated clearly.

“The Padishah has summoned all members of the royal family to the capital. Hatice Hatun and all the hatuns must also go to the capital.”

“For what reason?”

“Valide Hatun wishes to see their faces while she’s still in good health.”

He had been worried after hearing about Fatima’s poor health.

Though he had scolded her often during their time in the harem, he understood that was born out of affection, and no prince disliked Valide Hatun.

“Of course, that’s the surface reason, but there’s a high possibility discussions related to succession would arise.”

“Regardless of the reason, it’s the same; we must go. Hmm, it wouldn’t be bad to take the cat as a gift.”

Due to Muhammad’s influence, who called the cat his friend, Muslims had a positive view of cats, so Murad considered it a good gift.

The animal destined to become a gift flailed its claws as Yagiz Pasha let out a sigh.

“Prince, isn’t a cat different from a lion?”

“A lion cub looks like a cat, so it’s fine. It’s just a bit temperamental.”

Murad replied shamelessly.

*

-Michelangelo, this time the family is gathering for a new portrait, but are you still having thoughts about being castrated?

After receiving Yusuf’s letter, Michelangelo seriously contemplated whether he should meet a woman.

Members of the royal family began to trickle into the capital one by one.