Became The Sultan Of The Ottoman Empire [EN]: Chapter 138

Became the Sultan of Osman – Episode 138

The Ottoman Empire (2)

Three ships floated on the sea.

The white cross on the red shield fluttered in the sea breeze, and the knights on the deck were visibly excited.

“Admiral, a ship!”

“Identify the vessel!”

“It’s a galley, from those infidels!”

At the word ‘infidel,’ the admiral’s eyes widened, and he barked an order.

“Raise the sails! Capture those infidels!”

At the admiral’s command, flags snapped in the wind, and the three ships unfurled their sails.

The ships turned, leaning into the maneuver, and moved forward. As they approached the oncoming galley, a panicked shout erupted.

“Oh, it’s the Ottoman fleet! The fleet has appeared!”

The admiral of the galley, hearing the watchman’s cry and seeing the Ottoman fleet swarming behind him, exclaimed in astonishment.

“Turn around! Turn around!”

“Turn around right now, you bastards!”

The Knights of Rhodes’ ships fled, even firing warning shots at the galley to prevent them from slowing their escape.

Seeing the three ships hastily fleeing from the carrack [a type of large sailing ship], Yusuf clicked his tongue.

“The Rhodes bastards, are they?”

“This area is their base, so it must be them, Padishah [Ottoman title equivalent to emperor or king].”

“They are truly annoying fellows.”

The Knights of Rhodes control the sea lanes in the area from the Syrian region, which transports goods by land from the Persian Gulf, and the route from Egypt to the capital, Kostantiniyye [Istanbul’s former name].

Since they operate without regard to whether their actions harm Christians or Muslims, the Ottomans view them as akin to pirates who sell Muslims into slavery.

“I think so too, Padishah. Before I retire from this position, my dream is to drive them out.”

Kemal Reis’s primary mission is to suppress the activities of the Knights of Rhodes, so a considerable amount of animosity could be felt in his words.

Since Kemal was already old, he didn’t have much time left, but Yusuf lightly tapped the deck with the gun he was using as a cane.

“Do not worry. Your wish will be fulfilled.”

The fortress on the island, which serves as the base of the Knights of Rhodes, was heavily reinforced after the capture of Constantinople [Istanbul], making it well-defended against shelling.

So much so that Suleiman in the original history mobilized 100,000 troops and 300 ships to capture the castle defended by 700 knights and 7,000 residents.

The siege, which lasted for six months, resulted in tens of thousands of casualties.

In the end, the Knights lost the island, but they retreated after negotiations and became an even bigger nuisance by relocating to the island of Malta.

‘It’s not an easy fight, but it’s right to drive them out.’

The Knights of Rhodes were a persistent thorn in the side of the Ottomans.

“When the Empire finishes its period of consolidation and resumes its expansion, the first land to feel our might will be that place.”

Yusuf vowed as he looked at the passing island of Rhodes.

Time passed, and the Sultan’s flag was raised over the palace.

It was a flag announcing that the great conqueror had returned to the heart of the Empire.

***

The brush, bending under even light pressure, seemed to express the artist’s anger, and his glaring eyes stared at the panel where the painting was being drawn.

Seeing the mixture of anger and sulking, Yusuf said in a soft voice.

“It wasn’t coercion, just a recommendation. I am not cruel enough to castrate someone who refuses.”

“…Please consider the difference in status.”

A recommendation to a slave was the same as an order, and if someone else had seen the contents of the letter, they would have quietly dragged him away and employed the skills of an experienced technician [euphemism for castration].

Michelangelo, who had been sweating to prevent Sinan from showing interest in the letter, sighed.

“Are Valide Hatun [the Sultan’s mother] and the Hatuns [ladies of the court] really like this?”

“Yes, it’s an amazing skill. There is no artist under the sun with greater talent than you.”

Yusuf exclaimed in admiration.

A crisis makes people exceed their limits, and Michelangelo, with his life on the line, certainly exceeded his.

Not using a skill is different from not possessing it, and to avoid castration, he did his best to rack his brains.

The best solution would have been to train a talented female disciple, but he didn’t have the time for that.

In the end, he resorted to something close to drawing a police sketch, and the result was five portraits.

“It’s as if you saw them with your own two eyes and drew them.”

“It wasn’t easy.”

It was the result of gathering information about their features and appearances, referring to the drawings that the women of the harem had created (almost as insults to the royal family), and correcting them dozens or hundreds of times.

Michelangelo was sure that it was the hardest work he had ever done in his life.

“Now that I know all the faces, you can wear a hijab [a veil worn by Muslim women] when you come to draw portraits.”

Michelangelo confidently replied, but the answer that came back made him sweat.

“I’m thinking of commissioning a family portrait every year. Wouldn’t it be difficult to continue in the same way? Why don’t you reconsider, even now?”

“…It’s okay, Padishah. I will try to train a great disciple.”

Michelangelo, who had never considered bringing in a female disciple, let alone a handsome young boy, changed his mind.

It seemed better to raise a disciple with excellent drawing skills so that he could focus solely on sculpture.

As he made this resolution, a light knock and a voice were heard.

-Father!

-Princess, you must call him Padishah. Valide Hatun and the Hatun might scold you.

-Padishah!

-If you call him so rudely….

Yusuf shook his head lightly at the flustered maid and the clumsy child’s voice.

“Come in.”

The door opened, and the child ran in.

The child, who had inherited her mother’s flowing blonde hair, clung to Yusuf’s leg.

“Hasna, what’s wrong?”

“I came because I missed you, but you weren’t there! So I came!”

Yusuf, who sat Hasna on his lap with a bright smile, roughly stroked her hair.

Even though her hair was shaking from side to side from his rough hand, Hasna was all smiles and wiggled her feet, as if she was happy.

“…Who is this?”

“This is my daughter, Hasna.”

Not all women wear hijabs as soon as they are born.

In Islam, hijabs are encouraged because of the verses in the Quran that advise modesty, but it usually doesn’t apply before puberty, when there are no concerns about attracting the opposite sex.

Michelangelo, who saw Hasna’s face, stared at her intently.

“I think I know why Padishah wants to commission paintings every year.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“Isn’t it because you’re worried that she might grow old and lose her current appearance?”

Michelangelo, who saw women as beings that aged poorly, was worried about her losing her beauty. It seemed that Hasna was particularly attractive to him.

Since Michelangelo was a practitioner of platonic homosexuality, he might have shown a different reaction if Hasna had been an adult, but it was quite a special reaction regardless.

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

“That’s an unnecessary worry. No matter what her appearance becomes, she will always be my daughter.”

“Does that apply to the other princes as well?”

No matter how much he is praised as a great artist in later generations, he is just a captured slave now.

It was an impudent question, but since he felt sorry for him, Yusuf answered lightly.

“I also have a sense of family affection. However, as the ruler of the Empire, there are things that I must prioritize above family.”

If the Empire becomes more prosperous, it is acceptable for even his sons to endure hardship.

‘If you truly desire rest, either become Padishah or produce a son who will be exploited in the same manner. You must do one of the two.’

Originally, princes who failed to ascend to the throne were destined to suffer.

“I will keep that in mind when drawing the picture. But, may I ask you one thing?”

“Tell me.”

“May I create a sculpture that resembles the princess?”

An artist’s inspiration is often a mystery to ordinary people, but one could clearly sense Michelangelo’s inspiration from his sparkling eyes.

Feeling the burning passion, Yusuf nodded.

“I will allow it if all the family portraits are completed.”

“Thank you, Padishah.”

Michelangelo burned with enthusiasm as he watched Yusuf leave with Hasna.

He was determined to present the most beautiful sculpture in the world, one that fully captured her charm.

Michelangelo entertained a dangerous thought.

***

The atmosphere in the capital had never been as vibrant as it was now in nearly half a century.

As if the city itself was pulsating with life, countless people came and went to the heart of the Empire, enjoying a period of unprecedented prosperity.

Merchant ships heading to Cairo, which had become Ottoman territory, were constantly loading goods and raising their anchors, and Muslims flocked to see Muhammad’s relics stored in the Hagia Sophia [a famous Byzantine-era church, later a mosque, now a museum].

As people gathered, the economy was revitalized, symbolizing the prosperity of the Ottomans.

“Padishah, although I have stepped down from the position of Grand Vizier [chief minister], I will always wish for the prosperity of the Empire from behind.”

“Ahmed Pasha, I will not forget the countless contributions you have made.”

Herszekzade, who had relinquished the position of Grand Vizier, did not appear to be in good spirits.

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

Yusuf, rising from his seat, looked down at all the officials in the conference hall.

“Until now, there has been too much repetition of names within the Empire. Even officials had difficulty distinguishing individuals, and so did the commoners.”

“That’s right, Padishah!”

“From now on, Ahmed Pasha will head the newly created Family Relations Agency and will assign surnames to the commoners.”

“That’s a wise decision!”

“I will follow your command.”

Herszekzade’s face darkened, realizing that the moment of reckoning had arrived.

Assigning surnames to the entire population was an enormous task, no matter how one looked at it.

A census was essential, and due to the high illiteracy rate, the commoners couldn’t name themselves, requiring direct assignment.

He was filled with dread, wondering if he could complete the task before succumbing to old age.

“Ahmed Pasha, I trust you, but there is something you must keep in mind.”

“What is it, Padishah?”

“These are the names that the commoners will carry for generations to come, so I expect you to name them with utmost care.”

This was not an idle concern.

The Ottoman culture, lacking surnames, persisted into modern Turkey, and in the 20th century, surnames were mandated for all citizens through family law.

The problem was that when surnames were assigned to over 30 million people, public officials acted haphazardly, assigning strange and even offensive surnames with meanings like ‘idiot’ or ‘madman.’

“We must not assign vulgar or slanderous names to those who have become our subjects.”

“…I will keep that in mind.”

“Yes, if you fail to name them properly, you will face the condemnation of countless people before Allah.”

The Grand Vizier sweated at the thought of being cursed for generations if he made a mistake, and Yusuf smiled slightly.

“It would be best to create surnames in various languages or to use words that have no inherent meaning.”

“I will proceed with that in mind.”

“And if you require personnel, request them from Hadim Ali Pasha, who has returned to the position of Grand Vizier.”

Ali Pasha, who had stepped down from the position of Grand Vizier and was serving as a chamberlain, returned to the position of Grand Vizier at Yusuf’s request.

To properly manage the Empire, which would experience rapid growth in the coming years, someone with extensive experience was needed.

Ahmed Pasha’s eyes lit up at the mention of acquiring personnel, and the officials quickly lowered their gaze.

After a brief interlude, Yusuf rose from his seat.

“Now is the time.”

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

Once the Persian Gulf was completely secured, the Empire planned to stabilize the occupied territories.

“When I receive news that the area around the Persian Gulf has been fully occupied, I will formally announce the name and flag of the Empire.”

It would be the moment when the name Ottoman Empire would be formally recognized by the world.

***

Yusuf lightly embraced a woman from behind.

Enjoying the fragrant scent of her skin and the soft touch, Yusuf asked kindly.

“Were you playing with Mustafa, Tazlu?”

“Yes, Padishah.”

Yusuf smiled as he watched Mustafa, who was wriggling his short arms and legs as if he was happy to see his parents.

He was the fourth prince, following Mehmet, Murat, and Kasim, and his chubby baby fat jiggled before his eyes.

Tazlu, who became a Hatun after giving birth to a son, looked back at Yusuf with a bright face.

“Padishah, something amazing happened.”

“What is it?”

“Please take a look at this.”

Tazlu held up a small bead and shook it in front of Mustafa, and the child’s eyes followed the bead back and forth.

Tazlu, having captured the child’s attention, moved her hand behind her back and suddenly presented her clenched fists to the child.

“Mustafa, where is it?”

Whether he understood Tazlu’s question or not, Mustafa smiled brightly and placed his chubby hand on her left hand.

Tazlu smiled brightly at this and opened her hand wide, revealing to Yusuf that the bead was indeed in her left hand.

Unbelievable words reached Yusuf’s ears as he watched the scene, momentarily stunned.

“It’s already the 30th time. He hasn’t been wrong once and has been getting it right every time!”

Yusuf looked down at Mustafa, who was simply smiling, unaware of his accomplishment.

Another strange but potentially useful son had emerged.