Became The Sultan Of The Ottoman Empire [EN]: Chapter 142

Waking Up From a Dream (1)

Nothing is as improbable as life, and nothing is as absurd as reality.

This was especially true for Yusuf, who, being at the highest point of the empire, heard all sorts of news.

Yusuf, who had become unfazed by most things, found this particular matter quite amusing.

“Michelangelo, doesn’t it feel like a scene from a memory?”

“It’s not a story from the distant past to be glorified as a memory.”

He was somewhat satisfied with the current situation, where he could focus solely on sculpting without much interference, but he couldn’t love the process leading up to it.

Michelangelo frowned, recalling his memories of being captured by pirates and forced to row.

“Besides, isn’t he just a common slave compared to me? Not even a man of great renown.”

Michelangelo had suffered all sorts of hardships as a slave, but he was now a highly renowned artist working for the Pope.

When news of Michelangelo’s capture by the Ottomans reached the Papal States and Florence, they even requested his release.

Yusuf, amused by Michelangelo’s high self-esteem and dissatisfaction, put down the book he was holding and looked down at Machiavelli, who was prostrating himself and trying to read his mood.

“True. He is not a man of great renown.”

His book, *The Prince*, was a politically significant classic, but it had not yet been published.

There was even a story that he was called a house dust mite by his wife because he didn’t have a proper job and couldn’t provide for his family. That was the kind of man he was now.

Yusuf, who had obtained *The Prince*, his greatest treasure, raised one corner of his mouth.

“As you said, he is quite useless. It would take too much effort to keep him around.”

Art may be a universal language, but administration is not.

To use him as a subordinate, he would have to be taught everything from the basic language to Ottoman administrative procedures, culture, and laws.

It wasn’t something that could be done in a year or two, and Yusuf didn’t think it was worth the effort.

Machiavelli, hearing through the interpreter that he could become a galley slave with his tongue cut out, hurriedly opened his mouth.

“Y-Your Majesty. I am sure I can be of help to you. I have been a diplomat in Florence for a long time and have connections with many people in Europe. How about using me as a diplomat?!”

“Who would use someone they can’t trust as a diplomat?”

“Even if not as a diplomat, the knowledge in my head will surely be helpful to you!”

Machiavelli, having exclaimed that, swallowed hard as he looked at Yusuf’s dry, green eyes.

It wasn’t just because this man held his fate in his hands. It was because he had seen a more ruthless side of him than any other person he had encountered as a diplomat.

“Niccolò Machiavelli, let me ask you something. You said the ship you were on was captured by pirates, and you had a book translated into Persian. Does this mean you were trying to come to the Empire?”

“…That is correct.”

“Why did you want to come?”

“W-Well, that is…”

Machiavelli was eloquent and sociable, but he couldn’t bring himself to say that he had come to study the emperor.

As Machiavelli hesitated, Yusuf nodded.

The three seconds he was willing to wait had passed.

“Throw this man into the galleys. He came here comfortably, and now I can hear his brain working all the way over here.”

“Y-Your Majesty…?!”

Machiavelli, with his mouth gagged, was dragged away, and Michelangelo’s complexion worsened as unpleasant memories resurfaced.

A dark inspiration surged within him, as if he could create a new series of galley slave artworks right away.

That was why, unlike usual, Michelangelo interfered.

“Are you really going to throw him away as a galley slave like that?”

“I just intend to break his spirit. As long as he doesn’t die. He needs to write comedies satirizing the corrupt clergy for the Empire.”

“Comedies?”

Machiavelli was famous for *The Prince* after his death, but he was famous for his comedies during his lifetime.

He was a figure who gained fame with comedies, a type of play, and his *Mandragola* was the most popular comedy in 16th-century Italy.

That was why Yusuf was planning to have him create comedies.

“He will have to write comedies satirizing the corrupt clergy for the Empire.”

Regardless of their position, whether cardinal or pope, the corruption of the clergy in this era was beyond ordinary.

It was common for even the Pope to have illegitimate children, and *Mandragola*, which gained popularity, also contained content about the corruption of the clergy.

‘Considering the story that the Vatican produced *Mandragola* to please the Pope, they might not have seen it as criticism of the clergy.’

The same comedy can have different effects depending on what kind of perception it instills.

“If it helps him write comedies, I should bring him a widow.”

Because there is a story that he wrote a comedy after falling in love with a local widow.

Kidnapping a widow isn’t a difficult task.

Yusuf didn’t think much of kidnapping.

***

The aroma of the wine filled the glass, and Yusuf took a sip.

As he savored the aroma filling his mouth and stretched out his body, a soft voice reached Yusuf’s ear.

“What brings you here? Don’t you usually abstain from alcohol?”

“There are just days when you want to drink.”

No law was above the Sultan, and that included the Muslim prohibition of alcohol.

Yusuf put his arms around the shoulders of the two women leaning against him.

“Ayşe, Hatice. Are you resentful?”

“How could we resent you, Your Majesty?”

Yusuf gently stroked the two women’s hair.

The Hatuns [noble women] of the harem were the noblest women in the empire, except for the Valide Hatun [the Sultan’s mother], but their lives were not always happy.

The biggest reason was that they shared their lives with a prince.

“You may not resent me, but you can be sad. Because you have to leave this place with your children.”

The Ottoman system was designed to eliminate elements that threatened power.

Sending princes to Sanjakbeys [provincial governorships] was a form of education, but it was also a way to drive out princes who threatened power from the capital.

This control can be seen in the fact that princes over the age of puberty were not allowed to return to the capital without permission.

‘The same goes for the concubines leaving with the prince.’

It also served the role of helping the still young prince become self-sufficient, but it was also a way to take away power from the harem.

Because many problems could arise, such as the women who had the Sultan’s children being oppressed by the concubines.

Yusuf looked at the two women, who did not deny it and were enveloped in silence.

“You are beautiful. Even more so than when I first met you.”

The freshness of youth had disappeared, but the maturity they had cultivated both externally and internally was even more attractive.

They felt more attractive than the beautiful women in the harem, whom he could have just by visiting.

Perhaps it was because of memories that could not be filled with anything else.

‘I understand how Suleiman broke the custom.’

He felt like he knew the heart that ordered Hürrem Sultan not to leave the capital with the prince, but to stay by his side for life.

Knowing such a case, Yusuf also wanted to order them to do so.

“It wouldn’t be difficult to keep you by my side with just my desires. But I will not do that. Because I know it will harm the Empire.”

“Your Majesty…”

There wouldn’t be a problem during his reign, but as time passed, foolish descendants would surely emerge, buried in women’s skirts and swayed by them.

He couldn’t create that possibility. Even if it seemed cold.

Ayşe clasped her hands together at Yusuf’s words, which felt even cold, and Hatice hugged him even more deeply.

“We will only follow your will, Your Majesty. There is no need to worry too much about us.”

“We just hope you don’t forget us.”

Yusuf gently patted the two women who were anxiously requesting.

“How could I ever forget you, no matter how long the years pass.”

He had firmly grasped power more than anyone else, so Yusuf didn’t need to severely control the princes and was planning to call them to the capital periodically.

‘As time passes, people change, so I need to check with my own eyes.’

He might pass the throne to his grandson instead of his son, but he needed to continue to evaluate them.

Because the most accurate evaluation, due to the characteristics they possessed, could only be done by actually facing them.

“The place you are going to will be more difficult to live in than the splendid harem, not to mention Trabzon, where you lived before.”

The area where Mehmed was going was a newly constructed city that had to be rebuilt almost from the ground up, and there was the threat of the Astrakhan Khanate and the Grand Duchy of Moscow.

Ayşe would mainly be in the safe Kefe, but even that would not be enough.

The area where Murat was going, Yemen, was a region where Arab nomads, the Bedouins, were rampant on land, and Portugal threatened the sea.

It was a very dangerous area, like being in the middle of a battlefield. It was so dangerous that they could lose their lives.

“I will give you one last piece of advice. Stay healthy. Until the moment we meet again.”

Yusuf hugged the two women.

The moment the two princes left for Sanjakbey was approaching.

***

Under the brightly shining candlelight, Yusuf turned the pages of *The Prince*.

He was reading it to refine the parts that were lacking, could be misunderstood, and did not fit the Ottoman situation.

In the palace, where only the sound of turning pages could be heard, a loud noise echoed.

-Y-Your Majesty. B-Big trouble!

“Open the door.”