Became The Sultan Of The Ottoman Empire [EN]: Chapter 140

Became the Sultan of Osman – 140

4 Years Passed (2)

Poverty doesn’t foster artistic endeavors; a strong patron is the best solution to economic hardship.

Conversely, an artist’s status hinged on the prestige of their patron.

Currently, the most renowned artist was a slave captured from the Italian Peninsula.

His slave status was irrelevant. Even the Janissaries, known for their fierce loyalty and distinctive mustaches, and the bureaucrats were, in name, mostly slaves to the Sultan.

His favor with the Padishah [Ottoman Sultan] and his role in dynastic affairs, like painting portraits of the Padishah’s family, were what truly mattered.

The front of the sculpture, which the artist considered his masterpiece, was now marred.

When Murat flung the person he was holding near the sculpture, Michelangelo shouted, his face flushed and his nose reddening.

“W-watch out!”

“Ah, I know! Just a moment.”

Annoyed by Michelangelo’s outburst, Murat, his face tense, reached out and dragged the man who had fallen near the sculpture back towards the pile of unconscious men.

Dusting off his hands, Murat grinned.

“Even if I dislike it, I can’t ruin my sister’s face, can I?”

Michelangelo’s eyes widened at the insult to his masterpiece.

“What do you dislike so much that you’re making a mess in front of my work?!”

“I dislike everything.”

Murat stood akimbo, surveying the sculpture.

The sculpture, titled ‘A Girl Wearing a Hijab’ [a traditional head covering for Muslim women], was undeniably beautiful.

Though the subject appeared older than young Hasna, the image of a woman shyly donning a hijab, as if glimpsing her future self, was captivating.

Its presence in the Janissary courtyard, the outermost part of Topkapi Palace, crowded with men and women of all ages, was what displeased him most.

“Who authorized the sculpting of my sister’s face?”

“The Padishah permitted it!”

“I didn’t, though?”

He hadn’t been asked because it was deemed unnecessary.

Michelangelo stared, dumbfounded at Murat’s grumbling, before a youthful voice chuckled.

“Who is your sister, you rude brat?”

Murat, his face contorting at Mehmed’s familiar voice, turned, scratched his head, and bowed.

“Greetings, Padishah.”

The assembled crowd quickly followed suit, and Yusuf surveyed the scene with cold eyes.

Four men lay sprawled on the ground before bowing, while three others seemed to have been confronting Murat.

Yusuf addressed the Janissaries, who were maintaining order in case of further trouble.

“Explain the situation.”

“Yes, Padishah. These men were admiring the sculpture, and the prince took offense, claiming they insulted the princess. He declared that if they could defeat him, he would let the matter drop.”

“What was the insulting content?”

Given that the sculpture was known to be modeled after Princess Hasna, their statements couldn’t have been severe enough to warrant execution.

“They commented on her beauty and speculated about whom she might marry.”

Despite palace affairs being supposedly secret, gossip spread easily. The story of Hasna, the most beloved in the palace, was no exception, and such questions were inevitable.

“It’s a minor issue. Let’s resolve it here. See to it that anyone injured receives treatment.”

“Thank you, Padishah!”

The men’s faces brightened at Yusuf’s decision, while Murat’s face remained contorted.

After Yusuf returned to his chambers with his two sons, Murat exploded with anger.

“Padishah! If speculation about Hasna’s marriage isn’t an insult, what is?! It’s too early for her to be considered for marriage.”

Mehmed nodded in agreement, while Yusuf frowned.

“Hasna’s marriage is none of your concern. It’s her decision.”

The dynasty’s position was secure enough that there was no need to marry Hasna off for political gain, and she was still too young to seriously consider marriage.

He was currently postponing all marriage requests from the children of high-ranking officials.

Mehmed tilted his head and asked.

“What if she has no intention of marrying at all?”

“Then she won’t, and she’ll serve the country.”

Frankly, that would be more beneficial to Yusuf.

While it was difficult for women to openly work in this era, there were tasks only they could perform.

‘For example, hosting meetings with the wives of vassals or entertaining female nobles from Europe. There are many ways to utilize her charm.’

Hasna’s charm was undeniable and captivating to women.

Creating a women’s association centered around Hasna, leveraging the power of ‘pillow talk’ [influence gained through intimate conversations], would be invaluable.

This was also why he had allowed Michelangelo to sculpt Hasna’s likeness; the statue would further enhance her fame.

Yusuf clicked his tongue, looking at his two protective brothers.

“Tsk, with you two interfering, how can she ever find a boyfriend, even if she wanted one?”

“We can’t just let her marry anyone. To win Hasna, shouldn’t a man be at least as intelligent as me?”

“And stronger than me.”

Mehmed, whom even most scholars would give up on, was one thing, but stronger than Murat, who was already larger than an adult at thirteen?

Building a country would be easier than marrying Hasna.

“Stop talking nonsense and leave.”

After bowing and departing, Yusuf shook his head.

“I need to send Murat to Sanjakbey [governor of a district] soon.”

Like Mehmed, Murat’s appointment as Sanjakbey was being delayed because of Hasna.

He couldn’t be blamed for wanting to stay near his sister, but there was no reason to indulge him further.

Yusuf tapped the desk and studied the map.

“If I send him, Yemen or Southeast Africa would be best.”

Africa was one option, but the Arabian Peninsula, the birthplace of Islam, was too volatile.

The rapid spread of Islam from the Arabian Peninsula was initially driven by the doctrine of ending plunder in a society where raiding was rampant to avoid starvation.

Of course, little had changed, making the Arabian Peninsula a land they avoided occupying due to the fierce Arab nomads, the Bedouin clans.

Regardless of the oil reserves in what would become Saudi Arabia, a careless occupation would stir up a hornet’s nest. Ruling the coastal areas as they currently did was the most prudent approach.

“Managing the coastal regions isn’t easy either, but Murat is better suited for such a rough environment.”

Yemen was also a key producer of coffee, a popular commodity in the Ottoman Empire, and its importance was growing with increased Eastern trade.

Murat was the type to thrive even if dropped in the middle of the desert, so he would do well.

Southeast Africa, important for similar reasons, would also be a good choice, but it was too early for Murat, as the region still needed to be conquered.

As if making a final decision, Yusuf poked the land of Yemen on the map.

“My beloved son, your father believes in you.”

The verdict was delivered to the troublesome son.

***

The Venetians who arrived in Kostantiniyye [Istanbul] watched the cargo being unloaded from the ship with grim faces.

These were spoils of war recovered during the Crusades, including the four vibrant bronze horses.

The loss was so painful that some lamented that Venice seemed emptied.

“Let’s go; they say the Padishah is waiting.”

Giovanni Barbaro, the delegation’s representative, led his group towards Topkapi Palace.

He was familiar with the route, having visited several times, but his heart felt heavier than ever.

However, this weight vanished as soon as he entered the Janissary courtyard, the palace’s entrance.

“Incredibly beautiful! Amazing!”

Giovanni admired the sculpture.

He had lived in the Italian Peninsula, where the Renaissance was producing countless beautiful works of art, but he had never seen anything like this.

He felt he would gladly trade all the reluctantly returned spoils of war for this single sculpture.

“Giovanni Barbaro.”

Giovanni nodded at the anxious faces of his group.

His artistic sensibilities couldn’t conceal his desire to sketch the sculpture.

“You may stay here and draw it.”

As the man beamed at Giovanni’s permission, a chilling voice cut through the air.

“Who dares to draw without permission?”

The Janissary escort spoke coldly, and the delegation, including Giovanni, looked bewildered.

Drawing a picture of the sculpture seemed to elicit a reaction as fierce as if they were about to be attacked.

It was the most hostile atmosphere he had encountered since becoming an envoy, and Giovanni struggled to maintain a calm voice.

“What’s wrong? It’s just a drawing of a sculpture.”

“That sculpture depicts the face of Princess Hasna. You should be honored just to see her face, yet you dare to draw it?”

“…Are you saying she’s a real person?”

The envoys were shocked and skeptical that a real person could resemble the sculpture so closely, and the Janissary scoffed.

“The sculpture doesn’t fully capture her likeness. Even the creator admits that. In any case, don’t even think about drawing her face.”

Giovanni patted the shoulders of his group, who were clearly disappointed by the Janissary’s threat.

He was here to strengthen friendly relations by returning the spoils of war, and he couldn’t risk causing problems over trivial matters.

“…Then, may we at least stay and observe?”

“I understand. Is that acceptable?”

“That’s fine.”

Leaving the grateful man behind, Giovanni entered Topkapi Palace and proceeded to the familiar audience chamber.

The door closed with a soft sound, and the delegation, including Giovanni, bowed.

“Greetings, Padishah.”

“Welcome back, Giovanni Barbaro.”

Yusuf greeted him warmly, and Giovanni bowed even lower.

Rumors circulated that the Sultan had become more benevolent since conquering the Mamluks, but Giovanni knew the monstrous nature hidden beneath the surface.

He had to tread carefully when the Sultan was being agreeable.

“I hear you have returned all the looted goods from my city. This is a joyous occasion.”

“We returned the spoils of war to foster friendship with the empire. We hope this will further strengthen relations between our countries.”

‘Looted goods’ versus ‘spoils of war’ – the contrasting terms highlighted the differing perspectives, but the fact remained that the items had been returned.

Yusuf smiled brightly.

“Indeed. By the way, how fares that publisher?”

There was no need to clarify whom he meant. It was the publisher who had released the unauthorized book about Yusuf’s life.

He was the one who had ultimately facilitated the return of the looted goods.

“He is utterly ruined. It was unavoidable, given the compensation he had to pay the Padishah.”

“A most unfortunate situation. It would have been better if he had properly secured the copyright.”

Of course, permission would never have been granted, but at least greed wouldn’t have led to his downfall.

“More importantly, Padishah, when will the canal be opened?”

The primary reason for returning the looted goods was the imminent opening of the canal.

He was accelerating its construction by employing workers from the 50,000 prisoners, as well as utilizing profits from coffee and other Egyptian products.

“The canal… it should be completed within two years.”

The timeline was slightly longer than anticipated, but unavoidable due to issues like disease outbreaks caused by unsanitary working conditions.

Such problems were common in large-scale construction projects and military campaigns during this era.

“What will be the terms of access to the canal?”

“Authorized ships will be permitted to use it for a reasonable fee. Speaking of which, I received word from France that they also wish to send an envoy.”

The French envoy was unexpected.

The Sixth Italian War, in which France allied with the Ottoman Empire, shocking Europe, was still eighteen years away.

Of course, history had already diverged significantly, so the war might not even occur. However, France’s interest was piqued earlier than in the original timeline.

‘François I, who later allied with the Ottoman Empire, is on the throne, but his animosity towards Charles V isn’t as pronounced yet.’

Charles V, who would inherit a vast empire, had not yet inherited the Holy Roman Empire.

Giovanni asked, his face slightly flushed.

“Will Venice be allowed to use the canal?”

“I stated that you would be granted access upon returning the looted goods, so you will be. Naturally, you will be required to pay the canal usage fee.”

“That is understood. Thank you, Padishah.”

For Venice, direct trade with India was profitable, regardless of the canal’s cost.

Of course, Arab merchants would suffer as a result.

‘I can pit Venice and Portugal against each other, which isn’t a bad thing.’

By using the canal, Venice could sell goods cheaper than Portugal, which had to sail around Africa, forcing them into competition.

Moreover, with the canal as leverage, Venice would be more susceptible to Ottoman influence.

The remainder of the conversation consisted of light small talk, and Giovanni, having achieved his objectives, departed with due courtesy.

Yusuf, watching the door close, rose from his seat and summoned Silahhtar Agha [chief sword-bearer], Alper Pasha, his long-serving aide.

“Alper Pasha.”

“Yes, Padishah.”

“Is the member of the delegation still in front of the statue?”

“Yes, Padishah.”

“Then they have taken the bait.”

People are drawn to what is forbidden, a phenomenon rooted in the psychology of scarcity.

The tragic love of Romeo and Juliet, thwarted by their families, is a prime example.

Just as his banned books were spreading more rapidly and secretly across Europe, Hasna’s image would also gain wider circulation.

“Turquerie.”

This referred to the European fascination with Ottoman and Middle Eastern culture.

It could be considered a form of Orientalism fandom, exemplified by Mozart’s Turkish March and his opera ‘The Abduction from the Seraglio,’ set in the Ottoman Empire.

The European male fantasy surrounding harems was also prevalent, and in the 17th and 18th centuries, European nobles often donned Turkish-style clothing and turbans.

Yusuf intended to accelerate this trend.

“It would be amusing to begin with cultural invasion.”

Yusuf smirked.