I Became the Sultan of the Ottoman Empire

Four Princes (3)

The woman, veiled and donning a hijab, cautiously stepped onto the harbor.

Though the Janissaries fiercely controlled the area around the harbor, she didn’t even glance in their direction.

As she gazed blankly at the dimly visible edge of the Topkapi Palace, her attention was drawn to a purplish flag symbolizing the Padishah, and she smiled faintly.

“It’s been a while, and it’s nice to see you. It’s a pity I couldn’t bring the grandchildren, though.”

Mehmet, now in his mid-twenties with two sons and a daughter, matched his pace alongside Aishe.

This time, only the princes and their hats were permitted entry into the capital.

“Don’t be too upset. The children need to be educated in the capital anyway, right? By then, my father will surely take a liking to my children.”

Anyone belonging to the royal family had to be educated in the capital, and the royal evaluation influenced the princes as well.

In that aspect, Mehmet felt somewhat confident.

Sure, he had many shortcomings in his eyes, but as long as he didn’t use himself as the standard, he considered himself sufficiently capable.

“If you compare them to you, they may be lacking, but they won’t be far behind.”

“Father might just be hoping for them to grow up quickly and lend a hand.”

“Well, the Padishah would likely think so.”

The sons were viewed more as laborers than heirs, and the grandchildren were no different.

As Aishe smiled gently, a booming voice interrupted.

“Bragging about your children, brother? You’ve changed a lot in my absence! My child is also remarkable; it will be fun when we gather in the capital later.”

As a man with two heads worth of height pushed through the Janissaries, Mehmet frowned.

“Murad, you’re still rude as ever.”

“How uptight. It’s been a while, Hatun.”

Murad offered a polite bow to Aishe, who sparkled in response.

Though his size was similar to now, Mehmet could tell Murad had changed a lot over the years; he still acted like a boy.

“It’s been a while, Murad. Is Hatice Hatun doing well?”

“Mother has been waiting for your arrival most eagerly. Please come along.”

This was the moment when all the princes and hats, appointed as Sanjakbey, gathered back in the capital.

*

With all the princes and hats gathered in the capital, the ministers were on high alert.

Though they claimed it was for the sake of Valide Hatun, the ministers sensed that matters concerning succession were underway.

Judging by Yusuf’s actions, it was to be expected.

Yusuf had set a timeline for the princes to arrive in the capital and ensured that they could not enter any earlier.

This was to prevent the nearer princes from arriving first and engaging in activities within the capital.

Moreover, not only were the grown princes prohibited from entering the harem, but hats also couldn’t enter the Topkapi Palace until permission was granted.

Considering that the first courtyard, the Janissary courtyard, was a place even common subjects frequented, this was a significant restriction.

It was easy to guess that the princes weren’t summoned for trivial reasons.

“Şemsi Pasha, have you heard anything in particular?”

Şemsi, who had recently been called back from serving as the Beylerbey in Cairo, was most likely to become the Grand Vizier since the previous Grand Vizier, Dukagjinsade, had stepped down.

Being close to the Padishah, they wondered if he had any insight, but Şemsi firmly stated, “It doesn’t seem I need to speak about matters that will soon become apparent.”

Three days had elapsed since the princes gathered, and it was the day Yusuf finally allowed them entry.

Seeing all the ministers gather in the second courtyard suggested that something significant was about to unfold, causing anxiety.

As they glanced towards Şemsi, a figure who was likely to know more, the first one to enter was a man with a scar on his face.

‘Satan’s honey. There’s no way he’ll spill the beans.’

Not only was this man not one to speak freely, but he also held the position of the head of the Padishah’s Intelligence Agency, tasked with investigating ministerial misconduct.

Ministers knew all too well that should any corruption be found, they would find themselves imprisoned, pouring over documents while sipping coffee, until forgiven by the Padishah.

The next known figure was Hasan, presumed to complete the bridge connecting the Golden Horn soon, but he looked so frail that the ministers quickly abandoned that line of inquiry.

No matter how anxious they were, it was a strict taboo among ministers to bother someone exhausted.

Time passed swiftly, and the appointed hour arrived.

The royal figure entered through the gate connecting the first to the second courtyard.

“Everyone, pay your respects!”

At the cry of the Janissary officer guarding the royal figure, the ministers bowed and sneaked glances.

Mehmet, with emerald eyes echoing Yusuf’s coldness, scanned the ministers, while Murad, adorned with a hearty smile, walked lightly.

Qasim exchanged light nods with familiar ministers, while Mustafa observed curiously, and little Orhan, still held in his mother Hirem’s arms, joined them.

For royal figures to be gathered in one place was a rarity for even high-ranking officials, since many had long served in the capital.

As the royal group stood before the gate of the Third Courtyard, music from the Janissary band resonated.

“The Padishah, the ruler of the great Ottoman Empire, approaches! Show proper respect!”

At the shout of the Silahtar Ah, responsible for protecting the Padishah, everyone knelt.

—It is an honor to meet the great Padishah!

As the resounding cries faded into heavy silence, a powerful voice echoed.

“Everyone, raise your heads.”

Following the command, those who raised their heads could feel their flesh tremble as they met Yusuf’s gaze.

If position makes the person, then Yusuf, who had spent nearly two decades as the ruler of a colossal empire, was incomparably different from the once-prince he had been.

Even the slightest gesture captivated attention, and a sharp gaze radiated authority.

The authority held by Yusuf was palpable, and those who dared compare themselves to him while gazing at the princes were starkly reminded of their foolishness.

“It is a joyous day today. All in the royal family are gathered together, when will such a day come again?”

“Indeed, your Majesty.”

With Yusuf entering his forties, the competition to vie for the next Padishah position would intensify.

Gathering the princes in the capital would gradually become burdensome for both Yusuf and the princes, making it essentially the last time to do so.

“Even on such a joyous day, being born a prince carries a fate you must bear, making it difficult to celebrate purely. A fate to stain your hands with the blood of your brother, indeed.”

At the mention of the fratricidal law, ministers wore faces of trepidation, and their thoughts were confirmed by Yusuf’s ensuing words.

“I too, with the blood of my brothers upon me, rose to this position. Therefore, I know better than anyone that this law does not please Allah. Henceforth, with immediate effect, I will abolish the fratricidal law.”

The decree that the Padishah must eliminate all brothers was a law instituted by Mehmet II, and such a declaration stirred unrest among those gathered.

While the rivalry among brothers for the Padishah’s position had been customary in the Ottoman Empire, codifying it as law changed the narrative entirely.

Though shocked by the sudden declaration, the ministers did not strongly oppose it.

“An appropriate decision, your Majesty. The tragedy that has persisted within the royal family has been lamented by not just the ministers but also the subjects.”

“Even a mere beast becomes a dangerous predator if it finds itself with no escape route. I believe this will mitigate the empire’s losses due to civil war.”

Due to the historic writings about Yusuf’s life, public sentiment towards the fratricidal law was not favorable.

Many believed that Yusuf’s predicament—such as being poisoned since childhood—stemmed from this law, which posed no real threat.

Since this was a measure many had anticipated, confusion seemed to quell quickly; however, the next declaration left the crowd agape.

“Furthermore, I intend to step down from this position in 15 years.”

“Your Majesty?!”

In 15 years, Yusuf would be 55 years old.

While it wouldn’t be unusual for another king to die at that age, considering that Yusuf, who still looked like he was in his late twenties at forty, might still be in his prime at that time, it was natural for ministers to be astonished he would personally step down.

“Your Majesty, I urge you to reconsider! The subjects of the empire will not welcome this!”

“Indeed! I apologize to the princes, but no one can take your place!”

“Please reconsider!”

The fact that an empire like the Ottoman, which expanded its territory rapidly, could maintain itself without significant rebellion was thanks to Yusuf’s skills and reputation.

Because Yusuf had overcome numerous threats, local governors would hesitate to rebel, and subjects who felt their lives improving shared that sentiment as well.

This meant Yusuf’s influence in maintaining the Ottoman Empire was absolute.

Faced with the deluge of dissent, Yusuf stamped his staff firmly onto the ground.

“Enough!”

With that single word, the once-boisterous palace fell into silence, and Yusuf spoke curtly.

“I am mentioning this 15 years in advance to avoid chaos. This is a decided matter. I will not accept objections.”

With the proclamation of not accepting objections, the ministers had no choice but to remain silent.

As the ministers exchanged anxious glances and shifted their gazes, Yusuf gestured to his family and entered.

As the royal group made their way into the third courtyard, the remaining ministers clenched their eyes tightly.

“It’s all over.”

There were far too many people gathered here for anyone to keep quiet about it, and this news would rapidly spread beyond the capital to the entire Ottoman realm.

Petitions urging the Padishah to reconsider would flood the capital, and the ensuing chaos throughout the empire needed to be quelled.

Needless to say, their workload would increase, and as the ministers looked wearied as if aged in an instant, Şemsi remarked.

“We have brought the finest Qahwa from Cairo, so let’s endure together.”

His voice was laden with resignation, knowing this would come as a surprise.

*

“They’re still as beautiful as ever, all of you.”

Yusuf glanced back at the hats.

Though decorated finely, wrinkles had formed around their eyes, and the hair beneath their hijabs was streaked with white.

It meant the glorious days had passed, but to Yusuf’s eyes, the hats were not lacking when compared with the young, attractive ladies in the harem.

Perhaps this feeling would not change for men even if the women grew old. This beauty came not from appearance, but from memories.

“Your Majesty remains unchanged since the day you left. Time seems to kneel before the Padishah.”

Aishe’s words, tinged with subtle jealousy and envy, brought a smile to Yusuf’s face.

“Who is there that time does not touch? If it weren’t so, I wouldn’t have said those words today.”

In his youth, such a notion of abdication would have been unimaginable for Yusuf.

Of course, he hadn’t dreamed he’d actually voice thoughts of abdication now.

“Hirem.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

“Orhan cannot practically ascend to the throne. Do you not feel saddened by this?”

Fifteen years was too short for little Orhan, who was barely able to walk.

Upon hearing Yusuf’s words, Hirem, holding Orhan close, lowered her head.

“It’s alright, your Majesty. As long as you guarantee a life for me and my son, that is enough.”

“Indeed, as long as you don’t grow greedy, it will be safeguarded.”

“I will remember that.”

This was both a promise and a warning, and Hirem was not foolish enough to disregard it.

If the fratricidal law dictated that Orhan’s life—and her own—hinged on appearing in the position of Padishah, she would have lunged for it without hesitation, but knowing there’s potential for survival allowed her to set aside her ambitions.

Yusuf cast his gaze at Mehmet.

“Mehmet, do you understand why I will abdicate in 15 years?”

“Are you worried about the civil war that will occur among brothers?”

“Indeed.”

When the empire was smaller, civil wars could be swiftly resolved; however, given it now took half a year just to traverse its edges, the empire had grown vast.

Unlike times past, mending civil wars wouldn’t be easy anymore, and therefore, continuing the Ottoman royal family’s practices had become increasingly untenable.

This was a sentiment shared among all the princes.

“From now on, you have 15 years, and two things must be done. First, prove your capabilities to merit my choice. Naturally, the evaluation will be my discretion.”

With that promise of subjective judgment, the princes did not dare protest.

Believing Yusuf, who prioritized the empire, would select the prince most beneficial to the empire overshadowed any concerns.

“If you’re not confident in becoming Padishah, you must establish your own domain. Though the fratricidal law is abolished, it won’t spare your lives.”

To survive, the chilly words to prove one’s abilities tightened the princes’ expressions.

“You may expand the empire’s territory with your own capabilities. In the lands you expand, you shall become lords.”

Yusuf fixed his gaze on Qasim.

“Alternatively, it is perfectly acceptable to become an indispensable figure through diplomacy. Anyone justified as a benefit to the empire may be valued grandly, regardless of being a prince. However, my decision shall remain absolute.”

As he surveyed the princes, Yusuf unsheathed a pistol resting at his side.

“If anyone rebels against my decision, their life will be forfeit at my hand.”

The cold declaration, which resembled a father losing all compassion, caused the princes to bow their heads.

In the tense atmosphere, Yusuf handed the pistol to the inner attendant beside him.

“I trust no such incident will occur. I shall be observing, expecting your capabilities.”

The four princes clenched their fists.

*

“Your Majesty! It’s a disaster!”

As a minister rushed in like there had been a rebellion, Jungjong questioned.

“What is it?! Are the Wokou invading again?!”

The Wokou, who recently had become a significant headache using gunpowder weapons, elicited anxiety from Jungjong’s question.

“An enemy ship has appeared at Ganghwa Island again!”

“Again?!”

Jungjong’s heart raced at the nightmare of Portugal resurfacing.

“How many this time?!”

“A whopping thirty ships!”

Jungjong felt his mind spinning.