I Became the Sultan of the Ottoman Empire

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# Chapter 46. The Movers (1)

Even before the sun had fully set, the castle gates were firmly shut, strictly controlling any outsiders.

Countless torches hung along the castle walls, illuminating the surroundings more brightly than usual, and soldiers stood at attention, alert for any disturbance.

Even the horses in the stable were chased outside, as the slightest noise might cause trouble.

It was as if everyone inside the castle was walking on thin ice, making no sound at all, except for one busy spot.

“Allahu Akbar.”

As the time for childbirth approached, the midwives brought in a birthing chair with a hole in it, praying devoutly to God.

In Islam, the entire process from conception to birth was seen as a sacred struggle, and a mother who died during childbirth was regarded as a martyr.

The midwives, holding reverently to the importance of this ritual, began their work, and after a while, Aishe’s screams echoed through the castle.

How many hours had passed already?

The labor had started during the day, but even now, with the sky darkening, no news had come.

Yusuf, trying to maintain his calm, asked Shamsi, who was sipping on coffee beside him, “Wasn’t the Pasha’s child studying in Constantinople?”

“That’s right.”

The capital housed the finest educational facilities, and if the parents were somewhat noteworthy figures like Suleiman or Yaya, it was not unusual to send their children there for schooling.

It seemed that he had never really taken much interest in Shamsi’s personal life, despite his close ties.

It might largely be because Shamsi didn’t share much about his private matters.

“The Pasha’s son. I should have met him when I visited the capital.”

“He’s still lacking if he wishes to catch the prince’s eye.”

“If he resembles the Pasha, expectations wouldn’t be too far-fetched.”

If only he didn’t share the same expressionless face. I’d be satisfied with Shamsi having trouble discerning expressions alone.

“What was it like when you had your first child?”

“I think I was anxious back then as well. When I held my son, I offered thanks to God.”

Shamsi, who actively expressed his emotions, was hard to imagine in that context.

After taking a sip of his coffee to moisten his throat, he continued, “But as a fellow parent, I must advise that Allah can take back His gifts at any moment.”

His words could easily invoke anger for being ominous on such a significant day, yet they also held necessary truth.

A ruler had to remain calm at all times.

Even if it was the death of a child, which was regarded as a divine gift.

As a heavy silence fell, a knock was heard, signaling the awaited news.

– Your Highness, the delivery has ended.

Yusuf had many questions: was Aishe and the child both safe? What was the gender? But he simply stood up.

That was a matter best seen in person.

With a stiff face, Yusuf walked through the corridor into the room where Aishe was.

“Have you come?”

Seeing Fatima greet him with a smile, the result was easily predicted.

“It’s a son.”

Though it might sound cold, even if Islam preached nominal equality between genders, the preference for sons was still prevalent in those times.

If it had been a daughter, Fatima wouldn’t be holding the child close with such a joyous expression.

“Yes, it’s a boy.”

Carefully, Fatima handed him the baby wrapped in a white swaddling cloth and infant garments.

The baby’s clothes had a protective charm called boncuk, adorned with blue beads and painted with white sclera and black pupils, meant to ward off evil spirits.

As Yusuf held the heavy infant, he closely examined the child.

Thanks to the traditional washing and sprinkling of salt, there was no unpleasant smell, and the lips were coated with honey, symbolizing the sweetness of words.

Though the newborn looked more like a bloody lump still unable to open its eyes, it did evoke a strange feeling.

“Is Aishe and the child both okay?” Yusuf asked.

Fatima nodded her head.

“Fortunately, they are both safe. Though we need to keep a closer eye on Aishe.”

In an era where one in four mothers died from childbirth fever, it was deemed more dangerous to give birth than to go to war.

Of course, an experienced midwife knew to cut off outsiders and use boiled water and clean cloth, but it was hard to prevent infections entirely.

Ordering for potent spirits to be used for sanitization just in case, Yusuf spoke with a sense of relief.

“Aishe will be fine.”

“Yes, I think so too.”

Yusuf looked down at the squirming child and pondered.

‘How long will you survive?’

The baby might not survive the stage when infant mortality was at its peak, and if he couldn’t become Sultan, he could be killed by his brothers, including Selim.

Even if he became Sultan, he could die in conflicts with newly born siblings.

The future was uncertain.

“Try to survive as long as you can, Mehmet.”

*

It seemed the princes, as if in agreement, withdrew from public activities and secluded themselves in their respective sanjaks.

On the surface, it looked like peace had returned, but those sensitive to the situation could feel the eerie calm before the storm.

In the shadows, fierce battles were already taking place.

Espionage activities aimed at gathering information and counter-espionage efforts to prevent leaks were ongoing, creating a cycle where blood washed away blood.

In Trabzon, it had become so common to spot corpses washing ashore that it didn’t raise an eyebrow.

Yusuf, having more confidential information than others, focused more on counter-espionage but still kept an eye on external information.

“My brothers sure are busy.”

Whether it was luck or the exceptional skills of the spies he sent, he was able to tell what schemes his brothers were brewing.

“Selim is quite focused on Mehmet, isn’t he?”

Including the firstborn Abdullah, Mehmet was the sixth brother and the sanjakbey of Cape, located adjacent to the Crimean Khanate.

Originally, he was meant to have a political marriage with the Crimean Khanate instead of Selim.

Cape, located in the northern Black Sea, was a hindrance to interactions with the Khanate, and since the Khanate might conspire with Mehmet, it was a candidate for elimination.

“Korkut seems unable to let go of his obsession with Saruhan.”

To the extent of his fixation, he was targeting Mahmut, newly appointed as sanjakbey of Saruhan.

Well, it was only natural as a rolling stone would want to remove obstacles to return.

“If this keeps up, soon the sixth and lower will all meet their end.”

Regardless of being of Ottoman blood, not every sibling was born as a monster like Selim or Suleiman.

He also didn’t know that Alemşah, who left them early, was beckoning them from beside Allah.

Disregarding thoughts of siblings that didn’t pique his interest, Yusuf poked the map.

“Unexpectedly, it’s Ahmed. I didn’t think he’d show interest in Şehinşah.”

The spies sent by Ahmed were making trips between the territory of Şehinşah, located in Konya.

Whatever he was up to, it couldn’t be good considering the bonding among the princes.

As Şehinşah knew little, it was hard to make a judgment, and after pondering for a moment, Yusuf thought simply.

“If he gets caught up in conspiracies and dies, that’d be great. If not, then whatever.”

Having one or two more princes wouldn’t trouble Yusuf, as his forces were substantial enough.

Circassians and Georgians were already widely recognized as Yusuf’s allied forces.

Circassians had no choice from the start, and Georgians, pressured by invasion, had come to a point of all-in with Yusuf.

‘The Dukaginzade Ahmed, asking to be made sanjakbey, also became the sanjakbey of Ankara like history suggested.’

An Ottoman child underwent a ritual called “40 Hamam” in Turkish baths if they survived until the 40th day, where the child, mother, and midwives invited relatives and neighbors to enjoy the ceremony.

Not much time passed after this ceremony before the congratulatory gift from Ahmed arrived, indicating goodwill.

‘But that doesn’t mean I can trust him entirely.’

If one can’t even trust family, how can one trust a stranger met just once?

It felt easier to consider him as a neutral party who might side with him as long as conditions were favorable.

Moreover, it was time for another gift from Ahmed to arrive.

– Yusuf, a guest from the capital wishes to meet you.

“Let them in.”

He’d already heard that they had arrived at the harbor.

With Yusuf’s permission, the door opened, revealing a woman with her face veiled by a hijab, followed by two handmaidens.

The woman, with only her blue eyes visible, made a respectful gesture towards Yusuf.

“Greetings, Prince Yusuf. I am Hatice, daughter of Pasha Herzegovinian Ahmed.”

Whether she was truly his daughter or not, even the way she presented herself revealed the extent of her education.

“You’ve traveled a long distance.”

“Thank you for your hospitality.”

When Hatice replied politely, the not-yet-closed door swung open again, and women, including Fatima, entered.

“Yes, Hatice? I am Fatima Hatun.”

“I look forward to working with you, Lady Fatima.”

Perhaps having a good first impression, Fatima nodded in response.

There was nothing adverse for her as her son’s harem would grow.

One woman, however, did not share that sentiment.

“I’m glad to meet you too. I’m Aishe.”

A hint of coldness laced Aishe’s voice, and as Hatice cast a sideways glance, she removed her hijab now that only women besides Yusuf remained in the room.

With flowing black hair neatly arranged, Hatice was a beautiful woman with a refined impression, and she respectfully greeted Aishe.

“As one of Prince Yusuf’s women, I look forward to working with you.”

By placing herself on the same level as Aishe, Hatice flashed a radiant smile.

*

Şehinşah fidgeted, drumming his fingers on the chair.

While others may envy his status as a prince, for him, it was a nightmare.

The heavy burden of having to kill all his brothers to become Sultan loomed over him.

It wasn’t bizarre that he turned to alcohol to cope with this weighing fate. On the nights when he was heavily intoxicated, he could sleep peacefully.

However, he mustn’t reach for anything beyond alcohol.

“Fareedin, Fareedin! Why hasn’t he come yet?”

Şehinşah anxiously searched for Fareedin, his physician who had introduced him to opium.

Though he had only recently started, he was already addicted, the opium burrowing into his fragile heart.

As unease and anxiety washed over him, Şehinşah heard a knock at the door.

– Prince Şehinşah, you have a guest.

“A guest? I don’t need one! Do we have news of Fareedin?”

Determined to turn down whoever the guest might be, Şehinşah refused flatly, but the following words made him reconsider.

– They say they have news of Fareedin.

“Let them in!”

Upon permission, a middle-aged man entered, one Şehinşah had never seen before, and it was easy to identify him as a wealthy merchant from the rings on his hand and his attire.

Calming his wildly beating heart, Şehinşah asked, “Who are you? You say you have news of Fareedin?”

“First meeting, Your Highness. I am Ishbat, a merchant.”

“Right, Ishbat. Where is Fareedin?”

In response to Şehinşah’s question, Ishbat bowed respectfully.

“You shouldn’t keep him close. He is a pawn under Ahmed’s orders.”

“…My brother?”

A frown deepened on Şehinşah’s face.

He could accept the possibility but didn’t want to believe it easily.

“Who are you?”

Responding to the cold inquiry of Şehinşah, Ishbat replied.

“I am Ishbat Bey, serving Shah Ismail. I have come to help you at the Shah’s command.”

Ishbat smiled gently as he observed the shocked Şehinşah.

“Become the master of the Ottomans.”

For the glory of Shah Ismail.