I Became the Sultan of the Ottoman Empire

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# Chapter 47. The Movers (2)

Aishe and Hatice had a rough start from their first meeting, but Yusuf didn’t mind much.

If one were to rise to the Sultan’s position, the fate of the one who became a concubine was one of two outcomes.

They would either bask in glory alongside the Sultan’s son or wallow in misery, clutching the corpse of their son who lost in the succession war, living out on the borders.

‘Now that Mehmet is born, I should consider Aishe as a mother before thinking of her as my woman.’

It’s only natural to guard against anything that could pose a danger to one’s child.

Moreover, when it came to value, Aishe decidedly surpassed Hatice.

There was a chance that Hatice wasn’t even truly the daughter of Grand Vizier Ahmed, and even if she was, daughters in this era could easily become political pawns.

Hatice was merely a token for goodwill, and such flimsy alliances could fray at any moment.

In contrast, although Aishe was of slave origin, she held significant influence within the Circassian community. It was clear which was the better choice.

‘That said, I’m not planning to side with Aishe.’

There were far too many cases where affection for concubines led to the birth of incompetent rulers during succession wars.

The issue of concubines could be left to Fatima. No matter how much Aishe and Hatice flapped their wings, they were no match for the fierce Fatima, who had endured in the brutal harem for over a decade.

In fact, as Yusuf thought, Fatima was keeping a tight control over the two who had shown a shaky start.

Yusuf shoved aside his pointless thoughts.

There was no time to waste worrying over women.

It was already 1506, and outside the growling Ottoman princes, there were plenty of noteworthy happenings.

In 1504, the Italian Wars between France and the Habsburgs over Italy came to a conclusion.

Spain, having dealt a heavy blow to France, took over the Kingdom of Naples in Italy.

This meant that the still wet-behind-the-ears Charles V would inherit a title that included the rulers of Italy.

‘The power of Ismail, who squandered his manpower so recklessly, is still astonishing.’

In 1505, Ismail claimed the Hormuz region, familiar for its strait.

The White Sheep Dynasty had lost so much land that by modern standards, they were barely holding on in the region that includes Baghdad and Iraq.

‘They’re literally hanging on by a thread.’

How long could a country that trembled at the mention of Ismail last?

Even if left alone, internal division would break out at this rate, and Ismail thought of them as easy prey.

In short, it meant Ismail was getting comfortable, implying that it was now time to shift focus to Dulqadir.

‘Already signs of that are showing.’

The soldiers who had advanced eastward began to gather in the west, and movements of spies, presumed to be sent by Ismail, noticeably increased.

Perhaps the brothers sensed the signs too; they were bustling about internally.

“This is getting interesting.”

Yusuf flexed his hands.

Even he didn’t have a clear grasp on the trends of the era, but he knew that princes stepped into the spotlight faster than in the original history.

This meant the outcome of the succession war could come earlier than before, and the thought made his heart race.

‘Is it fear? Is it excitement?’

One thing for certain was that he couldn’t differentiate between the two.

As he lived as the real Yusuf, he couldn’t help but chuckle at how Ottoman he had become just when he was about to get back to work.

-Dad.

“Open the door.”

At Yusuf’s command, the firmly closed door swung open, and a chubby-cheeked child walked in slowly.

“Mehmet, come here.”

Little Mehmet waddled over and clung to Yusuf’s leg, who lifted the child up and set him on the desk.

With calm, deep-set eyes that sparkled like his parents’ emerald hue peeking from under his tousled turban, dirty blonde hair peeked out.

“What brings you here at this time?”

It was a complicated question for a mere 20-month-old, yet Mehmet answered easily.

“Want to report.”

“Is that so?”

Yusuf chuckled lightly at the awkward words as he fixed Mehmet’s disheveled turban.

Thanks to his excellent genes, the child was developing his language skills faster than others. If asked if he was a genius, one couldn’t give a definitive answer, but.

‘Still, he’s undoubtedly bright. Everyone who has direct experience raising a child says so.’

Mehmet was born in 1504, which meant there was only a 15-year difference between him and Yusuf.

Such a small age gap could be unfortunate for Mehmet.

‘Among the traits he has, longevity is one, so I might outlive him.’

Few are the princes who lived a happy life under a long-lived king.

Just think of spending a lifetime only to become a hope hostage and die. How could one be happy?

Perhaps the succession wars would be fought not by sons but by grandsons.

‘That might be interesting in its own right.’

Who knows how many children he’d have in the future, but the possibilities of having double-digit grandchildren were high.

In a nation where names are recycled so often, it would be common to have cases with the same name. Just the name Suleiman alone was used by Ahmed and Selim’s children.

“Dad?”

Had his thoughts stretched a bit too long? Mehmet tilted his head and called out.

Yusuf pinched the chubby cheeks of Mehmet and replied.

“Nothing.”

Yusuf ruffled Mehmet’s hair several times as the child giggled from the tickling.

While the time with the child was enjoyable, there wasn’t enough time for prolonged play.

Yusuf set Mehmet back down on the ground.

“I’ll play with you later. Now, go back.”

“…Okay.”

With a somewhat gloomy expression, Mehmet didn’t throw a tantrum like other children and went back.

Most of those who came with Mehmet also returned, but at Yusuf’s gesture, one maid stayed behind naturally.

“What happened before Mehmet came here? Speak without concealing anything.”

As mentioned before, having Mehmet visit during such a busy work time was unprecedented.

There had to be a reason for his visit.

“Yes, before his visit, I had a brief conversation with Lady Hatice.”

“And what was it about?”

“Lady Hatice mentioned that she might be getting a younger sibling.”

At these words, Yusuf burst into laughter.

Doesn’t he know who the target is he must conquer better than anyone else?

‘So she is certainly not of common blood.’

He looked forward to the children that might be born in the future.

*

The recent visit to the capital had brought many benefits, but the biggest gain was establishing connections with the officials of the capital.

Thanks to that, he had a general sense of the atmosphere in the capital.

With Mehmet’s birth, the downside highlighted during the succession issue could be resolved, and Yusuf’s standing among the officials had risen.

‘However, if Mehmet dies, that standing could vanish at any moment.’

As Shamsi had warned, one never knew when a child might die.

In an era where one in five wouldn’t see past five years old.

Having an intimate night with the newly entered concubine Hatice was a natural process; it was already several nights they had shared.

However, having her suddenly come to him at night was a first.

“Hatice, what brings you here? I don’t recall summoning you tonight.”

The words were so cool they hardly sounded like they shared a bed, but it was a natural reaction for Yusuf.

The matter of concubines was managed by Fatima, and it was an action that disregarded her authority.

As if expecting Yusuf’s sharp response, Hatice remained steady, quietly kneeling.

“Prince, I have a request.”

“Is it so important that you would come to see me alone at this late hour?”

“It is.”

“What is your request?”

Had it been a trivial request, no matter how many nights they had shared, Hatice wouldn’t have tried to slip through this moment.

Even when facing possible humiliation, Hatice spoke fearlessly.

“Punish the two maids who followed me.”

The unexpected answer brought a smile to Yusuf’s face.

It meant that she was willing to cut off her own people in the palace.

“And what’s the reason?”

“The two reported information about you to my father.”

Bowing her head low, Hatice said this, and Yusuf spoke lightly.

“I already know.”

The two who had come in so openly didn’t just stroll into Trabzon.

Any information they managed to extract was merely trivial, and it was content that Hatice could jot down in a letter without any issue, so he let it be.

“You’re not asking me to punish them because you know I’m aware of that, right? Or am I?”

“…That’s correct.”

Hatice, seeing Yusuf behave as if he were watching a performance, bowed her head deeply.

Still, her courage in self-reporting could be praised.

“So, what punishment do you wish to impose?”

“Behead them.”

It was an excessive punishment for the information extracted. Plenty of leeway for leniency was warranted.

Of course, killing two slaves wasn’t a difficult task.

“What would you think if punishing them caused a rift with the Grand Vizier?”

“That won’t happen. Reporting their actions to you and getting them punished is part of my father’s plan.”

Yusuf smiled with interest.

“Is that how you thought to gain my trust?”

“Yes. The prince isn’t the type to easily trust people, so this was meant to earn that trust.”

While methods like this could backfire with some, the Grand Vizier surprisingly had good judgment when it came to people.

For him, it was an effective approach.

“But why tell me everything? Keeping it hidden would have been better.”

“Because I am no longer my father’s servant; I am the prince’s woman now. And—”

Pausing slightly, Hatice let out a light sigh and continued.

“Didn’t the prince not anticipate even this fact?”

Yusuf grinned.

She was a clever woman. Clearly, she was finding her place to survive.

*

Cape Feodosia is an important area occupying the narrow strait connecting the Azov Sea and the Black Sea.

Much like one cannot enter the Black Sea without crossing Constantinople, one cannot pass through the Azov Sea without going through Feodosia.

Geographically, it was one of the ports that the Ottoman held in the highest regard, thus being a prosperous region.

The Mehmet, governing such Feodosia, received a garment and tilted his head.

“This seems to be an unfamiliar garment; where did it come from?”

Fine clothing was worth more than many gemstones.

Even Mehmet, who had seen many garments while ruling over Feodosia, was slightly surprised at this expensive piece, and the maid answered respectfully.

“It is a gift from a merchant who arrived not long ago for the prince.”

“Oh? I must meet him then.”

“He was a merchant who had been active in Feodosia for a while. After sending the gift, he is said to have left. He would like to personally thank the prince for bringing him great profits the next time he comes,” she elaborated.

How curious that someone would offer such a gift without expecting much in return. This thought crossed Mehmet’s mind as he donned the garment.

The soft, soothing touch made Mehmet smile slightly.

A while later, a smallpox outbreak occurred in Feodosia.