I Became the Sultan of the Ottoman Empire

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Four years have passed (2)

Poverty doesn’t aid artistic endeavors, and the best way to solve financial problems is to have a solid patron.

This also meant that the caliber of an artist varies depending on the type of patron they have.

In that sense, the most famous artist at present was a slave artist brought from the Italian peninsula.

The status of being a slave didn’t matter. The fearsome Janissaries sporting mustaches and most bureaucrats were merely nominal slaves.

What mattered was receiving the favor of the Padishah, taking on the task of painting portraits for the royal family, and handling the dynasty’s affairs.

Before such an artist, the space in front of the statue he regarded as his life’s masterpiece had turned into chaos.

As Murad tossed someone near the statue, Michelangelo shouted with a flushed face borne of indignation, a crooked nose reddening.

“Hey! Are you not being careful?!”

“Ah, I know! Just wait a moment.”

Murad snapped back irritably at Michelangelo’s scolding and reached out with a tense expression toward the men confronting him, dragging the fallen man near the statue.

After tossing the man onto a pile of already fallen ones and returning, Murad wiped his hands and grinned.

“No matter how much I dislike it, it’s my sister’s face, I can’t ruin it, can I?”

Michelangelo’s eyes widened at the insult to his life’s work.

“What about it that you dislike so much that you’re creating chaos in front of someone else’s piece?!”

“I dislike everything about it.”

Murad stood crookedly, glancing back at the statue.

The sculpture titled “Girl Wearing a Hijab” was undeniably beautiful.

While it was of an older age compared to the young Hasna, the shy demeanor of a woman trying to wear the hijab seemed to bring her future self into the present, it was enchanting.

It was particularly displeasing that it brought together young and old alike in the outer courtyard of Topkapi Palace.

“Who dared to sculpt my sister’s face?”

“The Padishah granted permission!”

“Yet I received no permission!”

No need to receive it, so he didn’t.

Michelangelo wore a dumbfounded expression at Murad’s complaints, and soon a youthful voice scoffed.

“Who’s your sister, you insolent fool.”

Turning his head at the familiar voice of Mehmet, Murad scratched his head in a gesture of respect.

“I greet the Padishah.”

The crowd around Murad hastily bowed their heads, and Yusuf looked around with cold eyes.

Four men, sprawled out on the ground, appeared to have bowed, while there were three others in confrontation with Murad.

Yusuf asked the Janissaries, who were controlling the situation for any potential uncertainties.

“Explain the situation.”

“Yes, your Padishah. The men looking at the statue got angry at the prince for allegedly offending the princess, stating that if he beats them, they would let it go.”

“What was the offense?”

Knowing full well it was a statue modeled after the princess Hasna’s face, it couldn’t have involved comments severe enough to warrant a beheading.

“They said she was beautiful and expressed curiosity about who she would marry.”

Even though palace affairs are supposed to be secret, so many mouths would have let that slip out.

The story of Hasna, beloved in the palace, was the same, and it was natural for such curiosity to arise.

“That doesn’t seem like a significant issue. Let’s wrap this up for now and ensure that any injured are treated.”

“Thank you, your Padishah!”

The men’s faces brightened at Yusuf’s decision while Murad frowned deeply.

“Your Padishah! If talking about Hasna’s marriage isn’t an insult, then what is?! She’s still too young for that.”

Beside him, Mehmet nodded in agreement while Yusuf frowned.

“Hasna’s marriage is not for you to be concerned about. That’s for her to decide.”

There was no need to arrange a political marriage as the dynasty’s position was solid, and there was no need to think about the young Hasna’s marriage at this moment.

Requests for marriage from noble children had also been postponed.

Mehmet tilted his head and asked.

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

“Then she won’t and will focus on state affairs.”

To be candid, this was actually more beneficial for Yusuf.

Of course, it would be hard for a woman to step up in contemporary times, but there were things only women could do.

‘For instance, hosting gatherings with the wives of ministers or entertaining noblewomen coming from Europe. There will be plenty of chances to utilize her charm.’

Hasna’s charm was so striking that one couldn’t dare to be jealous, and it was more than enough to attract women.

With the existence of gossip circles among pillows, building up women’s gatherings centered around Hasna would definitely be helpful.

Allowing Michelangelo to sculpt a statue of Hasna’s face was part of that context, and through the statue, Hasna’s fame would spread even further.

Looking at his two favorite brothers, Yusuf clicked his tongue.

“Tsk, with you interfering like this, will she even be able to marry someone she truly loves?”

“She can’t be sent to just any man. Anyone who wants Hasna has to be at least as smart as I am, don’t they?”

“Stronger than me, too.”

It wasn’t even a question that Mehmet, who could easily take down half-hearted scholars, needed to be stronger than Murad, who was bigger than adults at just thirteen?

Marrying Hasna was easier than establishing a nation.

“Stop rambling and withdraw for now.”

As the two stepped back, Yusuf shook his head.

“I need to send that brat Murad off to the Sanjakbey soon.”

It was understandable that Murad was putting off becoming a Sanjakbey due to Hasna, as he would hardly see his sister afterward, but there was no need to keep watching indefinitely.

Yusuf tapped the desk and looked at the map.

“If I send him off, it’s better to send him to Yemen or southeastern Africa.”

Without mentioning it, even the Arabian Peninsula, where Islam originated, is a rough place.

The expansion of Islam in the Arabian Peninsula arose from a culture of mutual plundering to avoid starvation, led by a doctrine of stopping the plunder.

Of course, it’s not much different now, and the deadly Bedouin tribes, which are the fierce Arab nomads, have no intention of occupying that land.

Even with future oil hidden in the territory of present-day Saudi Arabia, merely trying to occupy it would be like poking a bee’s nest, and governing coastal areas like now was the best approach.

“Managing coastal areas won’t be easy either, but they’d suit Murad better than such rugged territories.”

Yemen is also known for producing the coffee popular in the Ottoman Empire, and with thriving Eastern trade, it was becoming increasingly important.

Murad, who seemed like he could survive even thrown into the middle of the desert, would surely be alright there.

Similarly, sending him to the important southeastern Africa was also good, but it was land that needed to be conquered first, so it was too soon for Murad.

Confirming his decision, Yusuf poked the map of Yemen with his finger.

“My beloved son, I trust in you.”

A verdict had fallen on the troublemaking son.

*

Those who came from Venice to Constantinople looked down with somber faces at the cargo being unloaded from the ship.

It was vivid spoils from the Crusades, including four bronze horses.

People lamented that Venice seemed to have become hollow, a bitter result indeed.

“Let’s go, the Padishah is waiting.”

Giovanni Barbaro, representing the envoy, led the group toward the Topkapi Palace.

It was hardly unfamiliar after several visits, but his heart felt heavier than ever.

However, as they entered the open courtyard of the Janissaries at the entrance of the palace, that weight was lifted.

“It’s unbelievably beautiful! Awesomely so!”

Giovanni marveled at the sight of the statue.

Having spent time in the Italian peninsula, filled with beautiful artworks from the Renaissance, he had certainly never seen a statue like this before.

He felt like he could trade all the priceless spoils returned with tears from the Ottomans just for this one statue.

“Lord Giovanni Barbaro.”

Seeing his party’s anxious faces, Giovanni nodded.

If one had a talent for the arts, it was natural to conceal the desire to paint after seeing that statue.

“It’s alright to stay here and paint.”

“Thank you!”

When the man beamed with a bright smile at Giovanni’s approval, a harsh voice suddenly interrupted.

“Who dares to say they will paint without permission?”

The Janissary in charge of protection spoke in a chilling tone, leaving Giovanni and the envoy all dumbfounded.

It was just following the statue to draw, yet they looked ready to unsheathe their swords at any moment.

This was the ferocious atmosphere Giovanni had first encountered since his visit as an envoy, and he forced a calm voice to ask.

“What’s the matter? It’s just painting a statue.”

“That statue is a likeness of Princess Hasna. You should be honored just to gaze upon her face, yet you dare to say you will paint it?”

“…There’s really a person who looks like that?”

Hearing there was a face like a real statue left the envoys dumbfounded yet curious, while the Janissary scoffed.

“It’s a statue that doesn’t capture her entirely. Even its creator stated so. In any case, don’t think of painting her face.”

Under the Janissary’s threat, Giovanni patted the shoulders of his disappointed companions.

They had come to strengthen their friendly relations while offering spoils; there was no room for problems over trivial matters.

“…Then at least allow me to stay and observe.”

“I understand. That’s permissible?”

“That much is fine.”

Leaving a grateful man behind, Giovanni entered the Topkapi Palace and stepped into the familiar audience chamber.

The sound of trickling water echoed, and the doors closed behind him as Giovanni and the envoys bowed.

“We greet the Padishah.”

“It’s been a while, Giovanni Barbaro.”

Yusuf welcomed him warmly as Giovanni bowed his head further.

Rumors circled that the Sultan had become kinder since the Mamluk conquest, but Giovanni knew well the heinous monster hidden beneath that kindness.

One must do well while one could.

“I hear you’ve brought back all the spoils taken from my city. What a happy occasion.”

“Out of goodwill for the empire, I have returned the spoils. I hope this brings our two nations closer.”

Spoils and trophies.

It starkly illustrated the differences in perspective between the two nations, but that didn’t really matter.

What was important was that they were being returned.

Yusuf smiled broadly.

“Yes, and how is that publisher doing?”

There was no need to ask who. He must be the one who had published the book containing Yusuf’s stories without permission.

He was the one who played a role in returning the spoils.

“That man is completely ruined from this. He had to cover the compensation he owed to the Padishah.”

“What a pity. If he had purchased the rights properly, it wouldn’t have turned out this way.”

Of course, permission likely wouldn’t have been granted, but he would definitely not have gone bankrupt due to greed.

“More importantly, your Padishah. When will the canal open?”

The primary reason for returning the spoils was the news that the canal was about to be opened.

They were employing workers with profits from coffee and many resources coming from Egypt, not to mention the fifty thousand prisoners.

“The canal? It should be completed within two years.”

Although the timeline had extended a bit, it was unavoidable due to issues such as an unsanitary labor environment and the plague.

These were unavoidable problems in large-scale construction or military activities of this era.

“If so, how will access to the canal work?”

“It should be possible for permitted ships to pay a reasonable fee. Speaking of that, France has also contacted us, expressing a desire to send an envoy.”

French envoys were somewhat unexpected.

The sixth Italian war in which France forged an alliance with the infidel Ottomans, shocking Europe, was still eighteen years ahead.

Of course, the history had changed a lot, so it was uncertain whether that war would happen or not, yet France’s interest was ahead of the original timeline.

‘Though François I, who initiated the alliance with the Ottomans, is on the throne, his hatred for Charles V shouldn’t be entrenched yet.’

Charles V, who was about to inherit a massive empire, had yet to inherit the Holy Roman Empire.

Hearing that they were approaching France, Giovanni asked with a slightly flushed face.

“Will we, Venice, be able to receive permission for canal use?”

“If you return the spoils, you’ll be granted permission. Of course, you will have to pay for using the canal.”

“That is only natural. Thank you, your Padishah.”

For Venice, no matter how costly the usage fees, being able to trade directly with India would be advantageous.

Of course, it would mean losses for Arab merchants.

‘It wouldn’t be a bad thing to stir a fight between Venice and Portugal.’

Using the canal, they could sell goods at a price lower than the Portuguese, who had to go around the African continent, forcing them to compete.

In addition, since he grasped the reins of the canal, Venice would be further subjected to the Ottomans.

The conversation that followed was almost casual, and having gained what he aimed to obtain, Giovanni excused himself from the audience.

Watching the firmly closed door, Yusuf leisurely rose from his seat and called for the Silahtar Agha, who had long served him.

“Alper Pasha.”

“Yes, your Padishah.”

“Is there still an envoy at the statue?”

“Yes, your Padishah.”

“Then the bait has taken.”

People tend to want to do what they’ve been told not to, and this is based on a psychology that values scarcity.

In a way, it could be viewed as the love of Romeo and Juliet being ignited even more by opposition from their families.

Anyway, just as the publication of his banned book is spreading through Europe more secretly and rapidly, the image of Hasna would likely spread even faster.

“Turkrie.”

This referred to the phenomenon of Ottoman and Middle Eastern culture becoming popular in Europe.

It could be considered a fandom for Orientalism, and pieces like Mozart’s Turkish March or his opera featuring an Ottoman backdrop, “The Abduction from the Seraglio,” were examples of this.

The European men’s fantasies about harems were similar, as it was fashionable for European aristocrats to wear Turkish-style clothing and turbans in the 17th and 18th centuries.

Yusuf intended to hasten this trend as much as possible.

“It might be fun to start with a cultural invasion.”

Yusuf smiled wryly.