Chapter 722: Leave My Family In Peace
The old Sultana Dowager kept her eyes closed, her silence speaking volumes. Her calm demeanor expressed her thoughts with crystal clarity—she would not support this reckless scheme.
The old Sultan sighed deeply, a man weighed down by both years and the burdens of his lineage. He turned to the men gathered before him and asked firmly, "How many men do you have here?"
The group of Ottoman loyalists hesitated, their confidence momentarily shaken by the question.
"Your Majesty," one of them began, recovering quickly. "We are in Thessaly, a land crawling with Rumelian officials and their agents. Every move we make is under their watchful eyes. Do you think those so-called random passersby near this fortress are just villagers out for a stroll?"
Another added with defiance, "But, Your Majesty, we have gathered at least a hundred loyal men throughout the province, all awaiting your call to rise! We can strike while the empire is in chaos, now that the old thief Antonius De’Ricci is gone, and his son is too young to hold the state together. Let us ransack nearby towns and villages, gather an army, and reclaim what is rightfully ours! We can rebuild the Sultanate from the ashes!"
The fervor in the room grew as one of the men exclaimed, "We shall first crush those traitorous sons of that sinnful Zaganos in the East, those pretenders who dare call themselves Sultans. There can only be one true Sultan of the Ottomans, and that is you!"
A murmur of agreement turned into hushed cheers. The men’s eyes sparkled with anticipation, their hopes rekindled. But their excitement was abruptly halted by the Sultan’s deep, weary sigh. He stood slowly, leaning heavily on the armrest of his chair, and addressed them with a grave tone.
"My friends, I am grateful for your bravery and dedication to our cause, for your unwavering loyalty to the House of Osman. But," he paused, looking at them intently, "I must ask you to leave."
The room fell silent, the men frozen in disbelief.
"Leave?" one of them finally whispered, the word barely audible.
"Yes," the Sultan repeated firmly. "Leave this place, all of you."
"But, Your Majesty!" one of the men protested, stepping forward. "Have you forgotten the wisdom of our ancestors? If a lion stays in its cage for too long, it forgets how to hunt!"
Another joined him, his voice filled with desperation. "Are you not a rightful descendant of the great Ottoman Sultans? How can you turn your back on your birthright?"
The Sultan’s eyes flared with a sudden intensity. His voice, though aged, cut through the room like a blade. "No, I have not forgotten. I never have and never will!"
He stepped forward, his voice rising with each word. "But tell me, my loyal friends, what do you think will happen if we act now? Look around you! This land, this empire, is no longer weak. The new Emperor of the Rumelians may be young, but he is not incapable. The army, the economy, the state structure—it is all intact, functioning precisely as that wretched Antonius De’Ricci planned it! And the people—yes, the people!—they trust him. They trust their government, and they are rewarded for their loyalty. Do you think we can march out of this fortress with even twenty armed men without someone reporting us to the Rumelian officials within the hour?"
The Sultan’s voice grew sharper, filled with unshakable resolve. "I am not blind to the allure of reclaiming our Sultanate, but tell me—at what cost? Do you expect me to gamble everything, to throw my family, my aged mother, myself, and the very future of the House of Osman into a hopeless rebellion? No! I will not risk it. I will not throw away our survival for an impossible dream!"
His voice softened slightly, tinged with sorrow. "My friends, please... Let our family live. Let us survive and thrive in peace."
Without waiting for a response, the Sultan turned and walked away. His gait was slow, his shoulders heavy, but his steps were resolute. The stunned men stared after him, their hopes dashed.
Young Selim, the Sultan’s grandson, peeked curiously at the men from the corridor, but the Sultana Dowager quickly pulled him away.
In the dimly lit hallway, the Sultana Dowager knelt slightly, her voice soft as she spoke to her grandson. "Selim, don’t you have lessons with your teacher tomorrow? You need to sleep early."
"Yes, grandmother," the boy replied obediently, his tone cheerful despite the somber atmosphere.
The old woman smiled faintly and asked, "What did you learn yesterday?"
Selim’s eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. "We learned so much! My teacher asked me what I want to be when I grow up."
The Dowager chuckled lightly. "And what did you say? Do you want to be a king, like your grandfather?"
Selim shook his head, his youthful determination shining through. "No! I want to go to university in Adrianople, like my teacher did! And after that, I want to join the government and become the Chancellor of the Empire!"
The Sultan paused mid-step but continued walking without a word. The Sultana Dowager, however, froze momentarily, her expression unreadable. After a brief silence, she sighed deeply and patted the boy’s head gently.
"Alright, my child," she said softly. "Let me tell you a story tomorrow, about a beautiful city... A city once called Edirne."
Selim’s eyes lit up with curiosity, and the old woman smiled faintly as she guided him down the hallway, her steps slow but steady.
Behind them, the fortress remained quiet, its walls holding the secrets of a fallen dynasty.
...
In the following days, vast contingents of troops and officials moved tirelessly across the empire, from Constantinople to its farthest reaches. The young emperor, determined to consolidate his rule, issued orders reaffirming that there would be no abrupt changes to the policies established by his predecessor. These reassurances were swiftly disseminated throughout the empire, while simultaneously, secret trials were conducted based on intelligence gathered by the imperial network. The emperor’s guards, operating with precision and coordination, struck decisively in towns, villages, and cities, eliminating officials with credible evidence of conspiring against the new regime or collaborating with external powers. These actions were calculated to stabilise the fragile government during this period of transition, all while maintaining a facade of calm to avoid alarming other court officials.
Despite these efforts, unrest simmered across the land. Uproars broke out sporadically, fueled by pretenders to the throne and factions backed by rival courts and kingdoms with longstanding ties to the Roman state. The situation was made more precarious as neighboring realms both mourned and maneuvered, some sending delegations to Constantinople to pay homage to the fallen emperor, Antonius, while others rejoiced in his passing, viewing it as an opportunity to disrupt Roman stability.
The future seemed daunting for the young emperor and his cadre of inexperienced courtiers, many of whom had only recently graduated from colleges and academies. These fresh faces, while brimming with energy and ideas, clashed with the older, seasoned officials who had served under the late emperor for decades. The resulting tension created widespread chaos within the government, raising an urgent question among both the people and the court: What direction would the empire take next?
It was amidst this uncertainty that the empire’s most esteemed official, Chancellor Abdullah, took it upon himself to act. One day, he summoned the empire’s leading courtiers to his estate under the pretext of celebrating his wife’s birthday.
The gathering, ostensibly a celebration, carried a somber atmosphere. The recent death of the emperor and the turbulence within the court weighed heavily on everyone present. The attendees, many of whom had served Antonius in his early naval campaigns and still fondly called him "Admiral," were now ashen-haired and weathered, their once-mighty vigor eroded by years of service, wars, and toil. Their faces bore the weight of uncertainty about their collective destiny in this new era.
As the guests settled, Abdullah surveyed the room. With a deep sigh, he gestured for his wife and the servants to leave, leaving only the courtiers behind. He stepped into the center of the gathering, his gaze steady as he addressed the room.
"My friends," he began, his voice heavy with both weariness and resolve. "Let me be honest with you. I did not invite you here today to celebrate my wife’s birthday. Instead, I brought you here because there is something I must say to you—as an old friend, and as the chancellor of this empire."
Of course, everyone present had anticipated this, without the need to say, if not who will be able to gather everyone here, in these days of grief? It can only be for one purpose, that is to discuss the current situation.
The assembled courtiers sat in silence, their gazes fixed on Abdullah as the weight of his words began to sink in. The dim light of the room cast long shadows across their faces, each lined with years of service, loyalty, and sacrifice for the empire.
