After the secret meeting, Mihrimah returned to the harem with a heavy heart. She had Ismihan Sultan arrested immediately, as the judge had confessed that all his actions were ordered by Ismihan Sultan. Upon learning this, her mother, Hümaşah Sultan, and Kosem Sultan questioned her. Mihrimah explained the situation to them and comforted them, assuring them that she had everything under control.
With a determined stride, she then made her way to Murad's chamber. As she entered, everyone in the room bowed in respect. She glanced at the guards standing outside and ordered, "Call Ibrahim Pasha and send him with Mercan Aga after my call." She took a deep breath to steady herself and moved towards the table to write a letter.
Once the letter was complete, she called out, "Agha!" The door opened, and Ibrahim Pasha, accompanied by Mercan Aga, entered the room and bowed in respect. "Sultanam," they greeted. Mihrimah nodded and stamped the letter, addressing Ibrahim Pasha, "Hit the road as soon as possible, Ibrahim Pasha. Deliver this letter to Sultan Murad."
She handed the letter to Mercan Aga, who sealed it with wax using her stamp. Ibrahim Pasha expressed his concern, "I'm not comfortable, my sultana. I can't leave you here alone." Mihrimah reassured him, "I can't trust anyone but you, Ibrahim Pasha. And don't worry, Abaza Mehmet Pasha is here." Ibrahim Pasha bowed, "As you wish," and left with the letter.
At her command, Abaza Mehmet Pasha entered the room and bowed, "Sultana. As you commanded, everyone is in the Assembly, especially Ahizade Effendi is being followed. In addition, the soldiers in the barracks are being watched. Even the slightest turmoil will not be allowed." Mihrimah nodded in approval, "Good. Don't let anyone get uneasy until Sultan arrives. If someone gets uneasy, take care of them." Mihrimah sat there, her face devoid of any emotions, her voice resonating with power. She was the epitome of grace and elegance, a true Sultana.
The following day, Mihrimah found herself in the royal garden after breakfast, engaged in a deep discussion with Abaza Mehmet Pasha. Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Ahizade Effendi, who approached them with a respectful bow. "Shehzadi," he began, his voice echoing in the quiet garden. Mihrimah turned to him, her face sharp and focused. "His holiness Shaykh al-Islam," she acknowledged, nodding in his direction.
Ahizade Effendi cleared his throat, his eyes darting between Mihrimah and Mehmet Pasha. "What I have to say is of great importance," he began, his voice barely above a whisper. "I believe it would be best if we spoke in private." His gaze lingered on Mehmet Pasha, silently requesting his departure.
However, Mihrimah was quick to dismiss his suggestion. "I don't hide anything from Mehmet Pasha," she declared, her voice firm and resolute. "Whatever you have to say, say it now."
Ahizade Effendi took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling with the weight of his words. "I don't know how to start, believe me, I don't," he confessed, his voice filled with a strange mix of fear and determination. "His Majesty's precautions are adding flames to the fire, not extinguishing it. First, he executed hundreds of people in the Capital. Then came the bans. As you know, tobacco smokers were detected and executed one by one. Worst of all, a member of the scholars, the Judge of Iznik, was punished without questioning and hanged in the city center."
He paused, allowing the gravity of his words to sink in. "After all these incidents, I gathered the scholars. My Sultana, I want to inform you about what we discussed in the gathering." He then bowed and handed over a set of documents to Mihrimah.
Mihrimah tilted her head back as Mercan Aga stepped forward to take the documents. She scanned the pages, her eyes narrowing as she read. "I am asking you to advise His Majesty to act carefully and listen to the scholars, as you are the Haeski Sultana," Ahizade Effendi said, his voice filled with a calculated calmness.
Mihrimah looked up from the documents, her gaze sharp. "Something is missing here, Mufti Effendi," she said, her voice icy. "You didn't write that you would dethrone Murad and put Prince Selim on the throne instead."
She rose from her seat and walked towards him, her expression as sharp as a sword. "Why are you surprised? Are these not your words?" she questioned, her eyes piercing into his. Ahizade Effendi could only return her gaze with a look of anger. "Sultana, where did that come from? What's the meaning of this?" he asked sharply.
"You will answer that. I was there, I heard it. There is no explanation for treason. Whatever necessary will be done. I have already sent word to Sultan, he will come," Mihrimah reported, her voice echoing in the silent garden. She then turned and walked back to her seat.
"I am innocent, Sultana. There is no proof of what you said! My advice to you is not to comfort the scholars with these false accusations," Ahizade Effendi retorted, his words carrying a clear threat.
Mehmet Pasha, however, was not one to be intimidated. "Are you threatening us, Mufti Effendi? Then let me give you a piece of advice. His Majesty will arrive in a few days. Until then, don't you or the scholars do anything wrong again. Otherwise, your son will pay for it with his life," he warned, his voice stern and unyielding.
With his final words, he jerked his head towards Mihrimah, who returned his stare with a knowing smirk. The tension in the air was palpable, a silent promise of the storm that was yet to come.
Murad, the Sultan, was at his hunting grounds, accompanied by his trusted entourage. He was in the midst of freshening up when a horse rider appeared. The rider was masked, an Ottoman flag fluttering proudly from his steed. He dismounted with a swift, practiced motion, removing his cap and mask to reveal his identity. Ibrahim Pasha, MIhrimah Sultan's trusted Pasha.
From the folds of his clothing, he produced a letter, sealed and waiting to be read. He handed it to Murad with a respectful bow, his head lowered in deference. Murad accepted the letter, breaking the seal and unfolding the parchment. As he read, his expression changed with every passing second, his eyes reflecting a storm of emotions.
The letter read, "Murad, as we predicted, a horde of traitors who took advantage of your absence have all emerged from the shadows they were hiding in. Shaykh al-Islam is obviously leading this treasonous act. He has rallied the scholars and is organizing a riot. Undoubtedly, another reason why he is so daring is due to Ismihan Sultan. We have taken the necessary precautions. But you must return as soon as possible, and give the traitors the punishment they deserve. Return to the capital without wasting any time. Come back and let's crush these snakes before it's too late."
Murad's response was immediate. He issued a series of orders, his voice echoing in the quiet clearing. Then, without wasting another moment, he embarked on his journey back to the capital, his horse galloping at full speed, carrying him towards the storm that awaited him. His resolve was as unyielding as steel, his determination burning brighter than the sun. The traitors would be dealt with, and peace would be restored. This, he vowed.
The night was dark and heavy, a fitting backdrop for the drama that was about to unfold. Murad and Mihrimah were in his chamber, ensconced in the privacy of his bed. Husein Aga stood at a respectful distance, his head bowed in deference.
In Murad's hand was a document from Ahizade Effendi. He handed it to Mihrimah, his voice cold and hard as he spat out his orders. "Go to Ahizade Effendi's mansion. Bring him to me immediately."
Husein Aga bowed in acknowledgment, his face a mask of stoic obedience as he left to carry out the Sultan's orders. Mihrimah scoffed, her voice dripping with disdain. "He must have realized that he was exposed. He sent me this epitomist to cover up his crime. As if he hadn't said those words."
Murad rose from his bed and paced the room, his mind racing with thoughts. "They want to gain some time. They were waiting for the letter that said I was dead." His words hung in the air, a chilling reminder of the danger they were in.
Mihrimah's calm facade shattered at his words. She rose from the bed and walked over to him, her voice filled with anger. "Did something happen in Iznik?"
"They tried to assassinate us, Mihrimah," Murad replied, his voice devoid of emotion. "God bless you, praise be he saved your life... we will overcome this."
Murad's gaze was distant, his mind already planning their next move. "They will be dealt with, Mihrimah. Especially Ahizade Effendi and his son. Both should be executed."
Mihrimah's eyes flashed with surprise and anger. "Murad, what are you talking about? Even taking the life of the Judge of Iznik was not legitimate, how can you kill him? No matter what, Ahizade is Shaykh al-Islam. He cannot be murdered! It has never been done before. Dismiss both of them and send them to exile, and drop the subject."
Murad listened to her, his face hardening at her words. He returned to his bed and sat down, his gaze cold and unyielding. "Even a sultan was murdered, Mihrimah. Who is Ahizade?"
"That dark age ended, Murad," Mihrimah retorted, her chest heaving with the intensity of her emotions. "The Ottoman Empire is not a tent state, it is governed by laws. You are a ruler, no matter what the circumstances are you have to abide by the rules and the customs so that dark age never comes back."
In the grand, echoing courtroom, Murad stood, a figure of authority and power. His hand was steady, clutching the documents that would decide the fate of the man before him. Ahizade Effendi was brought in, his face pale under the harsh light of the courtroom. Murad's gaze was sharp, cutting through the tension in the room as he scrutinized the man before him.
"So," Murad began, his voice echoing in the silent room, "you don't approve of my bans, my punishments, and executions?" His words were like ice, cold and hard, his face expressionless. "So much so that you've written an epitome to my wife." The accusation hung in the air, a challenge for Ahizade to deny.
"As an authority," Ahizade responded, his voice steady despite the accusatory gaze of the Sultan, "I am obliged to voice what I believe is right."
Murad approached him, his steps echoing ominously in the silent room. "I heard it," he said, his voice low but carrying easily in the silence. "I heard what you said in the secret council. You suggested we finish Sultan Murad and put Shazade Selim on the throne." His words sent a shiver down the spine of everyone present, a chilling reminder of the power he held.
He gestured to a soldier, who brought forth his sword. Murad unsheathed it, the sound of metal against metal ringing out in the room. He presented it to Ahizade, a challenge in his eyes. "Here is your opportunity. Show me, how will you finish me?"
"Please, your Majesty," Ahizade pleaded, his eyes wide with fear. "If my council was a secret, I would not have written the epitome. No one could plan to finish you, your Majesty. These are lies and slanders. What can I do with a sword?" His voice was shaky, his fear palpable.
Murad looked at him, his gaze piercing. He flipped the sword back to him, a dismissive gesture. "True. What can you do with a sword? Your sword is your tongue."
Murad turned back, handing the sword to the soldier. His voice was cold as he continued, "Even your advice is presumptuous of treason. Who are you?................................. Who are you to invite me, God's shadow on earth, to justice? What you call justice is between my two lips."
"This is exactly why, like all scholars, I must warn you so you do not deviate from justice," Ahizade retorted, his voice filled with determination.
Murad raised his eyebrows, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "I warned you too. This is the third time, Ahizade Effendi." He held up three fingers, a stark reminder of his previous warnings. "First, you vouched for me before the rebels. Then, the traitor, Ilyas Pasha, fled upon your advice. And now this. I told you I won't forgive you for the third time... . . . Mehmet Pasha!"
At his call, Mehmet Pasha bowed, his voice steady as he responded, "Your Majesty."
"It is my will. I dismiss Ahizade Effendi Huseyin Effendi. He will be exiled to Cyprus. Additionally, Seyit Effendi, his son, the judge of Istanbul, is also dismissed. Send him away on a ship immediately," Murad decreed, his voice echoing in the silent room.
Mehmet Pasha bowed, his voice filled with respect as he responded, "Yes, your Majesty." The room was filled with a heavy silence as the weight of Murad's words sank in, a chilling reminder of the power he held. The fate of Ahizade Effendi and his son had been sealed, their futures uncertain as they were sent away into exile.
Mihrimah Sultan, was returning to her chamber after a discussion with her brother. Her maids trailed behind her like shadows, their heads bowed in respect. As she approached the harem door, she noticed a line of girls, their heads bowed in deference to her. Also Lalazar Kalfa, the head of the harem, was escorting a woman inside. Mihrimah's gaze followed the woman as she walked, taking in her appearance from head to toe. The woman bowed to Mihrimah and then walked away, disappearing into the depths of the harem. Mihrimah turned her attention back to Lalazar, who was standing before her, bowing at her gaze.
"Lalezar Kalfa, who is this Hatun?" Mihrimah asked, her curiosity piqued. "Sultana, her name is Sanavber. She hails from the Russian lands and has come with His Majesty. She seems to be one of his favorites and has been ordered to be taken into the harem. May I be excused?" Lalazar replied, her voice filled with respect.
Upon hearing this, Mihrimah's face hardened, her eyes turning cold. She nodded at Lalazar, who bowed once more before retreating into the harem. "My Sultana, are you okay? Are we going to take our step tomorrow?" Her maid, Alisha, asked, concern evident in her voice. Mihrimah smirked, she said, her voice filled with resolve. "Get back to your room and rest."
The harem was filled with whispers and speculation as Mihrimah retreated to her chambers, leaving her maids and the other women in a state of anticipation for the events of the following day. The arrival of Sanavber, the Russian woman, had stirred the waters of the harem, and everyone was waiting to see how the waves would settle.
Mihrimah moved with an air of elegance, her head held high as she navigated the corridors of the palace. She bypassed Murad's room, instead heading towards another room further down the corridor. As she entered, Kemankes, who had been standing nearby, snapped his head in her direction. He quickly bowed, averting his gaze out of respect.
"Sultana," he greeted, his voice filled with deference. Mihrimah didn't waste any time on pleasantries. "Murad came with a woman," she stated, her tone direct. "Sultana, the woman was the servant of Yadigar Pasha. She was captured years ago. She went through special training. Pasha presented her to His Majesty," Kemankes explained, his voice steady. Mihrimah at his words. spoke "How can he accept that traitor's gift?" "My Sultana, she snitched on the Pasha. Then she healed Husein Aga. Then His Majesty trusted her and brought her with him," Kemankes informed her, bowing his head once more.
Mihrimah scoffed again, clearly unimpressed with the explanation. Without another word, she turned and left the room, leaving Kemankes alone with his thoughts.
As the first light of dawn broke through the windows, Sultan Murad emerged from his chambers. The corridor was quiet, save for the soft rustle of robes and the distant echo of footsteps. Standing in the corridor was Kemankes, who bowed respectfully as Murad approached.
"Kemankes," Murad began, his voice echoing in the silent corridor, "Let Ahizade Effendi's galley return." His order was clear, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Kemankes bowed his head in acknowledgment, "Yes, your Majesty," he replied, his voice filled with respect. Murad paused for a moment, his gaze lingering on Kemankes before he turned and walked away, causing Kemankes to follow him.
In the aftermath of the council meeting, Sultan Murad made a decisive move. The scholars who had sided with Ahizade Effendi were executed, a stern message to anyone who dared to challenge his authority. With the matter settled, he returned to the court where Yahya Effendi awaited him.
"May God forgive his sins. This world is a mess. Don't think that we will be able to fix it, your majesty," Yahya Effendi spoke, his voice filled with a mix of resignation and hope. "We will fix it," Murad responded firmly, his gaze steady. "I dismissed Ahizade Effendi. He could not handle the responsibility of his position. He got carried away by the greed of power and took the wrong path." Yahya Effendi nodded, his years of experience lending weight to his words. "'The disaster of the scholar is to see himself as big,' Imam Gazali says. If the reason for a crime is arrogance, forgiveness cannot be expected. That's why Satan rebelled; he was arrogant." Murad listened, his expression thoughtful. "The day rebels raided the palace while dismissing you, I made you a promise. These rebels have dismissed you, not me, I said. When the Sultan becomes a real Sultan, you will become Mufti again, I said. That time has come. Finally, the office of religion will be given back to its real owner."
With these words, Murad stood up, his gaze fixed on Yahya Effendi. "From now on, you are the Shayk al-Islam." Yahya Effendi looked at him, his eyes filled with a myriad of emotions. "Your Majesty, it's such a blessing. May you live long and may your reign be long." "Good luck," Murad wished him, his face softening slightly. Yahya Effendi bowed in response, his heart filled with gratitude and a renewed sense of purpose.
In the heart of the Bosporus, Ahizade Effendi found himself aboard a ship with his son, their fate uncertain. "We will make them pay for insulting us. Not only Cyprus, it doesn't matter if they send us to the far end of the world! All around the Ottoman State, everyone will know the cruelty of Sultan Murad," Ahizade Effendi declared, his voice filled with bitterness and resolve. "Yahya Effendi must be very happy," his son observed, causing Ahizade to scoff. "He will take my place. What do you expect? Such a Mufti to such a Sultan."
Their conversation was interrupted by a sudden voice, "Move." Both father and son turned to see Kemankes and the Janissaries at the door. "What's happening? What's that?" Ahizade's son asked, confusion evident in his voice. "What is it, Kemankes?" Ahizade asked, his gaze fixed on the man who had intruded their conversation. "His Majesty's order. I've come to take you back, Ahizade Effendi," Kemankes replied, his voice devoid of emotion. Both father and son exchanged a glance before following Kemankes out of the room.
They were brought back to land where Sultan Murad awaited them. "Your intention was to murder us from the beginning, wasn't it? You just wanted it to be out of sight," Ahizade Effendi accused, his voice filled with scorn. Murad, however, remained unfazed. "You had it coming, Ahizade Effendi. Exile is a reward for a traitor like you," he retorted, his voice calm yet chilling.
"Even if you are a sultan, it is not legitimate to take the life of a Shayk al-Islam. There is no such thing in our laws or customs," Ahizade argued, but Murad was unmoved. He signaled a soldier, who forced Ahizade to kneel. Ahizade's son pleaded for mercy, "Your Majesty. Forgive us, have mercy. Father, ask for forgiveness, please." "There is nothing to be forgiven, son. Whatever I did, I did it for the future of the state," Ahizade responded, his voice filled with regret.
Murad then spoke, his words echoing in the silent room, "Take a lesson from me. Yesterday I was the Sultan of the world, and this is my condition today, my ancestor Sultan Osman, said this before he was murdered. What I mean, even a Sultan of this empire was murdered, so who are you Mufti? What is the price of your life?"
Ahizade's son pleaded once more, "Your Majesty, please for God's sake. Ismihan Sultan tempted him. She led him to the wrong path. She planned everything, please forgive him! While she is still alive, murdering us is no good." "Don't worry, Seyit Effendi. Everyone behind this treason will be punished," Murad assured him, his voice filled with determination. The soldiers began their work, and Ahizade spoke his last words, "I pray that you die in pain! I hope your children, your mother won't be there. You will die desperately–" The echoes of his words lingered in the air, a chilling reminder of the consequences of treason.
In the privacy of his room, Sultan Murad was in deep conversation with his mother, Kosem. They were awaiting the arrival of Ismihan Sultan, their aunt. Murad was reclining on his bed, while Mihrimah stood near the balcony door, her back to him.
"Stop fighting with yourself, Mother," Murad said, breaking the silence. "Whatever is in your mind, tell it as it is. You think it was a mistake that I killed Ahizade Effendi. Don't you?" Kosem turned to face him, her expression unreadable. "I said what I had to say. Other than that, it's none of my business. The decision is yours, the seal is yours. But remember, wherever the head goes, the foot follows." Their conversation was interrupted by a knock on the door. "Come in," Murad commanded. The door opened to reveal Ismihan Sultan. She was a princess, but her current state was a far cry from the luxury and privilege she was accustomed to. She bowed low before Murad, her voice barely above a whisper. "Your Majesty. My Sultana."
Murad addressed her without preamble. "Ismihan Sultan. You know the accusations against you. You planned a riot. With Ahizade Effendi." "I swear to God, I didn't do anything, your Majesty," Ismihan protested, but her pleas fell on deaf ears. Murad rose from his bed and approached her. "Instead of falling down at my feet and begging for mercy, you're spouting nonsense! You swear to God, but it's a lie." Ismihan tried to defend herself. "I only seek refuge in your Justice. Is it true to lock up an Ottoman princess in the dungeon with no evidence?" "I ignored your betrayal in the past. I let you come back to the capital. But you did not see this as a blessing, but weakness, didn't you?" Murad accused, his voice hard.
"No, your Majesty. I would never–" Ismihan started, but Murad cut her off. " Seyit Effendi confessed everything. He told me what you did with his father. You will be executed, Ismihan Sultan... Aghas!" Murad commanded, and the soldiers sprang into action. "Your Majesty! Please don't do this," Ismihan pleaded, falling to her knees. She turned to Kosem Sultan, desperation in her eyes. "My sultana... my sultana... Do something. Show mercy, please!" "This is the right thing for Selim. Resign to your fate, because I don't plead for traitors. And not for you, who could have gotten my son to have his other brother killed," responded, her voice devoid of any emotion.
As darkness fell, Mihrimah found herself meandering back to her quarters from the tranquility of the garden. Her path led her past the imposing doors of Murad's private chamber. She approached, expecting the usual protocol. The agas, standing guard, bowed in respect but made no move to announce her presence or open the doors as they had always done before. A flicker of confusion crossed Mihrimah's face. "Aga," she commanded, her voice steady, "Inform the Sultan of my arrival." "Forgive me, my Sultana," came the hesitant reply, "His Majesty is currently engaged with his favourite consort from the harem." "Harem? Are you referring to Ayse Hatun?" Mihrimah questioned, a hint of surprise in her tone. "No, my Sultana. It's Sanavber Hatun," the Aga clarified. A wave of shock washed over Mihrimah. Her eyes widened in disbelief, her breath hitched in her throat. With a stiff nod, she turned on her heel and continued down the corridor, her mind a whirl of thoughts and questions."
In the dimly lit seclusion of his private chamber, Sultan Murad found himself in the company of Sanavber Hatun. Her delicate yet firm hands worked diligently, kneading the tension from his temples in an attempt to alleviate the relentless, throbbing headache that had been his unwelcome companion for hours.
Murad had specifically summoned Sanavber, her reputation for healing having reached his ears. It was she who had tended to Husein Aga in Iznik, nursing the ailing man back to health with her skilled touch and knowledge of remedies. The memory of her success instilled in Murad a glimmer of hope, a desperate yearning for relief. "Your touch is soothing, Sanavber Hatun," Murad murmured, his eyes closed as he leaned into her ministrations. "Thank you, my Sultan. It is my honor to serve you," Sanavber replied, her voice a soft whisper in the quiet room. "How do you feel now?" "The pain is lessening," Murad admitted, a sigh escaping his lips. "Your hands work wonders, Sanavber Hatun."
"Mihrimah returned to the solitude of her room, sinking onto the edge of her bed. Her heart pounded in her chest, her mind a whirl of thoughts and emotions. Her eyes, glistening with unshed tears, stared blankly at the wall. She was so lost in her thoughts that the knock on the door startled her. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she called out, "Come in." The door creaked open, and Atike Sultan stepped inside. Her eyes took in Mihrimah's disheveled state, concern etching lines on her face. "Mihrimah? What happened?" she asked, moving to sit beside her on the bed.
Mihrimah turned to look at her, her brows furrowed in a mix of pain and surprise. "I was right. I felt it. Murad is with that woman right now," she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. "The new one?" Atike Sultan asked, her voice gentle. Mihrimah nodded in confirmation. "Is that why you're upset? Is it worth troubling yourself over a new woman, Mihrimah?" Mihrimah turned to face her, her eyes filled with raw emotion. "I have endured everything because of him. I had to sacrifice my father's and my brother's lives for his throne. Is this the reward? How could he touch her? How could he be with her? Wasn't that woman's pregnancy enough?" Mihrimah's voice trembled, her emotions threatening to spill over.
Atike Sultan reached out, placing a comforting hand on Mihrimah's. "This is the order of the harem, Mihrimah. Those women are just a whim. No one can take your place. No one can wield the power you have. You are his wedded wife. More importantly, my brother is in love with you."
The next day, as it was decided, Silahtar was bougt back to the palace in the morning, he then was presented to Murad. Murad was sitted on his bed with clamness in his denomor. Silahtar then spoke while his head was bowed, " I had a lot of time to think, your Majesty. I remembered why I was here. My duties, and my promise to you. From now on even if I die I will never disappoint you." Murad looked sharply, he then stood up and walked near him and spoke " I love your mind and heart, Mustafa. However your mind will think of me. Your heart, will beat for doing what I want." Silahtar Mustafa Aga bowed and spoke " Have no doubt." " You have made a good decision." " All I want is to gain your trust again, and nothing else. Whatever is your decision is, I am ready to take, your Majesty." Silahtar spoke while looked in Murad's eyes, they looked at each other for a while when Murad looked down in his hand and gave Silahtar is seal back
Mihrimah was in Marble kiosk with her trusted maids, Alisha, Fatima and Mehvish hatun, and with Mercan Aga. They went ahead, a tent was placed in the middle of the Garden Pavilion. Mihrimah went and sat down on the chair their. There were all types of foods and drinks arranged on the small table, near her chair. Her Maids stood behind her with a bow and Mercan aga in front of her in the same manner. When Yahya Effendi entered the pavilion, his eyes taking in the grandeur of the setting. He bowed respectfully, acknowledging Mihrimah Sultan with a formal, "Sultana."
Mihrimah gestured for him to sit, her expression serious. "Yahya Effendi," she began, her voice steady. "I have summoned you here for a matter of utmost importance." Yahya Effendi nodded, his face reflecting the gravity of the situation. "I am at your service, Sultana. How may I assist you?" Mihrimah's face turned emotionaless and she spoke with a cold voice, " As the Judge you are well about the thing I may not know, Yahya Effendi, Tell me, what are the privileges of an Ottoman princess?"
Yahya Effendi, maintaining his composure, responded in a measured tone, "An Ottoman princess, Sultana, is born into a life of privilege and respect. She is entitled to the highest standards of treatment and honor. Her voice is heard, her choices are respected, and her dignity is preserved."Mihrimah, her face as cold as stone, continued her line of questioning. "And what of her rights in marriage, Yahya Effendi?"He replied, "In marriage, an Ottoman princess retains her rights. She is to be treated with love and respect by her husband. She has the right to demand fidelity and loyalty. Her husband should honor her above all others."
A flicker of emotion passed through Mihrimah's eyes, but her voice remained steady. "And if these rights are not upheld? What then? Can she divorce him?" Yahya Effendi, taken aback by the question, paused for a moment. His eyes widened in surprise, but he quickly composed himself. "Yes, Sultana," he began, his voice steady despite the surprise. "If these rights are not upheld, an Ottoman princess has the right to seek justice. She has the right to demand a divorce." As the words left his lips, a sense of fear crept into his heart. The implications of Mihrimah's questions were not lost on him. He bowed his head, a silent prayer on his lips for the empire and its future.
Mihrimah, her gaze unwavering, continued her questioning. "And what of the Sultan, Yahya Effendi? Is it common for a Sultan to be divorced?" Yahya Effendi, his surprise giving way to a sense of unease, replied, "No, Sultana. It is not common for a Sultan to be divorced. Such an event is rare and would have significant implications," Yahya Effendi replied, his voice steady despite the gravity of the situation. Mihrimah, her expression unreadable, asked her next question. "If I ask for a divorce from Murad, what will happen? Will I be granted one or can Murad stop it as the Sultan?" Yahya Effendi paused, considering his words carefully. "Sultana, if you ask for a divorce, it would be a matter of great importance that would need to be handled with utmost care. As per the law, you have the right to ask for a divorce. However, the final decision would rest with the religious and legal authorities of the empire. As for Sultan Murad, while he holds great power, he is also bound by the laws of the empire and the principles of justice and fairness. He cannot arbitrarily stop the divorce if it is justified and approved by the authorities." His words echoed in the silence of the pavilion, underscoring the gravity of the situation.
Mihrimah, her expression unreadable, continued her questioning. "Yahya Effendi, I have reasons for seeking a divorce. First, Murad ordered the execution of my brother. In my eyes, he killed our own love. Second, he had relations with Farya, a free women, he made her a part of harem. And third, one of his concubines, Ayse, is pregnant. You mentioned before an ottoman princess has the right to demand fidelity and loyalty. Her husband should honor her above all others. But Muad had never given me any of this." Yahya Effendi, his expression serious, replied, "Sultana, the matters you have raised are indeed grave. The execution of your brother, the relations with Farya hatun, and the pregnancy of Ayse, one of his concubines, are serious breaches of the rights and respect you should have been accorded as an Ottoman princess. You are correct in saying that an Ottoman princess has the right to demand fidelity and loyalty, and her husband should honor her above all others. If these rights have not been upheld, it is a serious matter. As per the law, you have the right to ask for a divorce. However, the final decision would rest with the religious and legal authorities of the empire. They would consider all aspects of the situation before making a decision."
Mihrimah, her expression hardened, issued her command. "Yahya Effendi, as you are the judge......................... I, Mihrimah Sultan, daughter of Prince Orhan, demand a divorce from my husband, Sultan Murad. Let Murad know about this. I want to get over with this as soon as possible."
Yahya Effendi bowed his head in acknowledgment. "As you command, Sultana. I will inform Sultan Murad of your decision and initiate the necessary proceedings. The matter will be handled with the utmost care and urgency." His words filled with fear of the incoming future, echoed in the silence of the pavilion.
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