At the dinner, Aslı sat directly across from Uluç, as he had requested. The room was filled with important figures, each one aware of the significance of this gathering. Before the meal began, Uluç raised his cup, his voice steady and commanding, "As we dine here, may Tengri bless our destiny. Kutlu olsun." it was a declaration of unity, a reminder that despite the undercurrents of ambition and conflict, they were all bound by the same fate.
Kara, Wolfram, and the others began to eat. The spread before them was a feast, showcasing the finest delicacies of the Turkish Empire, prepared by the best cooks Uluç could command. Wolfram, though, couldn't help but notice that every dish seemed to contain meat. He had grown tired of meat-heavy meals after weeks of travel and reached for something that looked like a simple, a golden, crisp pastry that seemed like a reprieve from the heavy dishes surrounding it.
He reached for the pastry, hoping for a moment of relief. But as he bit into it, the familiar taste of minced meat and onions filled his mouth He sighed in disappointment, chewing slowly, the promise of variety dashed in an instant.
Kara, sitting beside him, oblivious to Wolfram's disappointment reached for the same pastry and exclaimed, "Oh! Samsa," munching on it with clear enjoyment. He didn't notice Wolfram's lack of enthusiasm. Across the table, Aslı sat with a deep frown, sulking and refusing to touch any of the food. Her mood cast a shadow over the otherwise hearty atmosphere, making it clear she was not in the same spirit as the others.
As the dinner continued, Wolfram's eyes caught sight of a dish that looked promising—a leaf wrap, neatly arranged on a platter. Eager to find something different from the usual fare, he reached for it, but this time, he approached with caution. He took a tentative bite, only to discover that even this seemingly innocent dish was filled with rice and tiny bits of chopped meat. Disappointed, he sighed inwardly, feeling the weight of the meal settling in.
As he looked around, his gaze met that of Isaakios, who was picking through his own plate with a discerning eye. Noticing Wolfram's struggle, Isaakios offered a slight nod and said, "You should try these," as he began assembling a plate for Wolfram. The Greek duke, with his Mediterranean upbringing, had a different approach to the Turkish dishes laid out before them. The plate he prepared for Wolfram was simple, with selections that seemed familiar yet promising.
"Go on, then," Isaakios encouraged, sliding the plate across to Wolfram.
With little expectation, Wolfram began to sample the offerings. To his surprise, the leaf wrap he bit into this time was different. It was light, with a subtle sweetness, filled with rice, spices, herbs, and tiny dried blackcurrants. The absence of meat was a welcome change, and the combination of flavors intrigued him.
Isaakios watched him with a knowing smile. "Try it with Ayran," he suggested, motioning to the traditional drink. Wolfram followed his advice, and the pairing was unexpectedly delightful.
"You see," Isaakios began, leaning in slightly, "in the Balkans, we make it light, dress it with olive oil, and prefer to eat it cold—no meat. It's a different take, but one that's beloved where I come from."
Kara, observing the exchange, couldn't resist a sarcastic jab. "Huh, the affordable version without meat," he quipped, his tone implying a lack of appreciation for the dish's simplicity.
Unfazed, Isaakios handed Wolfram a pastry. "Don't worry, this one has spinach," he assured him. Wolfram took a bite, and his eyes lit up at the crisp, flaky texture and the surprisingly rich flavor.
"This is brilliant!" Wolfram exclaimed, his voice full of genuine enthusiasm.
Isaakios smiled, pleased with the reaction. "Yes, we call it Burek. It's a specialty, best made in the hands of Bosnian mothers."
Kara, curious but ever skeptical, decided to try it himself. He bit into the pastry with a critical eye, expecting to be underwhelmed. Instead, he was met with a crispness that caught him off guard.
"Hmmm, it's crisp," Kara admitted, begrudgingly acknowledging the quality.
Wolfram and Isaakios exchanged amused glances, waiting for more. "And?" they prompted in unison, eager for Kara's full assessment.
Kara hesitated for a moment, then with a mischievous grin, he reached for a dollop of yogurt. "It lacks a Turkish touch," he declared, dipping the Burek into the yogurt before taking another bite. He chewed thoughtfully, then nodded. "Now, that's much better."
Isaakios and Wolfram exchanged another look, amused by Kara's need to assert his preference for Turkish flavors. It was clear that, despite his initial reluctance, Kara had enjoyed the dish—though he'd never admit it without adding his own twist. The moment lightened the mood around the table, a brief respite from the tension that had loomed over them all evening.
Isaakios sat quietly, barely touching the food in front of him, as if waiting for something specific. His patience was rewarded when servants entered, carrying trays filled with a variety of appetizers on tiny plates. A satisfied smile spread across Isaakios's face. "Ah, finally, I can start eating," he said, a touch of excitement in his voice.
Kara recognized the array of appetizers, recalling similar dishes served in Timurtas's palace. "Ata used to love eating these while drinking his booze," Kara remarked, a hint of nostalgia in his tone.
Isaakios nodded, acknowledging the comment. "Yes, this is the perfect use of local ingredients," he said, his voice gentle as he gestured for a plate to be brought to Aslı. "Please, I've made this plate for you. Try it. I know you also prefer these lighter dishes, being from Efes and accustomed to a Mediterranean diet like myself."
Aslı's face betrayed her reluctance, but the servants placed the plate in front of her regardless. Isaakios continued, undeterred by her silent refusal. "My father and Timurtas were close friends. Some even say it was my father who convinced Timurtas to move his capital to İstanbul. The empire had expanded so greatly that relocating the capital became a necessity."
Kara, intrigued by the cultural exchange, commented, "It's strange how the Kagan's cuisine has spread all the way to the Balkans."
"Indeed," Isaakios agreed, a fondness in his voice as he recalled his travels. "During one of my journeys to the Levant, I saw how former palace chefs brought their saray recipes to the region. I tasted crisp desserts there that were truly mind-blowing. They use pistachio in their desserts—a crazy idea, but it works. These desserts are crisp, sweet, filled with various nuts, and served with kaymak. Among them, my favorite was Bavlakya."
Kara's interest was piqued. "Do you mean bayla or baklava?" he asked, his curiosity getting the better of him. "In Mongolian dialect, it means wrapped or tied. But chefs called it baklava in the palace, so it must be another wrapped dessert," Wolfram chimed in, trying to piece together the culinary puzzle.
Isaakios smiled and explained, "Oh no, it looks like burek, but it's even thinner and crispier."
The once quiet dinner had turned into a lively, warm gathering, filled with conversation and shared memories. Uluç, who had been silently observing, finally spoke, his voice carrying the weight of experience. "Baklava is indeed made with thin layers of dough. It requires a lifetime dedicated to mastering this art. My father didn't just conquer lands; he was an intellectual man who would give his chefs unlimited resources, ordering them to create desserts and dishes that matched the flavors he wanted to experience. And let's not forget, our Khatuns are also deeply involved in cooking and discovering new recipes."
Uluç's gaze shifted to Aslı, his words taking on a more pointed tone. "After I claim the throne," he said, his eyes locking onto hers, "I shall take you to İlkay Khatun's lands. There, we can try the best of the best. She resides near Ayıntab Castle."
The room fell into a comfortable silence, the weight of Uluç's words settling over the group. Aslı, who had been trying to maintain her composure throughout the evening, now found herself subdued by the sheer force of Uluç's presence and authority. The atmosphere was one of quiet respect and the unspoken understanding that they were in the company of a man who was not only a warrior but also a leader of culture and refinement. The promise of future conquests and the taste of victory—both on the battlefield and in the pleasures of life—hung in the air, unspoken but deeply felt by all.
Isaakios sat quietly, barely touching the food in front of him, as if waiting for something specific. His patience was rewarded when servants entered, carrying trays filled with a variety of appetizers on tiny plates. A satisfied smile spread across Isaakios's face. "Ah, finally, I can start eating," he said, a touch of excitement in his voice.
Kara recognized the array of appetizers, recalling similar dishes served in Timurtas's palace. "Ata used to love eating these while drinking his booze," Kara remarked, a hint of nostalgia in his tone.
Isaakios nodded, acknowledging the comment. "Yes, this is the perfect use of local ingredients," he said, his voice gentle as he gestured for a plate to be brought to Aslı. "Please, I've made this plate for you. Try it. I know you also prefer these lighter dishes, being from Efes and accustomed to a Mediterranean diet like myself."
Aslı's face betrayed her reluctance, but the servants placed the plate in front of her regardless. Isaakios continued, undeterred by her silent refusal. "My father and Timurtas were close friends. Some even say it was my father who convinced Timurtas to move his capital to İstanbul. The empire had expanded so greatly that relocating the capital became a necessity."
Kara, intrigued by the cultural exchange, commented, "It's strange how the Kagan's cuisine has spread all the way to the Balkans."
"Indeed," Isaakios agreed, a fondness in his voice as he recalled his travels. "During one of my journeys to the Levant, I saw how former palace chefs brought their saray recipes to the region. I tasted crisp desserts there that were truly mind-blowing. They use pistachio in their desserts—a crazy idea, but it works. These desserts are crisp, sweet, filled with various nuts, and served with kaymak. Among them, my favorite was Bavlakya."
Kara's interest was piqued. "Do you mean bayla or baklava?" he asked, his curiosity getting the better of him. "In Mongolian dialect, it means wrapped or tied. But chefs called it baklava in the palace, so it must be another wrapped dessert," Wolfram chimed in, trying to piece together the culinary puzzle.
Isaakios smiled and explained, "Oh no, it looks like burek, but it's even thinner and crispier."
The once quiet dinner had turned into a lively, warm gathering, filled with conversation and shared memories. Uluç, who had been silently observing, finally spoke, his voice carrying the weight of experience. "Baklava is indeed made with thin layers of dough. It requires a lifetime dedicated to mastering this art. My father didn't just conquer lands; he was an intellectual man who would give his chefs unlimited resources, ordering them to create desserts and dishes that matched the flavors he wanted to experience. And let's not forget, our Khatuns are also deeply involved in cooking and discovering new recipes."
Uluç's gaze shifted to Aslı, his words taking on a more pointed tone. "After I claim the throne," he said, his eyes locking onto hers, "I shall take you to İlkay Khatun's lands. There, we can try the best of the best. She resides near Ayıntab Castle."
The room fell into a comfortable silence, the weight of Uluç's words settling over the group. Aslı, who had been trying to maintain her composure throughout the evening, now found herself subdued by the sheer force of Uluç's presence and authority. The atmosphere was one of quiet respect and the unspoken understanding that they were in the company of a man who was not only a warrior but also a leader of culture and refinement. The promise of future conquests and the taste of victory—both on the battlefield and in the pleasures of life—hung in the air, unspoken but deeply felt by all.
The atmosphere in the tent had shifted to one of warmth and camaraderie, a stark contrast to the tension earlier. Even Aslı, who had been so resistant, found herself quietly nibbling on the sarma and other appetizers that had been placed before her. Wolfram, curious and adventurous as ever, dipped his Burek into a creamy, white dish that had caught his eye. The olive oil and chopped dill on top made it look particularly inviting. As he tasted it, his eyes lit up with surprise.
"What is this? This is so good," Wolfram exclaimed, savoring the unexpected flavor.
Isaakios smiled, pleased with the reaction. "That's Tzatziki," he explained, his Greek accent giving the word a distinct twist.
Kara, ever the proud Turk, couldn't resist jumping in. "Do you mean cacık?" he asked, his tone a mix of correction and curiosity.
Isaakios nodded, though he maintained his own pronunciation. "Yes, that's what I said—Tzatziki."
Kara, not willing to let it slide, repeated, "You're not saying it right. It's cacık! We used to make and eat it before we smoked—umm, I mean, drank Rakı."
Isaakios, ever the diplomat, attempted to say the word as Kara had. "Cacık," he tried, but the slight mispronunciation remained.
Kara, in a good-natured attempt to teach, said, "You should say it in one go—CACIK."
Wolfram, watching the exchange with amusement, finally chimed in. "I think you're both saying the same thing, just a bit differently."
It was another lighthearted moment, one that bridged cultures and eased the underlying tensions. Kara, though still adjusting to the way his culture had blended and evolved in the conquered lands, couldn't help but be a bit shocked. It was as if the identity he had known was morphing into something new—different, yet still familiar. The exchange left everyone at the table smiling, the conversation flowing more freely, and the sense of unity growing stronger with each passing minute.
As the conversation in the tent gradually shifted from culinary delights to more pressing matters, Aslı, who had remained silent throughout most of the dinner, finally turned her gaze toward Wolfram. With a subtle, almost predatory smile, she asked, "What do you eat back home, Gengiz?" The way she emphasized his nickname carried a hint of flirtation, though not everyone at the table picked up on it.
Wolfram met her gaze, but unlike before, he wasn't the least bit nervous. The events of the day had shattered Aslı's previously commanding aura, leaving her less intimidating. "Well, I don't quite remember much about the food back in the capital," Wolfram replied calmly. "I was young, and it was never this rich. You—Turks—do love eating and carefully preparing your food. You're also open to new recipes."
Aslı, still holding his gaze, responded with a sly smile, "Indeed, we are. We love merging cultures." There was a playful lilt in her voice, an invitation of sorts, though her words were layered with multiple meanings. "You should dine in Efes one day… if you survive the carnage."
Uluç, ever the dominant figure, interjected with a tone of finality, "There won't be carnage. When Kutay's men see my banner, they will surrender and join forces with us. From there, we shall march to Türk-il, west of the Caspian Sea." His voice carried the weight of inevitability, leaving little room for doubt.
Aslı, realizing her diminished influence, spoke more bluntly now, acknowledging her defeat. "There are those who have planned against your plans. They are expecting your arrival."
Uluç, undeterred, interrupted, "They think I'm back home in Antioch, sick in bed."
Aslı, seizing the moment, replied, "Well, I'm not talking about the west! Once-forgotten lands of nomads, where people are battling famine and inner struggles. Doğukan's interventions and conquests in the region have created new identities. They don't call themselves Türk anymore."
At that moment, Kara had a flashback to his private conversation with Kılıj in İstanbul before the festival. They had spoken in secret, leaving Wolfram with Timurtas. Kılıj had warned Kara about the disturbances in the eastern parts of the land. Doğukan's descendants were gaining autonomy, and the Kazakh, Kyrgyz, and Turkmen tribes had begun to rally around a mysterious figure.
Kara's eyes shifted to Uluç, who appeared deep in thought, his expression unreadable. Aslı's words had struck a chord, and the implications were not lost on the old wolf. For a brief moment, the tension in the room thickened as the weight of the looming conflicts—both external and internal—became palpable to all present.
Aslı, sensing an opportunity to assert herself, continued, "You speak of marching to Türk-il, but the Turkish army is scattered across the realm. It will be difficult to reorganize them quickly. We're neighboring Western Europe, and during Timurtas' reign of peace, our enemies have grown in numbers and strength. I say, without losing any more time, you should position near the borders and prevent any threats from the west."
Uluç, his patience wearing thin, suddenly stood up, his presence towering over the table. His eyes locked onto Aslı with an intensity that silenced the room. "Stop twisting your tongue and tell me what you know—now!" he demanded, his voice a commanding growl that left no room for evasion.
The tension in the tent was palpable as everyone turned their attention to Aslı, awaiting her next move.
Uluç listens to Aslı's words, his face hardening with each sentence. When she finishes, there's a moment of tense silence.
"You speak boldly, Aslı," Uluç began, his voice a deep rumble that silenced the room. "You're right about one thing, Aslı—I'm no man of festivals or fancy court games. My place is on the battlefield, leading warriors, not dancing to the tune of courtiers and diplomats.
But don't think for a moment that I don't see what you're trying to do. You want me to play the soldier while others play at being rulers. You want me to lead our armies while your husband, that sniveling whelp, sits on the throne I was born to claim." "You're right—I'm not a man of festivals or fancy court games. My place is on the battlefield, where real power is forged, where empires are won and lost. But don't mistake that for weakness. I have fought for this realm, bled for it, while others have schemed and plotted in their silken halls. I am no mere tool to be used and discarded when it's convenient."
Uluç's voice grew louder, filled with a raw intensity. "Timurtas chose your husband, you say? Perhaps he did in my sick absence but look where that choice has led us. The realm is on the brink of chaos and whispers of rebellion in every corner, our enemies circling like vultures, waiting for us to tear ourselves apart. You think I don't see that? You think I don't understand what's at stake?"
"I was not chosen for the throne because I was too valuable where I was, keeping our enemies at bay and our borders secure. But times have changed, and the realm needs more than just a figurehead on the throne—it needs a leader who commands respect, not just from our allies, but from our enemies as well.
"You speak of sympathy, of winning over hearts and minds. That's all well and good, but at the end of the day, it's power that keeps us in control. And power comes from strength, from the will to do what's necessary. I don't seek to battle within our own borders, but if civil war is what it takes to secure our realm, then so be it. Better to have one strong leader than a thousand squabbling lords.
"I will lead our armies against our enemies, but I will do it as Kagan, not just a Başbuğ. And those who stand in my way, within or without, will fall. Now, tell me, Aslı—are you with me, or are you standing in my way?"
Uluç's response would be calculated, emphasizing his readiness to lead both on the battlefield and in the halls of power. He would acknowledge his strengths as a military leader but make it clear that he sees himself as the only one capable of truly ruling the realm, combining his martial prowess with the authority of the throne.
Uluç's expression darkened as he continued, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "We were delayed on our journey here," he began, his gaze sweeping across the room, "because Kılıj's son found me before he could reach his father's men. He brought news—troubling news. At that moment, I sent messengers across the realm, alerting those who are still loyal to our cause."
Kara, sensing the gravity of the situation, added his voice to the conversation. "We encountered some Kıpçak riders, Uluç. They were carrying the cross of the Romans. They've converted to Christianity, in a realm that has long been under the banner of Tengri. You and I both know what this means. We're not just facing enemies from the outside; we'll be fighting our own kin as well."
The room grew even quieter as the weight of Kara's words settled over everyone. The implications were clear: the conflict they faced was not only a civil war but one that would pit brother against brother, friend against friend.
Kara's face set in grim determination. "We should move swiftly at dawn," he declared. "Kutay cannot be far, and he is gathering local men to bolster his ranks. He expects a confrontation near Türk-il, and he's not reluctant to shed the blood of his own to secure his claim.
Uluç added: "But we will meet him on our terms. We will not allow this realm to be torn apart by one man's ambition. "
His voice grew stronger, filled with the resolve of a man who had seen too many battles to be easily shaken. "Prepare yourselves, all of you. This is not just a fight for power—it is a fight for the soul of our people. And we will not let it be lost to treachery and betrayal."
As he finished speaking, the tension in the room was palpable. Each man knew that the dawn would bring not just a new day, but the beginning of a battle that would determine the future of their realm. And with Uluç leading them, they felt a renewed sense of purpose, a fire kindled in their hearts that would drive them to victory or death.