1921, November 25th, Friday.
A fragile dawn, both literal and metaphorical, broke over Constantinople on Friday, November twenty-fifth. The immediate storm of the Port Authority crisis had passed, leaving in its wake a stunned Allied diplomatic corps, a cautiously jubilant Ottoman government, and a populace in the capital that was beginning to feel a flicker of hope it hadn't experienced in years. Sultan Murad VII's bold stand, leveraging the "Ledger of Lies" and the ensuing international scandal, had forced the mighty Entente powers to the negotiating table and wrung from them significant concessions. The agreement, though not a total restoration of Ottoman sovereignty over the Port, was a tangible victory, a clear sign that the young Sultan was not the pliant puppet many had expected.
The immediate task was formalizing this victory. Lawyers from the Ottoman Ministry of Justice and their Allied counterparts were already closeted away, hammering out the precise wording of the new Port Authority Management Board charter and the mandate for the Joint Commission of Inquiry. Reşid Akif Pasha, the Foreign Minister, reported to Murad that morning, "The Allied legal teams are… meticulous and argumentative, Your Majesty, particularly the British. They are trying to insert clauses that might limit the scope of the inquiry or preserve certain 'operational prerogatives.' But with the backing of their chastened High Commissioners, who are clearly under orders from their home governments to conclude this matter swiftly and quietly, we are holding firm on the core principles agreed upon. I expect a final text ready for signature within two days." "Excellent, Reşid Akif Pasha," Murad said. "Ensure there are no hidden barbs in their legal jargon. This agreement must be as watertight as we can make it."
Today was Jumu'ah, and Murad, understanding the symbolic power of his public presence, decided to attend prayers at the Yavuz Selim Mosque, overlooking the Golden Horn from a commanding hill. This mosque, built by Sultan Selim I – "Selim the Grim," the conqueror who had vastly expanded the Empire and brought the Caliphate to the Ottoman dynasty – held a particular resonance. It was a subtle reminder of past Ottoman strength and resolve. His procession was again heavily guarded by Ferik Fevzi Pasha's Hassa Ordusu, their disciplined ranks and new rifles a reassuring sight. The crowds were larger this time, their cheers more confident. The news of the government's success in forcing the Allies to back down on the Port issue, though not yet officially detailed, had spread through the city like wildfire, amplified by Sheikh-ul-Islam Nuri Efendi's Ulema network. Nuri Efendi himself delivered the khutbah. He spoke of Allah's favor upon those rulers who strive for justice and protect the welfare of their people from exploitation. He emphasized the importance of gratitude in times of relief, but also the need for continued vigilance, hard work, and national unity to rebuild what had been broken. "A single victory, however significant," he preached, "is but one step on a long and arduous path. True success lies in sustained effort, unwavering faith, and the collective will of a people united in righteous purpose under a just leader." The sermon perfectly captured the mood Murad wished to cultivate: cautious optimism, renewed determination, and a call for unity.
Later that afternoon, Murad convened his core council – Tevfik Pasha, Cavit Bey, Fevzi Pasha, Reşid Akif Pasha, and Kolağası Esad Bey. The atmosphere was markedly different from their tense "war councils" of the previous week. There was a sense of a battle won, a crisis navigated. "Gentlemen," Murad began, "the agreement on the Port Authority, once finalized and implemented, will represent a significant reclamation of our sovereign rights and financial resources. It is a testament to your courage, your skill, and your loyalty. But, as Sheikh-ul-Islam Nuri Efendi so rightly reminded us today, this is but one step. We have bought ourselves some breathing room, some credibility, both domestically and internationally. Now, we must use it wisely to address the even greater challenges that lie ahead." He outlined his strategic priorities for this new phase: "First, continued internal consolidation. Cavit Bey, your financial reforms, backed by the Hatt-ı Hümayun and now the incoming Port revenues, must press forward relentlessly. We must root out corruption, ensure fiscal discipline, and begin to alleviate the economic suffering of our people. Fevzi Pasha, the Hassa Ordusu must be expanded and its training perfected; it is the ultimate guarantor of this government's security and my ability to act independently. Esad Bey, your intelligence directorate must continue to safeguard us from internal and external threats, and its reach must grow." "Second," Murad continued, his voice taking on a new intensity, "we must now proactively address the situation in Anatolia. For too long, Constantinople and Ankara have stood as hostile camps, a division that only serves our enemies. While the nationalists there may view us with suspicion, perhaps even contempt, they are still our brothers, still Ottomans, still Muslims. We share a common enemy in the foreign powers who seek to dismember our homeland. The time has come to explore, however cautiously, however discreetly, if there is any basis for understanding, for cooperation, perhaps even for eventual reunification under a banner that respects both the traditions of the Caliphate and the aspirations of the Turkish nation for true independence."
As if timed by a master dramatist, at that very moment, Hafız Bey entered the study, his usually composed face showing a rare flicker of excitement. "Your Imperial Majesty," he announced, "an urgent, sealed dispatch for Kolağası Esad Bey, delivered through Sheikh Saffet Efendi's private channels." All eyes turned to Esad. He took the small, discreetly wrapped package, his fingers moving swiftly to break its seals. He read the coded message within, his expression unreadable. Then, he looked up at Murad, and for the first time since Murad had known him, Esad Bey's eyes held a clear, undeniable spark of profound emotion. "Your Imperial Majesty," he said, his voice hushed, "it is from… our traveler. He reached Ankara three days ago. He successfully made contact with the 'respected teacher' known to Sheikh Saffet." A breathless silence filled the room. "And?" Murad prompted, his own heart suddenly hammering. "The teacher, a man of considerable piety and quiet influence named Hacı Shukri Efendi," Esad continued, "received your memorized sentiments with great seriousness, Your Majesty. He listened without interruption. He then stated that while the path between Constantinople and Ankara is fraught with bitterness and bloodshed, the words of the Caliph, particularly when they speak of Islamic unity and the welfare of all Muslims against foreign aggressors, cannot be easily dismissed by any true believer." Esad paused, drawing a breath. "Hacı Shukri Efendi then said he would personally convey Your Majesty's message, and his own assessment of your sincerity, to certain… influential individuals within the Grand National Assembly's inner circles, men who, despite the current political chasm, still hold a measure of respect for the Caliphate, if not for the recent governments that have claimed to represent it. He could make no promises, Your Majesty. He said the mistrust is deep. But…" Esad's voice softened, "he concluded by saying, 'A door that was firmly bolted may now have a very small crack of light appearing beneath it. Whether it can be opened, only Allah knows, but the attempt to insert a wedge of goodwill has been noted.' He will await any further communication from us through the same channel, and will attempt to convey any… considered responses."
A profound silence enveloped the room. Murad felt a wave of emotions wash over him – immense relief that his message had been delivered and not outright rejected, a surge of hope so potent it was almost painful, and a chilling awareness of the incredible delicacy and danger of this new, fragile opening. Tevfik Pasha was the first to speak, his voice thick with unshed tears. "Allah Akbar… Your Majesty, this is… this is more than we could have dared to hope for as a first response." Cavit Bey, usually so cynical, looked stunned. Fevzi Pasha's stern features had softened into an expression of deep contemplation. Reşid Akif Pasha simply nodded slowly, understanding the immense diplomatic implications. "A crack of light," Murad repeated softly. "It is a beginning. A very fragile, very perilous beginning. But it is a beginning nonetheless." He looked at his assembled ministers, his young face now imbued with a solemn authority that seemed to transcend his years. "Gentlemen, our path forward has just become infinitely more complex, and perhaps, infinitely more hopeful. Esad Bey, you will draft a response to Hacı Shukri Efendi, through Sheikh Saffet. Express my profound gratitude for his courage and wisdom. Reiterate our sincere desire for dialogue, for understanding, for finding a way to heal the divisions within our nation and our faith, for the sole purpose of preserving our people and our lands from foreign domination. Make no demands, offer no political formulas yet. Simply keep that fragile door open. This communication channel is now our most precious, and most secret, asset." He then turned to the others. "Fevzi Pasha, the strengthening of the Hassa Ordusu and our internal defenses is now even more critical. If we are to speak with Ankara, we must do so from a position of at least minimal security here in our own capital. Cavit Bey, the economic stability you are fighting for will give us the endurance needed for what will undoubtedly be a long and complex process. Reşid Akif Pasha, your careful management of the Port Authority agreement's implementation, and our ongoing relations with the chastened but still dangerous Allies, will provide the necessary shield for these other, more covert endeavors."
The day ended. The victory over the Port Authority, significant as it was, now felt like a prelude to an even greater, more profound challenge. The first, tentative echo from Anatolia had arrived, carrying with it the faintest glimmer of a possibility that Murad had scarcely dared to entertain: the reunification of a fractured nation, the forging of a common front. The path ahead was shrouded in uncertainty. But tonight, as Murad looked out over the slumbering city of Constantinople, he felt not just the weight of his Imperial office, but the first, tentative stirring of a hope that his reign might be about more than just survival – it might, just might, be about true restoration. The game had changed once more.