1921, October 31st, Monday.
The forty-eight-hour deadline Murad had imposed upon Damat Ferid Pasha expired with the setting sun of this late October day. Throughout the morning and early afternoon, an almost palpable tension had permeated Yıldız Palace. Hafız Bey, the Lord Chamberlain, had reported with his usual discreet efficiency that the Grand Vizier's offices at the Sublime Porte had been a hive of activity all weekend. Lights had burned late into the night, and messengers had scurried back and forth. Damat Ferid, it seemed, was taking the young Sultan's demands seriously – or, at least, was making a show of it.
Murad had spent his morning in quiet preparation. He had reviewed his notes from the initial reports and his subsequent conversations with Tevfik Pasha and Fevzi Pasha. He had a clear set of benchmarks against which to measure whatever Damat Ferid was about to present. His youthful appearance was a constant factor he had to manage; he knew many still saw him as an upstart, a boy playing at kingship. Today, he needed to demonstrate not just intelligence, but an unshakeable resolve and the authority to enforce his will.
As the appointed hour in the late afternoon approached, Murad had a tray of untouched tea and a few dry biscuits beside him in his private study. He felt a cold calm settle over him, the same calm he had experienced in his past life before critical decisions or dangerous undertakings. The stakes were immeasurably high. The future of an empire, perhaps the fate of a Caliphate, rested on the choices made in these coming hours and days.
Hafız Bey announced the Grand Vizier. Damat Ferid Pasha entered, carrying a rather impressively thick portfolio bound in dark green leather. He looked tired, the skin beneath his eyes darker than usual, but his expression was one of determined, almost righteous, gravity. He clearly intended to demonstrate the diligence with which he had approached the Sultan's commands.
"Your Imperial Majesty," Damat Ferid began after his bow, his voice perhaps a shade too loud, a little too forceful, as if to compensate for some inner uncertainty. "In accordance with your imperial directive, I have labored intensively with my ministers and advisors. We have prepared comprehensive proposals addressing the grave concerns you so astutely raised. These proposals, I believe, represent the most realistic and responsible path forward in our current, exceedingly challenging circumstances." He placed the portfolio on the desk before Murad with a flourish.
Murad inclined his head. "I appreciate your diligence, Grand Vizier. Please, summarize the key points of your proposals. Let us begin with the fiscal crisis."
Damat Ferid cleared his throat, opening his own set of notes. "Regarding the treasury, Your Majesty, we propose a series of stringent new austerity measures across all non-essential government departments. A ten percent reduction in administrative salaries, excluding the military and gendarmerie, of course. We also propose the introduction of a new 'Patriotic Contribution Tax' on luxury goods and high incomes, which we project could yield an additional half a million Lira per quarter." He paused, as if expecting approval. "Furthermore, we have initiated preliminary, discreet discussions with representatives of the Allied Reparations Commission to seek a temporary moratorium on certain debt payments, citing the recent transition of power and the need for stability."
Murad listened impassively, his fingers steepled before him. When Ferid finished, he asked, "A ten percent reduction on already meager salaries for clerks and minor officials, Pasha? What is the projected saving from this, when balanced against the potential for further discontent and corruption as men struggle to feed their families? And this 'Patriotic Contribution Tax' – on whose incomes, precisely, will it fall? The wealthy merchants of Galata, many of whom are foreign nationals or protected minorities exempt from most Ottoman taxation by the Capitulations? Or will it be another burden on our already struggling Turkish artisans and landowners?"
He didn't wait for an answer. "As for a moratorium from the Reparations Commission – what collateral are we offering for such a 'temporary' relief? What further concessions will they demand in six months, when our situation, following these superficial measures, is likely even worse? Did your proposal include any measures to reclaim control over our key revenue streams, such as the Customs houses or the Tobacco Régie, from the Public Debt Administration? Or are we simply to continue managing the crumbs they leave us?"
Damat Ferid's composure began to fray. "Your Majesty, reclaiming those revenues directly would be seen as a direct affront to the international agreements and could provoke… severe retaliation from the Allied powers."
"And their current, less direct, strangulation of our economy is preferable?" Murad countered coolly. "Let us move to the military. What are your proposals for securing the loyalty and effectiveness of our forces, and addressing the situation in Anatolia?"
The Grand Vizier visibly brightened, turning to a different section of his notes. "Here, Your Majesty, we propose a significant strengthening of the Imperial Gendarmerie, to be retrained and re-equipped under the supervision of a joint Allied-Ottoman commission. This force would be tasked with ensuring internal security, suppressing banditry, and… discouraging illegal recruitment by the nationalist elements. We believe the Allies would look favorably upon such a move, as it aligns with their desire for stability. For Anatolia itself, we propose a renewed and widely publicized offer of full amnesty to all who lay down their arms and reaffirm their loyalty to the Caliph. We would also initiate a propaganda campaign, through loyal Ulema and newspapers, to counter the misinformation spread by Ankara and to highlight the dangers of their rebellious course."
Murad let out a slow breath. "So, your military proposal is to seek Allied permission to strengthen a police force, which will then be used to fight other Turks, while our actual army remains a nullity. And your Anatolian strategy is more amnesties and propaganda, policies that have already failed spectacularly. Pasha, do you genuinely believe Mustafa Kemal and his victorious generals will be swayed by pamphlets after they have defied the Great Powers and defeated the Greeks in open battle? Do you believe the Turkish soldier in Anatolia, fighting for his homeland, sees us here, under Allied guns, as the legitimate authority to whom he should pledge allegiance?"
He leaned forward, his voice dropping but losing none of its intensity. "I asked for a realistic assessment of forces loyal to this government. Does your report detail the actual number of rifles that will fire if ordered, the true state of morale within the Constantinople garrison, the loyalty of its officers not just to their paymasters but to the Ottoman throne itself? Or does it merely reiterate the official, Allied-approved rosters?"
"The officers of Your Majesty's forces are loyal!" Damat Ferid insisted, his voice rising. "They are bound by their oaths!" "Oaths can be a fragile shield against bullets, Pasha, especially when one's stomach is empty and one's opponent offers a more compelling vision of the future," Murad retorted. "And what of your re-evaluation of our policy towards Ankara, the one that was to explore all potential avenues?"
The Grand Vizier seemed to shrink slightly under Murad's unrelenting gaze. "Your Majesty, the Ankara regime is an illegal usurpation. To treat with them as equals, or to explore any avenue other than their submission to the legitimate authority of the Sultan-Caliph, would be to legitimize their rebellion. Our proposal stands: amnesty for the repentant, and firm action, with Allied support, against the intransigent."
Murad was silent for a long moment, his expression unreadable. He gently pushed the Grand Vizier's portfolio back across the desk. "Pasha," he said finally, his voice devoid of heat but laden with an undeniable finality, "these are not proposals for the salvation of an Empire. These are the meticulous arrangements for its funeral, conducted with the full approval of its executioners. You have offered me more of the same policies that have brought us to this precipice. You have demonstrated a profound lack of imagination, a terrifying subservience to our occupiers, and a complete inability to grasp the true sentiments of our people or the realities of the power dynamic with Ankara."
Damat Ferid Pasha went pale. "Your Imperial Majesty… I have served this Empire faithfully for decades… I have only ever sought its welfare…"
"Your past service is noted, Pasha," Murad acknowledged, a hint of steel in his tone. "But the Empire requires more than past service now; it requires a radical new vision and the courage to implement it. Your proposals are unacceptable. They address none of the core issues I raised with the urgency or the creativity demanded by our desperate situation."
He stood up, a youthful figure casting a long shadow in the lamplit room. "Therefore, I am relieving you of your duties as Grand Vizier, effective immediately."
The air crackled with stunned silence. Damat Ferid stared at Murad, his mouth agape, his face a mask of disbelief and dawning horror. "Your Majesty… you cannot… The Allies… they trust me… This will cause chaos…!"
"The chaos is already here, Pasha, it has been our constant companion for years, largely thanks to the policies you championed," Murad stated coldly. "As for the Allies, they will deal with the Grand Vizier appointed by the Sultan of the Ottoman Empire. Their trust is not my primary concern; the survival of my Empire and the welfare of my people are." He walked towards the bell-pull. "Hafız Bey will escort you from the palace. You will retire to your home. A formal announcement of your… resignation for reasons of health will be made in due course. Do not attempt to communicate with any foreign legations or to incite any disturbance. Such actions would be… most unwise."
Damat Ferid seemed to visibly deflate, the fight draining out of him, replaced by a mixture of fear and utter shock. The boy he had dismissed, the youth he had expected to guide, had just dismissed him, the seasoned statesman, the confidante of foreign ambassadors. Hafız Bey entered, his face an impassive mask, though his eyes darted briefly to the portfolio on the desk, then to the stricken Grand Vizier. He had clearly been waiting nearby, anticipating a summons.
"Hafız Bey," Murad said, his voice calm and authoritative, "kindly escort Damat Ferid Pasha to his carriage. Ensure his departure is… dignified." The Lord Chamberlain bowed. "At once, Your Imperial Majesty." He gestured respectfully towards the door for the now former Grand Vizier. Damat Ferid, looking dazed and broken, stumbled to his feet and, without another word or glance at Murad, allowed himself to be led from the room.
Murad watched them go, then turned back to the window, staring out at the darkening city. He had done it. He had cut off the head of the collaborationist government. It was an immense gamble. The Allies would be furious. The old guard within the palace would be terrified, perhapsplotting. But it was a necessary first step. He could not rebuild with a chief architect dedicated to demolition.
He felt a tremor of excitement mixed with trepidation. This was the true beginning. He rang the bell again. Hafız Bey returned, his expression still neutral, but with a new alertness in his eyes. "Your Majesty?" "Summon Ahmed Tevfik Pasha. Immediately. Inform him that his Sultan requires his presence for a matter of the utmost urgency regarding the formation of a new government." Murad's voice was firm. "And send word to Fevzi Pasha. Tell him his plans for military revitalization may need to be accelerated. The time for cautious observation is over. The time for action has begun."
Hafız Bey's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. He bowed lower than usual. "Your Imperial Majesty, your will is my command. The Empire… holds its breath." Murad nodded. Let it hold its breath. Soon, he intended for it to roar.