Chapter 20: The Birth of Barbarossa

Khizar Earns the Name That Will Shake the Mediterranean

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Scene 1: The Return to the Sea

Setting: The harbor of Mytilene, the day after Katerina’s funeral. The brothers stand on the deck of "Ilyas’s Blessing," their faces pale with grief, their eyes hollow. The ship is ready to sail, but none of them has moved to give the order.

Time: Morning, the day after the funeral

The sea stretched before them, vast and indifferent, exactly as it had been when they left Lesbos as boys. But they were not boys anymore. They were men who had buried a brother and a mother, men who carried the weight of grief and vengeance in equal measure.

"We should go," Oruç said, his voice flat. "There’s nothing left for us here."

"There’s Father," Ishak said quietly. "We can’t just leave him."

"I’m not leaving him," Oruç said. "I’m asking him to come with us."

Yaqoob had refused. He had stood at his wife’s grave, his face a mask of stoic grief, and told his sons that he would remain on Lesbos, in the house where he had raised them, where his wife’s spirit still lingered. He had told them to go, to live their lives, to become the men their mother had believed they could be.

"He’s grieving," Khizar said. "We all are. But we have a duty. To the Empire, to our crews, to ourselves."

"What duty could possibly matter more than family?" Ishak asked bitterly.

"None," Khizar admitted. "But we can’t bring her back. We can’t bring Ilyas back. All we can do is live in a way that honors their memory."

Oruç turned to look at him, and there was something new in his eyes—a respect that had been forged in fire and blood. "You’ve changed, little brother. You’ve become the strongest of us."

"I’ve become what I had to become," Khizar said. "We all have."

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Scene 2: The Warning

Setting: The harbor of Algiers, two months later. The brothers have returned to their base, but the city is in turmoil. Captain Rashid meets them at the dock, his face grim.

Time: Afternoon, the day of their return

Rashid’s face told them everything before he spoke a word. The old captain, who had faced storms and battles and the wrath of kings, looked afraid.

"What’s happened?" Oruç demanded. "What’s wrong?"

"A fleet," Rashid said. "The largest fleet the Spanish have ever assembled. They’re coming for us, and they’re coming for you."

Khizar felt his blood run cold. "How many ships?"

"Two hundred galleys. Maybe more. They’re commanded by Andrea Doria himself."

Andrea Doria. The name was legend among sailors. The Genoese admiral, the champion of Charles V, the greatest naval commander of the Christian world. He had defeated fleets twice his size. He had never lost a major battle.

"He’s coming to destroy us," Ishak said. "To wipe us off the map."

"Yes," Rashid said. "And if he succeeds, he won’t stop at Algiers. He’ll move on to Constantinople. He’ll challenge the Sultan himself."

Khizar stood in silence, his mind racing. Two hundred ships. Andrea Doria. The greatest naval commander of the age.

"We need to leave," Oruç said. "We need to run while we still can."

"No." Khizar’s voice was quiet, but it carried absolute authority.

"No?" Oruç repeated, incredulous. "Khizar, this isn’t a raid. This isn’t a skirmish. This is a full-scale invasion. We can’t fight them."

"We can," Khizar said. "And we will."

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Scene 3: The War Council

Setting: Captain Rashid’s courtyard, transformed into a war room. Maps cover every surface, and the corsair elite of Algiers have gathered. The brothers stand at the center, their faces set in grim determination.

Time: Evening, the day of the warning

The courtyard was filled with the most experienced corsairs in Algiers—men who had sailed with the Barbary fleets for decades, who had faced the Spanish, the Venetians, the Knights. But none of them had ever faced a force like the one that was coming.

"We can’t beat them in a straight fight," one captain said. "We’d need a fleet three times our size."

"We don’t have a fleet three times our size," another added. "We have maybe thirty ships. Thirty against two hundred."

"Then we don’t fight a straight fight," Khizar said, stepping forward. "We fight a different kind of war."

The room fell silent. All eyes turned to the young captain—the potter’s son who had become a corsair, who had escaped the Knights, who had captured Spanish galleons and pledged allegiance to the Sultan.

"What kind of war?" Rashid asked.

"The kind that uses the sea itself as a weapon," Khizar said. "The kind that makes them fight on our terms, not theirs."

He spread a map across the table, his finger tracing the coastline. "Andrea Doria is coming from the west. He’ll take the most direct route, through the Strait of Sicily. That’s where we’ll meet him."

"At sea?" a captain asked, incredulous. "With our small fleet?"

"Not at sea," Khizar said. "At the coast. We’ll lure him into the shallow waters, where his large ships can’t maneuver. We’ll use the rocks and the currents, the winds and the tides. We’ll fight him where he’s weakest."

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Scene 4: The Night Before Battle

Setting: The deck of "Ilyas’s Blessing," late at night. The fleet is anchored in a hidden cove, the crews sleeping after a long day of preparation. Khizar stands at the rail, alone with his thoughts.

Time: Late night, the eve of battle

The stars were bright overhead, the sea calm and dark. Khizar had not slept, had not even tried. His mind was too full—of plans, of fears, of memories.

He thought of Ilyas, who had been so full of wonder, so full of life. He thought of his mother, who had believed in him until the end. He thought of his father, who had given him the name of a legend.

"Khizar." Oruç’s voice was quiet, gentle. "You should sleep. Tomorrow will be a long day."

"I can’t," Khizar admitted. "Every time I close my eyes, I see the fleet. I see the ships. I see the fire."

"You’ll be ready," Oruç said. "You always are."

"I don’t know if I will. I don’t know if I can do this."

Oruç placed his hand on his brother’s shoulder. "Listen to me. I’ve followed you across the sea. I’ve followed you into battle. I’ve followed you into prison and out again. And I’ve never once doubted you. Not once."

"You’re my brother," Khizar said. "You have to say that."

"I’m saying it because it’s true," Oruç said. "You are the strongest of us, Khizar. You are the smartest, the bravest, the most determined. You are the one who will lead us to victory."

Khizar looked at his brother, and something in his chest loosened. "Thank you, Oruç. I needed to hear that."

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Scene 5: The Battle Begins

Setting: The Strait of Sicily, morning. The Spanish fleet fills the horizon—two hundred ships, their sails like a wall of white, their cannons glinting in the sun. The corsair fleet waits in the shallow waters, hidden among the rocks.

Time: Dawn, the day of battle

The Spanish fleet came into view as the sun rose, and Khizar felt his heart stop.

He had known, intellectually, how large the fleet would be. But knowing and seeing were two very different things. Two hundred ships. Thousands of men. The greatest armada the Mediterranean had ever seen.

"By Allah," Ishak whispered beside him. "Look at them."

"Don’t look at the size," Khizar said, his voice steady. "Look at the formation. See how they’re arranged?"

"They’re in a line," Ishak said. "They’re coming straight at us."

"Yes," Khizar said. "And that’s their weakness. They expect us to run. They expect us to scatter. They’ve been told we’re just corsairs, just pirates. They’ve been told we’ll break at the first sign of resistance."

"And they’re wrong," Oruç said, his voice fierce.

"And they’re wrong," Khizar agreed. "Signal the fleet. We stick to the plan."

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Scene 6: The Trap

Setting: The shallows of the Strait of Sicily, the corsair fleet positioned among hidden rocks. The Spanish fleet approaches, unaware of the trap. Khizar stands at the helm, his eyes fixed on the enemy.

Time: Mid-morning, the battle begun

The first Spanish ships entered the shallows, their crews confident, their cannon ready. They had come expecting an easy victory, expecting the corsairs to scatter and flee.

Instead, they found a trap.

"Now!" Khizar shouted. "Signal all ships!"

The corsair fleet surged forward, not to attack the Spanish head-on, but to cut them off—to block their escape, to force them into the rocks. The Spanish ships, large and heavy, could not maneuver in the shallow water. They were trapped.

"Fire!" Khizar shouted.

The corsair cannons roared, and the first Spanish ship was hit, its mast collapsing, its crew screaming. Then another, and another, and another.

"They’re panicking," Ishak reported. "They didn’t expect this. They didn’t—"

His words were cut off as a Spanish cannonball crashed into the deck nearby, sending splinters flying. Khizar felt a sharp pain in his face, felt something warm and wet running down his cheek.

He wiped the blood away, and his hand came back red.

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Scene 7: The Red Beard

Setting: The deck of "Ilyas’s Blessing," the battle raging. Khizar stands amid the chaos, his face streaked with blood, his eyes blazing with fury. He does not feel the wound, does not notice the blood. He only sees the enemy, only feels the need to fight.

Time: Midday, the battle at its height

The battle had become a maelstrom—ships burning, cannons roaring, men screaming. The Spanish fleet was in chaos, their formation shattered, their ships scattered. But they still outnumbered the corsairs, still had more cannons, more men.

Khizar fought with a ferocity he had never known. He led boarding parties onto Spanish ships, his sword cutting a path through the enemy. He rallied his men when they faltered, inspired them when they wavered.

And all the while, the blood ran down his face, staining his beard red.

"Look!" a corsair shouted, pointing at Khizar. "Look at him! He fights like a demon!"

"He fights like the devil himself!" another agreed.

The Spanish saw him too—the figure with the blood-red beard, the sword that never stopped, the eyes that burned with an unholy fire. They began to whisper among themselves, began to spread the word.

"That one," a Spanish sailor said, pointing at Khizar with a trembling hand. "That one with the red beard. He cannot be killed. He is a demon."

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Scene 8: The Turning Point

Setting: The center of the battle, the Spanish flagship. Andrea Doria stands on the deck, his face grim. His fleet is in disarray, and he has lost the initiative.

Time: Afternoon, the battle reaching its climax

Andrea Doria was not a man who panicked. He had fought too many battles, faced too many enemies, to be shaken by a single defeat. But even he had to admit that this was not going as planned.

"Who is that?" he demanded, pointing toward the corsair ship that seemed to be everywhere at once, its crew fighting with a fury that bordered on madness.

"I don’t know, Admiral," his aide said. "They say his name is Khizar. A corsair captain."

"Khizar," Doria repeated. "I’ve never heard of him."

"He’s new to the Mediterranean. He escaped from the Knights Hospitaller. He captured Spanish galleons. He’s—"

"He’s the one with the red beard," Doria interrupted, recognizing the figure that had been described to him in reports. "The one they call Barbarossa."

"Barbarossa?" the aide repeated. "But that name belongs to—"

"It belongs to whoever claims it," Doria said. "And this man has claimed it. Look at him. Look at the fear in my men’s eyes when they see him. He has become something more than a man. He has become a legend."

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Scene 9: The Victory

Setting: The aftermath of the battle, the sea littered with wreckage and burning ships. The Spanish fleet has retreated, its ships scattered, its crews demoralized. The corsairs have won.

Time: Late afternoon, the battle ended

The battle was over.

The Spanish fleet had been routed, its ships scattered across the sea. Andrea Doria had been forced to retreat, his reputation shattered, his armada destroyed. The corsairs had won against impossible odds.

Khizar stood on the deck of "Ilyas’s Blessing," watching the last Spanish ships disappear over the horizon. His face was still streaked with blood, his beard still stained red. He felt nothing—no joy, no relief, no triumph. Only a vast, overwhelming exhaustion.

"Khizar!" Oruç was at his side, his face alight with excitement. "Khizar, we won! We actually won!"

"We did," Khizar said, his voice flat.

"You don’t sound happy."

"I’m too tired to be happy," Khizar admitted. "Ask me again tomorrow."

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Scene 10: The Name Given

Setting: The harbor of Algiers, a week after the battle. The city is in celebration, but the brothers have gathered in private. Captain Rashid approaches Khizar with a letter bearing the Sultan’s seal.

Time: Morning, the day of the celebration

"Khizar," Rashid said, his voice formal, "I have received a letter from His Majesty, Sultan Suleiman. He has heard of your victory. He has heard of your courage. And he has heard of the name that the Spanish have given you."

Khizar looked up, surprised. "A name?"

"Barbarossa," Rashid said. "The Red Beard. It is what the Spanish call you, after your beard, which they believe is stained with the blood of your enemies. It is what your own men call you, after the strength and fury you showed in battle. It is what all of Europe now calls you."

Khizar touched his beard, which had indeed grown red with the blood of his wound and the blood of his enemies. He had not washed it away, had not bothered to clean it. It had simply become part of him.

"I am not Barbarossa," he said quietly. "I am Khizar."

"You are both," Rashid said. "And you are more. You are Hayreddin—the Goodness of the Faith. This is the name the Sultan has given you, in recognition of your service to Islam and the Empire."

Khizar was silent for a long moment. Then: "What does it mean? To be Barbarossa?"

"It means you are a legend," Rashid said. "It means you are a terror to your enemies and a hero to your people. It means you are the man who will lead the Ottoman Empire to victory in the Mediterranean."

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Scene 11: The Acceptance

Setting: The deck of "Ilyas’s Blessing," night. The stars are bright overhead, and the sea is calm. The brothers stand together, their hands clasped in the familiar circle.

Time: Night, the day of the celebration

"I am Barbarossa," Khizar said, testing the name on his tongue. "I am Hayreddin. I am the Red Beard."

"You are all those things," Oruç said. "And you are our brother."

"We are with you," Ishak said. "We have always been with you. We will always be with you."

Khizar looked at his brothers, at the faces he had known his entire life, and felt a surge of love that was almost painful. "I could not have done this without you. I could not have become this without you."

"We could not have become anything without each other," Oruç said. "We are brothers. Blood of my blood. Soul of my soul."

"Blood of my blood," Ishak echoed.

"Soul of my soul," Khizar said.

They stood together, their hands clasped, their hearts united. The name of Barbarossa had been born. The legend had begun.

And the Mediterranean would never be the same.

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Scene 12: The Oath of the Red Beard

Setting: The deck of "Ilyas’s Blessing," the brothers facing the sea. The stars are bright, the wind is soft, and the future stretches before them like an open road.

Time: Deep night, the oath sworn

"I am Barbarossa," Khizar said, his voice carrying across the water. "I am the Red Beard. And I swear by the sea, by the stars, by the memory of our brother Ilyas, by the love of our mother Katerina, that I will use this name to fight for justice. I will protect the innocent. I will defend the faith. I will serve the Empire."

"We swear with you," Oruç said.

"We swear with you," Ishak echoed.

"We will become the greatest corsairs the world has ever known. We will make the Mediterranean our own. We will make our brother proud."

"To Ilyas," they said in unison.

"To Mother," Khizar added.

"To Barbarossa," Oruç said, a fierce smile on his face.

"To the future," Ishak said.

The brothers stood together, their names written in the stars, their destiny sealed in blood and fire. The Red Beard had been born. And the world would never be the same.

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End of Chapter 20