When Sultan Selim II drowned drunk in the harem bath in 1574, his favorite concubine not only did not lose her influence—in fact, that was when she truly began to build it. Nurbanu Sultan, a woman of such mysterious origin that historians still debate whether she was a Venetian aristocrat, a Spanish Jew, or a Cypriot Christian, co-governed an empire spanning three continents for the next nine years. And it all started when, as a child, she found herself in the possession of an Ottoman prince.
A Commodity That Turned Out to Be Priceless
Around 1537, a twelve-year-old girl—perhaps Kale Kartanou, perhaps Rachel de Nasi, or maybe Cecilia Venier-Baffo—was abducted during a raid on the Greek islands. Grand Admiral Barbarossa had a keen eye for talent, as this particular slave quickly caught Prince Selim’s attention during his stay in Konya. Who was she really?
The Venetians claimed she was the illegitimate daughter of aristocrats, which gave them an excuse to maintain diplomatic relations with her. Spanish Jews suggested ties to the de Nasi family, which could explain Yosef de Nasi’s later flight to Istanbul. The truth is, no one knows—and that likely suited Nurbanu just fine.
Her first years in the harem brought a series of pregnancies: twin daughters Ismihan and Şah in 1544, then daughter Fatma, and finally in 1546, the long-awaited son, Murad. That last child changed everything. The mother of the future sultan automatically became untouchable, with her own court, budget, and network of influence.
Selim was so captivated by her that even when, as sultan, he began to bring other women into the harem, she remained the first. Ambassadors universally described her as exceptionally beautiful and extraordinarily intelligent—a rare combination that she knew how to use to her advantage.
A Network of Political Marriages
Nurbanu’s genius lay in understanding one fundamental thing: the harem was not a prison, but a command center. Her daughters, married off to powerful dignitaries, were free to leave the palace walls. And that’s exactly what they did—serving as informants, couriers, and political strategists for their mother. This was an intelligence network contemporary spies would envy, operating under the guise of family visits and gift exchanges.
Venice quickly realized it paid to have Nurbanu on their side. The result? Pisa and Genoa were pushed to the margins of Istanbul’s politics, and Venetian merchants enjoyed trading privileges. The Genoese were reportedly so upset that rumors circulated of plans to poison her. Is that true? It doesn’t matter—the mere existence of such rumors shows the scale of her influence.
She corresponded with Catherine de’ Medici, exchanging not only letters but also gifts: silks, damask dresses, robes of golden fabric. The French queen was so impressed by Ottoman embroidery that she brought Turkish seamstresses to her estates.
Real Power
When Selim II ended his life in 1574 in a decidedly undignified manner for a ruler of three continents—a drunken accident in the bath—Nurbanu officially received the title Valide Sultan, mother of the reigning sultan. But in truth, she had already been ruling, often acting as regent for her husband, who was dependent on alcohol and drugs. Now, she could act openly. And she did—on a scale no sultan would be ashamed of.
She was the first woman in history to establish a library in a mosque, with the mosque itself described by contemporaries as a mountain of light. She built the Atik Valide complex in the Üsküdar district, not only a place of worship but also kitchens for the poor, shelters for rich and poor travelers, public baths with separate sections for men and women. Those near the Grand Bazaar are still in operation today. Clearly, she modeled herself on Empress Theodora of a thousand years earlier—another woman who rose from the lowest social rungs to real power in the same city.
A Golden Legacy
Nurbanu died on December 7, 1583, in her private palace in the Yenikapı district. She was about fifty-eight—a ripe old age by the standards of the time. What did she do in the end? She freed 150 of her female slaves, giving each a thousand gold coins to start a new life. This was no sentimental gesture. It was the calculated move of a woman who herself started as a slave and knew that without start-up capital, freedom means little.
Her story is a paradox of the Ottoman system. Theoretically, she was the property of the sultan; in practice, she co-ruled an empire. Theoretically, she had no rights; in practice, she corresponded with European monarchs as an equal. The system that enslaved her also gave her the tools to acquire power unattainable to most men.
Rory Thornfield
Rory's grandfather left behind a wartime diary filled with accounts of a minor Burma skirmish that history books never mentioned. Reading it, Rory realized: behind every famous battle are dozens of forgotten struggles, each with its own human drama.
His preferred topics: The overlooked corners of military history – secondary campaigns, shadow battalions, local conflicts that never made headlines. From medieval sieges to twentieth-century expeditions, he focuses on the soldiers, not the generals. The people who faced impossible choices and carried those experiences forever.
Rory strips away the romanticism without losing respect for those who served. He combines tactical analysis with personal stories, examining human endurance and moral complexity rather than celebrating warfare. His writing is balanced, thoughtful, and deeply researched.
Outside work, Rory visits forgotten battlefields (now quiet farmland), photographs war memorials nobody tends anymore, and interviews veterans' families.