Бесплатный фрагмент - Peter The Great, of Orange. Usurper on the Throne

“Believe me, they know how to kill in Russia, and if someone is sent to the next world at court, he will never be resurrected”

King Frederick II the Great

PROLOGUE. The Last Case of Pirate Peter

Peter van Mush stood on the forecastle, at the helm of the ship. His brig “Red Tulip” was sailing in a strong wind, listing slightly to port. Yes, too many sails were raised, but the desperate captain was not afraid. His navigator saw a Spanish ship on the horizon, and he did not want to lose the prey. Money was needed, and a lot of it, to patch up his beloved ship, and please the crew with the ringing of silver and gold coins.

— Joachim! Load the guns at the sides with grapeshot, and the two bow ones with cannonballs!

— Got it, Peter! Hey, guys, get to work quickly! — shouted gunner Joachim Lang.

And although the gunner was already fifty-four years old, he was very dexterous and quick, and had a sure eye. And what is important, Joachim got used to the brig’s carronades, and they to him. Every landlubber thinks that it is so easy to fire a ship’s cannon. No, it is easy to fire, but not easy to hit. But the sea is not land… And any ship rocks on the waves. There is pitching and rolling, and the cannon sometimes rises up, as if aiming at the moon. Sometimes it dives down together with the deck flooring, as if it wants to shoot a whale or a dolphin! But Herr Lang had become accustomed to firing from a cannon over the years of service on the brig, and with a broadside of six cannons, even with strong rolling, he managed to hit the enemy at a distance of a mile with one cannonball. From the bow he hit with one cannonball out of three fired! Peter appreciated and loved the gunner, and he loved his cast-iron carronades. Yes, these guns came from distant Russia, the land of cheap bread and caviar. Many cast iron products came from there. After all, there were plenty of forests in the distant kingdom.

Herr van Musch once tried black caviar, no, he really liked it, although, of course, it was no better than lobsters, as it seemed to him…

The ships continued to approach each other, and good Joachim hit the stern rig with the second shot. The first cannonball raised a high column of water in the sea near the enemy’s side

Peter heard the carronade shot, but he did not hear the screams and breaking boards on the Spaniard’s deck, and did not want to hear it. The only thing spinning in his head was how many thalers these three shots cost him… Cast iron cannonballs, half a thaler, and gunpowder, a thaler per lare, and that’s four and a half thalers! They fired at them twice from the merchant’s stern, but the cannonballs missed. But then the Spanish flag began to crawl down, and was replaced not by a white one, but by the Union Jack, the flag of Britain.

— It can’t be, Peter, they’re lying! — Jaan Michels, the ship’s navigator, cried out in despair, — order them to stop!

On the mast of the brig “Red Tulip” the flags began to crawl, ordering them to stop. On the former Spaniard, now British, a flag was raised, indicating agreement. And indeed, the sails were lowered.

— I don’t care who it is, but they’ll pay the ransom! We’ve been chasing them all day! A thousand thalers, nothing less! — the simply enraged pirate captain whispered under his breath.

— Peter, they’re signaling that they want to send a boat to us! — the navigator shouted, looking through the telescope at the signals.

— Answer that we will accept the parliamentarians! Boatswain! Lower the gangway!

— We will do it! — and Anton Priest whistled his pipe.

The crew quickly began to carry out the boatswain’s commands, and the rope, but not the ceremonial, ladder appeared at the side of the brig. Well, Peter van Musch deigned to put on his ceremonial doublet. But he also hid a pair of double-barreled pistols on his belt. The captain lived by the principle: “You should not trust anyone.” And he was never wrong about this.

But from behind the side of the merchant ship, “The Seagull”, as van Musch finally saw, came out a rowboat, with eight oars. Two officers stood on the bow, one of them holding a white flag. Here, two parliamentarians came aboard the brig.

— Jacob Cooper, the ship’s captain, and Gabriel Twice, the navigator, — both introduced themselves, — and you, the notorious Peter van Musch, a Dutch privateer?

— That’s right, — the pirate grinned, adjusting his cat’s whiskers, — let’s go to my cabin, have some coffee and rum?

Van Mush noticed that his boatswain had persuaded the sailors from the launch to get up as well. And he had already passed them all clay mugs of rum. Herr Priest was a smart and efficient guy, which the captain of the Red Tulip always liked.

Cooper and Twice calmly entered the Dutchman’s cabin, and Vert Peter had to bend over hard so as not to crack his head. He was seven feet tall, after all, no less.

— Sit down, gentlemen, he’ll bring us some coffee and rum now… — the hospitable host suggested.

— And yet, Sir Peter, will we be forced to file a complaint against you with the Admiralty if you, shall we say, don’t give us a hundred sovereigns for the inconvenience?

— And that’s all… — Van Mush whispered.

And these were the last words the English heard. Peter instantly fired two pistols at the English gentlemen. He was slowly searching his waistcoat when the cook entered the cabin.

— See, my friend, how it all turned out? Put away the extra utensils, but leave the rum and coffee.

Peter looked at the bodies, freed from their outerwear and shoes. He drank his coffee slowly and smoked tobacco from his favorite pipe. There was no need to hurry, he just had to wait until evening.

***

— Anton, you are the captain today! — and he threw Jacob Cooper’s waistcoat and trousers to him.

— Peter, a hole? — and the navigator stuck two fingers into the hole.

— Well, forgive me.. I didn’t watch closely enough. Jaan, you are the assistant!

The navigator just shrugged and began to put on Gabriel Twice’s clothes. The bodies of the dead sailors from the Seagull lay at the side, also naked. An axe and a block lay nearby. Peter grinned, trying out the grippy handle of the axe.

And his pirates began to carry the bodies to the deck, where Herr van Musch quickly decapitated the dead. Peter looked at his work, rinsed his hands.

— Everything overboard, so that the “Chaika” wouldn’t see anything. And my axe in the boat!

Van Musch had difficulty dressing in a sailor’s outfit, and rowed with everyone else, and Jaan Michels and Anton Priest stood at the bow of the boat. Each had four pistols. And, as often happens in these latitudes, it was getting dark quickly, so a lantern was burning at the stern of the boat. They moved slowly, measuredly, and the “Chaika” crew did not notice the catch.

The pirates immediately scattered throughout the ship, sowing death and horror everywhere. But the English did not think about resistance, the poor things did not understand what was going on. Peter dragged the five survivors to the upper deck: the cook, the boatswain, the navigator, the owner of the cargo, and the junior officer. They were all sitting tied up near the captain’s cabin. Michels and Twice took all the navigation instruments and maps, and the box with money.

“The Red Tulip” moored alongside the English merchant, and the pirates busily lifted the cargo from the hold with a crane beam and lowered it onto their deck. Work was in full swing.

— It’s time to leave, Peter, — Michels reminded in a dull, hoarse voice.

— Don’t interfere, Jaan. I won’t miss what’s mine, — Peter answered angrily, grabbing his axe, — Well, where did you hide the rest? Where is the eloto? — Van Mush began the interrogation.

— You don’t know that, robber! — the merchant answered proudly.

— Well, all right… and Peter smiled wickedly, and his whiskers stood on end, like those of an angry cat.

He grabbed the boatswain by the hair, threw him to his knees, and chopped off his head. And he did it all in such a way that a stream of blood from the unfortunate man’s body drenched the rest of the Englishmen. They tried to jump up, frightened and stunned. But they fell on the deck, under the blows of the pirate’s terrible fists.

— You wouldn’t dare!

— Yes, I would!

Then the next to lose his head was the junior officer of the “Seagull”. And Peter threw his head overboard in a rage. He stood in front of the three unfortunates, and the blood from the blade of the axe continued to drip onto the deck.

— I’ll tell you everything if you let me go? — the cook cried out in despair, — will you really let me go? — the unfortunate man repeated again.

Peter could promise anything now. This was not the first time this had happened.

— Yes, I will let you go… — I saw where the gold is, I’ll show you the secret place. I spied it when the captain was having dinner. There’s a lot there, enough for you…

— Well, let’s go, you’ll show me, — Peter answered kindly, and stuck the axe into the deck at the feet of the tied Englishmen.

The cook, with his hands still tied, entered the cabin and pointed to the picture on the wall. Having broken a couple of souls there, Peter actually took possession of the heavy chest lying there, bound with iron. The key he had found on the captain Jacob Cooper, whom he had killed, came in handy here. He opened it and was simply stunned. It looked like no less than ten thousand Venetian ducats! Van Mush, in excitement, wiped his suddenly sweaty forehead with his bloody palm and smiled, showing his white, strong teeth.

— Will you let me go? — the cook asked hopefully.

— Of course I will, my friend. Right now.

The captain locked the chest with a key, which he hung around his neck, and led the now happy Englishman to the side of the ship. It was noticeable how he cheered up, counting on a quick release. But then Peter grabbed him in his arms and threw him into the sea. All that was heard was the sea splashing under the weight of the unfortunate man’s body. Peter van Mush also dragged the remaining ones to the side.

— Help! After all, we discovered where the gold is hidden! — the frightened merchant shouted.

— What is it, captain? What gold? — one of the pirates, the sailor Heike Blum, immediately ran up.

— They are lying, Heike, — and Peter gave the merchant a farewell slap, and threw him overboard.

— No, Heike. It is your captain who is lying! — the English navigator laughed, — he has made a mountain of gold here!

Here Peter threw both prisoners into the sea. He looked around, and there was no one nearby.

— Heike, let’s go, I’ll show you. Maybe we’ll find gold there! — and the captain led the sailor into the cabin, — Here, look, — and pointed to the chest.

Heike Blum smiled, tried to lift him up, nodded his head. But, to his misfortune, he turned his back to the captain, and the latter instantly drove his dagger under Blum’s left shoulder blade. The body began to sag, Peter looked almost affectionately into the pirate’s still living eyes, and almost tenderly said:

— There’s not much here. This is just mine…

***

Peter woke up with difficulty, the rum he had drunk in the evening was making itself felt. He moved away from the woman, the best lady of this tavern in Curacao, Mademoiselle Madeleine. She charged a ducat a night, but she was worth it, as Peter appreciated yesterday and today.

And then, he dreamed that the cannons began to speak. The heavy carronals thundered, so much so that his brig shook from the volleys. He ran to the deck, to the gunner, but he only pushed him away and he fell.

— Well, Peter van Mush! You will not be hanged here, but in Amsterdam! — the pirate heard a scream, and grabbed the key on his neck.

In an instant he woke up in horror, and opened his eyes wide. In front of his bed stood the Herr Governor himself with his guards, and behind them peered the face of Christopher Plumel, his sailor. – Where is my chest, where is my chest! — the desperate pirate kept shouting, with his hands in shackles but no pants, — I am not guilty of anything!

— You robbed the English ship “Seagull” and sent it to the bottom, killed the entire crew. You knew, you idiot, that you can’t hurt seagulls?

And Christopher Plumel stood hugging Madeleine, and next to them was Peter’s treasured chest. They both looked happy.

— Just let’s not ask in Amsterdam, my dear, — the woman whispered, — everyone there knows that I’m a whore. Now the New World is open to people like us. And we’ll go there with this gold.

— It’s better to take a bill of exchange, my dear. There is a smart Jewish banker here, and his brother lives in New Amsterdam. We’ll do everything cleanly and safely.

— You are so smart…

***

A prison cell is not a very good place for a nobleman, even a pirate, as Van Mush thought, lying on a mattress stuffed with grass. A small window covered with thick iron bars let in a little light, and the shackles on his hands and feet contributed to the philosophical mood of the mind.

— In the end, — the pirate said to himself, — every person is in prison. Of his own limitations, fears. I, however, was deprived of such moods. And, therefore, even in prison I am absolutely free! — he had already shouted.

Which was good, he was the only one bristling in the cell, and there was no need to try to communicate with some stranger, probably absolutely unpleasant. But then, interrupting such thoughts, the iron door opened, and two very richly dressed men entered the cell.

— Oh, gentlemen? Are you really put in this prison? — asked the pirate.

— No, Peter van Mush. We are here of our own free will.

— Oh, really? I don’t really understand such a lofty speech, I’ve forgotten everything… This is not an orchard with apple trees, but a prison.

— It’s wonderful that you haven’t lost your sense of humor here. Do you know that you will be executed in a week? And not here, but in England, as a robber? Quartered, I think? Am I right? — asked one of them of the other.

— Exactly so, — continued the other, — or, you will agree to difficult work and will be richly rewarded. And the matter is not very difficult. By the way, do you like the theater? — and for some reason the stranger laughed.

— Return ten thousand Venetian ducats, they were stolen from me, — the captain recalled, — for starters. And then we’ll talk.

— You’ll get it. And much more… You’ll have to play the Tsar of Muscovy at the shipyard for six months. It’s not an easy task, but the reward will be amazing. Well, actually, you have nothing more to lose, and you can gain a lot. In addition, you are an obvious adventurer, and if your talents are not overestimated, you can become the equal of Kar the Great.

— What? — Van Mush laughed, — gentlemen, is this a carnival? And I participate in it as Pierrot? Or, perhaps, Harlequin? It’s good that it’s not Malvina!

— Damn, damn witty, — the other agreed, and dabbed his eyes with a cambric handkerchief.

Both guests laughed, or perhaps not the guest, but the true owner of this prison. One of them, in a fit of laughter, even slapped the other on the shoulder. But then he quickly adjusted the lace of his cuffs. Lovingly and attentively.

— The main thing, Peter, is not to become poor Yorick from the play, — one of the guests interjected his thought, — it is stupid, indeed, to become an exhibit of the Kunstkamera. Otherwise, your head will be immersed in a jar of alcohol, and will be shown to various simpletons for a couple of coppers.

The condemned man sat down, and seemed to be completely dumbfounded by what he heard. What seemed like some kind of joke turned out to be simply a terrible reality. A nice ending to his life’s tenacity — a jar of alcohol for his very smart head! He looked at these gentlemen with dull eyes, and resigned himself to the fate prepared for him.

— Let the blacksmith unforge him, — muttered the first of the guests, — and the executioner will chop off his head, since he does not agree. The secret must be hidden… Van Mush, I think you have about ten minutes to live,

And the aristocrat looked at his pocket watch, then took out a gold snuffbox, and stuck a pinch of the aromatic mixture into his nose. A couple of seconds later he sneezed, and with an elegant movement wiped his nose with a cambric handkerchief. And such a fashionable gentleman took a gray cloth from a chair on which hung a rich waistcoat, a shirt of fine linen, trousers, stockings, shoes and a hat, and in addition — a sword…

Peter van Mush simply devoured the beautiful clothes with his eyes. Previously, only in his dreams could he see or touch such things. And now:..

The pirate looked at both aristocrats, and it was not noticeable that they were joking. Actually, Peter had long ago learned to distinguish such people. Capable of keeping their word. These gentlemen knew how to be, and not seem…

— True, you should be taught etiquette. Peter...And wean yourself off smoking in salons and austeries. Tsar Peter did not smoke tobacco… And carpentry is not foreign to you, it seems?

— Gentlemen, I didn’t say no…

— Gentlemen, I won’t tell

PART ONE. Find a Substitute

The Death of Peter Alexeevich

The cold of the street even here penetrated the clothes of those gathered, because it was still sultry February outside. Either winter would not let go, or the fear of the honorable men in the room was worse than the frost. The doors of the chambers of the royal palace were locked, the sovereign’s relatives stood guard with weapons in their hands.

There was no one superfluous here, in this bedroom, striking in its luxury. All the close boyars were at a loss, something terrible was happening…

The young tsar was dying in his bed. His legs were terribly swollen, the unfortunate man could barely breathe. Something incredible was happening — his father, Alexei Mikhailovich, died of a similar disease, Fyodor Alexeevich left after him, and now Peter Alexeevich was preparing to leave this world.

And a year ago Ivan Alekseevich, Peter’s brother, had died, and he was only twenty-nine years old. Everything was bad, disturbing and dreary.

As if a family curse was wiping out the new line of Russian tsars! Or, an incomprehensible and undisclosed betrayal was exterminating the rulers of ancient Rus’.

Wax candles in silver candlesticks illuminated the room. And indeed, during the day it was light and bright here, the sun’s rays played on the multi-colored glass in the forged window frames. But now those gathered had no time for that. They were captives of fear and mistrust, even towards each other.

The closest boyars had gathered, sitting on benches. Only seven people, no more and no less. And the patriarch was not invited here, even priest Bitka was not invited.

— What shall we do, boyars? — asked Prince Boris Alekseevich Golitsyn, — the tsar is dying, the Time of Troubles is knocking at our gates again...And now, soon a new Stenka Rain will appear!

— Thank God, the Tsar has an heir, Alexei Petrovich, — whispered Lev Naryshkin, — we will not remain orphans, and we have a future Tsar with us…

The boyar said this, took off his hat and crossed himself three times in front of the icons. He sighed heavily, and lowered his eyes, and leaned on his staff.

— Something bad is happening, boyars… Something bad… And who can we blame? Is Prince Fyodor Romodanovsky involved? — Andrei Ivanovich Golitsyn, the palace governor, looked at the others.

— And a year ago, Tsar Ivan Alexeevich passed away, leaving a widow and daughters… — Romodanovsky began, — apparently, the Miloslavskys and their relatives were able to reach Peter Alexeevich. And we did not keep an eye on it.

— So, Ivan was ill, wasn’t he? — Lev Naryshkin butted in again.

— No sicker than you, Prince-father! — Boyar Buturlin got really angry, — that’s true, he ate some mushrooms and died…

— Enough for you! — Naryshkin got angry again, — who will be with seven-year-old Alexei Petrovich? He will guard the throne for the Tsar-father, with all loyalty…

— What are you hinting at, Prince-father! — and Fyodor Romanovich cursed his interlocutor very badly, — so we, the Romodanovskys, serve the sovereigns honestly…

— Don’t hide behind the glory of Grigory Grigorievich…

— Calm down, my most wise and intelligent men! We are not sitting in a tavern, but in the sovereign’s palace! — Ivan Buturlin intervened, — we need to think about it. Morozov was a boyar, but he couldn’t, he was in exile… And who, I think, was in charge of everything in the Russian state? Whose orders are these people sitting under?

— Yes, I was! — Romodanovsky jumped up again.

— So don’t scare us, Fyodor Yuryevich! The Stroganovs and Vorontsovs and Velyaminovs are not behind you! You are sowing discord in Rus’ again, you have stolen little of everything! And the Cossacks won’t follow you, you know that yourself! And the Streltsy won’t either!

— Stop stirring up trouble for no reason! What are we going to do? — Buturlin tried to cool the heat of speech, — We argue and argue, but it’s bad with Pyotr Alexeevich…

— Under the minor tsar, Romodanovsky will rise again, — Golitsyn began alone, Andrei

— And what then? Underage Alexei Petrovich as tsar? — Lev Naryshkin intervened in the conversation, — this is not right…

— And under Alexei Petrovich, Avdotya, our tsarina… Will keep an eye on… — Fyodor Lopukhin suddenly spoke.

Everyone fell silent, and six pairs of angry eyes, without looking away, looked at the tsarevich’s relative in law. Then they all understood what Fyodor Abramovich Lopukhin was thirsting for… He himself will stand under the tsarina, and will appoint his brothers by orders, and the others will not breathe or groan… Even those who barely tolerated each other, like Boris Golitsyn and Fyodor Romodanovsky, nodded to each other. And Fyodor Yuryevich spoke cautiously, looking around, glancing at Golitsyn.

— We’ll do something smarter… We’ll announce, they say, that Pyotr Alekseevich is leaving… Right? We’ll be able to hide for two months that the Tsar has died…

Boris Alekseevich nodded, understanding where Romodanovsky was heading. But Andrei Ivanovich smiled unpleasantly, and looked at the Tsar’s bed. But Boris grabbed Andrey by the hand and whispered in his ear:

— When Alexey Petrovich comes into power, everything will happen to him… And we will marry him to a princess of good blood!

Romodanovsky looked calmly and firmly. Indeed, it is good that the Stroganovs are not in Moscow… And thank God. And what if they wanted to do more stubbornly and furiously… And it could turn out like the Cossacks wanted to do when liberating Moscow from the Poles in 1612 — to cut out the boyar families so that they would not sow discord.

— With a great embassy, to Holland… — he began to speak, — And we will send a messenger first. That they say, we need a double of the sovereign. The foreigner will be obedient to us. Whoever poisoned the tsar will get scared and, look, he will appear. But for now, for twenty years we need this…

— Pretender! — and Buturlin slapped his palm on the table, — we ourselves will put the Pretender on the throne!

— So why the Pretender? We will put him on the throne, and then take him down:. Quietly like that… — Fyodor Yuryevich continued, — no one will understand…

— If one of us was able to poison the legitimate tsar, then we will put the mummer down… When Alexei Petrovich turns twenty-one, then we will do it… — Lopukhin intervened, — and let everyone kiss the cross on that… Here. mine, soaped, family… The Patriarch of Antioch himself blessed it… Also of Greek workmanship…

And he placed the cross, decorated with enamels and stones, on the table in front of the other boyars. It was a rich thing, no words, although Lopukhin fibbed a little about the Greek workmanship.

Some boyars looked at the shrine with piety, while Romodanovsky and Buturlin looked at it as if it were a poisonous snake. But no one said a word against it. Lev Naryshkin was the first to kiss it, followed by Ivan Buturlin, then both Golitsyns, Fyodor and Mikhail Romodanovsky, and last of all, Lopukhin himself. — And one more thing… Avdotya will have to go to a monastery… — Golitsyn noted, — it is not right for the Russian queen to be a Dutchman’s wife. And we will not let a foreigner take a good wife… And his descendants, moreover, will not live… In the meantime, we are sending a messenger to Amsterdam. So that they can find someone like Pyotr Alekseevich!

The Secret of the Archangel Cathedral. The Tsar’s Hidden Tomb

Pyotr Alekseevich died at night, and only Father Bitka held a memorial service for him. He served right in the bedchamber.

— So, it all started, — Romodanovsky grumbled. — I kept the stone coffin for myself. but I will give it to the sovereign.: and crossed himself, — Mikhail. Take three carts on runners. of my mute servants and go to Moscow. Here is a letter for the rector of the Archangel Cathedral… There is a place there. in a distant dungeon… There he will bury Pyotr Alekseevich. And you will look after everything.

Mikhail Grigorievich, the son of the famous commander, Grigory Nikolaevich himself, went on campaigns more than once or twice. He also took part in the terrible battles for Chigirin, with all the force of the Turkish sultan. But now, they did such things that took your breath away… And they, the Romodanovskys, from the Starodub princes, from the Chernigov Rurikovichs, and here, to hide such things…

— Only for you. Fyodor Yuryevich… — Mikhail Romodanovsky muttered, and wiped his suddenly sweaty face with a Dutch handkerchief. — We are doing it, and what happens next, that makes it even more terrible:.

— And we will have to do even worse things… That’s it, go and hurry! Do it wisely! — and he hugged his brother, — understand, we are doing this not for ourselves, but for the Russian Kingdom. What discord, and they blame me for the death of Peter Alekseevich.

— But you are not guilty, are you? — Mikhail exclaimed hotly.

— No one knows how Tsar Fyodor was poisoned… The Miloslavskys curse the Naryshkins. The Miloslavskys could have paid back for the death of Ivan Alekseevich… They do such things… How Shuisky left Tsarevich Dmitry, and dug under Godunov himself… And he dug such a hole that everything fell into it, all of Mother Rus’. Go, Mikhail, don’t delay, I pray to Christ and God...And Fyodor Yuryevich took Mikhail Grigorievich’s hands in his own. He looked into his relative’s eyes for a long time. The courtier could not trust such a thing to anyone except his relative and loyal commander. The experienced warrior finally nodded his head. Fyodor quietly said:

— Here is the charter with my seal. Everything will work out for you. Do not doubt, and do everything firmly…

***

Ahead rode six fighting serfs, loyal and tested in heavy battles, then three carts moved. Behind rode ten more horsemen, Mikhail Grigorievich himself also galloped nearby, on his favorite argamak of Persian blood, worth a hundred rubles. Here were Fyodor’s mute servants, taken for protection, they were with the carts. Time dragged on, as if it had frozen. And the road seemed unbearably endless for Prince Romodanovsky. — Father Prince, we will soon arrive in Moscow! — said the eldest, Ivashka Prokudin.

Prokudin was good in battle, loyal, and Romodanovsky always distinguished this fighting serf. And Ivashka was dressed well, a hat of good cloth, with a marten trim, a caftan of Persian damask, a sabre in a rich morocco scabbard with silver plates on the side, and two pistols by the saddle. And Prokudin’s horse was good, frisky, bay.

— Thank you, Ivan, — said the prince, — be ready… Fight to the last, do not give up the carts!

— We will do everything, not for the first time!

So they rode up to the outpost near Zemlyanoy Gorod, where the Moscow Streltsy stood guard. And they were well dressed, and they had noble arquebuses with them. Romodanovsky knew that these warriors were good in any battle and would not flee from the field. He rode up to the senior guard and showed a letter with a seal from Andrei Ivanovich Golitsyn, the palace governor. – Everything is in order, go ahead, Mikhail Grigorievich! Remove the barriers! — the Streltsy foreman ordered his men.

The burly bearded warriors cleared the way, and Mikhail Romodanovsky’s caravan entered the city limits.

— It is not clear what is in the carts? — one Streltsy asked another, — it does not look like a boyar’s baggage.

— You, Senka, look less under the mats on the carts, it is not your business! — his comrade laughed.

Romodanovsky saw and heard such conversations, but he did not show that he was excited. Mikhail rode ahead, to Ivan Prokudin.

— Here is the letter, Ivan. Give it to the rector of the Arangel Cathedral in the Kremlin, Father Savvaty. Do you understand?

— How can I not understand? I will do everything!

And the intelligent and experienced warrior, having hidden the letter in his hat, urged his horse at a fast trot. Their caravan slowly moved along the narrow Moscow streets.

The bells rang for mass at the stone church. And to stand for the service, listen to the sermon and dine, as Mikhail Grigorievich thought with longing, but there was a difficult and terrible matter awaiting them. They rode up to the squat walls of Kitai-gorod, with its walls bristling with cannons. And they love to tell tall tales in Rus’ about foreign lands, about various fables, but they do not remember their own, about the terrible year 1617, how they repelled the attack of the troops of the Polish king Sigismund. And he reached the walls of Kitai-gorod, but did not defeat the Russian defense.

Prince Romodanovsky noticed Prokudin waiting for him at the Pokrovsky Gate. It was obvious that his horse was lathered and breathing heavily. The service man was in a hurry. A battle serf approached the boyar, holding his horse by the bridle.

— I have done everything, father. Here is his answer, — and he held out a sealed letter, — and verbally added that he was waiting for you at the Vozdvizhenskaya Tower of the Kremlin.

The prince glanced at the servant, then at the message, checked to see if the seal had been removed.

— How could I, my true cross, — and Prokudin crossed himself devoutly, — I have been in your service for a long time. I kissed your cross, boyar.

— Look, Ivashka, if you steal, I will not spare you! — and he took a Joachimsthaler from his purse, — but for your loyalty I will grant it, — and put the heavy coin in the serf’s hand.

— I am faithful to you until death, father, — and Ivan bowed low, — but the horse, look, is exhausted…

— Don’t hurry, wait for me at the Vozdvizhenskaya Tower.

And the detachment trotted toward the Kremlin. Well, the streets of Moscow were seething with life.Food vendors were bustling about — pie vendors, sbiten vendors and kvass makers, offering their wares. Beggars were sitting on the church porches, and how could they be without them? People were crowding around the blessed one. The man of God was praying to the church and bowing to the ground.

— Pray, Orthodox! The true Tsar has died! — the holy fool was shouting.

— What are you saying, Fedka! Pyotr Alekseevich is alive and well! — the kvass vendor was shouting as he ran up.

At these words, the holy fool fell to his knees and hit his forehead hard on the wooden pavement. He said nothing more, he just smiled and crossed himself fervently. A couple of women tried to stop the blood flowing down the blessed one’s face with rags. They finally made a bandage on his forehead, although it slipped slightly over one eye. The holy fool stood up, slowly moving his bare feet, swollen from the cold, and suddenly grabbed the stirrup of the boyar’s horse with a jerk. Mikhail Grigorievich even shuddered, and the horse looked sideways and began to back away. But the spirited argamak did not bite the blessed one, only sniffed and snorted discontentedly.

— Do not hurry, prince, you will have time to get to the cellar … — and the holy fool smiled with his toothless mouth, — I will not bless you, and I will not curse you. But if you do not save Alexei — the man of God, then the Lord will not have mercy on you… Ride with God, boyar, do your job, everything will work out for you…

And Ivashka the blessed one walked away from the boyar’s stirrup. Mikhail Grigorievich took off his hat and crossed himself in front of the church dome. The hand seemed to reach for the purse itself, and the silver, covered in suede, hit the snow on the pavement with a dull thud. — For a man of God! — Romodanovsky shouted, and lashed his horse with his whip.The caravan moved on and on, now a sergeant was riding ahead, shouting to the Muscovite people:

— Make way! Don’t stand still!

Sometimes passers-by turned around with displeasure, pressing themselves against the fences, others bowed to the boyar, recognizing the nobleman, and Mikhail kept thinking, recalling the stern words of the holy fool. And it became both easier and heavier on the boyar’s soul. He began to think about who to assign to the young prince, how to protect him, what kind of uncle to put next to him. Or even more than one…

While he was thinking like this, they rode past the shopping arcades to the Vozdvizhenskaya Tower of the Kremlin. They were there. The boyar crossed himself at the domes of the Resurrection Church

— We’ll go into the Kremlin with the baggage now, Ivashka. Wait for me here, guard the carts and horses tightly. Only the dumb will go with me.

— We’ll do everything, Prince Father.

True, they waited a long time… Finally, two priests approached at a quick pace, and one of them was the long-awaited Father Savvaty. The priest stood in simple attire, and for warmth he put on a simple felt cloak. The priest was inconspicuous, dry, his clothes were simple, only a rich silver pectoral cross gave away his high position. No one could notice any dignity or authority in him. But if a person looked more closely, he would immediately see the fierce light-blue eyes and thin, strong lips of the elder, everything that spoke of the indomitable will of the priest.

— Father Savvaty, — and the boyar kissed the priest’s dry hand.

— Let’s go, we must hurry, — the priest immediately got down to business, and quickly blessed Romodanovsky.

At the boyar’s sign, the mutes quickly unloaded the baggage from the carts. And even the body of the dead tsar, skillfully wrapped, looked more like an ordinary large sack. The stone coffin was also hidden in an inconspicuous box. Another mute prepared two oil lanterns and lit them. Everyone was ready.

Savvaty led the boyar to the already unlocked door, and shone a torch.

— We’ll go through the underground passage. We don’t need strangers’ eyes here.

Romodanovsky nodded, agreeing. It was impossible to go straight to the narthex of the Archangel Cathedral. There were always a lot of people nearby. And indeed, the priest was very smart, as if Fyodor Yuryevich had spoken about him…

And he had heard about the underground passages under the Kremlin. They said that everything was dug up, like ant tunnels underground. And under the Grand Palace there was a stone gallery, and under all the towers, and there were exits to the Moscow River.

The body was carried down easily, but it took some effort to get the coffin out of the box. It was impossible to turn around on the narrow staircase of the tower. But then they found themselves in a gallery, still built of white stone. Mikhail glanced at the low, oppressive vaults, darkened by time. The air here was heavy, damp, as if thickened, and it was hard to breathe. Oil lanterns only slightly dispersed the darkness, but the darkness seemed to thicken in the corners, did not run away from the light, but only retreated until time came to take over again. The tongues of this blackness seemed to reach out to the uninvited guests, either frightening them, or, on the contrary, luring them into their domain. Romodanovsky spoke Italian, and now recalled the verses of the great Dante Alighieri in his Divine Comedy.It began to seem that he had found himself in Hell itself, or at least in its vestibule.

Every step echoed in his head, and the boyar listened, afraid of a trick. Something rustled, and Romodanovsky had already grabbed his pistol and cocked the trigger of the wheel lock.

— It’s just mice, my son, — Father Savvaty immediately reassured him.

True, the priest could not see in the darkness, otherwise he would have noticed the hunched figure of a man watching them from the side passage.

Well, the mutes carried the sad baggage further, it was already quite close.

***

— Light it up, boyar … — Father Savvaty said very muffled, taking an impressive bunch of keys from his belt.

Mikhail raised the lantern, and the priest quickly inserted the forged key into the keyhole of the lock and turned it three times. He opened the heavy door bound with iron strips, went inside, and after three minutes of heavy waiting, finally said:

— You can go…

He held a lantern in his hand to his face, so that the tongue of fire was reflected in the icy eyes of the old man. Fire and ice seemed to have united in this priest…

— Don’t hesitate, go ahead… — the priest ordered.

Here was the crypt, where the sarcophagi of the great princes and tsars of Moscow and all Rus’ stood.

— But Boris Godunov’s grave is not here… And here is a place for Peter Alekseevich, — and Father Savvaty pointed out the place.

The priest crossed himself for a long time and read a prayer, while the mutes set up the sarcophagus. Then Father Savvaty himself put Peter Alekseevich’s body in order, at his sign the deceased was laid in his final, stone resting place and closed with a lid. The limestone slab covered the young king.

— So what now? — asked the priest. – Tomorrow morning the Great Embassy will set out for the West. They have already spread a rumor that the Tsar will go to Holland, but secretly, unrecognized. That is what the Boyar Duma has decided. We have had enough of the Troubles and the slaughter.

— Both are true, — and Father Savvaty crossed himself, for sure, for the tenth time.

— And then, they agreed that when Alexei Petrovich turns twenty-one, he will sit on the fatherly throne.

— Really? — the priest doubted, — but will they really give up the throne to him? If someone takes it?

— Everyone kissed the cross on the fact that Alexei Petrovich will ascend the throne at twenty-one, — Romodanovsky said sternly and severely.

— It is one thing to decide, another thing to do. And who decided Peter, they never found out?

In response, Romodanovsky shook his head. Well, you can’t say that everyone was thinking about Fyodor Yuryevich? He knew what they were whispering about in the corners: They say that the Romodanovskys are from the Rurikovichs, the Starodub princes, and they themselves want to climb onto the royal throne…

— Okay… I’ll take you to the Moscow River, so that you don’t become too familiar. And I’ll send my servant to your serfs to take them to that place. Well, let’s go, boyar…

And they went along the underground passages, which Father Savvaty knew like the back of his hand. Once Romodanovsky already thought, sinfully, that they were lost, or the priest had led them into an underground trap, but no, they came out through the cellars of the Church of St. Anna to the Moscow River itself.

— Well, go with God, my son… — and Father Savvaty blessed the boyar.

— Here, for the remembrance of my father, Grigory Grigorievich, — and Mikhail took out the prepared purse.

— I will pray for the defender of Rus’, — and the priest crossed himself, — and for you too…

Father Savvaty turned and again disappeared behind the forged door, as if Mikhail Grigorievich had dreamed it all, this whole difficult day. The boyar sighed, put his hand on the hilt of his rich saber. His soul felt lighter, so it was all over, he had done the job. And at the church fence the horses were already neighing, the carts were creaking, finally, he could rest in his Moscow estate.

New Conspiracy

Sophia Learned a Lot

Sophia Alekseyevna sat in her favorite Italian armchair today, rereading a useful little book. And what can I say? It was boring to sit in the little room, locked up. Although there was nothing to complain about… Peter does not skimp on food or maintenance. Still, he treats her honorably, and he did not send her to a distant monastery, he left her here, in Moscow, to live. True, in the Novodevichy Convent, but so what…

So she sat and reread her favorite books, drank berry broth. She reached for the silver goblet again, but it was empty.

— Palashka! — she shouted to the hay girl, — bring a full jug at once!

— Right now, mother, it will be done! — the servant answered, without arguing, and ran to do it.

She returned, filled the cup with berry drink, and sat down again on the low stool at the mistress’s feet, and began to hum something to herself. Sophia knew Palashka’s character and her habits. She would not pester her herself, but would wait until the princess asked: What news or rumors does Pelageya have in Moscow? Only then would she begin to broadcast. And she always tells so many funny things!

With a sigh, the princess put down Ovid’s verses, and so softly, with her foot shod in a morocco shoe, pushed Palashka in the back.

— Well, what rumors and talk are there in Moscow, Pelageya? Tell me without concealment!

— So, mother, it is a secret and terrible matter! A loyal man from the Kremlin came… He swore that he wasn’t lying… But he dug in his heels, the scoundrel, saying that he would only tell you, and he asked for a big reward — ten rubles!

— Well, well… — Sophia became keenly interested, — well… Take a cloak for him, and bring him to the guardhouse, near the secret gate. When it gets dark, I’ll listen today. Here, for your troubles… — and she gave Palashka two altyns.

The hay girl left. The princess looked at the door, was it closed? She quickly jumped up from her chair, closed it with a heavy bolt. She herself sat down on the couch, found a secret place under the bookcase, and fished out an iron chest. Her treasury was small, but still, she had five hundred efimki. She counted out twenty large silver coins, hid them in a suede purse. Then she put the chest back in place and then quietly unlocked the door, opened it slightly and listened to the steps in the corridor. No, thank God, it was quiet…

She had to be careful, she knew that among her servants there were those bought by the Naryshkins and Romodanovskys. True, the princess trusted Palashka.

***

There were cold appetizers on a silver platter in front of Sophia, but she barely tried the pork, which she always loved. She didn’t want to eat. She kept thinking, what does the stranger want to say? Then she finally decided, again correctly, the story of Stenka Razin’s treasure. There are many such stories in Rus’, and many storytellers who shouted: “Word and deed” ended their worthless lives on the rack.

And then, the dashing Cossack scared the Tsar-father well, he got all the way to Moscow. And if Prince Miloslavsky had not deceived the ataman during the negotiations, having captured him by deception, who knows how it all could have ended?

Here the princess only shook her head, driving away the terrible gloom. An old, terrible thing… And now, they say, Petrushka is going to Europe… And is it ever seen, for the Tsar of All Rus’, to go to overseas spies, to lower his honor? Russian Tsars are of the most ancient lineage, even from Augustus-Caesar, this is known to all.And he in the carriage, and to Amsterdam?

Oh well, he is the Tsar now, he knows better. And they brought her a decree that in Moscow instead of the Sovereign the Five-Membered Council will remain, and above them, of course, the irreplaceable Fyodor Yuryevich Romodanovsky, and the voivode by marriage Mikhail Grigoryevich…

After the mass she took a book, to while away the time. Again you see Latin, and how without it? Well, and if you know this language, then you can overcome all the wisdom of books. And now learned men write their works only in Latin. Convenient — no translator is needed. And a person who does not know will not pollute with unworthy hands, and will not weigh down his unworthy and heavy mind with the blinding radiance of Providence! And she herself with difficulty comprehended so little, only began to move towards the comprehension of bright Truths.

But then there was a knock on the door, distracting from such important thoughts. The door to the room creaked, and Palashka’s shadow appeared on the threshold:

— Mother, a man has arrived, he’s waiting… I’ve already brought a lantern.

— Okay, let’s go, — Sophia said in a deliberately low voice.

They quickly walked through the passages, came out into the stone-paved courtyard. At least there was no mud… And found themselves in the gatehouse. Palashka, clever girl, locked the door and turned to the hostess, expecting praise. But she remained silent. There was only one room here with a table on which a tallow candle was burning, and there were four chairs. Seeing who had entered, the secret guest jumped up and stood by the wall. But the princess graciously waved her hand, allowing him to sit down. And she sat down opposite. Pelageya stood behind her hostess.

The stranger took off his felt cap, turned his head towards the icons, crossed himself three times and bowed very low.

— I have come with secret news. And I tell the truth, here is the holy cross for you, princess!

— Well, tell me…

***

— I work as a servant at the patriarchal courtyard. My pay is small, but it is a sin to complain, it is enough for bread. So, yesterday there was a lot of work — I unloaded two carts with firewood, then ten sacks of flour, two sacks of salt, three barrels of salted fish. Two barrels of pickled cucumbers. And those cucumbers are so wonderfully good, because the brethren always use currant leaves for this purpose…

— But get to the point… — the princess interrupted such a tricky speech.

— Well, that’s what I’m saying… I carried a lot of things into the cellar, and then, going down for a tool, I noticed a light in the stone cellar…

And the man glanced meaningfully at the princess, smoothed his red hair, and continued:

— It’s dark there… I walked for a long time, it’s scary there, in the darkness. I was very scared, but I walked. I crept up carefully, noticed Father Savvaty, from the Archangel Cathedral, but he wasn’t alone…

Here Sophia herself couldn’t restrain herself, but slapped her palm on the table and muttered:

— Don’t keep me in suspense, you scoundrel!

— So, — he continued, — it was boyar Romodanovsky. And with him were about ten of his serfs. They were dragging a heavy sack, and a stone coffin, obviously not light. Father Savvaty let them into the cathedral’s basement. They didn’t notice me.

Sophia put her palm under her heavy chin and stared at the messenger. He ah, moved back to the wall, scared. – This is for you, for the news, — and the princess put twenty-four thalers on the table in front of the storyteller, — and for silence. And if you chatter about it, you know yourself, Romodanovsky’s serfs will quickly drown you in the river.

— How could I not know, princess-mother… That’s why I came to you, our intercessor.

— Go. Palashka, see him off, and come back!

The hay girl left with the unnamed man, and Sophia stayed behind to think… The princess knew what her name meant, and she was very proud. Faith, Hope, Love, and above them — Sophia, that is, Knowledge. And she tried to do everything wisely. But now? Savvatiy, the Archangel Cathedral, a sack, a stone coffin… And nothing else could have happened, except for the secret burial of my brother, Petrusha… So that’s how it all happened, the boyars and Natalya Kirillovna’s son were leaving… First my brother Ivan, and then NGO… And what to think? We must do it, but secretly. And first, we must find out for ourselves what and how…

Secrets of the crypt of the ancient cathedral

— Today Pelageya sent Dormidont and Ustyana, my serfs, to me, — the princess immediately blurted out as soon as the hay girl returned.

— But it’s late, mother.

— Never mind, Pelageya. They’ll get some sleep later, we can’t delay!

Sophia felt that she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep today. So why delay? Afraid of darkness and basements? She wasn’t particularly afraid of such things. But she had to KNOW, and know for sure. And then, God willing, her time will come, and she will pay back the boyars… She will drag the whole filthy pack to the chopping block, and will not harm anyone. They will answer for their father and for their brothers, Fyodor and Peter. The dogs have seen enough of Poland, they have lost the fear of God.She could only eat a small piece of gingerbread now, she could only feel her face burning. She looked in the mirror, a Venetian work, and wanted to slap herself on the cheeks, she barely restrained herself and whitened her forehead, cheeks and chin. She always wanted to do this when she wanted to hide what she really felt. She thought about it and took the ring with poison, Not for the serfs, but for herself, if they caught her in the underground hall. And she took the stiletto with her, prepared a dark cape, and finally sat down in the chair to wait for her people.

She had to wait a long time. She almost dozed off, sitting on the pillow. But then both young men came in, two grabs on different matters. They were supposed to execute both of them, but the princess saved the right people. And she did not want blood to be spilled, and she received considerable benefit. Now the forgiven thieves and robbers ran a hardware store in Moscow and repaired locks.

— Good health, princess-mother, — muttered Dormidont, holding his hat in his hand.

Sophia deigned to look at both of them. And that’s it! They are dressed well, like wealthy townspeople, caftans and boots, beautiful belts. And you can’t tell what both of them have been doing recently!

— I need a service from you. I’ll pay you five rubles.

— Without murder? — Ustyan asked hopefully, — we have prayed for our sins…

— To pick the lock, go to the church basement, and fill the coffin lid. No big deal.

— We are always ready to serve, our benefactress!

— We are going right now, through the underground passage. To the Archangel Cathedral…

— We are indebted to you for the rest of our lives. We will go there too, we will not be afraid. We have the tackle with us, we can open any lock. And we took a small crowbar too, — Ustyan added.

— Well, then, let’s go…

Dead Peter Alexeevich

Pelageya walked ahead, one of the servants who knew which of the doors of the Novodevichy Convent led to the Kremlin dungeon. The passages connected all the palaces and monasteries into one whole, the main thing was not to get lost among the branches of these tangled stone galleries. But Sophia knew them very well, and could not get lost. But, she would have to go far…

The hay girl opened the lock of the heavy door with a forged key, and with difficulty opened the entrance. The hinges creaked with strain.

— Oil it later, — the princess said grumpily.

— I will do it, mother!

— Although no, leave it like that, — a new order was given.

Dormidont grinned, but quickly hid the smile in his thick beard. Ustyan managed to remain silent, and even raised the painted lantern higher.

— Come down, why are you frozen? — the princess ordered again.

A steep staircase made of slabs of white, although already blackened stone led down. The ceiling was barely a fathom, vaulted. Cobwebs and caked dust were woven from the stones.The spider’s threads glittered silver in the light of the lanterns.

The serfs’ footsteps were muffled by their wooden heels, but the iron heels of their goat shoes clinked, and quite loudly. Sophia winced in annoyance that she had not thought of it…

— Mother, I have a piece of linen, wrap your shoes to protect yourself from sin,: Ustyan whispered.

The woman did not argue, and there was no need to refuse such sensible advice. Now her steps became silent too. So the three of them walked along this underground road.

At one of the turns they heard the clatter of boots. The serfs hastily hid their lanterns under the hems of their caftans. Oppressive darkness fell upon them and seemed to surround the princess and her people. They stood like that for a long time, waiting for the steps to die down. Ustyan looked out into the gallery, but saw neither light nor strangers.

— That’s it, you can go, — whispered the dashing man.

It was hard, after all, the air was heavy, sultry. Sophia was in a hurry, and almost mixed up the doors, but then returned to the right place.

— Here, that door, — she uttered the almost cherished words.

The princess brought the lantern to the keyhole. Fyodor began to work, picking up the master keys from his bunch. The job was done neatly. Sophia illuminated the crypt, and began to look for the right sarcophagus. She searched for a long time, but then remembered the location of the graves. Finally, she found it, a long sarcophagus made of limestone, and without a single inscription.

— Here, — the princess said quietly, — lift the lid, but be careful.

Sophia noticed how the two ear-cutters exchanged glances, but remained silent. They knew her tough character. Ustyan took out his crowbar, and Dormidont his. A tricky thing, reminiscent of the letter G, with one end flattened.And it was necessary for them to open doors and break locks. They lifted the lid from both sides, only sighed heavily, but removed it.

Sophia crossed herself with her right hand, and in her left she continued to hold the lantern. The coffin smelled of incense and fragrances, she carefully removed the shroud from the dead man’s face. On the forehead, as expected, were wafers with prayers, the jaw was tied with a silk scarf. The dead man’s eyes were sunken, but a noticeable birthmark on the left cheek was still there. Sophia closed her eyes, crossed herself, her heart was beating fast — fast.

It was her dead brother Peter Alekseevich. The Tsar and Grand Duke of All Rus’ lay in his deathbed, awaiting the trumpets of the Archangels.

She came to her senses with difficulty, and motioned to close the coffin. Dormidont and Ustyan worked quickly, but they almost dragged the princess back on themselves. The woman could not come to her senses. Already at the door to the dungeon, she whispered with difficulty to the frightened Palashka:

— Give each of you three chervonets from my money…

Conspiracy

— Why didn’t you bring the brew! — Sophia screamed, beside herself with rage, — you weak fool! Oh, my God! How long have I been lying there without strength?

— It’s only been three hours, mother… — Palashka whispered, frightened, — I’ll be right back!

— Wait… Here, for your troubles, — and she gave the servant two efimki. — and if you betray me, by God, I’ll strangle you with my own hands… Bring the potion, quickly!

Pelageya ran out of the room, and Sophia’s hand reached for the jug of wine and the goblet. But she stopped halfway, and her fingers began to drum on the tabletop. She remembered that you can’t mix wine and heavy herbal infusion, it will be bad… She closed her eyes, her head ached terribly.

— Mother, here, I brought it, — and Palashka put a cup of Chinese porcelain on the table.

And silver is bad for the potion, and clay is no good, as if it absorbs everything, both taste and smell. And the best of all is Venetian glass and porcelain. The servant tried the infusion, that was the custom, and only then did the princess drink it all to the bottom. It immediately became easier, the pain was washed away like a wave.

— Pelageya… Which of the servants do you know Ivan Alekseevich Tsykler and the okolnichy Aleksey Prokofievich Sokovnin?

— Sokovnin’s estate is not far from the Church of St. Nicholas the Red Bell in Kitai-gorod, and Ivan Alekseevich is nearby. I know many more, including the housekeeper Vasily…

Sophia now had no doubts about what she had planned. Anger and rage rose to her heart. She sat down at the table, picked up the writing board, and began writing.

Ivan Alekseevich, may you have many years of health!

I have learned of a secret and evil matter, and I want to inform you of it.

I know that you are devoted not to me, but to the entire Russian Land, and without you nothing can be done.Among the Streltsy you are strong and respected, and now their courage is needed. If you want to know what the need has arisen, come today to the monastery, to the secret gate. Pelageya will meet you. Princess Sophia.

The woman sealed the message with her signet and handed it over to her messenger, the hay girl. What else could she do? There were no others.

— Here is Pelageya, you are our only hope… — and she handed over the letter, — and money for the road… Dress warmly, it is still cold outside…

— I will do everything, — whispered Palashka, hiding the message behind the collar of her clothes, — do not doubt it!

Sophia closed her room for now, as soon as the hay girl left. It would be good if her letter became a bird and flew to Colonel Tsykler herself. And you don’t need any messengers or envoys, your soul wouldn’t hurt… And so, sit and wait for what will happen…

Dumny nobleman Ivan Tsykler

Ivan Eliseevich sat at the table, slowly studying the Russian map. And where was this very Verkhotursk, where he was appointed governor. What can I say? From a half-colonel, to a governor, an honorable place, although the Urals are not close. They called him to Moscow last year, they were supposed to send him to Azov and Taganrog, to build fortresses… Well, the Tsar-father ordered, so that’s how it should be. And then, forty-one years already, look, everything will work out and he will be able to become an okolnichy, and then, who knows, a general… But then all thoughts were interrupted by the cry of his son.

— Father, you have a messenger, a guest! — the eldest son, Elisha, immediately said, entering the room. They named him after his grandfather, who died forty years ago near Riga. Ivan didn’t even remember his father, who left this earthly vale when he was barely a year old.That year, Tsar Alexei Mikhailovich besieged the city of Riga, and Colonel Yelisey Tsikler with his regiment was with the entire army, honestly fought the Swedes. Well, Yelisey Ivanovich had already been recruited for the Tsar’s service, about three years ago. In the dragoon regiment, and not on the stove, in some Prikaz.

— And from whom?

The son, a smart one, bent down and whispered in his father’s ear. Ivan Eleseevich immediately jumped up, approvingly patted the heir on the shoulder, and ran down the stairs of his father’s house. The building was solid, stone. The chambers were two stories high, with eight windows on each, and a noble ascent, carved from seasoned oak, led to the second, the master’s.

— The gatehouse, father! — Yelisey shouted.

Ivan appreciated it and quickly, his boots creaking on the stone-paved courtyard, entered the servants’ house. The serf Vasjatka stood at the door and led the master into a small nook. There sat a woman, one of the servants, in a sheepskin coat and her face wrapped in a shawl made of cheap cloth.

— Close the door. And bring two mugs of apple broth.

— I’ll do everything, — the serf quickly answered.

Then a woman’s hand flew out from under the sheepskin coat like a snake across the table to Tsykler, and a small letter deftly jumped into the palm of the Duma nobleman. Ivan read the message in an instant.

— I’ll be there, don’t doubt it, — Tsykler answered.

The hay maid bowed, took the letter and burned it right in the flame of the candle standing on the table. Only ashes and melted wax from the princess’s seal remained.

— I’ll go… — and the messenger rose from the bench.

— Well, at least drink a little something sweet. They’ll bring it right away.

— Good..

They brought clay mugs, the woman drank the brew almost in one gulp, bowed and left the rich house of the Duma nobleman.

***

Tsikler remembered the message almost by heart, to be honest, two plans were born in his head at once. Again, as in 1687 to inform the young tsar, to assure him of his devotion… Or… To go to Sophia, and then decide… But what’s the point in conspiracies, he reassured himself, Ivan Alekseevich had been dead for a year, and after Peter’s death the kingdom could only go to Alexei Petrovich, but certainly not to Sophia Alekseevna. She could only become the ruler until the tsar’s marriage, his coming of age

Having thought so, Ivan Eliseevich calmed down. But, since he had promised, he had to go. He didn’t want to, he thought about it, kept turning over the pages of the Psalter, but then he made up his mind.

— Nikishka! — he shouted to the serf, — get the horses ready, and you’ll go with me!

After a short time, his man was standing in the yard with two saddled horses. Ivan Eliseevich easily mounted his favorite stallion, the serf rode a little behind. The weather for the month of February was not that good, the main thing was that there was no strong wind

They reached the monastery in a little while or more. Tsikler dismounted, leaving Nikishka with the horses. The Duma nobleman himself went to the gatehouse. It was good that he at least dressed more simply, he was careful not to be seen by strangers.

He met workers and pilgrims, but it seemed they did not recognize him. He finally turned into a gate, opened a simple, inconspicuous creaking door, and found himself in a modest cell. Here, at the oak table, in a fur coat covered with Persian damask and a velvet scarf, sat Sophia Alekseyevna, deigning to read a book.

— So I have come, princess. At your word, — said Tsikler.

— Sit down, Ivan Eliseevich! I know that you are faithful to Tsar Peter, and even more so to the oath to the Russian Kingdom. And that you decided so and chose so ten years ago. No offense, Peter has grown up, and a girl cannot sit on the throne… But your oath has passed, it has all gone, after all, the boyars betrayed, and killed first Ivan Alekseevich, and then Pyotr Alekseevich.

— It can’t be! — Tsikler jumped up from the bench, — who would go for such a thing? And the sovereign is leaving abroad… Pyotr Alekseevich is alive!

— I would not lie. Why? He lies in a stone coffin, in the Archangel Cathedral, in a secret crypt. Should I show you, or are you afraid?

— No, I’m not afraid… — the Duma nobleman whispered quietly, — although it’s scary, I believe you, princess. But if that’s the case, loyal people must see that Tsar Peter is dead. Alone, I can’t do anything. And the Streltsy officers must know this for sure, and the Cossacks… Then… And what do you want?

— I’ll only execute the boyars, and under Alexei Petrovich I will guard the throne and the Russian Tsardom like a faithful dog until the prince marries.

— Ok…

— I’ll expect you in a day. Bring crowbars and lanterns with you.

Conspirators at the coffin

Princess Sophia herself led Tsykler through an underground passage into the crypt of the Archangel Cathedral, she didn’t trust others. With her were her irreplaceable servants — Ustyan and Dormidont.Key keepers, so to speak, to pick any lock, to open any door,

And with Ivan Tsykler went his relatives-in-law, Alexey Prokofievich Sokovnin, and Fyodor Matveyevich Pushkin. Those whom the Duma nobleman trusted, and those who trusted him. The strelets sergeants from the Tsykler regiment went, Vasily Filippov, Fyodor Yarozhin and the Cossack Pyotr Luyanov. Ivan Eliseevich thought that it was necessary to inform the Quiet Don as well.

It was a long way to go and very dangerous — three people are one thing, and seven are another. Well, what can you do, and they got there. Let Ivan Eliseevich wipe his face with a handkerchief endlessly at the end of the journey.

— It’s hard to breathe, princess, how much longer? — Pushkin could not resist, — how long should we rest?

— Don’t hesitate, follow me, — Sophia ordered in a whisper.

— It’s okay, it can be harder on campaigns. — the archers also spoke up.

But then. they passed three more passes. and found themselves at the treasured door. Ustyan and Dormidont took hold of the noble castle, but it did not hold out either. The door opened.

Sophia, in spite of not running in.

— We need to light… — the princess either asked or ordered.

The archers lit torches, and Sophia walked past the stone sarcophagi, cut with the intricate ligature of an old letter. And here, finally, is that very one…

— Ustyan, Dormidont! Lift the lid! — And Sophia Alekseyevna made an imperative gesture

There were no unnecessary words in response. The archers began to light, and now held oil lanterns, extinguished the torches and put them away out of harm’s way. It became quiet in the crypt, it seemed everyone had forgotten how to breathe. Only the nasty scraping of stone grains on stone was heard.

— Be careful, — the princess whispered, almost begged.

— Everything is already… — Dormidont reassured, and the serfs removed the lid.

Sophia began to cross herself quickly, and when she calmed down, carefully turned up the veil. Even now she closed her eyes…

— Exactly, it was him, — Tsykler’s voice cut through the silence, — I have seen him, Pyotr Alekseevich, many times. The face, everything is exact…

— He is, our late sovereign, — Sokovnin confirmed.

All the service people silently pulled their hats off their wild heads and crossed themselves. At least here they were able to fast with the sovereign in a Christian manner. — And we saw him when we stood guard at the Trinity-Sergius Monastery, — the Streltsy confirmed, — Exactly! The body must be taken. We will carry our sovereign to the Kremlin in our arms, and give him a funeral. All the Streltsy will go.Sophia Alekseyevna! We will put Alexei Petrovich on the throne, and impale all the boyars!

Neither Sophia, nor Tsykler with Sokovnin expected such words. This storm will completely cover them! And whether we will be able to swim out or not, only the Lord will know!

— We need to talk to the colonels, — Fyodor Pushkin began to mumble.

— We need to prepare the matter… — Ivan Alekseevich also began to speak, — so that everything will work out!

— What are you talking about, boyar children! — Vasily Filippov whispered furiously, — or do you not know people, the Streltsy and soldiers! With Peter dead, no one will stop us, and if you start whispering in the corners, the first Streltsy centurion will run to the Preobrazhensky Prikaz “Shout out words and deeds”! What will they think? That you are deceiving them, that you want to ignite the Time of Troubles. I’m not afraid, my business is military, I’m going to die anyway. But we’ll all end up together, on the chopping block of Bolotnaya Square. And then we’ll hang on the spit side by side!

— It’s stupid to take on a blackamoor, — Sokovnin shook his head, — we need to do it smart, prepare…

— They’re getting ready to go to Amsterdam. Apparently, the replacement, the boyar, the Tsar is already waiting there. If we delay, no one will believe us, — Sophia also spoke, — and I’m giving five thousand chervonets for this matter. And another two thousand to the Cossacks.

— That’s what we’ll do… We’ll talk to the colonels and the sergeants, and start with God’s help, — and Tsykler crossed himself, not taking his eyes off the dead Tsar.

The Streltsy, who were already standing around the sarcophagus without hats, also crossed themselves. It was visible how their faces suddenly darkened. They realized that the people at the top were up to something.

Conversations and negotiations

Ivan Eliseevich sat, moving chess pieces on the board. He looked at the pawns, and it seemed to him that they were real, living people. Look, the foreman of his regiment, Stremanny, Ilya Shchukin, will turn up now. The guy died near Azov because of Lefortovo and Sheinova’s stupidity. And how many like him there were, it’s hard, oh hard to think about… The Cossacks took Azov with an army of five thousand sabres, and this time they captured the fortress for the Tsar. And these… Pathetic sadists-grimacers, inept, they killed so many people during the siege, it’s scary to remember… And now he’s taking up the sabre again. Tsykler wasn’t afraid of these funny, pea-colored buffoons in German clothes. Any strelets, a warrior from childhood, fights with a sabre so that it’s a joy, and hits the target with a squeak as it should be. And he chops with a halberd, so that blood flies in all directions. He’s seen it himself… You have to attack quickly, in the Swedish way, without looking back, and take out the enemies with cannons, and so that the guns stand in the front row, and with grapeshot, grapeshot… But who will Sokovnin bring to his house now? Well, snacks are on the table, there is something to welcome guests with. And salted mushrooms, cucumbers too, and finely chopped corned beef, freshly baked bread. Liqueurs and liqueurs. And it’s strange, he saw how these Kukuy Swiss stare at him. He, Ivan Tsykler, is like a splinter in their finger for them. Of course, the son of a Swiss in the service, and now he, and Fonvisin, a Russian from the Russians. And he doesn’t smoke tobacco, and he doesn’t walk around in German clothes. So it’s not about clothes, or a wig, but about the desire to serve and one’s own mind. And it’s stupid to compare Russia with Sweden… How many miles is it to Smolensk? And to Astrakhan? And the writers keep talking about the roads, saying that the roads are bad...So who will maintain these roads? There are few peasants, and they are not able to repair these roads endlessly. And the riflemen need to be mounted on horses, so that they can reach distant borders not on foot, but on horses. They will be able to get there faster, and will not get tired on the road. And before the battle, they will leave the saddles, stand in the ranks and fight, fresh and cheerful! As in the army of Alexander the Great long ago happened. He himself read Arrian.

Okay, enough dreaming. There will still be an opportunity to do important things. It seemed that voices were heard from below in the basement, and the floorboards creaked on the stairs. His serf, Nikishka, opened the doors, and the sergeants of three regiments entered the room: Dmitry Vorontsov, Stremyanny, Veniamin Baturin. A total of ten people known to him.

— Sit down, comrades and glorious warriors! Here are the snacks on the table, and the liqueurs in the decanters!

— Thank you, Ivan Eliseevich, for the honor and kindness! — answered Silin Fyodor.

— Yes, we are glad to be with you! — added Grigory Elizariev.

Those who came sat down and saluted the treat. They drank a lot, drained several dark green bottles, and Tsykler decided that it was time to begin. The Duma nobility stood up and said:

— To the new sovereign, to Alexei Petrovich!

— Allow me, Ivan Eliseevich, our tsar is Peter Alexeevich! — noted Frol Ignatiev, a sergeant of the Stremenny Regiment, — he rules, lives and prospers!

— The boyars have thought up treason, they have destroyed Peter Alexeevich. He died, I personally saw him in the coffin, lying in the Archangel Cathedral, I kiss the cross on him, — and the Duma nobleman kissed the cross, and crossed himself before the holy icons, — you yourself know, I brought my regiment to Pyotr Alekseevich, and honestly fought in his wars. If you wish, I will show you the burial of those chosen by you.

— And what about the boyars? — Grigory Elizariev asked loudly, excitedly taking hold of the tabletop.

— They have prepared a replacement tsar, from abroad. He is waiting for them in Holland, for this purpose the Great Embassy is being sent.

— But look at them, what bastards they are… — Frol Ignatiev muttered.

— And so, we will raise the regiments, and to the Kremlin. We will appoint Alexei Petrovich as sovereign, and punish the boyars for treason. Am I right?

— How could I be more right, Ivan Eliseevich! — they all said at once.

— And this, from Princess Sophia and Alexei Petrovich, — and Tsykler put his purse on the table, — everything that is fair.

— We will manage in a week. Otherwise we need to hurry, show the sovereign’s body, so that the archers don’t have any doubts, — Ignatiev spoke again, — we’ll determine about twenty elected people…

— Look, I made a drawing of where Peter’s stone coffin lies, you won’t be mistaken…

— You speak correctly, Ivan Eliseevich. Otherwise they might notice you, and we’ll manage ourselves, — agreed the constable Kharitonov.

Tsykler cheered up when he heard this. It seemed that everything was going as well as possible. The service people believed him, and that was good… He took out two new decanters and poured aniseed into glass glasses.

— To the health of the new Tsar-father, Alexei Petrovich! — he proclaimed.

The guests stood up and eagerly drank to the bottom. They placed the dishes on the table with decorum and began to get ready. He looked again at his old comrades-in-arms. They were not young men, and had been in battle more than once. Kharitonov and Andreyev had been to Chigirin, and Kharitonov had scars on his face from a Turkish sabre. Such people would not let you down or betray you, for sure…

More than thirty pieces of silver

— Well, come on, Fyodor, we’ll go to the village, — Frol Ignatyev said goodbye, — about this matter, for now, we’ll keep quiet.

— We understand, — Silin answered for both of them, — Larion and I are going to the blacksmith, we need to pick up the firelocks.

— That’s right… Farewell. But in a week, we’ll meet at Kitai-gorod. Do you remember where the hole is near the Church of St. Anne?

— How could I not remember…

— Well, after the morning service, having prayed, we’ll go together. Let’s do it so that everything is decided at once, — and Frol’s eyes sparkled angrily, — the boyars will not deceive us anymore…

The seasoned warrior left with his comrades, and Grigory crossed himself with all his might in front of the Church of the Resurrection of the Mother of God.

— Well, do you see where this is going, Larion? And I don’t believe Tsykler. He’s too cunning. Pyotr Alekseevich is probably alive and well. As soon as we get ready, he’ll run to the tsar to get a reward for himself. He wants to destroy us completely.

— We’ll lose our heads. “It’s a bad thing,” Yelizariev became sad, “but at a time like this, smart people become clerks and boyars…“And I don’t really believe that Pyotr Alekseevich is dead!

And he looked closely at his comrade, but he had already put his hand behind his back, hiding the knife. If Silin doesn’t want to go with him, then he’ll have to kill him…

— We need to go to Lev Kirillovich Naryshkin… He’s not an arrogant boyar, he’ll listen… — Frol said quietly, but then he noticed Grigory’s hand behind his back and grinned

— Should we go to the Foreign Order? — Elizariev clarified, as if nothing had happened.

— We’ll go home to his, to the boyar’s estate. It will be safer that way, and there will be fewer prying eyes.

Larion agreed and nodded. It was a bit scary to go, but what could you do, since they had decided. They set off slowly, hoping to get there before dark.

The estate of Lev Kirillovich Naryshkin was spaciously spread out in the White City, at the south. Stone chambers, and buildings for the servants. Such, almost a small town. Not the least embarrassed, Fyodor knocked on the door. Dogs barked from inside, and a displeased voice was heard:

— Who else is rushing in at this hour of the night?

— To Lev Kirillovich, on the sovereign’s business. Servants, open up!

There was a muffled whispering from inside, and finally the gate opened and two healthy boyar serfs came out onto the street. Both had fat faces, well-fed, and even red.

— Tell the strelets, and we will tell the boyar, don’t doubt it, — answered Yelizariev, — if you don’t let us in, then we will give the boyar a petition in the Prikaz! And we won’t forget to tell about you

— Look at you? Well, okay, go ahead, don’t stand still, — one of the serfs said, — follow me. The archers followed their guide. At the house, one of the servants stopped them, but this nimble and impudent man himself now quickly ran into the depths of the master’s house.And indeed, the house of the boyar Naryshkin was amazingly beautiful, and the copper and shiny roof of the choir sparkled so much in the sun! The brick house with a rich high porch on the second, residential floor looked almost like a Kremlin palace to the eye,

The serf ran back, and took it upon himself to see the strelets off. Even now it seemed that the man had become a head shorter in stature.

— They are waiting for you, gentlemen strelets! Here, is the living room! Come in.

And indeed, rich chambers… The strelets brushed their boots from dirt with a broom, walked along the stone floor, covered with a wicker path for warmth. The walls were plastered and painted with a grass pattern, so it was a joy to look at. The strelets already had their hats in their hands, it was inconvenient to walk around in such a house in a hat. The boyar himself was walking towards them, in a soft homemade katana, a cap with a tassel and soft boots. — Sit down, don’t stand there, — Lev Kirillovich began his speech graciously, — what have you come for?

— To tell you about treason, boyar… Ivashka Tsykler is stirring up the strelets, saying that the boyars killed Pyotr Alekseevich, his son must be protected, — Yelizariev began, — everything is really bad if he doesn’t hurry.

Naryshkin glanced at the strelets, and his heart sank in his chest… So have they really found out how it all happened!

— And what about the archers?

— The elected officials want to look at the grave of Pyotr Alekseevich. In a week they will go to the Archangel Cathedral. We need to put guards in the underground passage to catch the troublemakers, — Silin continued.

— Don’t trust the traitors, archers, Pyotr Alekseevich is alive and well! — Naryshkin spoke loudly, — and thank you for your loyalty. And your reward will be great.

— Then you will not forget, I am Larion Elizariev.

— And I am Grigory Silin.

— So who else is the main troublemaker? — asked the boyar.

— We do not know of any others except Ivashka Tsykler, boyar. We ask for your forgiveness… — sang Elizariev, almost like in the choir.

— The Streltsy did well, — Naryshkin said graciously, and patted both of them on the shoulders, — you will be clerks in the Prikazy for your intelligence and loyalty… And you will receive a lot of silver from the treasury! Go, I will not forget about you…

— Thank you, Lev Kirillovich, — said the delighted Silin.

— Whatever else we find out, we will report right away, boyar, — added Elizariev and bowed.

Lev Naryshkin looked at the informers leaving, looked at the engraving depicting the late Peter Alekseevich. The Tsar on the sheet of thick paper was cheerful, and before the boyar’s eyes stood the dead face of Peter, lying on the bed. It was impossible to forget such a thing… The owner of the house sat down at a walnut table of Venetian work, poured himself a glass of wine from a glass decanter, admiring the work of the Italian master. — What a color, and how it shimmers in the light… — the boyar whispered quietly, — In bright light it’s one thing, by burning candles — quite another… And people are like that, the majority… In the rays of the sun one thing, in the darkness of darkness — another… And then...After all, choosing the strong side does not mean betraying, but only making the right choice…

Fight at the coffin

Frol Ignatiev was waiting for his comrades, and hid a pair of double-barreled pistols in his bosom. He received such things among the trophies in Azov. And he had a dagger with him, as well as a saber at his side. Two riflemen from his company were standing there, with a folding stretcher covered with matting. The sergeant was not going to put off the matter, like Tsykler, but decided to decide everything at once.

— Well, Frol, and others have arrived, from the regiments of Sukharev, Vorontsov and Baturin. There will be no one else.

— Let’s go…

Only the riflemen gathered not at the Church of St. Anna, but at the Pokrovsky Gate, and not on the seventh day, but on the sixth. Ignatiev didn’t trust people, that was his habit… And he told those he suspected of treason about three more places — near the church on Kulishki, near the church of St. Elijah on Ilyinka, and near the Church of the Assumption on Nikolskaya.

— Everyone put on masks, to be on the safe side, — the policeman ordered, — light the lanterns. Torches are not needed yet. Vasily, check everyone.

— We’ll do it, Frol Fomich, don’t doubt it! — the foreman Ustyanov agreed, — after all, we’re going for such a thing…

— We mustn’t spoil it… I’m counting on you… So that they walk quietly.

— Everyone in soft boots without horseshoes. We are experienced people, we will not let you down…

— We do everything quickly… — Ignatiev reminded again, — We open the door of the crypt, check the coffin, and if everything is as Tsikler said, we take the body away, and then as we agreed — run to the Streltsy settlements, raise the people. We will not wait for the first people, they will betray us.

— We will be ready, Frol Fomich! We will carry out what we have planned!

— Arseny, Timofey, you go first. Open the doors to the underground passage. Go quietly, if one, immediately back. Take the smallest lantern. Well, with God…

Two young riflemen, only a year ago enlisted in the service, went down the stairs and disappeared into the darkness. The scraping of iron was heard and a breath of dampness was felt.

— Well, let’s go… Time is precious, — Frol said quietly.

Ignatiev himself carried a lantern in his hand, and in order to occupy his mind, to distract himself, he counted the steps. He counted twenty-two, and then, bending down, entered the black opening of the underground passage. The riflemen knew how and where to go, they were all doing their military service. True, a couple of finds, so, slightly excited.

— Frol Fomich, look, — whispered Pyotr Shadrov, — a dead man…

And indeed, there was a decomposed corpse in old clothes. A skull covered with skin, and a tuft of red hair on the crown.

— Scary… — Petka muttered again.

— Why are they afraid of the dead? You should be afraid of the living, my dear man… Let’s go, it’s not far from here…

There were also noticeable signs, and they couldn’t get lost. Well, it’s like a wolf getting lost in its own forest.. They walked quickly, having figured out the direction, and so as not to get lost later. There was only one gallery leading to the crypt of the Archangel Cathedral.

But here is the long-awaited door…

Arseny and Timofey quickly returned to Ignatiev. Both were worried, but they held on.

— Things are bad, Uncle Frol… Two Preobrazhensky at the door. With fusils, with lanterns.

— It’s okay… We need to scare them. Petka! Bring the skull, and quickly!

— Whose is it?

— Not mine. I don’t need yours. And the one we noticed at the turn. Move quickly. Arseny, help him!

— I can handle it myself, — grumbled Shadrov, — I wasn’t scared!

He returned quickly, though. But he carried the dead head as if it were a mortar bomb, weighing at least a pood. Pyotr twisted all over, as if the head could bite him.

— Arseny, thread the rope through the skull’s nose…

The work was going quickly, Ignatyev admired the young man’s fortitude. He did well… Ignatyev noticed a bracket ten steps from the door. A plan was hatched…

And so, ten minutes or more later, the Preobrazhensky soldiers rushed into the Cathedral crypt with screams.

— The dead! Ghosts!

There were no dead, but Arseny adapted the rope, threading it through the bracket. Well, and he hung the skull with a lantern on the rope. And the frightened Preobrazhensky soldiers left their post with a scream.

— Quickly! There is no time! — Ignatyev shouted.

The squad of riflemen noisily flew into the dungeon, and the constable, checking the drawing, began to look for the necessary burial. It turned out that everything was not so simple. Frol was already sweating and despairing when he noticed a sarcophagus without an inscription.

— Over here, help! — the sergeant shouted to the strelets.

The three of them lifted the lid, Arseny held the lantern. Ignatyev impatiently pulled the shroud off the dead man.

— It’s him! Peter! — Ignatyev informed everyone.

The strelets saw the tsar both in Preobrazhenskoye and near Azov. That’s how it all happened… But then a crash was heard on the stairs leading from the cathedral to the crypt, something fell with a noise. And shouts were heard:

— The thieves are here! Hold the villains!

And the Preobrazhenskys ran down with torches and lanterns and swords.

— Quickly, with a crowbar, Timokha! — Frol almost whispered in despair.

But it didn’t work, and the stone lid fell back into place, covering the body. And a fight began among the ancient coffins. The archers greeted the mockers hotly, raining blows of their sharp sabers on them. The constable rushed ahead of everyone, hoping to drive away the mockers and have time to carry out the body. But it didn’t work… The points rang, the cries of the wounded and the groans of the dying were heard. The archers fought skillfully and desperately, and about ten Preobrazhenskys flooded the ancient crypt with their blood. It seemed that they would falter a little more, but then help came running to them. And Ignatyev was surrounded by three, and the constable fell wounded. A fight began to rage around him. Timofey grabbed Frol by the arms and began to drag him to the iron door of the underground passage.

— The pistol… Take the pistol, — the wounded man whispered.

— Make way, brothers! — Timokha shouted, and fired from all four barrels at once.

The basement was filled with gunpowder smoke, the riflemen hid in the underground passage, and closed the door, and propped it with crowbars.

— It’s good that no one saw our faces, — said one of the riflemen, Zakhar Zaitsev.

— Frol, our good man, and he looked back at Arseny and Timofey, who were carrying a stretcher with a wounded man.

They had prepared them for the body of the Tsar, and now they were useful for the constable. The young riflemen tried to walk carefully, taking care of the wounded man. The last ones were Pyotr Shadrov and Vasily Pekhtin, also with their sabres drawn. — Weak to compete with swords, still unskilled… — Pyotr said quietly. – Well, you and I have been taught to handle weapons since we were five. And who are you? From the falconers, dog handlers and horse breeders… — Vasily agreed with his comrade’s words.

— Lower the stretcher… — Frol whispered, — that’s it, I’ll stay here…

— What are you talking about? We’ll take it home…

— No, it will be bad.. I’ll lie down here, not far from the Tsar, — and Frol smiled weakly.

The archers stopped and pulled their hats off their wild heads. Peter still had his hand on his sabre.

— Go to the Don… — whispered the dying constable, — Tsykler didn’t lie, Peter lies dead there… Everything is true.

— And we saw it, Frol Fomich… Everything, we’ll do everything, — Arseny added for himself and for his friend Timokha, who was still standing with his hand bandaged from a sword prick.

The constable wanted to say something, raised his hand, groaned, and seemed to stretch out and no longer breathe.

Vasily and Pyotr nodded, took crowbars, and began to remove stones from the side wall. Their comrades took turns replacing them. Finally, a niche appeared, into which they placed Ignatyev’s body, covered it with stones, so that it was not noticeable.

— That’s how it turned out … — Vasily boomed.

— So what are we doing? — asked Pyotr,

— We’ll write a charter. To the Don, and to Azov. Everything as is. And you, Arseny and Timofey, will deliver, — said Vasily Pekhtin, who remained in charge, — we’ll collect treasury for the road. I’ll arrange a travel charter for you at the Prikaz. Everything will be as it should be…

The Arrest of Tsykler

The wind howled outside the window. The last snowstorm had definitely fallen on Moscow. Ivan Yeliseyevich looked at the bad weather through the stained glass and pulled his home coat tighter around him. He leaned his hands against the tiled stove to warm himself. It was a bit chilly in the house, although the stoker in the basement did not spare the firewood, he checked it himself.

— Father, — Yelisey began to speak, — the guests have already gathered in the living room, and Alexei Prokofievich is here.

— And Fyodor Pushkin?

— The serf came running, said that the boyar would be here later…

— Okay, let’s go…

And the Duma nobleman followed his son into the room. Only five invited guests were sitting at the table with a rich treat. Candles were burning in Italian chandeliers, the room was as light as day.

— I’m glad you came, dear friends! Help yourself, eat and drink! — Tsykler said cordially.

And his men poured Hungarian wine into silver cups, and the eldest of them began to cut up the roast game and distribute it to the guests. Ivan Eliseevich had just picked up his two-pronged fork when he heard the clatter of boots on the stairs.Two sergeants of the Preobrazhensky Regiment burst into the room with partisans at the ready, and after them, Lev Kirillovich Naryshkin himself swam out in an expensive sable coat covered with silk.

— I am glad to have an honored guest, — and Tsykler rose from the table, — and there will be a place for you, boyar!

— No, Ivashka! — Naryshkin said menacingly, — now you will dine at the Preobrazhensky Prikaz! Iron it!

The guests did not move from their places, Sokovnin stood up and turned to Naryshkin.

— And what is Ivan Eliseevich’s crime? — he asked.

— Treason against the great sovereign!

— Where would treason come from, boyar! Lieutenant Colonel Tsykler is pure before Pyotr Alekseevich!

Lev Kirillovich turned pale, he heard the hidden meaning in the words of the okolnichy. That Pyotr Alekseevich was dead. But the cunning boyar got out of it too:

— He is a traitor to the Russian Tsardom and the sovereign’s cause! Drag the thief down, guys, don’t hesitate!

The Preobrazhensky men, without further ado or respect, dragged the owner of the house up the stairs, then, in the yard, threw him tied up in a simple cart. And in the yard, for the sake of order, stood almost a whole company of the Preobrazhensky Regiment, with swords and muskets

Then, this entire army with the arrested man marched through the streets of Moscow to the Preobrazhensky Prikaz.

Search and cruel execution

They were sitting on benches, the Golitsyns, Boris Andreevich and Andrei Alekseevich, the Romodanovskys, Fyodor Yuryevich and Mikhail Grigoryevich, Lev Kirillovich Naryshkin, Ivan Buturlin and Fyodor Lopukhin. All seven boyars, the Boyar Duma. The place was not exactly a palace, but a basement of almost a palace, And it was not particularly interesting to look at, but it was necessary…

— My great sensible man Nikitushka, — Fyodor Yuryevich said affectionately. — A man of great intelligence and spiritual tact, and a hand like a bear’s paw, — the boyar boasted, — and what’s good is that he’s deaf and dumb to boot. A darling, not a man.

And the boyar smiled at his serf, and he grinned in response. But he did not remove the whip from his hand.

— You are a smart one, it was not for nothing that Pyotr Alekseevich favored you — Naryshkin praised, — you do everything sensibly.

— But without you, without your intelligence and speed, Lev Kirillovich, we would all have perished. I am afraid to even think what would have happened in Moscow! Such a mess would have started, God forbid. Our heads would have been lying by the oak logs…

— It’s okay, we caught the thief… And who was in the crypt of the Archangel Cathedral? Who fought with the Preobrazhenskys? Eight of the toy soldiers were killed and ten wounded! What kind of a gang was it? — Boris Andreevich Golitsyn spoke loudly, — what kind of people? Go on, ask him!

— Don’t be silent, Ivan Eliseevich, — said Fyodor Yuryevich to the man on the rack, — confess, and you’ll feel better… And even if you die anyway, at least you won’t suffer…

And Prince Romodanovsky made a sign to the executioner, and he jerked the Duma nobleman up so hard that the unfortunate man’s shoulders cracked and he groaned. Then the khat began to beat the prisoner with a whip, but he remained silent, only groaning.The hot iron was put to use, and the disgusting smell of burnt flesh hit the boyars’ noses.

— It’s impossible to sit here! — Andrei Alekseevich Golitsyn jumped up indignantly.

— Do you feel sorry for the thief? — Buturlin did not understand, — or do you want to go to Venice again?

— It stinks… If Fyodor Yuryevich so wishes, then let him have fun without us… I don’t go to slaughterhouses…

— And you, my prince, should take on this business yourself! — Fyodor Yuryevich was indignant, — when it comes to transporting the dead — so others, when it comes to uncovering a conspiracy — let someone else try, as long as his white hands are not soiled! And Andrei Alekseevich needs another hundred yards to feed himself…

— And I helped the common cause. Look, Boris Andreevich sent a loyal man to Amsterdam, and the messenger has already returned. Found a man similar to Peter, we must go, hurry!

— Now, once we’ve finished with these, we’ll be on our way right away… We’ll send Lefort and Fyodor Alekseevich Golovin and Prokofiy Bogdanovich Voznitsyn, the clerk with the treasury. These, except for Lefort, have never seen the Tsar, it’s not their rank. So we’ll tell the people at the embassy that the Tsar left before them, under a different name, say, Pyotr Mikhailov… And he’ll be waiting for them in Amsterdam…

— You’re smart, Fyodor Yuryevich… But what about that? — and Andrei Golitsyn nodded at Tsykler, who had fainted on the rack.

— So before the execution we’ll cut out their tongues, that’s all, — the boyar found himself,

— It was in vain that I didn’t go straight to the Streltsy settlement with Peter’s body. You’d all be hanging here now, instead of me. — finally, the tortured Duma nobleman whispered. — You speak correctly, Ivan Eliseevich. But the most important word here is, of course, WOULD. “If mushrooms WOULD grow in your mouth, then it WOULD not be a mouth, but a whole vegetable garden.“In a conspiracy, everything must be done quickly… So, you admit your guilt? Don’t drag it out, honestly, it will make it easier for you. You will confess, and your sin will be forgiven before God!

— But there is none, my guilt… I am pure before the oath and the Tsar… It is for him that I suffer…

— And here’s another thing, Ivan Eliseevich, — Lev Kirillovich began to speak, — We have a lot of work to do, than to tinker with you and waste time. And we already know your accomplices. Sokovnin and Pushkin. So, if you admit that you plotted against the Tsar, then no one will touch your sons. They will go to serve in Kursk. Well, it is a noble matter, to serve the Tsar-father, and it happens this way and that… And in our families, the sovereigns executed the guilty. It is a common thing… Look, Mikhail Fyodorovich punished the governor Shein! — Golitsyn added, — Well, think faster… And you, as a traitor, will get a break… First they’ll cut off your head, and then your arms and legs. And we can’t offer anything else…

The Duma nobleman thought. He knew that not a single word of his would come out of this dungeon. No one would ever find out anything.. And IT WILL BE WRITTEN that Ivan Eliseevich Tsykler was a traitor and regicide, and they will also destroy his sons, Yelisey and Mikhail…

— I agree… Let the scribe write the tale… — Tsykler agreed with a sigh.

— Yes, I’ll work for the scribe and do my best! — Boris Andreevich Golitsyn agreed, and took up the pen himself.

They placed a writing set, a sheet of paper, and a jar of sand in front of him.

into this basement of strangers. No one’s loyalty could be ironclad now. The time had come for betrayal and treason…

The boyar prepared to listen. Tsykler was saying something. but Prince Golitsyn began to compose with inspiration what was needed for the Preobrazhensky Prikaz fairy tale, and then began to read aloud:

“So I thought of killing the great sovereign, setting fire to the palace in the village of Preobrazhenskoye, and as soon as someone would run away, then I would indiscriminately stab them with knives. And I decided to do this out of great resentment towards the sovereign…”

The close boyars and princes listened intently to what Boris Andreevich had written. And they still did not understand whether to cry or laugh. Everyone was watching. what Romodanovsky would say… Prince Golitsyn had composed such things that it turned out that only Tsykler was going to overthrow Peter Alekseevich from the throne. It all came out awkwardly, oh awkwardly…

— Fyodor Yuryevich, I repent of my sins… — Tsykler said quietly.

— But the Tsar’s okolnichy slowly wiped his sweaty forehead with a handkerchief, sighed and grabbed his carved staff, but finally spoke:

— Oh, you’re such a thief! We never knew you were like that, Ivan Eliseevich, — and Fyodor Yuryevich laughed softly, shaking his mighty belly, and turned to Boris Golitsyn, — all the archers must be removed from Moscow to avoid sin… We’ll send them to Azov and Taganrog… Get the letters patent ready…

— And those regiments that were left in Azov after the war? Fyodor Kolzakov, Ivan Cherny, Afanasy Chubarov and Tikhon Gundertmark? They will want to rest in Moscow…

— As soon as nine regiments arrive from Moscow, those riflemen will be in Velikiye Luki without delay. The Prebrazhensky and Semenovsky regiments, the Butyrsky regiment and the Lefort regiment will remain in Moscow.

— Oh, you are so smart, Fyodor Yuryevich… — Everyone needs to be on guard… Everything is going wrong, my soul is heavy, I am anxious…

***

Prokhor was leisurely busy with an important matter, he was going to repair his boots. He was dressed in home clothes now, in felt boots, loose hemp trousers and a belted shirt. It was not cold in the warm basement, he could dress up like that. He prepared a thread, an awl, two needles and a wooden hammer, and sat down on a low comfortable bench. He sighed, and with pleasure smoothed his thick beard, rolled up the sleeves of his gray shirt of thick linen and tied an apron. The man adored order, and could not stand dirt and disorder. Even preparing for the matter pleased him, perhaps, more than his favorite craft. It was good that the day was growing little by little, he did not like to work by the torch, to strain his eyes.

He skillfully placed the boot with the sole up and struck the awl handle with a hammer.

— Father, — asked Prokhor’s only son, Maxim, who was sitting nearby, — do I have to hit hard?

— In any craft, force must be used wisely. Look how everything goes, whether it works or not… You have to feel it… Here, try it…

And he gave up his place to the boy. That smart one. punched a hole in the thick leather of the sole, and immediately, without delay, threaded the needles with thread. And he began to do everything quickly and smoothly, so that his father was distracted by his gaze. But then there was a knock on the gate, and the dog began to bark.

— Stop, Trezor, — Prokhor called to the guard dog, opening the door to the yard, — wait for me here. I’ll see who the devil is carrying:..

And the owner of the house threw his sheepskin coat over his shoulders and went out to the fence. On the way I looked under my feet so as not to step into a dirty puddle. Otherwise, I’ll get into trouble with my wife, Vasilisa. – Well, who’s there? — the man asked sternly, just in case throwing a sharp knife to his right hand.

He had to be careful, otherwise there were so many wicked people in Moscow, you just had to keep up with turning around. He was not afraid of anyone, but caution is not cowardice…

— To you, with an important matter, — he heard another voice, — here, a present for you…

And through the crack between the boards, like a sparrow’s beak, as if alive, a dimly shining efimok stuck out. The coin is thin, but wide. and the crosses on the silver pleased any, even the most capricious look. Prokhor opened the gate, but stood at the entrance.

In front of him stood two young noblemen, in marching caftans, thick Persian silk. Good hats, with a fur trim made of marten fur, with good sabres on their belts. Handsome fellows, Prokhor would like such as his daughters’ grooms.

— So what, good people? — he finally asked.

— Many have heard of you, Prokhor Kuzmich. — the older one spoke, — it’s not an easy matter… Here’s some silver. Forty rubles, so that you would execute my father mercifully. Cut off his head…

Prokhor thought about it. And then, in two days I’ll be serving on Bolotnaya Square…

— I see. So who should I grant a quick death?

— Ivan Eliseevich Tsykler. They were going to quarter my father, — the boyar’s son, the younger one, barely uttered.

— Hold on, Mikhail, it is not appropriate for us… — the elder said angrily.

— What is your name, boy? — Prokhor asked quietly.

— So, by your father. Yelisey Ivanovich, — the other added more cheerfully, — we are the sons of Ivan Yeliseyevich. The Duma nobleman Tsykler.

The executioner sighed heavily. How many people he had already sent to the Other World, and each time there was a burden on his heart. That is why he went to Father Philip, asking to remove the sin. It is also difficult to execute robbers, they are people after all. Even Christ himself, accepting the torment of the cross, and forgiving the murderer Datis, did not turn away from the repentant man. But such as these, on slander and the sovereign’s thieves:.. And you have to think about yourself… All of them, these thieves, have relatives among the first people in the state. Time will pass, they will be respected and have money again, and you see, they will remember that Prokhor Palashev helped them… But Mikhail Ivanovich Tsikler dispelled the doubts of the master of torture:

— Here is the money… We collected one hundred and twenty rubles… You, Prokhor, give it up, so that your father dies without suffering, — said the son, barely holding back his sobs, — and the others, too. Time will pass. We will help those children too, we will not be in disgrace forever. You will not lose…

— I will do everything in a godly manner, — and the kat bowed low.

Never mind, my back will probably not break, but the noble children, you see, will remember the good… He let the guests out into the street, Prokhor Palashev opened his purse and could not stop admiring the smooth and shiny efimki, two hundred and forty pieces in all. He sighed, but kept only a quarter for himself. The rest had to be given to his fellow craftsmen, he wouldn’t be doing the job alone…

***

The day of March 4, 1697, or 7215 according to the old style, did not begin as usual....Three carts with iron cages were being driven along the streets of Moscow. They were guarded by mounted dragoons with drawn swords, and in front of them rode the thieves, shouting:

— The sovereign’s thieves and traitors, Ivashka Tsykler, Fedka Pushkin, Alyoshka Sokovnin, and the riflemen Vaska Filippov, Fedka Rozhin, and the thieving Cossack Petrushka Lukyanov! And the three main thieves will be punished by quartering, and their assistants by beheading!

Crowds of people stood on the roadsides, waiting to hear what the condemned would say or shout. But they only remained silent, and blood flowed from their mouths down their chins.

— Their tongues were cut out! — shouted a merchant standing at a distance.

— Shut up! — shouted a dragoon captain who had ridden up, — or you too will quickly lose your tongue. or even your head!

The merchant quickly hid among the townspeople, the Muscovites fell silent in fear.

— And the main culprit and inspirer of this indignation is the late boyar Ivan Milislavsky! And this blood is not for him, the robber and traitor! And so that he could drink his fill of that blood, a coffin with the boyar’s bones was placed under the place of execution. And let no one else dare rebel! — the tyrant finished his speech, and lowered the Tsar’s letter.

In such deathly silence, only to the barking of dogs and the neighing of horses, this terrible train reached Bolotnaya Square, the place of executions.

The executioners opened the iron cages, and without removing the chains, dragged the condemned to the prepared chopping blocks, huge wooden bases. Here the tyrant came out again and began to read the Tsar’s Charter loudly:

“And from Aleshka’s children Sokovnin, from Vasily, from Fyodor, from Peter, from Ivashkov’s children Tsykler, their ranks, to which they are registered in the Discharge, for the theft of their fathers, to take away and to register them, Vasily with his brothers, in Belgorod, and to serve them in the Belgorod regiment, and the Tsykler’s in Kursk. And in Moscow they are not to go without the decree of the Great Sovereign. And from their estates and patrimonies and special dachas to give them to Vasily 25 households, and to Peter and Ivashkov’s children Tsykler five households each. And if they do not have special dachas, then to give them the same number of estates and from the patrimonies of their fathers. And to Fedka’s children of Pushkin from the estates and from the patrimonies and from the special dachas, for the theft of their father, not to give them, but to write off those of his Fedka and the rest of the Ivashkovs and Aleshkins and their children’s estates and patrimonies, and Moscow households and stomachs to the Great Sovereign and sell them according to the appraisal, and the money to his sovereign treasury. And to their wives, Ivashkov and Aleshkin and Fedka, and their daughters — maidens, from those estates and patrimonies not to give anything, but to give them their country courtyards, and to give from their stomachs in accordance with what was given to Fedka’s wife of Shaklovity. And to release those people of Aleshkin and Fedkin and Ivshkov. And Larion Elizariev, for the fact that he informed him about that murder, the Great Sovereign granted him, the Great Sovereign, the rank of clerk. And give him 50 peasant households from the Ivashkov estates and the Tsikler estates. And welcome Grigory Silin to the old clerkship, and give him 1,000 rubles from the Ivashkov estates and let him be in charge of the Zhitoy yard, which is by the Myasnitsky gates.” The face of the Tsar’s servant turned red from the strain, but but he tried not to cough. What, a disparagement of the Tsar’s honor, blasphemy against the Sovereign!

— It’s time to begin… — he whispered.

Kat grabbed Ivan Tsykler first. He walked on his own, not lowering his head. The assistants lowered him onto the chopping block, and the executioner, as if by accident, first cut off the unfortunate man’s head. The blade hit the block with a dull thud, the head fell into the prepared basket. The body jerked, and already dead, moved forward, almost falling off the platform. Blood burst out, abundantly soaking the boards of the scaffold. Then, coming to their senses, they chopped off the arms and legs. The executioner raised the head of the executed man, showing his terrible prey in all four directions, then, with a habitual movement of his calloused hands, stuck it into the rage. Biryuch screamed:

— Punishment has befallen the damned traitor! Here is the head of Ivashka Tsykler! It will stand here for three days, as is customary!

Then it was the turn of Alexei Sokovnin and Fyodor Pushkin. They were executed too, and their heads became a terrible decoration of the scaffold. Vasily Filippov, Fyodor Rozhin and the Cossack Pyotr Lukyanov did not escape the evil fate. Six heads hung on the spits of long poles.

Silence seemed to fall upon Bolotnaya Square. Not a sound was heard, not a rustle. The people were silent, everyone was watching the end of the terrible performance.

Blood covered the scaffold with a terrible carpet. Red, strainingly heavy drops fell down. But here they did not soak the yellow river sand, specially poured here, but fell into the open coffin of the boyar Ivan Miloslavsky. Even the executioner standing by the coffin crossed himself and said a prayer when he saw the blood begin to pour over the blackened shroud of the dead man. The dried skin that covered the skull turned red, covered with a monstrous color. The blood got into the gaping mouth, flowed down the teeth, then the jaw crunched, as if from a heavy weight, and it seemed to the executioner that the dead man had come to life and was swallowing a terrible drink.

Kat quickly turned away, shaking with fear and barely audibly muttered:

— Save and protect, Lord! Save me and protect, Lord!

The Grand Embassy

The Tsar Leaves Moscow

A tradesman, Khariton Bezukhov, was dragging a cart with goods to the shop, when the Tsar’s messengers, with coats of arms on their caftans, galloped past him along the street. Only the spring mud flew from under the hooves of good horses.

— What is this? What happened again? — Khariton shouted to his neighbor, Kapiton Rozhkov.

— I don’t understand myself… What kind of war has Pyotr Alekseevich started again…

— Yes, what is going on? They just executed the thieves on Bolotnaya Square, Tsykler and Sokovnin, and the Tsar is already leaving?

— Well, the Tsar-father knows better…

— Of course…

— Or maybe he is going on a pilgrimage?

— With the messengers, and they were sent at a gallop, too? — Kapiton cut his friend off.

— Let the Great Sovereign pass! — shouted one of the messengers, and blew his horn.

People poured out onto the side of the road to watch the rare spectacle. The grand exit of the Tsar himself! Only sighs and gasps accompanied the riders on rich horses, the luxurious carriages and the courtiers of the Tsar!

The fourteenth of March 1697 was remembered by the townspeople of Moscow for a very long time. And there was a reason for it. A huge train of many carriages, carts and vans was leaving the Kremlin. In front followed the residents of Moscow in white caftans with white wings, and behind them rode the Streltsy of the Strelets Regiment on good horses.

— What is this? Some kind of holiday? — Khariton Bezukhov could not restrain himself.

Bezukhov was unsightly in appearance, his beard was unnoticeable, barely growing on his sharp chin. He’s of average height, he’ll pass by in a crowd and be immediately forgotten, but if you meet him again, it’ll seem like you’ve seen him for the first time. – Pyotr Alekseevich is going to foreign countries! — shouted the runner, — he will not return soon, the affairs of the sovereign!

— Look at you! — Khariton whispered sadly to his wife Marya, — we will perish now, without the tsar… The boyars will plunder the entire treasury while the tsar is away…

And his wife Marya, a woman more lively than her husband, managed to put on a rich scarf, velvet, from her maiden dowry. And then, she needs to show herself.

The merchant looked back at his wife, shook his head, and rolled his cart into the yard, waiting for the street to clear. Then he could take the goods away…

— Oh, nothing, everything will work out, — Kapiton could not resist, — everything will be fine!

And he put the strap of the tray full of freshly baked pies over his head. As he knew, he was prepared for this morning. Such a day, lots of people on the street, the best trade. And the pieman began to sing his tune:

— Hey, fresh pies and snacks, buy, Orthodox people! Here are some with meat, and here are some without!

— Well, give me a couple, or what, — and the clerk from the office held out a small coin.

— And for me too, with honey and poppy seeds!

— Here, take it, Muscovite people! — Kapiton answered in a satisfied voice, dashingly tilting his cap to the back of his head, — I brought it just for you! Hey, archers, try my pies!

— Give me those that are more puffy! — the pieman turned out to be picky.

And indeed, it turned out to be a fine day for trade, the townspeople are in a good mood, ready to spend extra money, and pamper themselves! So thought Kapiton, hiding the money in a cunning purse from evil people.

The Orderly Without a Tsar

Alexander Menshikov kept looking out the glass window of the rich carriage, looking at the houses standing very close. The same as the houses.mostly not very rich, though mostly built on two floors. The tsar’s orderly had seen these buildings, Haans Loop showed what they were like. They were beautiful on the outside, whitewashed. And so — the frame of a wooden beam stands, and so, everything is made of reeds, coated with clay and whitewashed. That’s how everything looks here — beautiful on the outside, but inside everything is made of shit… The food here was much more expensive. In Moscow, everything is not for free, and everything is five times cheaper than here. He listened, it seemed that one of the horses had lost a horseshoe, was limping. Menshikov did not remain silent, and opened the door and shouted:

— Vanka, damn it! The horse lost a horseshoe, and are you sleeping or something? Watch out, or you’ll taste the whips!

— Yes, Alexander Danilovich! Benefactor! Yes, I see!

— Then get to the forge, you scoundrel! Get moving! Then watch out, the wheel horse will suffer, I’ll whip him myself!

— God save you! Here comes the forge…

The carriage stopped, and, sighing and yawning, Alexashka climbed out onto the ground. Menshikov himself, knowing Dutch, went to talk to the merchant. Their guide, Hans Loop, remained on the box, curiously watching the actions of his recent acquaintance. The guy seemed lively and efficient to him, but he also needed to make sure that his words were true.

— Good day, master, — Menshikov began politely, — will you shoe the horse, blacksmith?

— Why not?

But then he asked such a price that Alexander Danilovich started to sweat. Well, he had seen all sorts of things, of course, but this? They didn’t haggle for long, only about half an hour, and finally the blacksmith walked leisurely toward the unharnessed horse. He straightened the hoof with a large file and calmly and confidently nailed on a new horseshoe. Menshikov stood nearby and looked around the Dutch village. So, it seemed to be okay, and there was a sour smell, finally the groom understood what was going on… They heat with peat, firewood is expensive here, and you can’t find any branches. In general, it was bad… But he liked the horses, rich… Tall, strong and well-built… He got used to them when he lived with his father, on the estate…

Danila Menshikov, like many boyar children, came to Moscow to serve after the Great Smolensk Campaign of Tsar Alexei Mikhailovich. Then they managed to recapture the city, and many Polish nobles went over to the service of the great Russian sovereign, among them was Danilo Menshikov. And he began to serve under Porfiry Sokovnin, also from a foreign family. Only the Sokovnins had left Livonia for Rus’ during the reign of Ivan the Terrible. And Alexey Porfiryevich Sokovnin got him a job at the court of Peter Alexeevich… And then it happened! Could Sokovnin have written anything bad against the sovereign? Of course not, Menshikov was absolutely sure of that. And Tsykler, too. After all, he was a relative of Alexey Porfiryevich… A dark story has come out, we will have to find out everything in Moscow, as Menshikov promised himself.

— Everything is ready, Alexander Danilovich! We can go! — shouted the coachman.

The sovereign’s orderly slowly returned to the carriage and settled down comfortably inside. Ivan slapped the reins, and a pair of large horses slowly pulled the carriage. The horseshoes clattered on the large stones of the road, the wheels sometimes bounced on the unevenness.

— We’ll be there soon, — Hans Luup reassured.

— There… — grumbled the dissatisfied Menshikov.

He, the son of the assistant to the head of the royal stables, recalled how he and the bombardier Pyotr Mikhailov went to see the Elector of Brandenburg.

***

The ship, a small vessel, rented by their Dutch guide, finally moored in Königsberg. The five of them were sitting in the captain’s cabin, in the company of three bottles of wine. And there were four more, empty, on the floor.

— Rhine, what kind of nastiness is this? Is there any Hungarian? — Golovin muttered discontentedly, turning over a glass. The tablecloth absorbed the white wine without changing color much. Voznesen jumped up from his seat, turning purple with rage.

— So I’ll write to the Tsar! — he shouted, — you’ll answer to the sovereign for your buffoonery! Or even with your head!

The boyar laughed like a horse. But a burly man in a bombardier’s caftan grabbed the drunk Fyodor Alekseevich and shook him by the hem of his clothes.

— What are you doing, boyar! Have you forgotten how Fyodor Yuryevich gave us directions on the road? — the officer raised his voice.

Here Golovin completely sobered up. The intoxication immediately left his head, as the boyar recalled Romodanovsky’s stern rebuke:

“As I said, so do! Or else you’ll lose all your heads!”

— So we’re now going to the palace of the Elector of Brandenburg? — Menshikov asked again, still not believing it. — I invited him myself. Look, — and Mikhailov showed the document, — “I invite Pyotr Mikhailov, bombardier lieutenant, to the palace.” It is written in the purest German.And did we tell anyone or promise anyone that the Tsar is here with us?

— Lord… — and Voznesensky covered his face with his hands.

— Yes, they think that it is you — Pyotr Alekseyevmch, — Golovin said wearily.

— So here I am, Pyotr Mikhailov. And I have never called myself a Tsar. And I will not!

A carriage with the coat of arms of Brandenburg met the important guests from Russia. The escort officer saluted the bombardier Mikhailov with his sword. Two footmen opened the carriage doors, and the six horses pulled the cart together.

— It will be a shame, a shame, the unfortunate clerk Voznesensky kept lamenting, — but the Tsar has long been in Holland!

Menshikov turned away and began to look at the street of the German city. It was unbearable to hear the clerk, and the Tsar’s orderly could not say any unnecessary words. And there was no shame. On the contrary. Pyotr Mikhailov with his bearing, politeness and even a certain courtesy created a furor among the ladies-in-waiting of the Elector of Brandenburg. They got what they expected — such an almost tame Russian bear, scary on the outside and kind on the inside.

Then Elector Friedrich spoke with Peter Mikhailov about politics, about trade, and kept insisting on a military alliance against Sweden.

The Russian bombardier looked and listened to this man, who elusively and clearly combined the rigidity hidden in his icy eyes and the sophistication of his silk attire. Yes, that was all of Europe, its incomparable style.

— I would also like to study artillery science, — the bombardier lieutenant asked.

— Well, a truly royal hobby… The park is at your service, my brother… — the Elector assessed Peter Mikhailov’s answer.

And indeed, for about a week, before Lefort arrived with a caravan of carriages, the Russian bombardier studied cannon art, and even then received a patent as a bombardier captain.

***

Now they went on a barge. Well, how they went… Only the Dutch guide, Haans Loop, and Alexander Danilovich Menshikov himself remained with them. The embassy left for Amsterdam, and the tsar’s orderly, instead of seeing the beauty of the city, went to the shipyard, to break his hands and wear out his calluses.

— Yes, I was taken to Amsterdam, but arrived in Saardam, — Menshikov sang out a sad verse.

— You are simply full of talent, Alexander, — Haans laughed, puffing on his pipe, — I dare to assure you, this is not a bad yeshchko at all…

Aleksashka felt completely sad, and he looked at the canal bank again. As he noticed, all of Holland was dug up, like a thrifty owner’s vegetable garden. And their boat was pulled by four heavy draft horses along the river bank. He had seen something like this, only in Russia barge haulers, that is, people, pulled barges. It’s more true… A horse is a tender animal, it can die, but a human being, nothing, will endure… Houses with tiled roofs ran slowly past the canal.Nearby, peasants were working leisurely in clogs or klomps. Wooden shoes, basically. In Russia, peasants used bast shoes to protect their boots, and they carry these blocks on their feet. Aleksashka shuddered. He imagined what it was like to have wooden blocks on his feet… They probably rub, and he just shook his head.

— Haans, how do they carry these on their feet? — he asked, unable to resist.

— That’s just the way it is. A European custom.

Menshikov just spat into the water in disgust and turned away.

“And so it is in everything. They teach us life, but they themselves live in shit and warm themselves with peat. Just recently, we spent the night, and out of greed they slept in closets. Where did they come …”

Alexander Danilovich became very sad. At home, it is much better. Well, to tell the truth, there was some funny stuff. Mills where, how many stood in the fields and banks.

— These are machines. They grind correctly, raise water, and do many good things, — explained Luup.

And he liked the flowers. Tulips, which he had seen enough of in the Don steppes near Azov.

— And these are tulips. Very expensive flowers, they are bought by sophisticated people. Many have become rich growing them, — Haans said with pleasure.

— That’s what we call them azure. Come to us on the Don, there is a lot of such goodness growing in the steppes, and you won’t have to pay!

With these words, the unrefined Menshikov drove the unfortunate Dutchman into a stupor, and he fell silent for a long time. There was definitely an embarrassment with the flowers here… And again there was a merciless stench of burnt peat..

The new Tsar and Grand Duke of All Rus’

— This is where you will live, — and Haans pointed to a quite decent house, by local standards.

The porters carried four chests from the barge, Menshikov carried his bag on his shoulder.

— Well… I will pay for everything and keep track of the expenses. There is nothing to worry about. The person you are expecting has been here for about a week. Goodbye, Alexander!

And Haans shook hands with his new comrade in farewell. The Dutchman quickly climbed onto the barge and waved goodbye to the Russian, and the team of horses pulled the little vessel along the canal.

— Well, as for me, I will do the job as I promised, — Alexashka whispered quietly.

He pulled his hat down lower, almost to his ears, and bravely pulled the handle of the front door.

— Whose is it? — he heard in Dutch.

A tall man, probably a head taller than Pyotr Alexeevich, stood with his back to him. Black hair down to his shoulders, a slender figure, and tobacco smoke rose from a wooden pipe. He turned, and Menshikov peered inquisitively into the stranger’s face. Round, cat-like, black eyes. Similar, of course. But no noticeable birthmark, and the skin looks like it’s slightly pockmarked.

— You are Aleksahka?

— That’s right. Alexander Danilovich Menshikov, your royal majesty.

— No. Piter. Herr Piter. Call me only that.

— Maybe I can call you Min hertz? (my heart)

The giant laughed gutturally, throwing his head back a little, and grabbed Menshikov tightly by the shoulders. This Pyotr was strong, very strong, and the orderly felt it himself.

— You will help me, and I will help you. I swear, you will not go wrong! — Pyotr immediately declared.

— We need to study a lot, min hertz. And you need to learn Russian, read and write, remember the faces of dozens of people. Pyotr Alekseevich knew Latin very well, he was very well read.

— And I love to read. You forgot, Aleksashka, that Pyotr Alekseevich is me!

The first lesson dragged on until the evening. Menshikov took out the Book of Degrees and began to read it aloud in Dutch. Piter listened very attentively, did not interrupt. Then he looked at the drawings. It was obvious that the Dutchman was interested in the orderly’s story.

— And you, Aleksashka. a nobleman?

— I am listed as a boyar’s son, on my father’s side. He is an assistant to the head of the Tsar’s stables.

The giant nodded. Of course, the title comes sacri stabuli has been known since the times of Ancient Rome.

— And what, for example, do they drink in Russia?

— Kvass, mead, beer, sbiten, berry uzvar, all kinds of kissels. Well, vodka, of course

Here Piter smiled again and poured himself a glass of juniper.

— What strange clothes, — the Dutchman finally said.

— So min hertz, such is the custom. Nothing can be done. The Tsar is many responsibilities. The people must see the sovereign’s strength and his specialness.

— Okay, when I come to Moscow, I will forbid everyone to wear beards. It’s savage, — Piter said sternly.

Menshikov did not believe such words. Well, who knows what people say… It’s one thing to say, and another to do.***

— Well, Christian, it seems everything has settled down? — said the elderly important gentleman, sitting in a high carved chair, quietly.

Van Ruyt was an important gentleman, not the least among the owners of the West India Company. Considerable capital became the basis of his family’s power. And he had to take care of the company’s prosperity and prospects. Trading operations in Russia promised huge profits, and they could not be lost. And the fact that he and his people provided a new tsar for Russia was not an adventure, but a necessity. What could little Holland do without Russian iron and potash, Persian goods? Fools thought that it was about furs or caviar… Yes, fish glue gave much more profit than these pleasant, but completely unnecessary things! What should a carpenter do without excellent glue? And the furniture and much, much more… But in front of him sat his two trusted men, who had done important but secret things for him more than once… His faithful Christian and Albert… Van Ruyt smiled at them favorably and repeated again:

— Christian, so what do we have in Saardam?

The man sat in the chair opposite, and in turn applied himself to a cup of coffee. This man of extremely broad views did not like gin or vodka at all, but this invigorating drink. Today he looked like an ordinary merchant from Amsterdam. A dark gray caftan, a modest collar, no lace, especially not Brabant lace. Christian knew how to become invisible.

— Peter is learning. Quite capable. We have chosen the right man, Mr. Van Ruyt. It seems that everything is done.

— Here is your money, gentlemen, — and a thick purse plopped down on the table, clanking dully.metal, — but now it is important not to spoil this business… Think about it… After all, the Tsar should be recognized here, in Holland. Someone has been to Russia, to Moscow.

— Very reasonable, Mr. Van Ruyt. We will find people, and we will be able to spread rumors that Tsar Peter is in Saardam, and is working at the shipyard. Those who recognize him are on our hook, and will not blab too much.

— It is possible to somehow liven it all up… So to speak, to show Peter Alexeevich more lenient, or something… A couple of funny incidents would be quite appropriate. Well, it is up to you…

— Oh, how kind you are… I swear, you will like it! — Albert laughed too.

— I am counting on you, gentlemen!

***

In the morning, as usual, Peter and Alexashka, with wheelbarrows full of carpentry tools, headed to the shipyard of Nicholas Weirms. The wooden wheels bounced on the uneven road, trampled by dozens of feet. To be honest, both new workers were quite counting on not being recognized here. They had just approached the slipway when three Dutchmen suddenly approached Peter. Menshikov noticed how his new charge tensed up and shrank. The giant’s hands clenched into fists, and his round eyes seemed frozen on his strong-willed face.

— Your Royal Majesty, — the stranger suddenly said, — I worked at the shipyard in Voronezh, Jan Roost, always ready to serve you! — and the man bowed.

The other two only listened, and then whispered for a long time with Roost. Then they too awkwardly bowed their heads and went off to their own little places, but turned around a couple of times, as if trying to remember the new wonder at the shipyard.

— Now we will have no peace, — whispered Peter, — let’s go, Aleksashka. The master is waiting for us.

An elderly smiling man in a dark robe and a knitted cap was waiting for them. They were put to work, to trim the beams. To be honest, Menshikov had never seen anything like this. Well, Voronezh is a different matter, where are those slipways compared to the order that reigned in Saardam.

The skeletons of the ships stood on wooden blocks. They seemed to be overgrown with planks of the hull and deck by themselves. Heavy giuzes were raised by means of a whole system of ingenious blocks. The sound of hammers in frequency resembled the chirping of grasshoppers in a field in summer. Nearby stood the hull of a ship, already launched, tied, like a spider’s web, with a whole heap of ropes. And there on the deck, joiners and carpenters were bustling about.

Aleksashka slowly continued to wield the planer, and finally, waited for the long-awaited praise of his mentor, Gus Schreiber:

— Well done, boy! Soon you will become a real master!

To tell the truth, the words were very pleasant for the tsar’s orderly, as if he had just received an award from the sovereign.

Meanwhile, Herr Peter, as Menshikov had already begun to call himself, dashingly flew aboard the brig under construction, clinging to the pulley cable. It happened so quickly, as if it were a bird sitting on a branch, and not a man, one-two and it was done.Alexashka only sighed enviously, he certainly couldn’t do that. All the masters received the Tsar well, patted him on the shoulder, and he plunged into his work with expertise. His red jacket flashed here and there. And then, something completely unexpected happened — Herr Peter deftly jumped onto the shrouds, and almost ran up to the yard of the foremast. This man was completely unaware of fear of heights, and his dexterity was absolutely incredible. The mast was about ten fathoms high, as the orderly estimated by eye, almost not believing himself. And then he adjusted the sail with extraordinary skill, and it finally straightened out completely.

— What is this! And how he will kill himself! — the frightened orderly shouted.

— Oh, this Russian guy is a real sailor! Such people do not die! — the master, also watching what was happening, grinned, remarked, — Skillful and does not know fear. Just like a real Dutchman! Alexashka just glanced, thinking at that moment how right the shipyard master was, and even though he didn’t know the most important thing, who this Herr Peter was.

The day of shipyard masters ended in a tavern, in a building with a frying pan on the sign. Such a thing looked amazing, especially for those who were hungry. People, after a hard day, wanted to eat well and drink even better. Confident and strong people entered through the wide open door, sat down at the tables, talked loudly and cheerfully. Herr Peter ordered for two.

— We’ll have fried selley, bread and a mug of beer, beauty. And for starters — a shot of juniper! — and at the same time he winked very charmingly at the waitress, from which she instantly blushed. – It’s just great here, Aleksashka, — added the giant,

It seemed to the orderly that he wanted to say: “With us”, but he restrained himself in time. But now it was clear that this Peter was one of the real captains, the foamers of the seas. The girl brought food and beer in deep clay bowls. Here Herr Peter whispered something to the girl’s pink ear, she laughed and looked at Menshikov, which made him blush.

— It’s okay, mon liber Aleksashka. Today, ladies will come to us. And a real sailor should not avoid the fair sex!

But then a stranger approached and looked too closely at Peter. This unknown person, judging by his caftan and headdress, was himself a man not alien to the sea. And Herr Peter, judging by his face, recognized the stranger, jumped up from his place, and hit him in the face, then once more. The tavern began to buzz and bang their mugs on the table, approving of all this. The first to shout was the shipyard master:

— Corneille! Rejoice, now you’ve been knighted!

All the shipwrights burst into laughter, and this Corneille, as if scalded, flew out the door.

— Who is this, mynheer?

— The devil knows, Aleksashka. Some ignoramus… — Peter tried to hide his irritation.

But it was clear that he was pleased. And he became even happier when he saw how the Dutch were receiving him. He smiled, and with visible pleasure finished his fish, and drained his drink in a flash.

— More beer, mistress! — he shouted.

And he slammed his mug on the table,, earning another round of applause.

***

Piter sat at the helm of a sailboat. A walk on the water always improved his mood, especially since the day was clear and warm, after all, it was August. Nearby stood a basket with bottles of Moselle, smoked sausage and bread. Aleksashka was preparing food. Still, it seemed to work out, and the people, the Dutch, took him for a slightly quarrelsome Tzar Vseya Rusi. The language was not so difficult for him, after all, he had studied at school to be a navigator. True, signing letters was unusual for him. The one he replaced put the signature Petrus, but he, Piter.

And his servant, or orderly, as the Russians said, was also full of surprises. Smart, well-read. And if he, a former pirate, had an excellent understanding of navigation and seamanship, then Aleksashka had an excellent understanding of horses, and sat in the saddle better than any French guard.

He had read a lot himself, especially about Dmitry the Pretender. He swore to himself not to make his mistakes. But all these Russian clothes, and the custom of wearing a borola — it seemed to him a savage custom. But judging by his orderly — they were quite good people, and no worse than others.

The wind changed again, and the former pirate turned the ship’s yard again, and it ran even faster.

— Min hertz, the barge again! And more spectators than before!

Yes, a rumor spread through the local towns that a big eccentric was visiting here, this Russian tsar, and was working at the shipyard. Hundreds of gapers gathered to watch such an incredible thing. And Madeleine, the owner of the tavern, began to sell beer for free, because the number of visitors increased fivefold. And in bed she became much more affectionate with him.Aleksashka, the red-haired devil, the darling of fortune, was pleasing her younger sister, Annabel. And they gave her money generously, so he bought himself a boat…

But then shrill cries were heard from the barge, and the vessel tried to get closer, so much so that it almost hit his boat with its starboard side.

— Aleksashka. Give me an empty bottle! — demanded Peter, flushed with anger.

Thick green glass, just what was supposed to cheer up the helmsman. And he threw the bottle at this ignoramus, who did not know how to handle his barge well.

Strangely enough, the ship’s crew shouted enthusiastically, apparently counting on something similar. And this incident only pleased the idle onlookers. Peter leaned on the wheel, the rigging creaked, the sail flapped, the boat turned and headed for the shore.

CHAPTER 4 Stadtholder of the Netherlands William the Third, King of England

It was Christmas time, in the corner of honor the spruce tree sparkled with tinsel and apples, which Herr Peter personally decorated. It was a little unusual for Menshikov, how joyfully and sincerely this Dutchman indulged in the holiday, even giving money for the fireworks in Saardam.

The festive treat was rich — roast goose, wine with spices, and not just a pleasant dinner with Moselle wine and smoked eels. At the table sat Peter, Alexashka and mistresses Madeleine and Annabel.

Madeleine sat on the lap of her tall gentleman, Peter raised a glass with golden wine. – To our lovely ladies!

— Oh, how sweet, Piter! — Annabelle admired, — you and Madeleine look like you came out of a Rubens painting!

Menshikov didn’t understand a damn thing, what kind of a parsuna was that? But, Herr Piter liked the innkeeper’s remark, he appreciated it, and kissed the woman’s hand. Tzar knew how to be polite, although he could be madly hot-tempered, and even more so than Pyotr Alekseevich…

Then there was a knock at the door, and a dusty messenger burst into the house.

— A letter to Pyotr Alekseevich! — the man reported, and gave the letter to the Tsar.

Piter was obviously still reading with difficulty, but he figured out what was going on. He hid the message in his caftan pocket and bowed to the ladies.

— We’re leaving in the evening, forgive me, state affairs!

— Oh, Piter. you are so young… But already the ruler of a huge country! — and Madeleine pressed her hands to the bodice of her dress, expressing complete delight.

Alexashka began to prepare the chests, pack things, soon a barge was supposed to come for them, on which they needed to get to Amsterdam. Anabel helped her dear friend. The girl very carefully sorted out the waistcoats and shirts, she did it simply beautifully.

Everything was unusually restless. Wilhelm, Stadtholder of Holland and the King of Britain wished to see the Russian Tsar.

Winter has begun here too. Well, what winter, there was no snow in these places, but the chill dampness penetrated to the bones. Menshikov wrapped himself in a cloak, longingly recalling his wolfskin coat and the charms of Annabelle.

— Min Hertz, but it was possible to grab girls, — he noted with some hope.

— There is a lot of this stuff in Amsterdam and London. We will find more there. I need to behave correctly with William of Orange, without losing my royal dignity. So as not to lose the honor of the state.

— Yes, he knows everything about you… You have to be impudent, and not show it. Order a portrait from an artist. So that everyone understands that you are the real Sovereign.

— I decided to open a School for Navigators in Moscow. To bring students here, how expensive it will be. Money will be needed for other things too. And about the portrait, it is smart. So we will do it.

But at night Peter suddenly began to have a fever. The Dutchman was shaking under thick blankets, and then lay in his underwear, languishing from the heat. His forehead was covered in sweat. Aleksashka put a rag soaked in cold water on the patient’s forehead, prepared new underwear. He had already started rummaging in the medicine cabinet, looking for the necessary herbal mixtures. Peter raised himself and said with difficulty:

— Juniper, Aleksashka… It’s the only one that helps with this affliction…

Menshikov took out a decanter of vodka, sniffed it, checking if he got it, and thoughtfully poured it into a silver spoon.

— No, you can’t do with a spoon here… Two full glasses!

The giant drained the offered drink in a flash, without even wincing. There was no need for a snack either.

“The jungles of Columbia,” he continued, “are a bad place, never go there…” he whispered and fell into a deep sleep.Menshikov looked attentively at the man who promised him power, while he himself was suffering from an incurable disease and was so weak and defenseless now. But. service is service, and he changed the new tsar’s clothes and covered him with a blanket.

And indeed. the next morning the tsar was healthy and cheerful. He went out onto the deck of the ship, not afraid of the wind and cold. Menshikov tried to portray something similar, but hastily threw on a sheepskin coat.

— Min hertz, it’s cold… You’ll catch a cold after all…

— Never mind. For a sailor, the best medicine is sea air, — and he laughed evilly again, — never mind, I’ll show Wilhelm too… I don’t give a damn about him… — he spoke in Russian now.

At the palace, Peter was received royally, there was a guard from the stadtholder’s guard, the Dutch ruler himself came out to meet the Tsar. — Oh, my beloved brother, — said Wilhelm, and looked intently at the Russian sovereign.

The Stadtholder of the Netherlands and the King of England looked like a very solid and strong man. A thin, strong-willed face, as if in captivity of a large raven wig, decorated with a well-groomed moustache. Judging by the health of the representative of the Orange dynasty, it was not very good, but Peter also knew that Wilhelm was desperately brave and smart, which he proved by overthrowing King James Stuart from the English throne.

Peter smiled slightly patronizingly, and from the look of this monarch he understood that he knew who he was. With his finger he beckoned to the clerk Voznitsyn, and in broken Russian he said:

— Translate…

Lefort, this Swiss sly and sneaky fellow. hid his smile under a scented handkerchief, and Golovin proudly leaned on his cane. Apparently, the boyar appreciated the skill and dexterity of the new tsar.

— I am here to greet my brother Wilhelm, the king and stadtholder…

Voznitsyn translated Peter’s deliberately tricky speech. It was said that the tsar wanted to hire masters and mathematicians for the navigation school in Moscow. Wilhelm did not look at the Russian ruler with such impudence any more.

Then a dinner and a ball were given in honor of the Russian tsar. The ladies of the court were surprised that the guest from the North was not averse to gallant amusements.

Peter approached Lefort, the general bowed again, demonstrating all possible devotion.

— I am glad to see your royal majesty again… — he said.

— At small receptions and balls, call me simply — Herr Peter, — said the Tsar.

— As your grace pleases… We need to visit Vienna, the court of Emperor Leopold. But that happened later.

Alarm in Moscow

Boyarin Romodanovsky sat at a table of Italian work. Not simple, special, but made for important matters. This miracle was created by the Venetian master Nikolaus Crespi, as the clerk of the Ambassadorial Prikaz, who ordered such a pleasant thing, told Fyodor Yuryevich. The boyar sat at a carved board, could not rejoice enough. On each side there were three good boxes, in the middle — another large box, locked with a key. The table’s exterior was covered with elegant carving. The boyar pulled the bronze handle of one drawer and took out a sheet of paper, and the other one took out a goose quill and put it aside.

He was reading a letter written by Menshikov on behalf of the Tsar. Yes, the Great Embassy in Europe has been traveling around the capitals for almost a year now. And the Tsar is now in place, learning Russian… He just learned it, so better… There was a slight chill and dampness coming from the street, and Romodanovsky, who was famous for his corpulence, covered himself with a huge thick fur coat and wrapped himself up tighter.

— They all lie that the obese don’t freeze, — he whispered, — how chilly it is!

He poured himself some vodka into a silver glass and drank it with pleasure. Well, it seems to have gotten warmer, the boyar thought with pleasure. There was a knock on the door, answering from work. Romodanovsky hid the instruments and said sternly:

— Who’s going on there, at this hour of the night!

But all the same, they rustled and creaked.The clerk Fomenko, a cheerful lad from the settlement, dropped in. And he serves well, devotedly, and is quick-witted, sensible…

— Father, here is a letter from the boyar Troekurov, Ivan Borisovich.

— Give it here, quickly!

And his plump fingers, covered with rings, reached for the message. He pulled a candlestick with three burning candles towards him. He quickly tore off the seal and unfolded the paper sheet. As usual, he omitted the doxology and began to read only from the practical and important:

“… The elected archers from Velikiye Luki came to Moscow. They cursed me profanely, demanded salary and bread. They say that the convoys with the tsar’s salary never came to Novgorod, and they are in a bad way. So we must look for silver…”

— Have you seen the archers yourself?

— Yes, I have. They came to the Prikaz, cursed everyone shamefully… It’s good that the clerks weren’t beaten. Especially Vasily, nicknamed Darkness. He was too insolent…

— I’ll write to the Prikaz of the Great Treasury so that they give the strelets their salaries. Prozorovsky will do everything right. And verbally, so that Ivan Borisovich would tell the strelets that the grain was delayed due to the muddy season, and we’ll deliver the feed soon.

— Thank you, our father, — and the messenger bowed low, but his hat fell off from his zeal.

However, the clerk immediately picked it up and carefully stepped forward, afraid to dirty the woven rugs on the floor.

— Well, go, don’t dawdle. I have business to attend to, — and the boyar threw the petitioner out.

He sat at the table, thought, and rang the bell. He waited quickly, so that no strangers would be listening. A trusted serf, his bedchamber attendant, Senka, arrived. He was a smart man, efficient and loyal, and the boyar took care of the servants.The gentleman of the bedchamber was dressed quite decently, in a good gray cloth caftan, wide trousers, yuft boots, a hat with a squirrel trim.

— Is Vaska busy, with Foma? — the prince-caesar asked the gentleman of the bedchamber.

— So you can always find business, father… Whatever it is, there is always some!

— Don’t beat around the bush in front of me! — and the boyar slapped his hand on the table.

But he didn’t slap it hard, graciously. For the sake of order, so that Semyon wouldn’t forget himself, and wouldn’t take on too much.

— Here, both of them, and quickly…

The gentleman of the bedchamber nodded and quickly went to do the job. The boyar took out a small purse, poured in about twenty kopecks. He thought for a moment, and put in a couple more altyns.

And soon two little people appeared before the boyar’s menacing eyes. Such, you look at them and forget them the same day. Thin, fidgety, with sunken cheekbones, barely covered by short beards.

— Hello, father, for many years! — one of them started singing.

— And we did nothing bad, don’t be angry, — and the second bowed low.

— Vaska, Fomka! — Fyodor Yuryevich began as sternly as possible, — we need to follow Keshka Tvorogov, Dimka Tropinin and Frol Razhny in the Streletskaya Sloboda. And for your expenses, — and he threw his purse on the table,

And the byarin himself began to read the charter from the Ambassadorial Prikaz. There was another matter to attend to. The Tsar was going to open a Navigation School in Moscow, and was already sending instruments from Amsterdam. Well, and the serfs stood in front of them, shifted from one foot to the other and kept looking inquisitively. They were still waiting for something… Romodanovsky continued to speak:

— So… I know, you are both clever and resourceful, follow and find out with whom the Streletskaya will meet, and what conversations to conduct. Do everything wisely, but you also need to hurry. Is it clear now or should I repeat it again?

— So, Fyodor Yuryevich… It’s not an easy matter… We’ll lose our heads! The bastards will drown us, if not in the Neglinnaya or Yauza, then in the Moscow River for sure, — Vasily said quietly.

— The main thing is that it’s not in a ditch or the Poganye Ponds. You can suffocate from the stench there. That’s it, it’s a done deal! Carry it out!

— But to do it right, as you, father, decided, we need to become sbitenshiks. Or kvassniks. And for that we need… — and the sly man raised his head, studying the grassy pattern in the chambers.

— Well, what did you see there? Was it the Prophet Elijah? Or maybe St. Nicholas the Saint? — the boyar clarified.

The serf bent his fingers for a long time, whispered, rubbed his eyes, in general, tested the boyar’s patience for a long time. And the boyar did not have this quality at all.

— Well, should I throw you to Yashka the bear? So that my thoughts can come to order?

— Well, that’s it… It comes out to six rubles eighty-three kopecks, no less! — and the serf stared at the prince-caesar.Vaska was a real rogue, but he knew how to entertain Romodanovsky. The boyar silently ran his hand over his mustache, thought for a moment, and took out the treasured box. He counted out exactly fourteen efimki and pushed them towards the serf.

— Seven rubles. If you don’t return it in a month, or don’t do the job, I’ll put you on trial, and they’ll beat you both until you return every penny!

— Yes, God is holy, we’ll do anything! — and Vasily hid the silver, — right, Foma? — the serf turned to his comrade.

He nodded his head reluctantly and continued to look at the floor. Sadness fell upon Vasily. His comrade was completely taken aback by what had happened. They were driving us out into the cold from a warm and well-fed place, a boyar’s estate.

— Come on, hurry up! — Romodanovsky ordered sharply, in a lordly manner.

And these two serfs, assigned to an important task, rolled out into the corridor. The boyar rang the bell. The sleeping bag came up. and Fyodor Yuryevich pointed to the servants:

— Take them out. so that they don’t flash in the tower…

— I will do everything, prince-father, — answered Senka, and glanced at the open door to the corridor, and bowed carefully, and as low as possible.

After all, the sly one saw that the priest-boyar was not in the mood, he could even order a flogging.

***

— And whoever wants some hot sbiten, come on in, Orthodox! — the cheerful merchant said.

An ordinary tradesman, of course, in an inconspicuous sermyaga caftan, heavy yuft boots and a felt hat pushed to the left side. The street vendor had nothing outstanding except for his beard sticking out.

— Give me a mug, it’s cold… — the archer muttered, holding out a small coin, a dengi.

He drank slowly, looking at the drink vendor. He handed over the mug, and the merchant quickly rinsed it with water from a wooden bottle.

— You’re a clever fellow, I see, — muttered the service man, — we’ve never had such near the Church of Paraskeva-Pyatnitsa…

— I used to carry things around in the ranks. I heard that the riflemen had returned, so here we are. And our house, with my brother, is not far away. We are from the Tsykler people, released into freedom…

— Ah, — and the rifleman’s voice warmed. — the late Ivan Eliseevich? That’s how… And what should I call you, my dear man?

— Me, Vasily, and my brother, Foma… He’s my pie maker. Would you like some pies? With sauerkraut, Lenten…

— Ah, let’s have some pies!

Vaska whistled wildly, and the pieman quickly appeared, throwing back a clean gray cloth from the goods.

— Here, choose, Strelets… With cabbage and mushrooms.

He chose slowly, paid. And both peddlers were already calmly walking through the settlement. They had only taken a hundred steps, and by the Church of John the Baptist they had already taken all the goods. Business was going well, the brothers returned with new ones.

A couple of beggars were sitting on the porch, and an old woman was sitting next to them, mumbling under her breath.

— Give us a pie, too, good fellow merchant! — the beggar cried.

— Here, take it, in the name of John the Baptist and Mother Paraskeva, — Foma was not greedy.

It’s like this, there will be no loss… Fomka always thought so, and he was almost never wrong.

The old woman’s clothes were poor. All sewn and re-sewn. But her shoes were good, brown goatskin shoes. They are brought from Persia. Foma walked in circles nearby, waiting for someone to come up. And he was right. The archer sat down next to her, the old woman whispered something. The pie-maker thought, or maybe, sinfully, that she was a matchmaker. But no… He saw how the old woman gave him the letter, and the archer gave her his. The soldier hid the message in his boot.

Foma dropped his hat, and immediately picked it up, shaking it off. The passers-by did not notice, but Vasily understood everything. They had an agreement among themselves, a cap fell, which meant that a comrade had seen something important. And they had to follow the one with whom one of the archers was talking.

And as the archer rose from the stone steps, the sbiten seller slowly followed him. And the pie man, having waited a little, slowly followed the old woman.

He was able to turn around and hide the pies, changed his sermyak for a sheepskin coat and tucked the bag behind his back, and got himself a staff. It’s good, the old woman didn’t walk quickly, Foma was in a hurry. But what happened was unexpected, they found themselves at the tower of Princess Marfa. Here the lively serf began to hide in dark corners, afraid that the princess’s servants would notice him, and then he would lose his head!

***

— To hell with it. Tyomka, don’t drag it out! It’s dark after all! — the elderly archer spoke in jokes and squinted with his left eye. This service man looked like a buffoon, dressed in an archer’s caftan by mistake. But both experienced strelets and foremen, and even the sergeants, knew that this strelets had fought at Chigirin, and at Perekop, and had shown himself in the Osai of Azov.

— Right now, Uncle Dmitry! Wait a bit… The candle needs to be closer, I can’t make it out…

And the fingers, calloused from labor, moved the copper candlestick with a tallow candle burning brightly in it towards the owner of the house.

And there were not two servicemen here, and not three. But eight elected ones, from the entire strelets community. Three foremen, and a couple more strelets sergeants, and privates. Finally. Artemy was able to read the letter:

— So Princess Martha is sending us a letter. She has learned about our misfortune and state unrest, — and he looked at his comrades with a satisfied face.

— Don’t keep us in suspense, Tyomka, read it!

— Okay, here it is:

“Greetings to you, Streltsy, from me, Marfa and Tsarevna Sophia. We have heard about your troubles, that you have been worn out in the service of the sovereign, and you are not given a break. And you have not seen your families and wives for almost two years, working incessantly on the Don and Azov. And Tsar Peter, having gone abroad, forgot about you. And it is not known whether he is alive or not, others say that the boyars replaced him with a German. They wanted to destroy the Tsarevich, Alexei Petrovich, but his loyal people hid him. And for that, Tsarina Evdokia was dishonorably slapped on the cheeks. Our only hope is in you, loyal service people of Moscow, that you will stand up for the sovereign’s cause and the Orthodox faith. And I would, with God’s help, stand by Tsarevich Alexei until he reaches adulthood, and protect both the veu and the Orthodox customs…” — Evona, how things turned out, — Dmitry whispered worriedly.

— And what do you think, uncle? — asked Artemy.

— We’ll take the charter to the regiments… The society will decide everything for us.And I think we’ll do what they did in Nizhny Novgorod. We need to call up the militia and drive the boyars out of their yards. They’ve betrayed the Orthodox faith and Holy Rus’. And we’ll do what Kuzma Minin didn’t do and Stepan Razin couldn’t.

— Look at you, Mityai, where are you going with this…

— If we do it, we’ll do it wisely… We’ll preserve the state and beat the traitors without mercy. And I see you have good pies here. I haven’t had those for a long time.

— A pie shop and a kvass shop appeared next to the settlement. Vasily and Foma, — one of the riflemen, Ustyan Ivanov, was saying.

— New ones? Who’s seen them here before? — and Mityai even got up from the bench.

— Nothing… They say they were released from the Tsyklerov servants. After that execution. And they settled here.

— My God, just like children, — and Mityai grabbed his shaggy head, — who among you knows the housekeeper Ivan Eliseevich?

— Mikhail Ivanovich and Elise Ivanovich served in the Kursk city regiment… And there was such a close serf of Ivan Eliseevich. Nikita. So we need to find him then. You, Artemy, knew many people in the estate?

— I’ll try, I’ll do it, — noted Tyoma and frowned, — do you think, uncle, that the boyars have sent us?

— I don’t know, — Mityai said quietly, — but everything must be done seriously, wisely. We need to check. Find Nikita — bring him so that he can take a look at Vaska and Fomka.

— Okay, we need to disperse. And behave more quietly until we find out everything.

The archers left Ustya Ivanov’s house, accompanied by their owner all the way to the gate. He stood with a lantern, lighting the way for his comrades. Uncle Mityai adjusted his hat, patted his friend on the shoulder and said

— We’ll meet soon, Ustyan…

***

Foma had settled into life in these parts, in the Streltsy settlement. Good people, not evil. But they still sent a message to Romodanovsky, and he said that he forgave them seven rubles in debt. And here, too, trade was going well, it was a sin to complain about life.

— A couple with cabbage, — said one of the Streltsy passing by.

The peddler gladly gave two pies, but for some reason his heart sank… An unfamiliar tradesman stood next to the serviceman and looked attentively at the serf, as if recalling his face, his whole appearance. Then he shook his head.

The archer, without saying another word or swinging his fist, hit Foma in the stomach, and when he bent over, he instantly put a burlap sack on his head, like a chicken being dragged to market. And then the serf felt that he was being dragged into some gateway. He tried to scream, but a mitten was already sticking out of his mouth, which was impossible to spit out. Vaska was enthusiastically selling sbiten, and only then noticed that Foma was missing. He looked around, stood, waited… His soul felt sick, and he had an unbearable desire to run away right there, to hide… Slowly, without showing it, he walked to his hut. A cart stopped nearby, on which sat a driver, and a tradesman, who seemed to be looking closely at the drink carrier. Then this stranger turned away and slapped the driver on the shoulder. Now three men in Streltsy caftans approached the sbiten merchant. Two of them kept looking at the pavement as if they had lost something, and the third smiled crookedly and hid his hands behind his back. – Hello, Vasily… Pour us three mugs, our throats are so dry…

— With great pleasure.

The sbiten seller got distracted and earned a blow to the head with a stick. He fell onto the pavement. They tied him up in an instant, shoved a gag in his mouth, threw him into a cart and covered him with a mat. Then they put three bundles of brushwood on top, and it turned out as if Vaska the peddler had never been there. The cart slowly rolled down the street, to Poganye Prudy.

***

Fyodor Yuryevich sat at his desk, studying the letters from his messengers. Another serf, Afonka, brought the letter, who was only supposed to pick up these letters from the watchman at the Paraskeva-Pyatnitsa church. And it had been written the day before yesterday.

“And the archers met with a certain grandmother Uliana, from the tower of Princess Marfa. And this grandmother sent letters from Marfa and Sophia to the archers. And whether she gave silver, I do not know. But treasonous talk began in the settlement, they say, Tsar Peter is gone, the boyars killed him, and replaced him with a German. They want to completely destroy the Orthodox faith. And they planned to strangle Tsarevich Alexei. And who else helps the archers, we do not know” And it was written crookedly, on good paper, but even from this the prince-caesar grabbed his head. Out of chagrin, he took out a decanter of galangal, poured himself a full glass of green wine, and without wincing, drank to the last drop. The devil knows whether vodka is a medicine or not, but somehow his soul and heart felt relieved. The boyar rang the bell, calling the bedchamber, Semyon. He came running quickly, without delay.

— Senka, did Afonka bring anything else? — asked the boyar, pouring more vodka into a glass.

— No, father… I went to church for two days, but there is nothing...And from the order, a sergeant of the Semenovsky regiment is expecting you, what business…

— And for how long?

— No, about two hours…

— What, have you lost your mind? — Romodanovsky began to get angry, — maybe it’s important! I’ll catch you, you fool! Quickly, bring him here!

— So I thought, you’re busy, always thinking about important things, father…

— Get out, and bring the sergeant here, and quickly!

— As you wish, — and the serf bowed low, and closed the door behind him.

Romodanovsky put away the vodka, assumed a respectable appearance, settled into the chair, and put a sheet of paper in front of him. A statesman at work, and was pleased with himself.

They knocked, and the sergeant entered, with his hat under his arm, according to the Code. He looked sprightly, courageous. Shaved cheeks, not long hair. A fine caftan and boots, with a sword, a fine fellow, as tall as the ceiling of the room.

— Prince-Caesar! I am forced to report that during the patrol at the Foul Ponds, two dead bodies were found in sacks of burlap. Drowned, no doubt. One had a tag, and as we were told, only your people have one.

And he put a lead seal with an eye on the table. On it was a two-headed eagle, the sovereign’s coat of arms, and a number, in Greek letters AB with a title. The boyar looked thoughtfully at the messenger, twirled the tag in his hand, and thought for a moment. The sergeant clicked his heels and left the room.

— Yes, it’s really bad, — whispered Romodanovsky, — Vaska and Fomka are gone now… Well, what can I say, they judged correctly… I’ll put a candle at the bottom, — and he poured himself some more vodka, — Senka! Senka, come here quickly!

— So what do you order, father?

— Send for Troekurov and Prozorovsky quickly!

— Right now, I’ll do it myself!

And sure enough, he ran, rattling his kabukam on the stone floor. Romodanovsky didn’t hesitate to get up, and saw the serf running down the steep stairs to the first floor of his rich chambers.

***

Vasily T’ma slept on a bench, the soft feather bed didn’t crush his sides, and the patchwork blanket warmed him, not chilled him. It was better than huddling on straw in the barns and barns in the Novgorod backwaters. His wife, Marfa, moved closer to him. The archer felt completely calm, and he fell asleep again. But there was a crash of blows on the gate, a dog barked loudly, and then whined pitifully and fell silent.

Vasily jumped up, grabbed a stick, then put on his sheepskin coat, and shoved his feet into his felt boots.

— Vasya, where are you going? — his wife got up and threw a thick shawl over her shoulders.

— Someone is breaking in…

— Wait…

The blows began to rain down on the front door. They were simply beating furiously, with malice, as if the unfortunate door was their enemy.

— Open up, Vasily, get ready for the road! There is an order, you all have to go to the border quickly!

— Okay. I’ll get dressed now. Why scare people in the morning? Marfa, pack your bundle…

— My God… I’ll be right now… Wait! — the woman screamed shrilly.

And the children woke up, Granny Avdotya got up from the stove and rushed to help equip her son for the campaign. The woman threw back the lid of the chest, took out a pair of underwear and pants, warm mittens.Meanwhile, Marfa put a couple of loaves of bread, a bag of crackers, cereals, salt, a pot, a tin camp mug, and a wooden spoon into the bag.

— Dad, dad! — both sons, Mitka and Pashka, and daughter Vasilisa cried out in different voices.

The archer sat down and hugged and kissed each of them in turn. The daughter began to cry, wiping away her tears with her palm.

— It’s okay, I’ll be back soon, don’t cry, little one… And you, Mitka and Pashka, stay at home as men. You’ll manage, right?

— Because… I’m not a little boy, — twelve-year-old Mitka said seriously.

— Don’t worry, we’ll manage, — Pashka, who was the same age as his brother, supported him.

— Well, I’m only counting on you, — and he hugged his sons in turn.

The travel bag was ready, the strelets placed the fusil by the threshold, sat down on the bench.

— And then, we need to sit down for the road, — grandma Avdotya loudly agreed.

Then she took the icon and blessed her son for the long journey. He crossed himself, unlocked the door and went out into the yard. There were three Semyonovtsy with a sergeant, with fusils and swords.

— Go, hurry up, strelets, yours are gathering at the church, — the strelets muttered.

— Weren’t we with your soldiers at the Azov bastion under bullets? — he asked in response.

— It happened, — the brave mustachioed man grinned, — well, hurry up…

— Vasenka! — and the wife threw herself on her husband’s neck, — take care of this on the road, don’t catch a cold!

— Everything will be fine, Martha! It’s time for me to go… Keep an eye on the children! God help you all!

And Vasily T’ma walked down the street. Other Streltsy, comrades and friends, were gathering near the church, also with fuzes on their shoulders and with sacks on their backs. Well, the Semenovtsy, with attached baginets at the fuzes, stood ready, like a guard for convicts. On horseback, on horses, were General Aatomon Golovin and boyar Ivan Troekurov. Oh, there were rallies-radeshenki, that everything went without bloodshed, during Lent. Elected envoys of four regiments were leaving Belokamennaya.

Streltsy rebellion

Fyodor Yuryevich tried to do a lot in a new manner. The boyar knew that during the war with the Poles, the service people of Poland had seen a lot. The Tsar’s troops had been stationed in Vilnius for many years, and the Tsar’s troops had entered the Polish fortresses. And then the Russian nobles saw how they gave feasts in Europe, and they became familiar with noble customs. And with duels, theaters, and dances. And he had a couple of paintings, which his father had brought from Polotsk… It was shameful to look at these parsunas, honestly… He knew, however, that Golovin and the Golitsyns, the famous scoundrels, had such. The Patriarch shamed them, of course, but those admonitions were not public. And other things… They all began to think highly of themselves, saying, why is it that the Poniatowskis, Sapiehas, and Vishnevetskis can do everything, but they, the Golitsyns, Dolgorukys, and Sheremetevs, you see, cannot? Only Stenka Razin cheered up the impudent fellows, but not for long… True, they realized that without a strong royal hand and protection they would hang on stakes, but even here, they started a fight, but a secret one, in the dark. No matter how much they got carried away, and he, Fyodor Yuryevich, would not let the fools lose their shores.Thus, Romodanovsky indulged in his thoughts, standing on the porch, greeting distinguished guests. He stood in the old custom in a rich fur coat and hat, and on the left, already in the Polish custom, his dear wife, the world, was present. She treated the dear guests to Hungarian from her own hands.

Then the head clerk seated those who came according to nobility, knowing how not to offend anyone. In the corner, the serfs played, and in the Italian manner. Romodanovsky did not like these whistles and gusli. The violin seemed to him a much more refined instrument, capable of producing truly divine melodies.

— As always, you are wonderful, Fyodor Yuryevich! — Boris Alekseevich Golitsyn, who came with his wife, praised him.

— So it is an important matter, to gather noble people. An anxious time, difficult…

— Pyotr Alekseevich is not going to return from Amsterdam? — Not yet. He is visiting the Tsar in Vienna now… Things are not easy there, and Leopold is offering his relative as a wife for Tsarevich Alexei Petrovich. Princess Louise.

— He wants to become related? — and it was clear how happy Golitsyn was, — it means he values the Tsarevich’s family highly. And he will have an insurmountable support…

Romodanovsky nodded understandingly. Yes, Tsar Leopold obviously figured out something about their Dutch Peter, and hopes to keep his own plans for the Russian Kingdom… But then no one will dare to take the life of Alexei Petrovich, and encroach on his rights as heir. And that is very good.

— Write a letter to the chancellor, Boris Alexeevich, that all Russian nobles will stand firmly for Princess Louise. Such a wife…

— We will do everything, Fyodor Yuryevich… Enough of these intrigues, it could all end badly! Okay, Fyodor Lopukhin is looking at us, I’d better sit down at the table!

Fyodor Yuryevich looked at his sons, talking with Boris Alekseevich’s son. He had good and smart children. He was a demanding, but very caring father. And he did not let his sons go to the Great Embassy. And he wanted to send them both to Venice to study, to learn science. Although, of course, it would be best to Rome, to the Great City. He himself dreamed of visiting there, and loved to look at engravings with views of Rome.

The cupbearers poured wine into glasses, starting the feast. True, they served treats from Romodanovsky on silver, and Russian dishes. The prince-caesar did not accept unfamiliar foreign dishes. The feast lasted almost until evening, the guests were cheerful, well-fed and drunk. But no one talked about anything important, only about hunting with dogs. Fyodor Yuryevich kept hoping that at least someone would let slip about the conspiracy while drunk, who gave the strelets silver and sent all sorts of letters.

Romodanovsky reached for a salted milk mushroom with a silver fork, thoughtfully crunched on the tasty snack. But then the face of Senka the sleeping man appeared in the door. The scoundrel was making faces, attracting attention. He remembered that the boyar had promised to whip him if he, the devil’s soul, appeared at the feast under the eyes of the noble guests.

Fyodor Yuryevich reluctantly rose from his place and revealed himself to the serf.

— What, Senka, do you want a whip? Don’t you see, it’s important! — he thundered in his voice.

— It’s the most important thing, father, — the sleeping man said quietly, and he became shorter, — you said yourself that at any time of day or night…

— Well, what? — the boyar muttered, — only faster…

— So, quickly I… The Streltsy, a force of four regiments, approached the Novodevichy Convent…

— So… And who is leading this force?

— I don’t know, even if you kill me, — and the serf fervently crossed himself.

— Send someone to forestall Avtomon Golovin and Patrick Gordon. Let them raise our four regiments, the toy, Lefortovo and Butyrsky.

— I’ll do everything, don’t worry! The messenger will turn around in a jiffy.

— Stop, don’t be silly, Senka… Give me paper and ink!

Here Romodanovsky composed a letter, sealed it with his seal, and then equipped a messenger.

Everyone was getting ready to leave, but Fyodor Yuryevich nodded to Boris Alekseevich. He understood everything. Meanwhile, the owner of the house saw off the guests, and Golitsyn’s sleeping bag Senka led him to the small room, or, in the new version, to Romodanovsky’s study.

The guest looked with curiosity at the paintings and engravings on the walls, at the globe made by the Dutch master van Meer, at the bookcase with books in Latin.

— What, Boris Alekseevich, are you admiring my wealth? — Romodanovsky began the conversation right away.

— Not a bad, sensible library. Everything is in Latin.

— So, read in Russian, nothing has been published. We are not doing business with you.

— That’s true, — and Golitsyn’s gaze became sad, — and we’re lagging behind Europe in such matters…

— And here’s another thing… The Streltsy are marching on Moscow, and gathering a militia. Things are bad. Our forces are few, and if help comes to them, then a terrible mess will ensue.They seem to have found out that Peter is now German, and want to put Alexei Petrovich on the throne

— They’ve gotten carried away, Fyodor Yuryevich, with these intrigues. Who of Ivan Alexeevich’s close stewards poisoned him? What was the point of doing that? And these, in revenge, gave Peter poison.

— It’s too late to look for the guilty, Boris Alexeevich. You are as wise as a snake, tell us, and we’ll do it!

— We need to deceive them, we’ll write a letter on behalf of the Tula Cossack policemen, their ataman Chertkov, saying, we’re coming to help, wait three days.

Romodanovsky perked up, his face brightened. Only Prince Golitsyn could have come up with such a trick, he is very smart and very well read…

— It is a tricky matter, but it can be done… I have a serf in mind, a smart one, he will pass on the letter…

It was obvious that Boris was pleased. But, unexpectedly for Romodanovsky, he took off the ring with the stone.

— As it will not work later, Fyodor Yuryevich, we do not need an eavesdropper. The poison takes effect in five days.

— And you yourself are not afraid that you too…

And after thinking, he took a bottle of his favorite Italian wine from the cabinet, opened it and poured it into an empty decanter, leaving the noble drink to settle,

— Yes, my father accustomed me to poisons using the Italian method. Now nothing will work on me. I have become like Tsar Mithrilates Evpator, — Golitsyn expressed himself very intricately.

— Why do you, my little prince, respect only foreign wisdom, but disdain Russian?

— I respect the Russian faith, German prudence and Turkish loyalty, — Golitsyn said slowly.

— Yeah… Well, we’re not very loyal, but look, I have all the samples of the seals… Here’s the seal of the Tula police Cossacks… Sit down next to me, Boris Alekseevich, we’ll start composing together…

Soon the little letter was ready, and the two nobles were sitting in armchairs, enjoying the taste of fine wine.

— And how’s the canal going, from the Volga to the Don? — Romodanovsky couldn’t resist and teased his interlocutor, who seemed to him to be overly smart.

— We’re building, everything’s in business… Well, where’s your messenger?

— Right now… — and Romodanovsky rang the bell.

Senka came and bowed as he should. The sly fellow made a face, again ingratiatingly smart. — Bring Gavrila here… — whispered Fyodor Yuryevich, and coughed

The servant left, and the prince found a simple wooden bowl on the shelf. Golitsyn only grinned, looking at the excitement of the owner of the house.

— Burn the bowl later… — said the guest.

— Will he suffer greatly?

— And what about you? A serf is a serf?

— So the Christian soul…

— He will die in his sleep. From suffocation. He will suffocate.

Fyodor Yuryevich was sometimes surprised by Boris Alekseevich, his inhumanity. As if there were not people around, but clay dolls. He took and broke. Changed his mind — once and glued it back together. He could not do it like that, he suffered all the time, reproached himself endlessly. And this one, it seems, did not bother at all.

— What shall we do with the archers?

— We’ll execute the ringleaders, send the simple riflemen to Siberia, and garrison Tobolsk. There are few troops there. And instead of them we’ll recruit surplus men for the soldier regiments, — Golitsyn reasoned sensibly. While the boyars were talking quietly, there was a quiet knock at the door, and a servant was pushed into the office. He bowed and remained standing, like a pillar by the road. – Gavrila?

— Yes, Prince-father…

— So, Gavrila, do me a favor… Take this letter to the Streltsy, they are camped at the Novodevichy Convent. Do your best… Here, two efimki for your efforts. Senka praises you, saying that you are a good worker, you prove it…

— So what should I say? What do you want, father?

— You will say that you are from Tula, a man of the ataman of the fodder Cossacks Chertkov, you will give the letter to their leader. Got it all? If you do everything right, you will receive five rubles! You will get a horse from my stable. Hurry, Gavrila, it is urgent! — Romodanovsky finally said, the words stuck in his throat.

— And you should drink some wine before you go. The prince has come, — Golitsyn moved a wooden bowl of wine closer.

The serf did not try to deny it, but drank it all down in a flash, and decently wiped his moustache and beard with his palm. He bowed and left the office. Romodanovsky sighed heavily and said what was on his mind:

— It is still unclear. Who is at the head of the rebellion? Who is from the boyars?

***

— Who is that? — and the strelets grabbed the horse by the bridle.

And his four comrades quickly grabbed their spears and halberds, approaching the rider. He almost fainted, but came to his senses in time.

— So I was sent from Tula, here is a letter, — the messenger answered.

— Indeed, — the strelets read, snatching the letter from his hand, — get off, don’t hesitate!

He almost slid off his horse, but trudged after his guide. Another archer urged the messenger on by poking him in the ribs with the spear shaft.

— Oh, stop it, it hurts, — the man complained.

— Who are you? — the archer asked.

— Well, I’m one of Ataman Chertkov’s people, Gavrila. He’s serving in Tula, and I’m with him.

— And what about your Ataman?

— Well, I don’t know… Here, he sent me. He promised a reward, five rubles. – Look at you, five rubles? Let’s go, you’ll answer for it right now. And if you lie, you’ll taste the hot iron.

— What about me? The Orthodox… — the messenger begged.

Soon Gavrila was brought to the carts placed in a circle for protection. The Strelets gave the letter to the policeman, who looked at the seal and simply brightened up.

— A big deal… — and quickly read the message, — Strelets! — the policeman shouted, — Ataman Chertkov asks to wait three days, so that he and his regiment can come to us.

— Then it would be better to go to Tula ourselves. There are plenty of provisions and fodder there, we’ll wait for the Cossacks and then go to Moscow!

— And send a letter to the Don asking for help!

— We’ll send letters, that’s a sure thing, — the sergeant said. — But the colonel asks us to wait here. Otherwise, we might miss the Cossacks on the road. And, you know, we’ve been promised help.

— And where are those boyar children? They have no troops, — the strelets noted.

— You speak correctly, Darkness, — his comrade supported his comrade.

So they talked, but decided to wait for help here, at the Novodevichy Convent.

***

Only on the second day, at night, did the reiters and dragoons attack the strelets and capture them all. The next morning, Generalissimo Shein himself arrived in a gilded carriage to look at the rebellious strelets. He walked slowly between the rows, frowning at everyone. He just sighed and groaned, remembering the old days and campaigns. He looked and counted how many people there were.

— Where are the rest? — he shouted into the crowd.

— So we stayed at the border. We came to demand our wages. Nothing has been paid for three years! — shouted one of the riflemen.

— What!?? Rebel! — shouted Shein, furious at the answer, — who is the manufacturer? Who decided to go to Moscow?

— So we went for food. We were very hungry, poor…

— Don’t lie! Don’t you dare! I’ll beat you all up!

The clerks of the Robbery Department began to conduct a search here, began to flog the riflemen, but did not find out anything. Everything was incomprehensible, and the generalissimo was furious. They brought out the most spirited ones and hanged them as a warning. The rest were sent under guard to monasteries, to undergo strict penance, to atone for their sins. That was the end of it.

Peter in Vienna. Secret meetings

Lying in a carriage and sleeping was a very unusual thing for Peter. He had heard of something like this, but he had never seen it. On the ship, on his favorite brig, it didn’t rock like that, but you could get used to it. He almost fell over in his sleep a couple of times, and began to use belts. So the Tsar of Russia shook in a dormeuse to Vienna.

The entrance was rather mundane, as if turnips had been brought to the city from the vegetable gardens. No procession, no flowers, no enthusiastic burghers. The cavalcade rode to the outskirts of the city, where a small palace had been handed over to the Russians.

— They are receiving us badly, Franz, — said Peter, — as if we were not the sovereign of a great country, but one of the princes, or even worse.

— Oh, what are you saying, Your Majesty, — muttered Lefort, taking out his snuffbox with an elegant gesture.

The elegant Swiss was handsome, had the manners of a prince of the blood, and looked great. Peter only sighed heavily, trying to restrain himself.

— The note was passed on, — Peter began to read, — the Tsar will come at night, through a secret gate. He wants to talk face to face.

— European politics, Peter, no need to worry. Everything is very subtle, on half-hints, — Lefort reassured, — the Tsar is cunning, does not want to promise anything.

— There was not even an official meeting. My portrait is now kept in London, by the Elector of Prussia, as if for identification. But we will see what it is, — and Peter blushed with anger.

***

Several days passed. Preparations for the ball were underway in the palace for the guests. Musicians arrived in several carriages. Vans brought tables, dishes, wine. The footmen of the court began to bring everything into a divine appearance.

Guests whom Peter had not invited began to arrive for dinner. But he stood at the front door, greeting the nobles, dressed in silk and velvet, and their wives, shining in luxurious dresses and bare shoulders. In the hall, behind him, the orchestra played a minuet. The music raised the mood of the guest king, and even more so — the abundance of beautiful ladies. One of them, dressed in silver brocade, smiled at him so sweetly, and bowed so enticingly that the former pirate simply thawed in his soul. He held the lady by her thin fingers, and did not want to let go of the luxurious captive.

— I am very glad to see you, — Peter finally said in a muffled voice.

— Thank you, your grace, — the lady answered, lowering her eyes, — Charlotte Visbur, — she gave her name.

The lady turned out to be very smart, and stood slightly behind the giant. But, nevertheless, it seemed that she was the mistress of the house, and Peter liked it even more.

Well, to the guests, the Russian Tsar seemed almost a giant, a northern Cyclops, meeting them at his cave, fortunately, not very scary. And next to him stood a beautiful nymph, reviving this almost demonic ensemble.

Finally, the obligatory ritual was completed, and Peter touched Charlotte’s hand and led her into the hall. Menshikov, like a faithful squire, followed behind.

The majordomo slapped his cane on the floor, the musicians began to bring out a melody for the dance. Peter and Charlotte walked in front of the dancers.

— How should I address you, your grace, — the lady asked, smiling slightly.

— Herr Peter, — the giant answered, grinning into his moustache.

Incidentally, to the surprise of Madame Visbourg, this Muscovite was skilled in plaisir, that is, he moved very gracefully, and did not step on her elegant brocade slippers with his shoes.

Then everyone was called to the table. In a word, having broken the hopes of the Austrian nobles for Russian exoticism, the treat on the dishes was prepared according to French recipes. The footmen skillfully and quickly distributed the dishes to those present. And behind Peter stood, probably, the tallest of them.

The first toast, of course, was for Caesar Leopold, and the second — for his Russian guests, although the title of the tsar was not mentioned. Peter’s face darkened with anger, but he restrained himself. The cunning Lefort made signs, trying to restrain his rage. And the graceful Charlotte calmed the pirate’s violent temper with her presence.

— Min hertz, — he heard Menshikov whisper behind him, — you are asked… Important guests…

— Right now, Aleksashka. Charlotte, I have to step aside… I will definitely return…

They quickly walked along the corridor, past the guard of the Tsar’s guards. And, in a small office, at a simple table sat a gentleman, his face hidden by a half-mask. Judging by the brocade waistcoat, decorated with an order ribbon, the man was very noble.

— This way, min hertz. Don’t worry, I’ll stand behind the door, I have a couple of pistols…

Peter grinned, closed the door and sat down opposite the mysterious guest. He was silent for a while, expecting the stranger to speak first. And so it happened.

— I am glad to have my guest, the Tsar of Moscow…

— The Tsar of All Rus’, — Peter corrected. – I have to hide my face, there are many ill-wishers of your presence in Vienna. The city is full of rumors from Russia, in Moscow they say that there is an impostor on the throne…

— The ambassadors confirmed my identity…

— Yes, without a doubt, my brother, — Leopold seemed to correct himself, — but in Russia there is a rebellion, and some kind of disorder…

— A bunch of malcontents, a common thing in any state…

— Of course, of course, my brother Peter. And we are in an alliance against Turkey, and I hope that the agreement is strong?

— Without a doubt, my brother Leopold.

— But I heard that you met with William of Orange, and he, of course, spoke to you about the need for a war with Sweden. He wants to deprive France of an ally…

— Ingria and Karelia, the old Russian lands will have to be reconquered.

— Still, a war with Turkey is a necessity, albeit a difficult one for both Austria and Russia. I would like to strengthen our agreement by creating a marriage union between your son Alexei and my relative Louise, Princess of Württemberg.

— Without a doubt, I will be glad of this. When both reach the right age, my brother! — and Peter gave a forced and forced laugh.

The pirate was not stupid. They made it clear to him here that they knew he was not the real Peter, but were ready to tolerate this until Alexei came of age. And they were ready to stand up for the rights of the underage prince to the throne. Moreover, they respect nobility strictly, so much so that they consider him their equal, wanting to marry the princess to Alexei Petrovich.

— However, I heard that you are going to make peace with the Turks. Since we are in an honest alliance, I ask you to take care of the city of Kerch for Russia.

— My brother Peter, the Turks do not give up fortresses, they must be taken back by force. So you still have many battles with the Turks ahead of you.And we heard in Vienna that in Moscow there was another rebellion against your majesty. The Streltsy do not recognize your person, this is very bad…

The face of the Tsar became hard, and his smile was simply terrible. Caesar Leopold had seen a lot, but now he was truly frightened. And he was glad that his face was hidden by a mask. He left the guest and disappeared behind a secret door.

Peter did not immediately come to his senses. Then the evening began to spin as if by itself, and he seemed to become an observer, and saw everything as if in a dream. He did not wake up even in the hot embrace of Charlotte, with whom he indulged in one of the rooms of the palace until the morning.

Waking up was difficult, Peter rubbed his face with cold water for a long time, poured himself from a jug given by Alexashka.

— That’s it, we’ve stayed long enough, we’re going to Moscow, — he ordered, wiping himself with a sheet.

— So you were going to Venice? — the orderly reminded him, — to see the ships, the canals?

— They said, to Moscow… And with great haste… We need to figure everything out!

PART 3 The Tsar and the Grand Duke of All Rus’

The Tsar has returned

Fyodor Yuryevich stood at the service in the Assumption Cathedral. The bishop was thoughtfully reading a sermon, fragrant incense was smoking in the censer, and its clouds, with each wave of the minister, rose to the dome of the church, where Jesus Christ himself was depicted. The Almighty looked at the worshipers with stern eyes, as if promising them new and difficult trials. God was not merciful these days, he only exacted heavy punishment from people.

The prince-Caesar sighed deeply and crossed himself, looking at the holy icons. Beauty and tranquility, that is what Romodanovsky craved, but he did not deserve it.

A candle burned in his well-groomed hand, as did the other boyars standing near the iconostasis. All this allowed him not to think about business. The shipyard in Voronezh, the Azov and Taganrog fortresses, and also the recruitment of dragoon regiments, which, fortunately, Prince Golitsyn took upon himself.

— Father, — the omnipresent Senka whispered in his ear, — a messenger is waiting for you, very urgently… From the Ambassadorial Prikaz…

— Let him wait… There’s not much left. And if he starts making noise, give him a whip…

As soon as the boyar said that, his soul felt lighter. As if he had thrown out the heaviness and fear. Yes, the damned fear had been sitting in his soul since the hour Pyotr Alekseevich died, and they had decided on this foreigner… And he couldn’t really fall asleep, he was tormented by terrible dreams. Sometimes Pyotr seemed like this, sometimes like that, sometimes he came as a dead man. Or he’ll come, sit down near the bed, and keep quiet…

Finally, the service ended, and Fyodor Yuryevich slowly began to move towards the exit of the cathedral. Avtomon Golovin passed by, but Boris Alekseevich Golitsyn stayed close, such a sly fellow.True, Senka noticed, he understood that the serf had not just showed up at the Assumption Cathedral.

— But business, business, Boris Alekseevich won’t let me go, — Romodanovsky decided to explain to Golitsyn.

— That’s our service, at the state. And sometimes we don’t get enough sleep, and sometimes we don’t get enough food.

Fyodor Yuryevich remained silent, only grinning into his thick mustache. Boris Alekseevich loved to express himself floridly. Together they went out to the steps of the cathedral. Then the messenger appeared, handed over the letter with the hanging seals.

The prince-caesar unfolded the letter, read the first few words of the message, his heart sank, and his knees weakened disgustingly.

— In a day he will arrive in Preobrazhenskoye. All seven of us must gather,,,

Golitsyn turned to the domes of the church, bowed for a long time and crossed himself.

A Date in Preobrazhenskoye

Peter sat and looked out the carriage window at the villages, as if floating past them, along a narrow road. The unusual clothes of the inhabitants, which he had seen before only in engravings, were strange, but it seemed comfortable. The horses were smaller than the Dutch ones, but it seemed that the inhabitants kept a lot of draft animals.

The houses were completely different, unlike the beloved Dutch ones. Here even a poor peasant had a house made of thick logs, but not all had glass windows.

But the expanses of Russia were fascinating. And what was even more surprising was that everywhere, for many miles from Novgorod to the suburbs of Moscow, they spoke the same language! In his small and sweet Holland, too, but in the principalities of Germany and France, he firmly knew, there was no such thing at all. The Provencal and the Parisian expressed themselves differently, and even more so the Mecklenburger and the Bavarian. He got used to the cabbage soup and the bathhouse here, but he carried with him a whole supply of various cheeses, without which he could not exist. So he kept thinking, recalling from the drawings the faces of his close boyars, his wife, Tsarina Avdotya, the generals of his army — Golovin, Gordon.

— Min hertz, and when are you going to grow a beard? — Menshikov asked casually and smiled impudently, as always.

— Go to hell, — was the short and succinct answer, — or I’ll punch you in the face.

The orderly did not specify where to look for the devil’s abode. He himself knew or sensed where to look. And he did not want to get a strong fist in the face. But the Dutchman also fell silent, and for some reason ran his hand over his clean-shaven face. He took out a small album and began to study the faces of his noblemen. So far, from pencil drawings. – Who is the most cunning of them all? — Peter finally asked. — Well, you probably won’t find anyone more cunning than Boris Alekseevich Golitsyn. He’s such a smart guy. Well read, very capable… The most businesslike of them, of course, is Fyodor Yuryevich Romodanovsky. Lev Kirillych Naryshkin loves money, owns ironworks in Tula. Your relatives are the Lopukhins. Fyodor is cunning, he’ll understand everything… And so the Seven Close Boyars are the Council. Andrei Ivanovich Golitsyn, the palace governor, Buturlin Ivan, Romodanovsky Mikhail Grigorievich, a famous and intelligent general. Here they are now, waiting, they will give you the conditions to sign… But you, my dear, don’t give a damn about them, do something more cunning…

And Aleksashka quietly whispered something in the ear of the new sovereign, and he smiled, praising himself in his mind.

— Only one thing will not be allowed to happen to you — if you try to remove Aleksei Petrovich from the throne, — Menshikov said seriously.

— Everyone has already warned me about that, not only you, liberal Aleksashka. And very clearly, so that it would get through right away, — and Peter laughed gutturally and angrily.

Menshikov sighed, glanced sideways at the tsar a little, and thought, but weren’t the boyars mistaken, that they pumped such an eroy around their necks and the whole of Rus’? And how are they going to manage him? It’s like getting a wild cat at home. Such a man, if not in his way, would beat his masters to death…

***

The first to stop was the carriage from which General Lefort, Golovkin and the clerk Voznitsyn got out. They passed the guard of Prebrazhentsi, who saluted them smartly.

— And it’s time for us to go, my dear…

— And what about the things?

— Don’t worry, sir. You are the Tsar of All Rus’. The serfs will carry everything.It‘s none of your business, none of the Tsar’s!

Pyotr stared at Menshikov with his round eyes and only shrugged. Alexashka knew that the Tsar was angry, but not very much. Near the gates everything was clean and tidy, the road was paved with stones, and that was the Tsar’s palace.

Pyotr walked with a quick and confident step, leaning on his cane. Suddenly a pair of guardsmen, without saying a word, crossed the butts of their fusils in front of him.

— Strangers are not allowed… — the Preobrazhensky’s voice sounded sternly.

Menshikov was dumbfounded… Lefort, the Swiss — oh bastard, the service is lost! And what now? Well, everything turned out differently..:

Peter, without saying a word, knocked both soldiers to the ground with two blows of his fist, so that their hats and guns flew to the sides.

— You should know the Tsar by sight! — he said loudly to the dumbfounded sergeant, — but thank you for the service! Strangers have no business in my palace!

And Peter put six chervonets into the Preobrazhensky’s hand, for the entire guard of guards.

— But why are you standing there, frozen, Alexashka? They are waiting for us, let’s go!

Now the Tsar spoke only in Russian, though with a slightly incorrect pronunciation. The orderly was surprised at this man. He did not lose his presence of mind at all. He did not know what to do now, but this one — only stamped his steps firmly. Suddenly he turned around, glanced at the soldiers as if deciding something important.

— Take me, Alexashka, to the Preobrazhensky and Semyonovsky. And take my money box. An important matter is being started.

— Got it, my dear. How could I not understand?

Menshikov also appreciated this move of the new Peter. Clever. of course… As they say, everyone loves money…

The regiments were lined up in rows, and the tsar personally, not shying away from the servicemen, went around to each one and presented them all with silver efimki. Now the guardsmen recognized the tsar, and agreed that he was the true sovereign of Rus’.

— Soldiers! Line up at the Preobrazhensky Palace and wait for me there! Do not disperse until I return! — he gave a stern order. Peter returned now not as a lonely wanderer, but as a true commander and leader, behind whom there was real power. And power is not weak words, but proud strength.And strength is based on people who are ready to fight for the leader, and do whatever he orders.

He was proud of himself, and smiled contentedly. A man with strength, this impresses everyone, and the servants immediately recognized who was the boss in the house. And there was not a single attempt at resistance, or even doubt!

Then the bedchamber attendants came running, hastily opened the doors, and the most important of them, apparently the bedchamber attendant, walked ahead of Peter, throwing the doors open. He was agile. and somehow especially deftly bent down, never hitting the low doorframes. The guide threw open the double-leaf carved doors, and bowed low, very low. Peter turned to Menshikov and said loudly and clearly:

— Wait for me here!

Boyars at the Tsar’s Throne

A portal into the unknown opened before him. In front of him, on a small elevation, stood a throne decorated with a double-headed eagle. The walls were richly painted, and there were low benches on which sat the Seven. Seven long-awaited nobles who had invited him to the Russian throne. He was not used to doubting, and he walked past them with a quick step and sat on the throne of the largest Christian monarchy in the world.

He expected something incredible, but neither the earth opened up to swallow the stranger, nor did lightning burn him, revealing the power of Providence. Nothing like that. Seven pairs of surprised eyes of people dressed in rich brocade coats trimmed with fur simply looked at him. Finally, he stood up and spoke, whom Peter recognized as Fyodor Yuryevich Romodanovsky. — Hello, Tsar-father… Finally we meet again. And how he has matured, I don’t recognize him…

— He looks like himself, and that’s good, — Peter grinned, — I heard, there is another rebellion in Moscow, and few of the guilty have been punished?

— So why execute them? — Romodanovsky did not understand, — there are few service people. There are not enough of them. And you, father, should wear the Tsar’s barma when going out, and Orthodox clothes…

— No, it’s not necessary…

— What was discussed in the letters, does it not raise doubts? — Boris Alekseevich expressed himself slyly.

— The rights of Alexei Petrovich will not be challenged.

The boyars whispered contentedly, and nodded. And they no longer looked so wary.

— Well, that’s it… — Boris Alekseevich Golitsyn began to speak slowly, — we have decided to do everything so that there will be no harm in the Russian state. And you must sign these Conditions,” he gave the Dutchman a message written on good paper. Piter began to read:

“Through this we most firmly communicate, my most important concern and effort will be not only about the maintenance, but also about the utmost possible dissemination of our Orthodox faith of the Greek confession, also after accepting the Russian crown I will not enter into marriage for the rest of my life and will not determine an heir either with me or by myself, we also promise that since the integrity and well-being of any state consists of good advice, for this reason we will always maintain the already established Boyar Duma of seven persons and without any other agreement:

1, not to start a war with anyone

2. not to conclude peace,

m. not to burden our loyal subjects with any taxes,

4. not to grant noble ranks, both in civil and military land and naval, above the rank of colonel, not to assign below to noble affairs, and the guard and other troops to be under the jurisdiction of the Supreme Privy Council

5. Not to take away from the gentry the life, property and honor without a trial,

6. not to grant patrimonies and villages,

7. not to produce in court ranks, both foreigners and Russians,

8. not to use state revenues for expenses, and to maintain all our subjects in mercy, and if I do not fulfill anything according to this promise, then I will be deprived of the Russian crown.”

— That’s clever, — and he slowly signed with the pen handed to him.

He left the regulations on the table, and he himself walked, rather than marched, around the chamber, with his hands behind his back, like a huge raven.

— Tsarina Evdokia has gone to a monastery. So she won’t bother you, father, — said Fyodor Lopukhin.

And the new tsar understood this. So that no more heirs to the throne would appear from his blood. – Call me Herr Peter, or Pyotr Alekseevich, — the new tsar ordered harshly. On the road he read and thought a lot. He knew what the boyars’ power was based on — the old way of life and service people. There, in the dormeze, on the road between Revel and Novgorod, he thought of this, which burst out of him like an avalanche:

— I order a search to be conducted among those archers. The one who called me a German wanted to destroy you, the boyars. Tsar Leopold told me about this and reproached me severely. And issue a decree — to take those archers to Preobrazhenskoye and torture them, to find out who else was involved in this theft.

— Why? There was no conspiracy, that’s for sure. No forgery, nothing was found! — answered the prince-caesar.

— They searched poorly… And, my order to you, Boris Alekseevich — to recruit ten dragoon regiments. And the archers have nothing to do in Moscow.

— And the Stremenny? — Lev Kirillovich spoke up.

— They will sit in Azov, become quieter. It will be more reliable that way.

Peter recalled what he read Dmitry Ivanovich… He sat on the throne, and then flew off with the archers’ wish. And he even flew out of a cannon, like a cannonball, even after death. He didn’t need that… And it was uncomfortable to sit in Moscow, unkindly… He had to build his own, his own…

— So… Bring the Streltsy from the monasteries to Preobrazhenskoye. I’ll ask myself, since they didn’t tell you. It’s okay, I won’t get dirty. And I’m not afraid of blood, boyars.

And he laughed a strange, unfamiliar and evil laugh. From which even Mikhail Grigorievich Romodanovsky, who had been in more than one battle, felt everything inside him turn over. The seasoned warrior only thought:

“Well, they’ve found a way to ruin their lives… Now we’ll cry. We wanted the best, but it turned out worse than ever…”.

But he didn’t open his mouth either. And how could he open it? This foreigner is now the Tsar and Grand Duke of all Rus’, a true autocrat. And he has the right to execute and pardon everyone.

Others, as if straining themselves, grabbed their staffs, as if they wanted to put them to use. Peter did not take up his sword, the hilt was at the giant’s hip.It was necessary to cheer up the nobles with words:

— And here’s what, boyars… My Life Guards have acknowledged that I am the true Tsar. They, my real children, are standing and waiting for me. As if their dear father, without them… So, your paper, these Conditions, are of no use, — and he tore the document into pieces and threw it on the floor.

Here the boyars realized that they wanted to catch a fat Dutch goose, which is good to eat with sauerkraut and green wine, but they caught, perhaps, a lion. And he himself can devour them. And even without crispy cabbage.

Anna Mons

Pyotr Alekseevich visited the bathhouse on his way back, where he happily lay on the shelf. And Aleksashka quickly beat him with a broom. Now the orderly was sweating much more than the tsar. And not so much from the heat of the stove, but from excitement. Otherwise, if he doesn’t like it, he’ll get angry…

— Well, that’s it, my dear. Now we can rest… Let’s sit in the dressing room.

— I wish I had something to drink…

— Well, drink some kvass.

Pyotr tried it, nodded his head approvingly. He sipped a few different ones. He liked the blackcurrant one the most.

— Great… I haven’t had a drink in a long time, — he drawled, draining the clay mug to the last drop, — We need to go to Kukuy. To Annushka.

— That’s true, my dear… It’s the best thing after the bathhouse! — and Menshikov smiled knowingly.

— Shut up. I’ll knock your teeth out!

Pyotr said these words, generally good-naturedly, and poured himself another full glass. He drank and looked at Alexashka with his round eyes over the edge of the mug.

Soon a modest carriage with a pair of horses was carrying Peter, accompanied by Menshikov. Well, and also a small convoy of six dragoons. It was completely stupid to travel through the city when you were afraid that you would be stabbed or poisoned.

The house where Peter’s favorite now lived was built of stone, with eight windows. And next to it in the yard were a couple of sheds, a barn and a stable. A worker brought hay for the horses of the owner’s team, and another swept the ground clean of straw and dirt. Everything was as always, clean and tidy.

— Well, here we are, — Menshikov whispered and quickly opened the carriage door.

Peter pursed his lips, stood up abruptly on the ground, shook out the hem of his caftan, and, squinting slightly, looked at the house.It was unclear whether he liked all this or not, and Alexashka did not want to pester the tsar with questions. Then, as if having made up his mind, he opened the front door, and the doorman almost flew out into the street.

Peter laughed contentedly and slapped the footman on the shoulder in a friendly manner.

— What, should I wait for you? — he shouted to Menshikov.

— I’m already running, min hertz!

They went up to the second floor to the living room. The room looked Dutch. Rafters under the roof, the walls were decorated with white and blue tiles, in the corners there were cupboards with dishes and books, next to a solidly laid table, and carved chairs.

On the threshold stood a sharp-nosed, slightly plump girl in a beautiful, but not luxurious dress with elbow-length sleeves, decorated with lace. Her hair was slightly covered by an openwork cap, in the new fashion. In her hands was a tray with a glass of vodka and a pie, traditional Russian style.

— Welcome back, Peter, — the lady said with a slightly charming accent.

Peter drank the vodka in one gulp, immediately ate the pie, and kissed Anna roughly and harshly, causing her to scream.

— And I’m glad I came back to you. Well, feed me, or what…

With a doomed look, the German woman led the guests to the table. The food was there, in the German style — baked ham, fried sausages, potatoes. Everything was so nice and clean.

Peter ate quickly and sharply, throwing greedy glances at the hostess, as if she were another dish of this dinner.

— Well, have you eaten? — the tsar asked Menshikov, — go to Preobrazhenskoye, and wait for me there… Aleksashka quickly stood up, bowed and quickly left, not wanting to disturb the sovereign. He undoubtedly had important business to attend to here.

A New Custom

In the morning Peter was unusually cheerful, immediately called the barber. Shaving was a pleasure for him. Then he filled his pipe and lit up.

— Well, Liber Alexashka. Today is an important day. Either they will kill me, or everything in Russia will be my way.

— So maybe it’s not worth it, my dear? Why immediately on the blackamoor?

— Little by little is not allowed here, it doesn’t work, — and thoughtfully he blew a cloud of smoke to the ceiling.

On the benches the sovereign’s dwarves were bustling about and fighting for fun and royal awards. They looked funny in their long boyar fur coats, high hats and with crookedly glued-on beards that reached all the way to the floor.

Then he ordered that a caftan of the Preobrazhensky Regiment be brought to him, he meticulously examined himself in the mirror, and seemed to be satisfied.

— Set the tables, — commanded Pyotr, — and put out more vodka, more. And aniseed, and galangal. And good snacks. Pork ham, mushrooms… Aleksashka, have the masters arrived from the German Quarter?

— Yes, they are waiting, but they really don’t understand why they were all called?

— No matter, they will soon become proud of their craft. I am creating an opportunity for these people to earn money too! — and he laughed his wooden laugh again.

— Oh, my God! It seems that the first ones have already arrived…

Boyar carriages, covered carriages of Duma nobles and other service people began to accumulate in the courtyard. They all came to show off in front of each other, smartly dressed and important.

— Aleksashka, go and set guards so that no one is let out… Otherwise, the devils will run away…

— Got it, my God! — Menshikov answered, laughing, and ran off to carry out the tsar’s order. The stewards, very young boyar children, began to open the gates.The nobles went first to bow to the Tsar-father, to fall on their knees before their own father..

As soon as they entered the chamber, there was an empty throne, and next to it a man similar in face to the Tsar was walking from wall to wall, only in foreign, evil clothes.

— Greetings to you boyars, Duma clerks and nobles! I look at you, and my heart bleeds!

— But why, father? We serve you faithfully and truly! — muttered Prince Dolgoruky.

The courtier approached the Tsar. He looked at the prince, put his strong hands on his shoulders. And suddenly he laughed deafeningly.

— Where did you lose your beard, Prince? — and again he feigned laughter.

Dolgoruky grabbed his face in fear, and sure enough — his beard was cut off! And under the bench sits a dwarf, and, the scoundrel, glues a princely beard to his snout. Dolgoruky poked him with a stick, and he squealed!

— For Christ’s sake, forgive him, stupid and narrow-minded… — and the tsar looked at the nobleman, smiling, — here is the barber, he will tidy you up, shave your face… And you drink to my health! — and he himself, personally, brought the glass.

Dolgoruky even burst into tears from such treatment, and drank it all. And they sat him down at the table, poured him more, and put mushrooms and pickles on him.

And so the day spun around… All the nobles were left without beards, with bare faces, without masculine beauty. — It’s been a hard day for me, Alexashka… — Peter said tiredly but proudly, — now they won’t look at me askance, they say, I’m a tsar, but without a beard. And they don’t have beards now!

The Danes’ Visit to Preobrazhenskoye. Torture and Blood

— Yes, it’s an important matter… We must see Tsar Peter, — said Secretary Alex Dietrichs, leafing through the papers

— I heard about what’s going on in Preobrazhenskoye. It would be very interesting to see it…

Friedrik Jansen was a good clerk and knew Russian and Latin very well. He skillfully corrected letters and kept the embassy archives in order. He was also a nice conversationalist and played cards well.

Of course, Moscow was a bit boring, there were no balls, receptions and there were no theaters, but Tsar Peter obviously decided to replace all this

— I don’t advise it, Friedrik. You will be guaranteed a bad night’s sleep and a bad appetite. And the guards of the Russian monarch blocked all the roads there.

— They say that hundreds of Streltsy have already been driven into this hellish prison.

— Peter wants to surpass the English king Henry in his bloodthirstiness.

— He did not torture the military. This is a bad idea, a bad motive, and a bad occupation, — the Danish ambassador said meaningfully, shaking the ashes from his smoked pipe, — others will notice this, remember, and draw conclusions. Then one should not complain about betrayal.

— Constantine the Great dispersed the Praetorians in Rome.

— True, he dispersed, but did not execute. With whom, with what army is Peter going to fight the Turks or the Swedes? This is madness…

— I heard that they are going to enroll the datka peasants in the soldier regiments… There are many of them, and they will gather many new regiments.

Here the ambassador laughed merrily, and with a sly squint looked at his assistant.

— Streltsy are accustomed to shooting from guns from an early age, they masterfully wield a saber.And what about yesterday’s peasant? Doesn’t know left from right, hasn’t been taught to read or write, and is unaccustomed to shooting. Recruits need to be trained for at least a year if there are experienced soldiers in the company. And three years if no one knows how to do anything. I don’t think highly of Peter’s skills. He is too cruel, and will ruin everything anyway. Remember the two sieges of Azov. And, you don’t know, but I read in old columns how the Cossacks took the Azov fortress in 1632. And there were only five thousand of them. Then they lay siege for three years, fighting off the merciless Turks. That’s the difference between peasants dressed in military caftans and true warriors. Such a soldier is more of a burden than a real fighter.

— Well, tell this to the Tsar? He is an ally of our king.

— Peter is quarrelsome and angry. Such a child who got carried away in his play, who still doesn’t understand what is good and what is bad. Life itself must punish him. Without it, any words are meaningless. Well, okay, — he said, looking out the window, — the horses are ready, the servants too. Let’s go, otherwise it’s getting dark quickly at this time.

Both of them, having pulled their cloaks so that their faces were not visible, went out into the yard.

— Andreas, — the ambassador turned to his orderly, — you and Vitus will stay with the horses. Be smart and careful.

— We’ll do everything!

— Well, then, with God!

The four horsemen galloped down the street at a light trot. The soldiers standing guard at the gates of Kitai-gorod let the Danes through, showing letters of commissariat from the Ambassadorial Prikaz.

— I told you it would be simple.

— Everything will be simple when we return to our estate. And we’ll go to sleep in our warm beds, with hot water bottles under the featherbeds. We rode for another hour, and it was already getting dark. The horses, good and thoroughbred, were not tired, and confidently carried their riders. – I’ve been here before, — muttered the assistant, — this torture huu… It was dark, and a couple of lanterns on the corners of the zay did not dispel the gloom at all. Then the wind picked up, and as if on purpose, slammed the shutters against the wall. The rumble echoed not only in the ears of the Danes, but also, perhaps, in the stomachs and knees of the two heroes. Jansen sat down and began to look around in fear.

— The wind is frightening us, here Jansen. There is no one nearby, there is nothing to fear. Let’s go… It seems that the door is open, — Alex whispered.

Both Danes crept to the entrance. Inside, a bright light burned from torches and oil lanterns. They heard loud voices, and then a heartbreaking scream, from which Jansen shuddered and retreated. But Dietrichs overcame himself, and looked inside.

Under the ceiling, on a rope thrown over a pulley, hung a naked and bearded man, whom the executioner was burning with a burning broom. But, from another, the secretary of the embassy was covered in sweat. Peter himself stood nearby, in simple Dutch clothes, with an apron. He rolled up his shirt so that his muscular forearms stuck out.

— Speak, Styopka… You will get relief, — said the tsar, — write, do not miss anything, — he ordered the clerk.

This familiar voice, Peter’s, was terrible in its imperturbability. As if the tsar was sitting at a consultation among the boyars, and not next to the executioner and the unfortunate tortured man.

— There is no guilt on me, — wheezed the strelets.

— Never mind, now I will make you a date with Fedora Koluzhina, the servant of Princess Marfa Alekseyevna. Come on, bring this woman here!

The executioners brought the woman here. The Tsar sat down on a stool, and the flames of the torches seemed to burn in his eyes, reflected in his pupils dilated to the limit, sweat was visible on his forehead, his strong hands clenched restlessly.

— Well, Fedora… Did you bring letters from Princess Marfa to the Streltsy?

— So where from… There was no such thing!

— But you’re lying… Conduct the interrogation, Styopka… If she doesn’t talk, then hang her on the rack!

— Well, Tsar-father, she’s in a condition… You can’t hang her on your temples…

— No way! Damned liar! She’ll talk right away! We’ll find out who was muddying the waters!

— The clerk sat down at the table, with a spare quill behind his left ear, in an old and filthy caftan. He prepared a sheet of paper and put a candle in front of him.

— Well? Fedora… Do you see where this is all heading? Did Princess Marfa tell you to pass on letters to the Streltsy? — No, that was not the case. I only served Marfa Alekseyevna in the thirties, and I did not go to the Streltsy settlements. – You are denying in vain, — and the scribe squeaked with his pen, — put her on the rack!

The assistants quickly undressed the unfortunate woman, and it was obvious that she was not idle. But this did not disturb the enraged Peter. They twisted Fedora’s hands behind her back, tied them, and raised the block of the rack.

The woman screamed in pain. Then again and again. The tortured woman began to have contractions, and she gave birth right there…

Jansen and Friedrichs did not look at all this, at this hellish horror. Tsar Peter in these reflections of the torchlight was simply like the devil, a demon who had risen from the depths of hell to torture people. Alex’s snuffbox fell out of his pocket and rolled down the steps with a crash at the feet of the Tsar himself.

— Who’s there? Come on, catch her! — the Tsar shouted, — quickly!

The Danes did not wait long to be caught. And they did not intend to keep the unfortunates hanging on the rack company in principle. Therefore, they did not consider it shameful for themselves to run a little, to the horsemen. Andreas and Vitus, despite the shouts, carried out the order. Alex and Friedrick climbed into the saddles with the help of servants, and sent the horses into a gallop.

The race was bright, as they say. But one of the Russian officers caught up with them. The Danes watched as the stranger handled the horse, as if it were an extension of the rider’s legs and arms. The officer, it was wine on a scarf. wound around his waist, approached them and announced in a commanding voice:

— Gentlemen, Pyotr Alekseevich invites you to dinner.

— I would prefer to refuse, I am tired, — answered Dietrichs, — we need to rest. Sincere apologies from us to His Majesty. — You don’t refuse a king, — and the stranger smiled wickedly, and the whitefish is waiting for dinner. Finger-licking good… Yes, the offer was tempting, but both Danes remembered the figure of Peter in the dungeon, the blood on the earthen floor and the terrible screams. It was too strong a sensation for them, to dine in the presence of the executioner.

— A modest meal is already waiting for us.

— We are the ambassadors of the Danish king — and we respect his honor. No one dares to force ambassadors, — declared Jansen

— I am Alexander Danilovich Menshikov, lieutenant of the Preobrazhensky Regiment, and I certainly dare!

Then Friedrichs presented the letter given to him at the Ambassadorial Prikaz. Menshikov read for a long time, then reluctantly handed over the paper and left the Danes, who were scared half to death.

CHAPTER 7 The Feat of Patriarch Adrian

Preparations were underway in the white-stone chambers of the patriarch, under the vaulted ceilings. The servants were preparing banners and icons for the solemn procession. The patriarch himself was sitting in a chair, with a staff in his hand, his head lowered to the floor, immersed in deep thought…

“I must find the right words for the Tsar of the Russian Land, stop the death of people… Bishop Ambrose of Milan did not allow Caesar Theodosius the Great to come until he repented of the blood he had shed in vain. So what should we do? Threaten Peter with excommunication from the Holy Gifts, or simply admonish the young Tsar? If we excommunicate and publicly curse him for shedding Christian blood, then the guil and the Time of Troubles will again become inevitable… I will try to instruct Peter, to dissuade him from this grave sin.”.

And having made up his mind, the patriarch called the servants for the ceremonial vestment. The appearance of the priest should inspire respect for the Church of Christ. This is the meaning of the precious vestments, and not at all in heavy pride. After all, both the gold and the precious stones did not belong to Adrian, but only to the Church.

— Everything is ready, — the servant said quietly, bowing low, — they are only waiting for you, father…

— God bless you, son…

Adrian rose impulsively, went down the steep white-stone stairs of his chambers. On the slabs of the Patriarch’s courtyard, the clergy and priests of the procession stood, waiting for him. Banners with embroidered images of saints and the Mother of God fluttered above the servants of the church. The patriarch took in his hands the icon of the Mother of God in a rich frame, and walked ahead, without looking back.

People on the streets crossed themselves, and bowed low to the patriarch.In Moscow churches the bells rang out, welcoming Adrian and the other priests of this procession. Others, ordinary citizens, also joined the procession. Well, at Prebrazhensky village this mass of people melted away like ice, frightened by the blazing sun.

The gates of the royal palace were closed, the guard was made up of soldiers of the Prebrazhensky regiment, the Patriarch stood with the icon, not blessing these warriors. And what can I say? Russians or not, who can figure them out. What are they doing — just like evil non-Russians…

Adrian waited a long time until the Tsar came out of the gate. And what can I say? Tsar or not? Who knows? It seemed like he looked like him, as it seemed to the Patriarch. But… Peter did not come up for the blessing.

— And with what have you come? — the Russian autocrat finally said.

— In honor of the Feast of the Nativity of the Mother of God, I ask you to spare the archers. Enough executions, it’s time to show mercy.