Peter The Great, of Orange. Usurper on the Throne

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.