Peter The Great, of Orange. Usurper on the Throne

– 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.