Peter The Great, of Orange. Usurper on the Throne. Sergey Soloviev
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