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

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