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

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