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

on the throne

      – They’ve gotten carried away, Fyodor Yuryevich, with these intrigues. Who of Ivan Alexeevich’s close stewards poisoned him? What was the point of doing that? And these, in revenge, gave Peter poison.

      – It’s too late to look for the guilty, Boris Alexeevich. You are as wise as a snake, tell us, and we’ll do it!

      – We need to deceive them, we’ll write a letter on behalf of the Tula Cossack policemen, their ataman Chertkov, saying, we’re coming to help, wait three days.

      Romodanovsky perked up, his face brightened. Only Prince Golitsyn could have come up with such a trick, he is very smart and very well read…

      – It is a tricky matter, but it can be done… I have a serf in mind, a smart one, he will pass on the letter…

      It was obvious that Boris was pleased. But, unexpectedly for Romodanovsky, he took off the ring with the stone.

      – As it will not work later, Fyodor Yuryevich, we do not need an eavesdropper. The poison takes effect in five days.

      – And you yourself are not afraid that you too…

      And after thinking, he took a bottle of his favorite Italian wine from the cabinet, opened it and poured it into an empty decanter, leaving the noble drink to settle,

      – Yes, my father accustomed me to poisons using the Italian method. Now nothing will work on me. I have become like Tsar Mithrilates Evpator, – Golitsyn expressed himself very intricately.

      – Why do you, my little prince, respect only foreign wisdom, but disdain Russian?

      – I respect the Russian faith, German prudence and Turkish loyalty, – Golitsyn said slowly.

      – Yeah… Well, we’re not very loyal, but look, I have all the samples of the seals… Here’s the seal of the Tula police Cossacks… Sit down next to me, Boris Alekseevich, we’ll start composing together…

      Soon the little letter was ready, and the two nobles were sitting in armchairs, enjoying the taste of fine wine.

      – And how’s the canal going, from the Volga to the Don? – Romodanovsky couldn’t resist and teased his interlocutor, who seemed to him to be overly smart.

      – We’re building, everything’s in business… Well, where’s your messenger?

      – Right now… – and Romodanovsky rang the bell.

      Senka came and bowed as he should. The sly fellow made a face, again ingratiatingly smart. – Bring Gavrila here… – whispered Fyodor Yuryevich, and coughed

      The servant left, and the prince found a simple wooden bowl on the shelf. Golitsyn only grinned, looking at the excitement of the owner of the house.

      – Burn the bowl later… – said the guest.

      – Will he suffer greatly?

      – And what about you? A serf is a serf?

      – So the Christian soul…

      – He will die in his sleep. From suffocation. He will suffocate.

      Fyodor Yuryevich was sometimes surprised by Boris Alekseevich, his inhumanity. As if there were not people around, but clay dolls. He took and broke. Changed his mind – once and glued it back together. He could not do it like that, he suffered all the time, reproached himself endlessly. And this one, it seems, did not bother at all.

      – What shall we do with the archers?

      – We’ll execute the ringleaders, send the simple riflemen to Siberia, and garrison Tobolsk. There are few troops there. And instead of them we’ll recruit surplus men for the soldier regiments, – Golitsyn reasoned sensibly. While the boyars were talking quietly, there was a quiet knock at the door, and a servant was pushed into the office. He bowed and remained standing, like a pillar by the road. – Gavrila?

      – Yes, Prince-father…

      – So, Gavrila, do me a favor… Take this letter to the Streltsy, they are camped at the Novodevichy Convent. Do your best… Here, two efimki for your efforts. Senka praises you, saying that you are a good worker, you prove it…

      – So what should I say? What do you want, father?

      – You will say that you are from Tula, a man of the ataman of the fodder Cossacks Chertkov, you will give the letter to their leader. Got it all? If you do everything right, you will receive five rubles! You will get a horse from my stable. Hurry, Gavrila, it is urgent! – Romodanovsky finally said, the words stuck in his throat.

      – And you should drink some wine before you go. The prince has come, – Golitsyn moved a wooden bowl of wine closer.

      The serf did not try to deny it, but drank it all down in a flash, and decently wiped his moustache and beard with his palm. He bowed and left the office. Romodanovsky sighed heavily and said what was on his mind:

      – It is still unclear. Who is at the head of the rebellion? Who is from the boyars?

      ***

      – Who is that? – and the strelets grabbed the horse by the bridle.

      And his four comrades quickly grabbed their spears and halberds, approaching the rider. He almost fainted, but came to his senses in time.

      – So I was sent from Tula, here is a letter, – the messenger answered.

      – Indeed, – the strelets read, snatching the letter from his hand, – get off, don’t hesitate!

      He almost slid off his horse, but trudged after his guide. Another archer urged the messenger on by poking him in the ribs with the spear shaft.

      – Oh, stop it, it hurts, – the man complained.

      – Who are you? – the archer asked.

      – Well, I’m one of Ataman Chertkov’s people, Gavrila. He’s serving in Tula, and I’m with him.

      – And what about your Ataman?

      – Well, I don’t know… Here, he sent me. He promised a reward, five rubles. – Look at you, five rubles? Let’s go, you’ll answer for it right now. And if you lie, you’ll taste the hot iron.

      – What about me? The Orthodox… – the messenger begged.

      Soon Gavrila was brought to the carts placed in a circle for protection. The Strelets gave the letter to the policeman, who looked at the seal and simply brightened up.

      – A big deal… – and quickly read the message, – Strelets! – the policeman shouted, – Ataman Chertkov asks to wait three days, so that he and his regiment can come to us.

      – Then it would be better to go to Tula ourselves. There are plenty of provisions and fodder there, we’ll wait for the Cossacks and then go to Moscow!

      – And send a letter to the Don asking for help!

      – We’ll send letters, that’s a sure thing, – the sergeant said. – But the colonel asks us to wait here. Otherwise, we might miss the Cossacks on the road. And, you know, we’ve been promised help.

      – And where are those boyar children? They have no troops, – the strelets noted.

      – You speak correctly, Darkness, – his comrade supported his comrade.

      So they talked, but decided to wait for help here, at the Novodevichy Convent.

      ***

      Only on the second day, at night, did the reiters and dragoons attack the strelets and capture them all. The next morning, Generalissimo Shein himself arrived in a gilded carriage to look at the rebellious strelets. He walked slowly between the rows, frowning at everyone. He just sighed and groaned, remembering the old days and campaigns. He looked