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

person, this is very bad…

      The face of the Tsar became hard, and his smile was simply terrible. Caesar Leopold had seen a lot, but now he was truly frightened. And he was glad that his face was hidden by a mask. He left the guest and disappeared behind a secret door.

      Peter did not immediately come to his senses. Then the evening began to spin as if by itself, and he seemed to become an observer, and saw everything as if in a dream. He did not wake up even in the hot embrace of Charlotte, with whom he indulged in one of the rooms of the palace until the morning.

      Waking up was difficult, Peter rubbed his face with cold water for a long time, poured himself from a jug given by Alexashka.

      – That’s it, we’ve stayed long enough, we’re going to Moscow, – he ordered, wiping himself with a sheet.

      – So you were going to Venice? – the orderly reminded him, – to see the ships, the canals?

      – They said, to Moscow… And with great haste… We need to figure everything out!

      PART 3 The Tsar and the Grand Duke of All Rus’

      The Tsar has returned

      Fyodor Yuryevich stood at the service in the Assumption Cathedral. The bishop was thoughtfully reading a sermon, fragrant incense was smoking in the censer, and its clouds, with each wave of the minister, rose to the dome of the church, where Jesus Christ himself was depicted. The Almighty looked at the worshipers with stern eyes, as if promising them new and difficult trials. God was not merciful these days, he only exacted heavy punishment from people.

      The prince-Caesar sighed deeply and crossed himself, looking at the holy icons. Beauty and tranquility, that is what Romodanovsky craved, but he did not deserve it.

      A candle burned in his well-groomed hand, as did the other boyars standing near the iconostasis. All this allowed him not to think about business. The shipyard in Voronezh, the Azov and Taganrog fortresses, and also the recruitment of dragoon regiments, which, fortunately, Prince Golitsyn took upon himself.

      – Father, – the omnipresent Senka whispered in his ear, – a messenger is waiting for you, very urgently… From the Ambassadorial Prikaz…

      – Let him wait… There’s not much left. And if he starts making noise, give him a whip…

      As soon as the boyar said that, his soul felt lighter. As if he had thrown out the heaviness and fear. Yes, the damned fear had been sitting in his soul since the hour Pyotr Alekseevich died, and they had decided on this foreigner… And he couldn’t really fall asleep, he was tormented by terrible dreams. Sometimes Pyotr seemed like this, sometimes like that, sometimes he came as a dead man. Or he’ll come, sit down near the bed, and keep quiet…

      Finally, the service ended, and Fyodor Yuryevich slowly began to move towards the exit of the cathedral. Avtomon Golovin passed by, but Boris Alekseevich Golitsyn stayed close, such a sly fellow.True, Senka noticed, he understood that the serf had not just showed up at the Assumption Cathedral.

      – But business, business, Boris Alekseevich won’t let me go, – Romodanovsky decided to explain to Golitsyn.

      – That’s our service, at the state. And sometimes we don’t get enough sleep, and sometimes we don’t get enough food.

      Fyodor Yuryevich remained silent, only grinning into his thick mustache. Boris Alekseevich loved to express himself floridly. Together they went out to the steps of the cathedral. Then the messenger appeared, handed over the letter with the hanging seals.

      The prince-caesar unfolded the letter, read the first few words of the message, his heart sank, and his knees weakened disgustingly.

      – In a day he will arrive in Preobrazhenskoye. All seven of us must gather,,,

      Golitsyn turned to the domes of the church, bowed for a long time and crossed himself.

      A Date in Preobrazhenskoye

      Peter sat and looked out the carriage window at the villages, as if floating past them, along a narrow road. The unusual clothes of the inhabitants, which he had seen before only in engravings, were strange, but it seemed comfortable. The horses were smaller than the Dutch ones, but it seemed that the inhabitants kept a lot of draft animals.

      The houses were completely different, unlike the beloved Dutch ones. Here even a poor peasant had a house made of thick logs, but not all had glass windows.

      But the expanses of Russia were fascinating. And what was even more surprising was that everywhere, for many miles from Novgorod to the suburbs of Moscow, they spoke the same language! In his small and sweet Holland, too, but in the principalities of Germany and France, he firmly knew, there was no such thing at all. The Provencal and the Parisian expressed themselves differently, and even more so the Mecklenburger and the Bavarian. He got used to the cabbage soup and the bathhouse here, but he carried with him a whole supply of various cheeses, without which he could not exist. So he kept thinking, recalling from the drawings the faces of his close boyars, his wife, Tsarina Avdotya, the generals of his army – Golovin, Gordon.

      – Min hertz, and when are you going to grow a beard? – Menshikov asked casually and smiled impudently, as always.

      – Go to hell, – was the short and succinct answer, – or I’ll punch you in the face.

      The orderly did not specify where to look for the devil’s abode. He himself knew or sensed where to look. And he did not want to get a strong fist in the face. But the Dutchman also fell silent, and for some reason ran his hand over his clean-shaven face. He took out a small album and began to study the faces of his noblemen. So far, from pencil drawings. – Who is the most cunning of them all? – Peter finally asked. – Well, you probably won’t find anyone more cunning than Boris Alekseevich Golitsyn. He’s such a smart guy. Well read, very capable… The most businesslike of them, of course, is Fyodor Yuryevich Romodanovsky. Lev Kirillych Naryshkin loves money, owns ironworks in Tula. Your relatives are the Lopukhins. Fyodor is cunning, he’ll understand everything… And so the Seven Close Boyars are the Council. Andrei Ivanovich Golitsyn, the palace governor, Buturlin Ivan, Romodanovsky Mikhail Grigorievich, a famous and intelligent general. Here they are now, waiting, they will give you the conditions to sign… But you, my dear, don’t give a damn about them, do something more cunning…

      And Aleksashka quietly whispered something in the ear of the new sovereign, and he smiled, praising himself in his mind.

      – Only one thing will not be allowed to happen to you – if you try to remove Aleksei Petrovich from the throne, – Menshikov said seriously.

      – Everyone has already warned me about that, not only you, liberal Aleksashka. And very clearly, so that it would get through right away, – and Peter laughed gutturally and angrily.

      Menshikov sighed, glanced sideways at the tsar a little, and thought, but weren’t the boyars mistaken, that they pumped such an eroy around their necks and the whole of Rus’? And how are they going to manage him? It’s like getting a wild cat at home. Such a man, if not in his way, would beat his masters to death…

      ***

      The first to stop was the carriage from which General Lefort, Golovkin and the clerk Voznitsyn got out. They passed the guard of Prebrazhentsi, who saluted them smartly.

      – And it’s time for us to go, my dear…

      – And what about the things?

      – Don’t worry, sir. You are the Tsar of All Rus’. The serfs will carry everything.It‘s none of your business, none of the Tsar’s!

      Pyotr stared at Menshikov with his round eyes and only shrugged. Alexashka knew that the Tsar was angry, but not very much. Near the gates everything was clean and tidy, the road was paved with stones, and that was the Tsar’s palace.

      Pyotr walked with a quick and confident step, leaning on