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

heard. What seemed like some kind of joke turned out to be simply a terrible reality. A nice ending to his life’s tenacity – a jar of alcohol for his very smart head! He looked at these gentlemen with dull eyes, and resigned himself to the fate prepared for him.

      – Let the blacksmith unforge him, – muttered the first of the guests, – and the executioner will chop off his head, since he does not agree. The secret must be hidden… Van Mush, I think you have about ten minutes to live,

      And the aristocrat looked at his pocket watch, then took out a gold snuffbox, and stuck a pinch of the aromatic mixture into his nose. A couple of seconds later he sneezed, and with an elegant movement wiped his nose with a cambric handkerchief. And such a fashionable gentleman took a gray cloth from a chair on which hung a rich waistcoat, a shirt of fine linen, trousers, stockings, shoes and a hat, and in addition – a sword…

      Peter van Mush simply devoured the beautiful clothes with his eyes. Previously, only in his dreams could he see or touch such things. And now:..

      The pirate looked at both aristocrats, and it was not noticeable that they were joking. Actually, Peter had long ago learned to distinguish such people. Capable of keeping their word. These gentlemen knew how to be, and not seem…

      – True, you should be taught etiquette. Peter…And wean yourself off smoking in salons and austeries. Tsar Peter did not smoke tobacco… And carpentry is not foreign to you, it seems?

      – Gentlemen, I didn’t say no…

      – Gentlemen, I won’t tell

      PART ONE. Find a Substitute

      The Death of Peter Alexeevich

      The cold of the street even here penetrated the clothes of those gathered, because it was still sultry February outside. Either winter would not let go, or the fear of the honorable men in the room was worse than the frost. The doors of the chambers of the royal palace were locked, the sovereign’s relatives stood guard with weapons in their hands.

      There was no one superfluous here, in this bedroom, striking in its luxury. All the close boyars were at a loss, something terrible was happening…

      The young tsar was dying in his bed. His legs were terribly swollen, the unfortunate man could barely breathe. Something incredible was happening – his father, Alexei Mikhailovich, died of a similar disease, Fyodor Alexeevich left after him, and now Peter Alexeevich was preparing to leave this world.

      And a year ago Ivan Alekseevich, Peter’s brother, had died, and he was only twenty-nine years old. Everything was bad, disturbing and dreary.

      As if a family curse was wiping out the new line of Russian tsars! Or, an incomprehensible and undisclosed betrayal was exterminating the rulers of ancient Rus’.

      Wax candles in silver candlesticks illuminated the room. And indeed, during the day it was light and bright here, the sun’s rays played on the multi-colored glass in the forged window frames. But now those gathered had no time for that. They were captives of fear and mistrust, even towards each other.

      The closest boyars had gathered, sitting on benches. Only seven people, no more and no less. And the patriarch was not invited here, even priest Bitka was not invited.

      – What shall we do, boyars? – asked Prince Boris Alekseevich Golitsyn, – the tsar is dying, the Time of Troubles is knocking at our gates again…And now, soon a new Stenka Rain will appear!

      – Thank God, the Tsar has an heir, Alexei Petrovich, – whispered Lev Naryshkin, – we will not remain orphans, and we have a future Tsar with us…

      The boyar said this, took off his hat and crossed himself three times in front of the icons. He sighed heavily, and lowered his eyes, and leaned on his staff.

      – Something bad is happening, boyars… Something bad… And who can we blame? Is Prince Fyodor Romodanovsky involved? – Andrei Ivanovich Golitsyn, the palace governor, looked at the others.

      – And a year ago, Tsar Ivan Alexeevich passed away, leaving a widow and daughters… – Romodanovsky began, – apparently, the Miloslavskys and their relatives were able to reach Peter Alexeevich. And we did not keep an eye on it.

      – So, Ivan was ill, wasn’t he? – Lev Naryshkin butted in again.

      – No sicker than you, Prince-father! – Boyar Buturlin got really angry, – that’s true, he ate some mushrooms and died…

      – Enough for you! – Naryshkin got angry again, – who will be with seven-year-old Alexei Petrovich? He will guard the throne for the Tsar-father, with all loyalty…

      – What are you hinting at, Prince-father! – and Fyodor Romanovich cursed his interlocutor very badly, – so we, the Romodanovskys, serve the sovereigns honestly…

      – Don’t hide behind the glory of Grigory Grigorievich…

      – Calm down, my most wise and intelligent men! We are not sitting in a tavern, but in the sovereign’s palace! – Ivan Buturlin intervened, – we need to think about it. Morozov was a boyar, but he couldn’t, he was in exile… And who, I think, was in charge of everything in the Russian state? Whose orders are these people sitting under?

      – Yes, I was! – Romodanovsky jumped up again.

      – So don’t scare us, Fyodor Yuryevich! The Stroganovs and Vorontsovs and Velyaminovs are not behind you! You are sowing discord in Rus’ again, you have stolen little of everything! And the Cossacks won’t follow you, you know that yourself! And the Streltsy won’t either!

      – Stop stirring up trouble for no reason! What are we going to do? – Buturlin tried to cool the heat of speech, – We argue and argue, but it’s bad with Pyotr Alexeevich…

      – Under the minor tsar, Romodanovsky will rise again, – Golitsyn began alone, Andrei

      – And what then? Underage Alexei Petrovich as tsar? – Lev Naryshkin intervened in the conversation, – this is not right…

      – And under Alexei Petrovich, Avdotya, our tsarina… Will keep an eye on… – Fyodor Lopukhin suddenly spoke.

      Everyone fell silent, and six pairs of angry eyes, without looking away, looked at the tsarevich’s relative in law. Then they all understood what Fyodor Abramovich Lopukhin was thirsting for… He himself will stand under the tsarina, and will appoint his brothers by orders, and the others will not breathe or groan… Even those who barely tolerated each other, like Boris Golitsyn and Fyodor Romodanovsky, nodded to each other. And Fyodor Yuryevich spoke cautiously, looking around, glancing at Golitsyn.

      – We’ll do something smarter… We’ll announce, they say, that Pyotr Alekseevich is leaving… Right? We’ll be able to hide for two months that the Tsar has died…

      Boris Alekseevich nodded, understanding where Romodanovsky was heading. But Andrei Ivanovich smiled unpleasantly, and looked at the Tsar’s bed. But Boris grabbed Andrey by the hand and whispered in his ear:

      – When Alexey Petrovich comes into power, everything will happen to him… And we will marry him to a princess of good blood!

      Romodanovsky looked calmly and firmly. Indeed, it is good that the Stroganovs are not in Moscow… And thank God. And what if they wanted to do more stubbornly and furiously… And it could turn out like the Cossacks wanted to do when liberating Moscow from the Poles in 1612 – to cut out the boyar families so that they would not sow discord.

      – With a great embassy, to Holland… – he began to speak, – And we will send a messenger first. That they say, we need a double of the sovereign. The foreigner will be obedient to us. Whoever poisoned the tsar will get scared and, look, he will appear. But for now, for twenty years we need this…

      – Pretender! – and Buturlin slapped his palm on