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

more, he just smiled and crossed himself fervently. A couple of women tried to stop the blood flowing down the blessed one’s face with rags. They finally made a bandage on his forehead, although it slipped slightly over one eye. The holy fool stood up, slowly moving his bare feet, swollen from the cold, and suddenly grabbed the stirrup of the boyar’s horse with a jerk. Mikhail Grigorievich even shuddered, and the horse looked sideways and began to back away. But the spirited argamak did not bite the blessed one, only sniffed and snorted discontentedly.

      – Do not hurry, prince, you will have time to get to the cellar … – and the holy fool smiled with his toothless mouth, – I will not bless you, and I will not curse you. But if you do not save Alexei – the man of God, then the Lord will not have mercy on you… Ride with God, boyar, do your job, everything will work out for you…

      And Ivashka the blessed one walked away from the boyar’s stirrup. Mikhail Grigorievich took off his hat and crossed himself in front of the church dome. The hand seemed to reach for the purse itself, and the silver, covered in suede, hit the snow on the pavement with a dull thud. – For a man of God! – Romodanovsky shouted, and lashed his horse with his whip.The caravan moved on and on, now a sergeant was riding ahead, shouting to the Muscovite people:

      – Make way! Don’t stand still!

      Sometimes passers-by turned around with displeasure, pressing themselves against the fences, others bowed to the boyar, recognizing the nobleman, and Mikhail kept thinking, recalling the stern words of the holy fool. And it became both easier and heavier on the boyar’s soul. He began to think about who to assign to the young prince, how to protect him, what kind of uncle to put next to him. Or even more than one…

      While he was thinking like this, they rode past the shopping arcades to the Vozdvizhenskaya Tower of the Kremlin. They were there. The boyar crossed himself at the domes of the Resurrection Church

      – We’ll go into the Kremlin with the baggage now, Ivashka. Wait for me here, guard the carts and horses tightly. Only the dumb will go with me.

      – We’ll do everything, Prince Father.

      True, they waited a long time… Finally, two priests approached at a quick pace, and one of them was the long-awaited Father Savvaty. The priest stood in simple attire, and for warmth he put on a simple felt cloak. The priest was inconspicuous, dry, his clothes were simple, only a rich silver pectoral cross gave away his high position. No one could notice any dignity or authority in him. But if a person looked more closely, he would immediately see the fierce light-blue eyes and thin, strong lips of the elder, everything that spoke of the indomitable will of the priest.

      – Father Savvaty, – and the boyar kissed the priest’s dry hand.

      – Let’s go, we must hurry, – the priest immediately got down to business, and quickly blessed Romodanovsky.

      At the boyar’s sign, the mutes quickly unloaded the baggage from the carts. And even the body of the dead tsar, skillfully wrapped, looked more like an ordinary large sack. The stone coffin was also hidden in an inconspicuous box. Another mute prepared two oil lanterns and lit them. Everyone was ready.

      Savvaty led the boyar to the already unlocked door, and shone a torch.

      – We’ll go through the underground passage. We don’t need strangers’ eyes here.

      Romodanovsky nodded, agreeing. It was impossible to go straight to the narthex of the Archangel Cathedral. There were always a lot of people nearby. And indeed, the priest was very smart, as if Fyodor Yuryevich had spoken about him…

      And he had heard about the underground passages under the Kremlin. They said that everything was dug up, like ant tunnels underground. And under the Grand Palace there was a stone gallery, and under all the towers, and there were exits to the Moscow River.

      The body was carried down easily, but it took some effort to get the coffin out of the box. It was impossible to turn around on the narrow staircase of the tower. But then they found themselves in a gallery, still built of white stone. Mikhail glanced at the low, oppressive vaults, darkened by time. The air here was heavy, damp, as if thickened, and it was hard to breathe. Oil lanterns only slightly dispersed the darkness, but the darkness seemed to thicken in the corners, did not run away from the light, but only retreated until time came to take over again. The tongues of this blackness seemed to reach out to the uninvited guests, either frightening them, or, on the contrary, luring them into their domain. Romodanovsky spoke Italian, and now recalled the verses of the great Dante Alighieri in his Divine Comedy.It began to seem that he had found himself in Hell itself, or at least in its vestibule.

      Every step echoed in his head, and the boyar listened, afraid of a trick. Something rustled, and Romodanovsky had already grabbed his pistol and cocked the trigger of the wheel lock.

      – It’s just mice, my son, – Father Savvaty immediately reassured him.

      True, the priest could not see in the darkness, otherwise he would have noticed the hunched figure of a man watching them from the side passage.

      Well, the mutes carried the sad baggage further, it was already quite close.

      ***

      – Light it up, boyar … – Father Savvaty said very muffled, taking an impressive bunch of keys from his belt.

      Mikhail raised the lantern, and the priest quickly inserted the forged key into the keyhole of the lock and turned it three times. He opened the heavy door bound with iron strips, went inside, and after three minutes of heavy waiting, finally said:

      – You can go…

      He held a lantern in his hand to his face, so that the tongue of fire was reflected in the icy eyes of the old man. Fire and ice seemed to have united in this priest…

      – Don’t hesitate, go ahead… – the priest ordered.

      Here was the crypt, where the sarcophagi of the great princes and tsars of Moscow and all Rus’ stood.

      – But Boris Godunov’s grave is not here… And here is a place for Peter Alekseevich, – and Father Savvaty pointed out the place.

      The priest crossed himself for a long time and read a prayer, while the mutes set up the sarcophagus. Then Father Savvaty himself put Peter Alekseevich’s body in order, at his sign the deceased was laid in his final, stone resting place and closed with a lid. The limestone slab covered the young king.

      – So what now? – asked the priest. – Tomorrow morning the Great Embassy will set out for the West. They have already spread a rumor that the Tsar will go to Holland, but secretly, unrecognized. That is what the Boyar Duma has decided. We have had enough of the Troubles and the slaughter.

      – Both are true, – and Father Savvaty crossed himself, for sure, for the tenth time.

      – And then, they agreed that when Alexei Petrovich turns twenty-one, he will sit on the fatherly throne.

      – Really? – the priest doubted, – but will they really give up the throne to him? If someone takes it?

      – Everyone kissed the cross on the fact that Alexei Petrovich will ascend the throne at twenty-one, – Romodanovsky said sternly and severely.

      – It is one thing to decide, another thing to do. And who decided Peter, they never found out?

      In response, Romodanovsky shook his head. Well, you can’t say that everyone was thinking about Fyodor Yuryevich? He knew what they were whispering about in the corners: They say that the Romodanovskys are from the Rurikovichs, the Starodub princes, and they themselves want to climb onto the royal throne…

      – Okay… I’ll take you to the Moscow River, so that you don’t become too familiar. And I’ll send my servant to your serfs to take them to that place. Well, let’s go, boyar…

      And they went along the underground passages, which Father Savvaty