Kitabı oku: «Peter The Great, of Orange. Usurper on the Throne», sayfa 3
Conspiracy
– Why didn’t you bring the brew! – Sophia screamed, beside herself with rage, – you weak fool! Oh, my God! How long have I been lying there without strength?
– It’s only been three hours, mother… – Palashka whispered, frightened, – I’ll be right back!
– Wait… Here, for your troubles, – and she gave the servant two efimki. – and if you betray me, by God, I’ll strangle you with my own hands… Bring the potion, quickly!
Pelageya ran out of the room, and Sophia’s hand reached for the jug of wine and the goblet. But she stopped halfway, and her fingers began to drum on the tabletop. She remembered that you can’t mix wine and heavy herbal infusion, it will be bad… She closed her eyes, her head ached terribly.
– Mother, here, I brought it, – and Palashka put a cup of Chinese porcelain on the table.
And silver is bad for the potion, and clay is no good, as if it absorbs everything, both taste and smell. And the best of all is Venetian glass and porcelain. The servant tried the infusion, that was the custom, and only then did the princess drink it all to the bottom. It immediately became easier, the pain was washed away like a wave.
– Pelageya… Which of the servants do you know Ivan Alekseevich Tsykler and the okolnichy Aleksey Prokofievich Sokovnin?
– Sokovnin’s estate is not far from the Church of St. Nicholas the Red Bell in Kitai-gorod, and Ivan Alekseevich is nearby. I know many more, including the housekeeper Vasily…
Sophia now had no doubts about what she had planned. Anger and rage rose to her heart. She sat down at the table, picked up the writing board, and began writing.
Ivan Alekseevich, may you have many years of health!
I have learned of a secret and evil matter, and I want to inform you of it.
I know that you are devoted not to me, but to the entire Russian Land, and without you nothing can be done.Among the Streltsy you are strong and respected, and now their courage is needed. If you want to know what the need has arisen, come today to the monastery, to the secret gate. Pelageya will meet you. Princess Sophia.
The woman sealed the message with her signet and handed it over to her messenger, the hay girl. What else could she do? There were no others.
– Here is Pelageya, you are our only hope… – and she handed over the letter, – and money for the road… Dress warmly, it is still cold outside…
– I will do everything, – whispered Palashka, hiding the message behind the collar of her clothes, – do not doubt it!
Sophia closed her room for now, as soon as the hay girl left. It would be good if her letter became a bird and flew to Colonel Tsykler herself. And you don’t need any messengers or envoys, your soul wouldn’t hurt… And so, sit and wait for what will happen…
Dumny nobleman Ivan Tsykler
Ivan Eliseevich sat at the table, slowly studying the Russian map. And where was this very Verkhotursk, where he was appointed governor. What can I say? From a half-colonel, to a governor, an honorable place, although the Urals are not close. They called him to Moscow last year, they were supposed to send him to Azov and Taganrog, to build fortresses… Well, the Tsar-father ordered, so that’s how it should be. And then, forty-one years already, look, everything will work out and he will be able to become an okolnichy, and then, who knows, a general… But then all thoughts were interrupted by the cry of his son.
– Father, you have a messenger, a guest! – the eldest son, Elisha, immediately said, entering the room. They named him after his grandfather, who died forty years ago near Riga. Ivan didn’t even remember his father, who left this earthly vale when he was barely a year old.That year, Tsar Alexei Mikhailovich besieged the city of Riga, and Colonel Yelisey Tsikler with his regiment was with the entire army, honestly fought the Swedes. Well, Yelisey Ivanovich had already been recruited for the Tsar’s service, about three years ago. In the dragoon regiment, and not on the stove, in some Prikaz.
– And from whom?
The son, a smart one, bent down and whispered in his father’s ear. Ivan Eleseevich immediately jumped up, approvingly patted the heir on the shoulder, and ran down the stairs of his father’s house. The building was solid, stone. The chambers were two stories high, with eight windows on each, and a noble ascent, carved from seasoned oak, led to the second, the master’s.
– The gatehouse, father! – Yelisey shouted.
Ivan appreciated it and quickly, his boots creaking on the stone-paved courtyard, entered the servants’ house. The serf Vasjatka stood at the door and led the master into a small nook. There sat a woman, one of the servants, in a sheepskin coat and her face wrapped in a shawl made of cheap cloth.
– Close the door. And bring two mugs of apple broth.
– I’ll do everything, – the serf quickly answered.
Then a woman’s hand flew out from under the sheepskin coat like a snake across the table to Tsykler, and a small letter deftly jumped into the palm of the Duma nobleman. Ivan read the message in an instant.
– I’ll be there, don’t doubt it, – Tsykler answered.
The hay maid bowed, took the letter and burned it right in the flame of the candle standing on the table. Only ashes and melted wax from the princess’s seal remained.
– I’ll go… – and the messenger rose from the bench.
– Well, at least drink a little something sweet. They’ll bring it right away.
– Good..
They brought clay mugs, the woman drank the brew almost in one gulp, bowed and left the rich house of the Duma nobleman.
***
Tsikler remembered the message almost by heart, to be honest, two plans were born in his head at once. Again, as in 1687 to inform the young tsar, to assure him of his devotion… Or… To go to Sophia, and then decide… But what’s the point in conspiracies, he reassured himself, Ivan Alekseevich had been dead for a year, and after Peter’s death the kingdom could only go to Alexei Petrovich, but certainly not to Sophia Alekseevna. She could only become the ruler until the tsar’s marriage, his coming of age
Having thought so, Ivan Eliseevich calmed down. But, since he had promised, he had to go. He didn’t want to, he thought about it, kept turning over the pages of the Psalter, but then he made up his mind.
– Nikishka! – he shouted to the serf, – get the horses ready, and you’ll go with me!
After a short time, his man was standing in the yard with two saddled horses. Ivan Eliseevich easily mounted his favorite stallion, the serf rode a little behind. The weather for the month of February was not that good, the main thing was that there was no strong wind
They reached the monastery in a little while or more. Tsikler dismounted, leaving Nikishka with the horses. The Duma nobleman himself went to the gatehouse. It was good that he at least dressed more simply, he was careful not to be seen by strangers.
He met workers and pilgrims, but it seemed they did not recognize him. He finally turned into a gate, opened a simple, inconspicuous creaking door, and found himself in a modest cell. Here, at the oak table, in a fur coat covered with Persian damask and a velvet scarf, sat Sophia Alekseyevna, deigning to read a book.
– So I have come, princess. At your word, – said Tsikler.
– Sit down, Ivan Eliseevich! I know that you are faithful to Tsar Peter, and even more so to the oath to the Russian Kingdom. And that you decided so and chose so ten years ago. No offense, Peter has grown up, and a girl cannot sit on the throne… But your oath has passed, it has all gone, after all, the boyars betrayed, and killed first Ivan Alekseevich, and then Pyotr Alekseevich.
– It can’t be! – Tsikler jumped up from the bench, – who would go for such a thing? And the sovereign is leaving abroad… Pyotr Alekseevich is alive!
– I would not lie. Why? He lies in a stone coffin, in the Archangel Cathedral, in a secret crypt. Should I show you, or are you afraid?
– No, I’m not afraid… – the Duma nobleman whispered quietly, – although it’s scary, I believe you, princess. But if that’s the case, loyal people must see that Tsar Peter is dead. Alone, I can’t do anything. And the Streltsy officers must know this for sure, and the Cossacks… Then… And what do you want?
– I’ll only execute the boyars, and under Alexei Petrovich I will guard the throne and the Russian Tsardom like a faithful dog until the prince marries.
– Ok…
– I’ll expect you in a day. Bring crowbars and lanterns with you.
Conspirators at the coffin
Princess Sophia herself led Tsykler through an underground passage into the crypt of the Archangel Cathedral, she didn’t trust others. With her were her irreplaceable servants – Ustyan and Dormidont.Key keepers, so to speak, to pick any lock, to open any door,
And with Ivan Tsykler went his relatives-in-law, Alexey Prokofievich Sokovnin, and Fyodor Matveyevich Pushkin. Those whom the Duma nobleman trusted, and those who trusted him. The strelets sergeants from the Tsykler regiment went, Vasily Filippov, Fyodor Yarozhin and the Cossack Pyotr Luyanov. Ivan Eliseevich thought that it was necessary to inform the Quiet Don as well.
It was a long way to go and very dangerous – three people are one thing, and seven are another. Well, what can you do, and they got there. Let Ivan Eliseevich wipe his face with a handkerchief endlessly at the end of the journey.
– It’s hard to breathe, princess, how much longer? – Pushkin could not resist, – how long should we rest?
– Don’t hesitate, follow me, – Sophia ordered in a whisper.
– It’s okay, it can be harder on campaigns. – the archers also spoke up.
But then. they passed three more passes. and found themselves at the treasured door. Ustyan and Dormidont took hold of the noble castle, but it did not hold out either. The door opened.
Sophia, in spite of not running in.
– We need to light… – the princess either asked or ordered.
The archers lit torches, and Sophia walked past the stone sarcophagi, cut with the intricate ligature of an old letter. And here, finally, is that very one…
– Ustyan, Dormidont! Lift the lid! – And Sophia Alekseyevna made an imperative gesture
There were no unnecessary words in response. The archers began to light, and now held oil lanterns, extinguished the torches and put them away out of harm’s way. It became quiet in the crypt, it seemed everyone had forgotten how to breathe. Only the nasty scraping of stone grains on stone was heard.
– Be careful, – the princess whispered, almost begged.
– Everything is already… – Dormidont reassured, and the serfs removed the lid.
Sophia began to cross herself quickly, and when she calmed down, carefully turned up the veil. Even now she closed her eyes…
– Exactly, it was him, – Tsykler’s voice cut through the silence, – I have seen him, Pyotr Alekseevich, many times. The face, everything is exact…
– He is, our late sovereign, – Sokovnin confirmed.
All the service people silently pulled their hats off their wild heads and crossed themselves. At least here they were able to fast with the sovereign in a Christian manner. – And we saw him when we stood guard at the Trinity-Sergius Monastery, – the Streltsy confirmed, – Exactly! The body must be taken. We will carry our sovereign to the Kremlin in our arms, and give him a funeral. All the Streltsy will go.Sophia Alekseyevna! We will put Alexei Petrovich on the throne, and impale all the boyars!
Neither Sophia, nor Tsykler with Sokovnin expected such words. This storm will completely cover them! And whether we will be able to swim out or not, only the Lord will know!
– We need to talk to the colonels, – Fyodor Pushkin began to mumble.
– We need to prepare the matter… – Ivan Alekseevich also began to speak, – so that everything will work out!
– What are you talking about, boyar children! – Vasily Filippov whispered furiously, – or do you not know people, the Streltsy and soldiers! With Peter dead, no one will stop us, and if you start whispering in the corners, the first Streltsy centurion will run to the Preobrazhensky Prikaz “Shout out words and deeds”! What will they think? That you are deceiving them, that you want to ignite the Time of Troubles. I’m not afraid, my business is military, I’m going to die anyway. But we’ll all end up together, on the chopping block of Bolotnaya Square. And then we’ll hang on the spit side by side!
– It’s stupid to take on a blackamoor, – Sokovnin shook his head, – we need to do it smart, prepare…
– They’re getting ready to go to Amsterdam. Apparently, the replacement, the boyar, the Tsar is already waiting there. If we delay, no one will believe us, – Sophia also spoke, – and I’m giving five thousand chervonets for this matter. And another two thousand to the Cossacks.
– That’s what we’ll do… We’ll talk to the colonels and the sergeants, and start with God’s help, – and Tsykler crossed himself, not taking his eyes off the dead Tsar.
The Streltsy, who were already standing around the sarcophagus without hats, also crossed themselves. It was visible how their faces suddenly darkened. They realized that the people at the top were up to something.
Conversations and negotiations
Ivan Eliseevich sat, moving chess pieces on the board. He looked at the pawns, and it seemed to him that they were real, living people. Look, the foreman of his regiment, Stremanny, Ilya Shchukin, will turn up now. The guy died near Azov because of Lefortovo and Sheinova’s stupidity. And how many like him there were, it’s hard, oh hard to think about… The Cossacks took Azov with an army of five thousand sabres, and this time they captured the fortress for the Tsar. And these… Pathetic sadists-grimacers, inept, they killed so many people during the siege, it’s scary to remember… And now he’s taking up the sabre again. Tsykler wasn’t afraid of these funny, pea-colored buffoons in German clothes. Any strelets, a warrior from childhood, fights with a sabre so that it’s a joy, and hits the target with a squeak as it should be. And he chops with a halberd, so that blood flies in all directions. He’s seen it himself… You have to attack quickly, in the Swedish way, without looking back, and take out the enemies with cannons, and so that the guns stand in the front row, and with grapeshot, grapeshot… But who will Sokovnin bring to his house now? Well, snacks are on the table, there is something to welcome guests with. And salted mushrooms, cucumbers too, and finely chopped corned beef, freshly baked bread. Liqueurs and liqueurs. And it’s strange, he saw how these Kukuy Swiss stare at him. He, Ivan Tsykler, is like a splinter in their finger for them. Of course, the son of a Swiss in the service, and now he, and Fonvisin, a Russian from the Russians. And he doesn’t smoke tobacco, and he doesn’t walk around in German clothes. So it’s not about clothes, or a wig, but about the desire to serve and one’s own mind. And it’s stupid to compare Russia with Sweden… How many miles is it to Smolensk? And to Astrakhan? And the writers keep talking about the roads, saying that the roads are bad…So who will maintain these roads? There are few peasants, and they are not able to repair these roads endlessly. And the riflemen need to be mounted on horses, so that they can reach distant borders not on foot, but on horses. They will be able to get there faster, and will not get tired on the road. And before the battle, they will leave the saddles, stand in the ranks and fight, fresh and cheerful! As in the army of Alexander the Great long ago happened. He himself read Arrian.
Okay, enough dreaming. There will still be an opportunity to do important things. It seemed that voices were heard from below in the basement, and the floorboards creaked on the stairs. His serf, Nikishka, opened the doors, and the sergeants of three regiments entered the room: Dmitry Vorontsov, Stremyanny, Veniamin Baturin. A total of ten people known to him.
– Sit down, comrades and glorious warriors! Here are the snacks on the table, and the liqueurs in the decanters!
– Thank you, Ivan Eliseevich, for the honor and kindness! – answered Silin Fyodor.
– Yes, we are glad to be with you! – added Grigory Elizariev.
Those who came sat down and saluted the treat. They drank a lot, drained several dark green bottles, and Tsykler decided that it was time to begin. The Duma nobility stood up and said:
– To the new sovereign, to Alexei Petrovich!
– Allow me, Ivan Eliseevich, our tsar is Peter Alexeevich! – noted Frol Ignatiev, a sergeant of the Stremenny Regiment, – he rules, lives and prospers!
– The boyars have thought up treason, they have destroyed Peter Alexeevich. He died, I personally saw him in the coffin, lying in the Archangel Cathedral, I kiss the cross on him, – and the Duma nobleman kissed the cross, and crossed himself before the holy icons, – you yourself know, I brought my regiment to Pyotr Alekseevich, and honestly fought in his wars. If you wish, I will show you the burial of those chosen by you.
– And what about the boyars? – Grigory Elizariev asked loudly, excitedly taking hold of the tabletop.
– They have prepared a replacement tsar, from abroad. He is waiting for them in Holland, for this purpose the Great Embassy is being sent.
– But look at them, what bastards they are… – Frol Ignatiev muttered.
– And so, we will raise the regiments, and to the Kremlin. We will appoint Alexei Petrovich as sovereign, and punish the boyars for treason. Am I right?
– How could I be more right, Ivan Eliseevich! – they all said at once.
– And this, from Princess Sophia and Alexei Petrovich, – and Tsykler put his purse on the table, – everything that is fair.
– We will manage in a week. Otherwise we need to hurry, show the sovereign’s body, so that the archers don’t have any doubts, – Ignatiev spoke again, – we’ll determine about twenty elected people…
– Look, I made a drawing of where Peter’s stone coffin lies, you won’t be mistaken…
– You speak correctly, Ivan Eliseevich. Otherwise they might notice you, and we’ll manage ourselves, – agreed the constable Kharitonov.
Tsykler cheered up when he heard this. It seemed that everything was going as well as possible. The service people believed him, and that was good… He took out two new decanters and poured aniseed into glass glasses.
– To the health of the new Tsar-father, Alexei Petrovich! – he proclaimed.
The guests stood up and eagerly drank to the bottom. They placed the dishes on the table with decorum and began to get ready. He looked again at his old comrades-in-arms. They were not young men, and had been in battle more than once. Kharitonov and Andreyev had been to Chigirin, and Kharitonov had scars on his face from a Turkish sabre. Such people would not let you down or betray you, for sure…
More than thirty pieces of silver
– Well, come on, Fyodor, we’ll go to the village, – Frol Ignatyev said goodbye, – about this matter, for now, we’ll keep quiet.
– We understand, – Silin answered for both of them, – Larion and I are going to the blacksmith, we need to pick up the firelocks.
– That’s right… Farewell. But in a week, we’ll meet at Kitai-gorod. Do you remember where the hole is near the Church of St. Anne?
– How could I not remember…
– Well, after the morning service, having prayed, we’ll go together. Let’s do it so that everything is decided at once, – and Frol’s eyes sparkled angrily, – the boyars will not deceive us anymore…
The seasoned warrior left with his comrades, and Grigory crossed himself with all his might in front of the Church of the Resurrection of the Mother of God.
– Well, do you see where this is going, Larion? And I don’t believe Tsykler. He’s too cunning. Pyotr Alekseevich is probably alive and well. As soon as we get ready, he’ll run to the tsar to get a reward for himself. He wants to destroy us completely.
– We’ll lose our heads. “It’s a bad thing,” Yelizariev became sad, “but at a time like this, smart people become clerks and boyars…“And I don’t really believe that Pyotr Alekseevich is dead!
And he looked closely at his comrade, but he had already put his hand behind his back, hiding the knife. If Silin doesn’t want to go with him, then he’ll have to kill him…
– We need to go to Lev Kirillovich Naryshkin… He’s not an arrogant boyar, he’ll listen… – Frol said quietly, but then he noticed Grigory’s hand behind his back and grinned
– Should we go to the Foreign Order? – Elizariev clarified, as if nothing had happened.
– We’ll go home to his, to the boyar’s estate. It will be safer that way, and there will be fewer prying eyes.
Larion agreed and nodded. It was a bit scary to go, but what could you do, since they had decided. They set off slowly, hoping to get there before dark.
The estate of Lev Kirillovich Naryshkin was spaciously spread out in the White City, at the south. Stone chambers, and buildings for the servants. Such, almost a small town. Not the least embarrassed, Fyodor knocked on the door. Dogs barked from inside, and a displeased voice was heard:
– Who else is rushing in at this hour of the night?
– To Lev Kirillovich, on the sovereign’s business. Servants, open up!
There was a muffled whispering from inside, and finally the gate opened and two healthy boyar serfs came out onto the street. Both had fat faces, well-fed, and even red.
– Tell the strelets, and we will tell the boyar, don’t doubt it, – answered Yelizariev, – if you don’t let us in, then we will give the boyar a petition in the Prikaz! And we won’t forget to tell about you
– Look at you? Well, okay, go ahead, don’t stand still, – one of the serfs said, – follow me. The archers followed their guide. At the house, one of the servants stopped them, but this nimble and impudent man himself now quickly ran into the depths of the master’s house.And indeed, the house of the boyar Naryshkin was amazingly beautiful, and the copper and shiny roof of the choir sparkled so much in the sun! The brick house with a rich high porch on the second, residential floor looked almost like a Kremlin palace to the eye,
The serf ran back, and took it upon himself to see the strelets off. Even now it seemed that the man had become a head shorter in stature.
– They are waiting for you, gentlemen strelets! Here, is the living room! Come in.
And indeed, rich chambers… The strelets brushed their boots from dirt with a broom, walked along the stone floor, covered with a wicker path for warmth. The walls were plastered and painted with a grass pattern, so it was a joy to look at. The strelets already had their hats in their hands, it was inconvenient to walk around in such a house in a hat. The boyar himself was walking towards them, in a soft homemade katana, a cap with a tassel and soft boots. – Sit down, don’t stand there, – Lev Kirillovich began his speech graciously, – what have you come for?
– To tell you about treason, boyar… Ivashka Tsykler is stirring up the strelets, saying that the boyars killed Pyotr Alekseevich, his son must be protected, – Yelizariev began, – everything is really bad if he doesn’t hurry.
Naryshkin glanced at the strelets, and his heart sank in his chest… So have they really found out how it all happened!
– And what about the archers?
– The elected officials want to look at the grave of Pyotr Alekseevich. In a week they will go to the Archangel Cathedral. We need to put guards in the underground passage to catch the troublemakers, – Silin continued.
– Don’t trust the traitors, archers, Pyotr Alekseevich is alive and well! – Naryshkin spoke loudly, – and thank you for your loyalty. And your reward will be great.
– Then you will not forget, I am Larion Elizariev.
– And I am Grigory Silin.
– So who else is the main troublemaker? – asked the boyar.
– We do not know of any others except Ivashka Tsykler, boyar. We ask for your forgiveness… – sang Elizariev, almost like in the choir.
– The Streltsy did well, – Naryshkin said graciously, and patted both of them on the shoulders, – you will be clerks in the Prikazy for your intelligence and loyalty… And you will receive a lot of silver from the treasury! Go, I will not forget about you…
– Thank you, Lev Kirillovich, – said the delighted Silin.
– Whatever else we find out, we will report right away, boyar, – added Elizariev and bowed.
Lev Naryshkin looked at the informers leaving, looked at the engraving depicting the late Peter Alekseevich. The Tsar on the sheet of thick paper was cheerful, and before the boyar’s eyes stood the dead face of Peter, lying on the bed. It was impossible to forget such a thing… The owner of the house sat down at a walnut table of Venetian work, poured himself a glass of wine from a glass decanter, admiring the work of the Italian master. – What a color, and how it shimmers in the light… – the boyar whispered quietly, – In bright light it’s one thing, by burning candles – quite another… And people are like that, the majority… In the rays of the sun one thing, in the darkness of darkness – another… And then…After all, choosing the strong side does not mean betraying, but only making the right choice…