Kitabı oku: «Peter The Great, of Orange. Usurper on the Throne», sayfa 4
Fight at the coffin
Frol Ignatiev was waiting for his comrades, and hid a pair of double-barreled pistols in his bosom. He received such things among the trophies in Azov. And he had a dagger with him, as well as a saber at his side. Two riflemen from his company were standing there, with a folding stretcher covered with matting. The sergeant was not going to put off the matter, like Tsykler, but decided to decide everything at once.
– Well, Frol, and others have arrived, from the regiments of Sukharev, Vorontsov and Baturin. There will be no one else.
– Let’s go…
Only the riflemen gathered not at the Church of St. Anna, but at the Pokrovsky Gate, and not on the seventh day, but on the sixth. Ignatiev didn’t trust people, that was his habit… And he told those he suspected of treason about three more places – near the church on Kulishki, near the church of St. Elijah on Ilyinka, and near the Church of the Assumption on Nikolskaya.
– Everyone put on masks, to be on the safe side, – the policeman ordered, – light the lanterns. Torches are not needed yet. Vasily, check everyone.
– We’ll do it, Frol Fomich, don’t doubt it! – the foreman Ustyanov agreed, – after all, we’re going for such a thing…
– We mustn’t spoil it… I’m counting on you… So that they walk quietly.
– Everyone in soft boots without horseshoes. We are experienced people, we will not let you down…
– We do everything quickly… – Ignatiev reminded again, – We open the door of the crypt, check the coffin, and if everything is as Tsikler said, we take the body away, and then as we agreed – run to the Streltsy settlements, raise the people. We will not wait for the first people, they will betray us.
– We will be ready, Frol Fomich! We will carry out what we have planned!
– Arseny, Timofey, you go first. Open the doors to the underground passage. Go quietly, if one, immediately back. Take the smallest lantern. Well, with God…
Two young riflemen, only a year ago enlisted in the service, went down the stairs and disappeared into the darkness. The scraping of iron was heard and a breath of dampness was felt.
– Well, let’s go… Time is precious, – Frol said quietly.
Ignatiev himself carried a lantern in his hand, and in order to occupy his mind, to distract himself, he counted the steps. He counted twenty-two, and then, bending down, entered the black opening of the underground passage. The riflemen knew how and where to go, they were all doing their military service. True, a couple of finds, so, slightly excited.
– Frol Fomich, look, – whispered Pyotr Shadrov, – a dead man…
And indeed, there was a decomposed corpse in old clothes. A skull covered with skin, and a tuft of red hair on the crown.
– Scary… – Petka muttered again.
– Why are they afraid of the dead? You should be afraid of the living, my dear man… Let’s go, it’s not far from here…
There were also noticeable signs, and they couldn’t get lost. Well, it’s like a wolf getting lost in its own forest.. They walked quickly, having figured out the direction, and so as not to get lost later. There was only one gallery leading to the crypt of the Archangel Cathedral.
But here is the long-awaited door…
Arseny and Timofey quickly returned to Ignatiev. Both were worried, but they held on.
– Things are bad, Uncle Frol… Two Preobrazhensky at the door. With fusils, with lanterns.
– It’s okay… We need to scare them. Petka! Bring the skull, and quickly!
– Whose is it?
– Not mine. I don’t need yours. And the one we noticed at the turn. Move quickly. Arseny, help him!
– I can handle it myself, – grumbled Shadrov, – I wasn’t scared!
He returned quickly, though. But he carried the dead head as if it were a mortar bomb, weighing at least a pood. Pyotr twisted all over, as if the head could bite him.
– Arseny, thread the rope through the skull’s nose…
The work was going quickly, Ignatyev admired the young man’s fortitude. He did well… Ignatyev noticed a bracket ten steps from the door. A plan was hatched…
And so, ten minutes or more later, the Preobrazhensky soldiers rushed into the Cathedral crypt with screams.
– The dead! Ghosts!
There were no dead, but Arseny adapted the rope, threading it through the bracket. Well, and he hung the skull with a lantern on the rope. And the frightened Preobrazhensky soldiers left their post with a scream.
– Quickly! There is no time! – Ignatyev shouted.
The squad of riflemen noisily flew into the dungeon, and the constable, checking the drawing, began to look for the necessary burial. It turned out that everything was not so simple. Frol was already sweating and despairing when he noticed a sarcophagus without an inscription.
– Over here, help! – the sergeant shouted to the strelets.
The three of them lifted the lid, Arseny held the lantern. Ignatyev impatiently pulled the shroud off the dead man.
– It’s him! Peter! – Ignatyev informed everyone.
The strelets saw the tsar both in Preobrazhenskoye and near Azov. That’s how it all happened… But then a crash was heard on the stairs leading from the cathedral to the crypt, something fell with a noise. And shouts were heard:
– The thieves are here! Hold the villains!
And the Preobrazhenskys ran down with torches and lanterns and swords.
– Quickly, with a crowbar, Timokha! – Frol almost whispered in despair.
But it didn’t work, and the stone lid fell back into place, covering the body. And a fight began among the ancient coffins. The archers greeted the mockers hotly, raining blows of their sharp sabers on them. The constable rushed ahead of everyone, hoping to drive away the mockers and have time to carry out the body. But it didn’t work… The points rang, the cries of the wounded and the groans of the dying were heard. The archers fought skillfully and desperately, and about ten Preobrazhenskys flooded the ancient crypt with their blood. It seemed that they would falter a little more, but then help came running to them. And Ignatyev was surrounded by three, and the constable fell wounded. A fight began to rage around him. Timofey grabbed Frol by the arms and began to drag him to the iron door of the underground passage.
– The pistol… Take the pistol, – the wounded man whispered.
– Make way, brothers! – Timokha shouted, and fired from all four barrels at once.
The basement was filled with gunpowder smoke, the riflemen hid in the underground passage, and closed the door, and propped it with crowbars.
– It’s good that no one saw our faces, – said one of the riflemen, Zakhar Zaitsev.
– Frol, our good man, and he looked back at Arseny and Timofey, who were carrying a stretcher with a wounded man.
They had prepared them for the body of the Tsar, and now they were useful for the constable. The young riflemen tried to walk carefully, taking care of the wounded man. The last ones were Pyotr Shadrov and Vasily Pekhtin, also with their sabres drawn. – Weak to compete with swords, still unskilled… – Pyotr said quietly. – Well, you and I have been taught to handle weapons since we were five. And who are you? From the falconers, dog handlers and horse breeders… – Vasily agreed with his comrade’s words.
– Lower the stretcher… – Frol whispered, – that’s it, I’ll stay here…
– What are you talking about? We’ll take it home…
– No, it will be bad.. I’ll lie down here, not far from the Tsar, – and Frol smiled weakly.
The archers stopped and pulled their hats off their wild heads. Peter still had his hand on his sabre.
– Go to the Don… – whispered the dying constable, – Tsykler didn’t lie, Peter lies dead there… Everything is true.
– And we saw it, Frol Fomich… Everything, we’ll do everything, – Arseny added for himself and for his friend Timokha, who was still standing with his hand bandaged from a sword prick.
The constable wanted to say something, raised his hand, groaned, and seemed to stretch out and no longer breathe.
Vasily and Pyotr nodded, took crowbars, and began to remove stones from the side wall. Their comrades took turns replacing them. Finally, a niche appeared, into which they placed Ignatyev’s body, covered it with stones, so that it was not noticeable.
– That’s how it turned out … – Vasily boomed.
– So what are we doing? – asked Pyotr,
– We’ll write a charter. To the Don, and to Azov. Everything as is. And you, Arseny and Timofey, will deliver, – said Vasily Pekhtin, who remained in charge, – we’ll collect treasury for the road. I’ll arrange a travel charter for you at the Prikaz. Everything will be as it should be…
The Arrest of Tsykler
The wind howled outside the window. The last snowstorm had definitely fallen on Moscow. Ivan Yeliseyevich looked at the bad weather through the stained glass and pulled his home coat tighter around him. He leaned his hands against the tiled stove to warm himself. It was a bit chilly in the house, although the stoker in the basement did not spare the firewood, he checked it himself.
– Father, – Yelisey began to speak, – the guests have already gathered in the living room, and Alexei Prokofievich is here.
– And Fyodor Pushkin?
– The serf came running, said that the boyar would be here later…
– Okay, let’s go…
And the Duma nobleman followed his son into the room. Only five invited guests were sitting at the table with a rich treat. Candles were burning in Italian chandeliers, the room was as light as day.
– I’m glad you came, dear friends! Help yourself, eat and drink! – Tsykler said cordially.
And his men poured Hungarian wine into silver cups, and the eldest of them began to cut up the roast game and distribute it to the guests. Ivan Eliseevich had just picked up his two-pronged fork when he heard the clatter of boots on the stairs.Two sergeants of the Preobrazhensky Regiment burst into the room with partisans at the ready, and after them, Lev Kirillovich Naryshkin himself swam out in an expensive sable coat covered with silk.
– I am glad to have an honored guest, – and Tsykler rose from the table, – and there will be a place for you, boyar!
– No, Ivashka! – Naryshkin said menacingly, – now you will dine at the Preobrazhensky Prikaz! Iron it!
The guests did not move from their places, Sokovnin stood up and turned to Naryshkin.
– And what is Ivan Eliseevich’s crime? – he asked.
– Treason against the great sovereign!
– Where would treason come from, boyar! Lieutenant Colonel Tsykler is pure before Pyotr Alekseevich!
Lev Kirillovich turned pale, he heard the hidden meaning in the words of the okolnichy. That Pyotr Alekseevich was dead. But the cunning boyar got out of it too:
– He is a traitor to the Russian Tsardom and the sovereign’s cause! Drag the thief down, guys, don’t hesitate!
The Preobrazhensky men, without further ado or respect, dragged the owner of the house up the stairs, then, in the yard, threw him tied up in a simple cart. And in the yard, for the sake of order, stood almost a whole company of the Preobrazhensky Regiment, with swords and muskets
Then, this entire army with the arrested man marched through the streets of Moscow to the Preobrazhensky Prikaz.
Search and cruel execution
They were sitting on benches, the Golitsyns, Boris Andreevich and Andrei Alekseevich, the Romodanovskys, Fyodor Yuryevich and Mikhail Grigoryevich, Lev Kirillovich Naryshkin, Ivan Buturlin and Fyodor Lopukhin. All seven boyars, the Boyar Duma. The place was not exactly a palace, but a basement of almost a palace, And it was not particularly interesting to look at, but it was necessary…
– My great sensible man Nikitushka, – Fyodor Yuryevich said affectionately. – A man of great intelligence and spiritual tact, and a hand like a bear’s paw, – the boyar boasted, – and what’s good is that he’s deaf and dumb to boot. A darling, not a man.
And the boyar smiled at his serf, and he grinned in response. But he did not remove the whip from his hand.
– You are a smart one, it was not for nothing that Pyotr Alekseevich favored you – Naryshkin praised, – you do everything sensibly.
– But without you, without your intelligence and speed, Lev Kirillovich, we would all have perished. I am afraid to even think what would have happened in Moscow! Such a mess would have started, God forbid. Our heads would have been lying by the oak logs…
– It’s okay, we caught the thief… And who was in the crypt of the Archangel Cathedral? Who fought with the Preobrazhenskys? Eight of the toy soldiers were killed and ten wounded! What kind of a gang was it? – Boris Andreevich Golitsyn spoke loudly, – what kind of people? Go on, ask him!
– Don’t be silent, Ivan Eliseevich, – said Fyodor Yuryevich to the man on the rack, – confess, and you’ll feel better… And even if you die anyway, at least you won’t suffer…
And Prince Romodanovsky made a sign to the executioner, and he jerked the Duma nobleman up so hard that the unfortunate man’s shoulders cracked and he groaned. Then the khat began to beat the prisoner with a whip, but he remained silent, only groaning.The hot iron was put to use, and the disgusting smell of burnt flesh hit the boyars’ noses.
– It’s impossible to sit here! – Andrei Alekseevich Golitsyn jumped up indignantly.
– Do you feel sorry for the thief? – Buturlin did not understand, – or do you want to go to Venice again?
– It stinks… If Fyodor Yuryevich so wishes, then let him have fun without us… I don’t go to slaughterhouses…
– And you, my prince, should take on this business yourself! – Fyodor Yuryevich was indignant, – when it comes to transporting the dead – so others, when it comes to uncovering a conspiracy – let someone else try, as long as his white hands are not soiled! And Andrei Alekseevich needs another hundred yards to feed himself…
– And I helped the common cause. Look, Boris Andreevich sent a loyal man to Amsterdam, and the messenger has already returned. Found a man similar to Peter, we must go, hurry!
– Now, once we’ve finished with these, we’ll be on our way right away… We’ll send Lefort and Fyodor Alekseevich Golovin and Prokofiy Bogdanovich Voznitsyn, the clerk with the treasury. These, except for Lefort, have never seen the Tsar, it’s not their rank. So we’ll tell the people at the embassy that the Tsar left before them, under a different name, say, Pyotr Mikhailov… And he’ll be waiting for them in Amsterdam…
– You’re smart, Fyodor Yuryevich… But what about that? – and Andrei Golitsyn nodded at Tsykler, who had fainted on the rack.
– So before the execution we’ll cut out their tongues, that’s all, – the boyar found himself,
– It was in vain that I didn’t go straight to the Streltsy settlement with Peter’s body. You’d all be hanging here now, instead of me. – finally, the tortured Duma nobleman whispered. – You speak correctly, Ivan Eliseevich. But the most important word here is, of course, WOULD. “If mushrooms WOULD grow in your mouth, then it WOULD not be a mouth, but a whole vegetable garden.“In a conspiracy, everything must be done quickly… So, you admit your guilt? Don’t drag it out, honestly, it will make it easier for you. You will confess, and your sin will be forgiven before God!
– But there is none, my guilt… I am pure before the oath and the Tsar… It is for him that I suffer…
– And here’s another thing, Ivan Eliseevich, – Lev Kirillovich began to speak, – We have a lot of work to do, than to tinker with you and waste time. And we already know your accomplices. Sokovnin and Pushkin. So, if you admit that you plotted against the Tsar, then no one will touch your sons. They will go to serve in Kursk. Well, it is a noble matter, to serve the Tsar-father, and it happens this way and that… And in our families, the sovereigns executed the guilty. It is a common thing… Look, Mikhail Fyodorovich punished the governor Shein! – Golitsyn added, – Well, think faster… And you, as a traitor, will get a break… First they’ll cut off your head, and then your arms and legs. And we can’t offer anything else…
The Duma nobleman thought. He knew that not a single word of his would come out of this dungeon. No one would ever find out anything.. And IT WILL BE WRITTEN that Ivan Eliseevich Tsykler was a traitor and regicide, and they will also destroy his sons, Yelisey and Mikhail…
– I agree… Let the scribe write the tale… – Tsykler agreed with a sigh.
– Yes, I’ll work for the scribe and do my best! – Boris Andreevich Golitsyn agreed, and took up the pen himself.
They placed a writing set, a sheet of paper, and a jar of sand in front of him.
into this basement of strangers. No one’s loyalty could be ironclad now. The time had come for betrayal and treason…
The boyar prepared to listen. Tsykler was saying something. but Prince Golitsyn began to compose with inspiration what was needed for the Preobrazhensky Prikaz fairy tale, and then began to read aloud:
“So I thought of killing the great sovereign, setting fire to the palace in the village of Preobrazhenskoye, and as soon as someone would run away, then I would indiscriminately stab them with knives. And I decided to do this out of great resentment towards the sovereign…”
The close boyars and princes listened intently to what Boris Andreevich had written. And they still did not understand whether to cry or laugh. Everyone was watching. what Romodanovsky would say… Prince Golitsyn had composed such things that it turned out that only Tsykler was going to overthrow Peter Alekseevich from the throne. It all came out awkwardly, oh awkwardly…
– Fyodor Yuryevich, I repent of my sins… – Tsykler said quietly.
– But the Tsar’s okolnichy slowly wiped his sweaty forehead with a handkerchief, sighed and grabbed his carved staff, but finally spoke:
– Oh, you’re such a thief! We never knew you were like that, Ivan Eliseevich, – and Fyodor Yuryevich laughed softly, shaking his mighty belly, and turned to Boris Golitsyn, – all the archers must be removed from Moscow to avoid sin… We’ll send them to Azov and Taganrog… Get the letters patent ready…
– And those regiments that were left in Azov after the war? Fyodor Kolzakov, Ivan Cherny, Afanasy Chubarov and Tikhon Gundertmark? They will want to rest in Moscow…
– As soon as nine regiments arrive from Moscow, those riflemen will be in Velikiye Luki without delay. The Prebrazhensky and Semenovsky regiments, the Butyrsky regiment and the Lefort regiment will remain in Moscow.
– Oh, you are so smart, Fyodor Yuryevich… – Everyone needs to be on guard… Everything is going wrong, my soul is heavy, I am anxious…
***
Prokhor was leisurely busy with an important matter, he was going to repair his boots. He was dressed in home clothes now, in felt boots, loose hemp trousers and a belted shirt. It was not cold in the warm basement, he could dress up like that. He prepared a thread, an awl, two needles and a wooden hammer, and sat down on a low comfortable bench. He sighed, and with pleasure smoothed his thick beard, rolled up the sleeves of his gray shirt of thick linen and tied an apron. The man adored order, and could not stand dirt and disorder. Even preparing for the matter pleased him, perhaps, more than his favorite craft. It was good that the day was growing little by little, he did not like to work by the torch, to strain his eyes.
He skillfully placed the boot with the sole up and struck the awl handle with a hammer.
– Father, – asked Prokhor’s only son, Maxim, who was sitting nearby, – do I have to hit hard?
– In any craft, force must be used wisely. Look how everything goes, whether it works or not… You have to feel it… Here, try it…
And he gave up his place to the boy. That smart one. punched a hole in the thick leather of the sole, and immediately, without delay, threaded the needles with thread. And he began to do everything quickly and smoothly, so that his father was distracted by his gaze. But then there was a knock on the gate, and the dog began to bark.
– Stop, Trezor, – Prokhor called to the guard dog, opening the door to the yard, – wait for me here. I’ll see who the devil is carrying:..
And the owner of the house threw his sheepskin coat over his shoulders and went out to the fence. On the way I looked under my feet so as not to step into a dirty puddle. Otherwise, I’ll get into trouble with my wife, Vasilisa. – Well, who’s there? – the man asked sternly, just in case throwing a sharp knife to his right hand.
He had to be careful, otherwise there were so many wicked people in Moscow, you just had to keep up with turning around. He was not afraid of anyone, but caution is not cowardice…
– To you, with an important matter, – he heard another voice, – here, a present for you…
And through the crack between the boards, like a sparrow’s beak, as if alive, a dimly shining efimok stuck out. The coin is thin, but wide. and the crosses on the silver pleased any, even the most capricious look. Prokhor opened the gate, but stood at the entrance.
In front of him stood two young noblemen, in marching caftans, thick Persian silk. Good hats, with a fur trim made of marten fur, with good sabres on their belts. Handsome fellows, Prokhor would like such as his daughters’ grooms.
– So what, good people? – he finally asked.
– Many have heard of you, Prokhor Kuzmich. – the older one spoke, – it’s not an easy matter… Here’s some silver. Forty rubles, so that you would execute my father mercifully. Cut off his head…
Prokhor thought about it. And then, in two days I’ll be serving on Bolotnaya Square…
– I see. So who should I grant a quick death?
– Ivan Eliseevich Tsykler. They were going to quarter my father, – the boyar’s son, the younger one, barely uttered.
– Hold on, Mikhail, it is not appropriate for us… – the elder said angrily.
– What is your name, boy? – Prokhor asked quietly.
– So, by your father. Yelisey Ivanovich, – the other added more cheerfully, – we are the sons of Ivan Yeliseyevich. The Duma nobleman Tsykler.
The executioner sighed heavily. How many people he had already sent to the Other World, and each time there was a burden on his heart. That is why he went to Father Philip, asking to remove the sin. It is also difficult to execute robbers, they are people after all. Even Christ himself, accepting the torment of the cross, and forgiving the murderer Datis, did not turn away from the repentant man. But such as these, on slander and the sovereign’s thieves:.. And you have to think about yourself… All of them, these thieves, have relatives among the first people in the state. Time will pass, they will be respected and have money again, and you see, they will remember that Prokhor Palashev helped them… But Mikhail Ivanovich Tsikler dispelled the doubts of the master of torture:
– Here is the money… We collected one hundred and twenty rubles… You, Prokhor, give it up, so that your father dies without suffering, – said the son, barely holding back his sobs, – and the others, too. Time will pass. We will help those children too, we will not be in disgrace forever. You will not lose…
– I will do everything in a godly manner, – and the kat bowed low.
Never mind, my back will probably not break, but the noble children, you see, will remember the good… He let the guests out into the street, Prokhor Palashev opened his purse and could not stop admiring the smooth and shiny efimki, two hundred and forty pieces in all. He sighed, but kept only a quarter for himself. The rest had to be given to his fellow craftsmen, he wouldn’t be doing the job alone…
***
The day of March 4, 1697, or 7215 according to the old style, did not begin as usual....Three carts with iron cages were being driven along the streets of Moscow. They were guarded by mounted dragoons with drawn swords, and in front of them rode the thieves, shouting:
– The sovereign’s thieves and traitors, Ivashka Tsykler, Fedka Pushkin, Alyoshka Sokovnin, and the riflemen Vaska Filippov, Fedka Rozhin, and the thieving Cossack Petrushka Lukyanov! And the three main thieves will be punished by quartering, and their assistants by beheading!
Crowds of people stood on the roadsides, waiting to hear what the condemned would say or shout. But they only remained silent, and blood flowed from their mouths down their chins.
– Their tongues were cut out! – shouted a merchant standing at a distance.
– Shut up! – shouted a dragoon captain who had ridden up, – or you too will quickly lose your tongue. or even your head!
The merchant quickly hid among the townspeople, the Muscovites fell silent in fear.
– And the main culprit and inspirer of this indignation is the late boyar Ivan Milislavsky! And this blood is not for him, the robber and traitor! And so that he could drink his fill of that blood, a coffin with the boyar’s bones was placed under the place of execution. And let no one else dare rebel! – the tyrant finished his speech, and lowered the Tsar’s letter.
In such deathly silence, only to the barking of dogs and the neighing of horses, this terrible train reached Bolotnaya Square, the place of executions.
The executioners opened the iron cages, and without removing the chains, dragged the condemned to the prepared chopping blocks, huge wooden bases. Here the tyrant came out again and began to read the Tsar’s Charter loudly:
“And from Aleshka’s children Sokovnin, from Vasily, from Fyodor, from Peter, from Ivashkov’s children Tsykler, their ranks, to which they are registered in the Discharge, for the theft of their fathers, to take away and to register them, Vasily with his brothers, in Belgorod, and to serve them in the Belgorod regiment, and the Tsykler’s in Kursk. And in Moscow they are not to go without the decree of the Great Sovereign. And from their estates and patrimonies and special dachas to give them to Vasily 25 households, and to Peter and Ivashkov’s children Tsykler five households each. And if they do not have special dachas, then to give them the same number of estates and from the patrimonies of their fathers. And to Fedka’s children of Pushkin from the estates and from the patrimonies and from the special dachas, for the theft of their father, not to give them, but to write off those of his Fedka and the rest of the Ivashkovs and Aleshkins and their children’s estates and patrimonies, and Moscow households and stomachs to the Great Sovereign and sell them according to the appraisal, and the money to his sovereign treasury. And to their wives, Ivashkov and Aleshkin and Fedka, and their daughters – maidens, from those estates and patrimonies not to give anything, but to give them their country courtyards, and to give from their stomachs in accordance with what was given to Fedka’s wife of Shaklovity. And to release those people of Aleshkin and Fedkin and Ivshkov. And Larion Elizariev, for the fact that he informed him about that murder, the Great Sovereign granted him, the Great Sovereign, the rank of clerk. And give him 50 peasant households from the Ivashkov estates and the Tsikler estates. And welcome Grigory Silin to the old clerkship, and give him 1,000 rubles from the Ivashkov estates and let him be in charge of the Zhitoy yard, which is by the Myasnitsky gates.” The face of the Tsar’s servant turned red from the strain, but but he tried not to cough. What, a disparagement of the Tsar’s honor, blasphemy against the Sovereign!
– It’s time to begin… – he whispered.
Kat grabbed Ivan Tsykler first. He walked on his own, not lowering his head. The assistants lowered him onto the chopping block, and the executioner, as if by accident, first cut off the unfortunate man’s head. The blade hit the block with a dull thud, the head fell into the prepared basket. The body jerked, and already dead, moved forward, almost falling off the platform. Blood burst out, abundantly soaking the boards of the scaffold. Then, coming to their senses, they chopped off the arms and legs. The executioner raised the head of the executed man, showing his terrible prey in all four directions, then, with a habitual movement of his calloused hands, stuck it into the rage. Biryuch screamed:
– Punishment has befallen the damned traitor! Here is the head of Ivashka Tsykler! It will stand here for three days, as is customary!
Then it was the turn of Alexei Sokovnin and Fyodor Pushkin. They were executed too, and their heads became a terrible decoration of the scaffold. Vasily Filippov, Fyodor Rozhin and the Cossack Pyotr Lukyanov did not escape the evil fate. Six heads hung on the spits of long poles.
Silence seemed to fall upon Bolotnaya Square. Not a sound was heard, not a rustle. The people were silent, everyone was watching the end of the terrible performance.
Blood covered the scaffold with a terrible carpet. Red, strainingly heavy drops fell down. But here they did not soak the yellow river sand, specially poured here, but fell into the open coffin of the boyar Ivan Miloslavsky. Even the executioner standing by the coffin crossed himself and said a prayer when he saw the blood begin to pour over the blackened shroud of the dead man. The dried skin that covered the skull turned red, covered with a monstrous color. The blood got into the gaping mouth, flowed down the teeth, then the jaw crunched, as if from a heavy weight, and it seemed to the executioner that the dead man had come to life and was swallowing a terrible drink.
Kat quickly turned away, shaking with fear and barely audibly muttered:
– Save and protect, Lord! Save me and protect, Lord!
