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