Lion of the Shuisky House

                                                15th day of January                                                 Year 1594 In the summer of seven thousand one hundred, Tsarina Irina Fedorovna gave the sovereign a daughter, Theodosia, in honor of this glorious news for the entire sovereign family, I received the title of capital at the royal court. After the death of the last son of Tsar Ivan Vasilyevich, Dimitri, only Fyodor remained on the royal table from KalitichiKalitichi, descendants of Ivan Kalita, the Lord gifted the Tsar with an heiress less than a year later. The Tsar’s brother-in-law, the child of Murza of the Tatar, There were various rumors about the origins of Boris Godunov, this is most beneficial to his enemies, and the Shuiskys hold a grudge against him, he sent my entire family into disgrace, they wandered around the fortresses for five years, the Lord took Mother to himself, apparently for his sins in front of him. The king ordered us to be returned on the occasion of the death of his brother; he felt sorry for the single relatives in the dungeons. The Emperor wished to make a religious procession to the Novodevichy Convent, called the priest from Novgorod, where he had been a commander before, Uncle Dmitry received royal respect. Lev Vasilyevich Shuisky, in the past Tywin Lannister lay in a sleigh, wrapped in a fur coat, there was a terrible frost, there was the greatest power of winter, the coachman led the horses, talking with Vasily Ivanovich, who was sitting a little further. “Is it true what they say, master, that Dimitri was killed by the enemy’s power?” “They’re all lying, Mikitka, they’re lying.” I myself kissed the cross in front of the people, how could I lie? “I couldn’t, master, I couldn’t.” " Wow, Mikitka” " But Boriska longs to sit on the royal table, is this true?” “As long as the sovereign lives, he will not think anything bad against his will, because his sister is the queen.” The lion rose from his seat, squeezing his warm fur coat with his hands; of course, it allowed the frost to penetrate his soul, but at least he didn’t catch consumption, and then thank God. - Father, why then is Mstislavsky in the monastery? Zakharyin in a coffin? Your own uncle was killed by the will of Boriska! - What are you saying, Lev? - The truth, father, the truth. He will kill us too, no doubt about it. The eldest of the four Ivanovich brothers scratched his beard and looked at the soft snow, as if suspecting a spy was with him. He was a true courtier, he did not and could not have warm feelings for Godunov, his entire family, by his mercy, spent five years in disgrace, he lost his uncle and was widowed by his will. " Leo, I personally saw Dimitri soulless! He himself, he himself, was sick… Falling sickness!” “The royal uncle, Yuryev, died two years after the death of Emperor John! Ivan Fedorovich Mstislavsky has taken up residence in the monastery! Behind the walls, your uncle went to the Lord, Tsarevich Dimitri played with a knife, but died. And if you, my dear father, join in?” “What are you saying, Levushka!” “The truth, father. Boriska is laying a carpet for the table, wants to walk with the royal apple and sit down, not caring that his blood does not come from Rurik!” " I know that, son. But since a daughter was born to the Tsar, then Irina Fedorovna can carry a son in her womb.” “Maybe. Isn’t the tea good? Her brother will add poison to her and send the child to the Lord.” “Nikita, hit the horses harder!” The cart rushed through piles of snow, big and soft, like in the cheerful childhood spent in Shuisk. It ended early for me; before I was even ten years old, my father and I went into exile in the dungeons, where we spent five years. I will soon celebrate my fifteenth year, I will get married if God so desires. The coachman was an intelligent man of venerable years, he served Ivan Petrovich until he was strangled in the monastery, the royal brother-in-law ordered this evil deed to be done, no less. “We are legitimate Rurikovichs, we lead the knee from Yuri Vladimirovich! From Vladimir Vsevolodovich! The chroniclers of our family keep count from Rurik! The son of Murza the Tatar should not be on the table that rightfully belongs to us!” “It won’t happen, father. But we also intend to act, and not just talk empty talk. You should protect the princess while the sovereign goes to the monastery to pray for his soul. Boriska will strangle the girl.” “What should I do? How to save Theodosia Feodorovna from death?” “To work so that one of us becomes her uncle, and is near her body day and night.” “The king won’t believe us, he won’t believe us. We are disgraced" “We are of the sovereign’s family, not disgraced. The royal family is united, along the male line." The coachman was a tall, already aging man, he got off the cart at a slow pace and knocked his boots on the snow, these steps were similar to the stomping of a grandfather on his way to visit the children. - Arrived, master. Vasily Ivanovich got off the cart, throwing a dark hat over his head, wrapping himself warmly in a fur coat, he headed inside the capital, white-stone Moscow. I couldn’t help but follow the priest, the fur coat was warm, the snow was soft, the sun was breaking through in the sky, although this happened through force. Uncle Alexander Ivanovich’s carts stopped nearby, Dmitry Ivanovich arrived with his wife, Malyuta’s daughter, Ivan Ivanovich stayed alone, he was still handsome, although short in stature. Rumors circulated around the capital that Emperor John pardoned the Shuiskys because they were all considered cripples; if I listened to these words, I would have pulled out my tongues, but I don’t care about old women’s stories. My father, my uncles and I walked up to the royal porch, and a poorly dressed, short, plump sovereign, Fyodor Ioannovich, came out of it. It is in vain that they say that this son of Rurik is not endowed with reason, he is kind, merciful and meek, this is the kind of king the Moscow land needs, and not the terrible John Vasilyevich. Behind him stood tall, stocky, black-haired, with a thin beard, Boris Fedorovich, the royal brother-in-law was fierce and cunning, a true snake, I would call him a Dornishman. “I’m glad to see guests every time, my brothers. Vasenka, Mitenka, Vanechka, Sashenka. Levushka, from the font I remember you." I beat off my forehead in front of the king, shook off some of the snow that was falling from the sky again and again, my uncle and my father united in a bow. “It’s an honor to know you, sir.” “You better hurry, sir, a snowstorm is coming.” “The Lord orders us to go to Novodevichy, Boriska, and you take care of my daughter, Feodosia.” "Good, sir, good." Fyodor Ioannovich slowly descended the steps, his legs had been ailing for who knows how many years, maybe the ailment had been inherited from birth. He tightly squeezed the shoulders of the brothers in turn, kissed the Shuiskys on the cheeks, paid special attention to young me, stroked my head, kissed my forehead. "You will be a boyar, Lyovushka. How will summer come" "Why stand at the gate? Come into the mansion, dear guests, I’ll order you to set the table. " I headed inside the sovereign’s chambers; they were beautifully decorated, the columns looked like Spanish ones, the doors were beautifully embroidered, and there were foreign carpets under my feet. The decoration is no less English luxurious. Fyodor Mikhailovich, from the Trubetskoys, was sitting at the table, he promoted the sovereign to the Polish kaisers, took part in the war with the Livonians, he is already getting old, but did not have a child. Bogdan Saburov could have become the royal father-in-law, married his daughter to Tsarevich John, the father of the murdered man, and was now in a strange position, although he was related to Godunov, but no more than distant, almost in disgrace. Boriska's uncle, Dmitry Ivanovich, a cunning old man, made his niece into a queen, a nephew into almost semi-sovereign rulers, and yet he began as a poor nobleman, served with the disgraced Yuri Vasilyevich, the king's brother. He led the boyar Vaska Kolychev to execution; he was exiled as governor to almost destroyed Novgorod ten years ago. The imperious Fyodor of Mstislavsky, his family was no poorer than ours, he kept his account from Gediminas, he was noble, he was a parishioner, he even wooed the Staritsa Virgin Mary. He drank kvass from a silver mug. Our distant relatives, the seventh water on jelly tea, Skopin-Shuisky, I heard that his son will soon be ten years old. Godunov’s Grishka, Vanka and Styopka, and yet Uncle Alexander did not even manage to become a boyar, but Boriska’s relatives sit in the Duma and administer the affairs of our land. Fyodor Nikitich Romanov, dressed in a luxurious caftan, is rumored to have been embroidered by overseas merchants, but they don’t lie... He’s charming, just like a needle, not a speck of dust, not a speck, and his face is cute, all the girls look like cows in summer at a bull, and he chose a girl from a family of almost serfs, a rabble in a word. His brothers, Mishka and Vanka. Ivan stuttered from an early age, he spoke as if he ate the same porridge all day and couldn’t chew it, but he was dressed no worse than his older brother, apparently, after all, dressing up was a gift from the deceased priest. And here was the Tsarina-empress, Irina, leading next to her her little daughter, the princess, our God-given joy, everyone looked as if at a chest filled with gold, honestly. "My long-awaited daughter, given by the Lord, Theodosia." The king smiled, he loved his daughter sincerely, they had been waiting for a child for almost two decades, anyone would love him, he took her in his arms and sat her on a wooden throne, like an empress, she smiled but also coughed sometimes, we had no time for this trouble. "This summer we will celebrate two years for the princess, may God give her strength and strength." - God willing. - The boyars spoke almost in unison. Everyone drank kvass and ate real meat, brought from the forests of our fertile land, we will soon leave for the holy procession, we must gain strength and patience to pray before the Lord in the monastery, everyone is a sinner, everyone. It was a genuine feast, no worse than the years of Tsar Ivan Vasilyevich, buffoons danced, guslar players played, the blessed told something, the boyars ate and drank, it seemed that everything was getting better and going on the right path.