It had been whispered among these men that the Tsar Feodor had been done to death by the family of Naryshkin, in order that their own relative—young Peter—might succeed. The Tsar Alexis had married a second wife, choosing a daughter of the Naryshkin family, and her brothers—it was said—would be deterred by no crime from placing their nominee, Peter, upon the throne. Some even said that they would go further than this and murder Peter himself in order that one of themselves, as brothers of the Tsaritsa, might usurp the throne. Now between Peter and the succession there stood Ivan, his imbecile half-brother, and it was averred by the Streltsi that the Naryshkins had not only murdered Feodor, but also this Ivan, and it was in the midst of the fury and the madness of their awakening that we reached Moscow. We found the streets full of an excited mob, all surging in the direction of the palace, following and accompanying the Streltsi, who rushed through the midst of the crowd shouting and gesticulating, and turning up the sleeves of their red shirts as they ran with naked swords to the slaughter.
Some cried as they ran that Feodor had been assassinated; others that Ivan, the helpless, harmless child of fourteen, had been murdered also; but all shrieked curses upon the Naryshkins and howled for their blood.
Now whether Feodor had been poisoned, as was said, or whether he died a natural death, I know not; but it is certain that neither Ivan nor Peter had been harmed, for the Tsaritsa, in response to the shouts of the Streltsi mob beneath the palace windows, brought out both children upon a balcony and allowed the deputation of the soldiers to climb up and identify them.
But this was not enough for the Streltsi, who had come for blood and must have it. They still shouted for Naryshkins to be thrown out to them, and two of their own generals who strove to appease them were quickly cut in pieces.
Then a search was made for the brothers of the Tsaritsa, the Naryshkins, a number of the Streltsi forcing their way into the palace and searching it throughout. They found and slew two who had taken refuge in the chapel, and—having vented their fury upon them—were satisfied.
But the mob without howled for victims, and by an unfortunate chance both Mazeppa and I, who followed with the mob into the palace square, came near to supplying food for their insensate rage. For as we stood, or were hustled hither and thither, Mazeppa, nudging my arm, bade me see who stood near us, separated from us, however, by a score, or maybe a hundred, of the crowd. I looked and immediately recognised an old acquaintance, Falbofsky. This was he whom Mazeppa had left for dead some years before at our home in Volhynia—the rogue who had sent him to ride naked through the Ukraine, shaming us both into exile.
‘It is Falbofsky,’ I said laughing—‘an old friend indeed!’ I felt no animosity against the man; time had smoothed out the rancour I had felt in the old days. But Mazeppa was, it seemed, of a different temper.
‘I hoped I had wiped out our score that night,’ he said, looking darkly at the man, ‘but the fellow takes two killings to end him. We will see that he does not escape: he is easily followed and marked down!’
Presently Falbofsky turned and observed us, and I could see at once that if Mazeppa had not forgiven his offence, neither had he forgiven Mazeppa’s; for he stared and glared furiously at us for a moment. Then, like a fool, he began to shout aloud maledictions and threats, calling us by our names, and continuing, yet more foolishly, to tell those about him of the escapade of many years ago and of Mazeppa’s shameful treatment.
Mazeppa’s face grew milk-white with rage. A few Streltsi standing near began to be attracted by the loud voice of Falbofsky.