The wedding was a wild and chaotic event. Neither of the newlyweds remembered much of it. Life in Kiev was better than what she expected. The Vikings, for all their brutality, were genuine and honest. They showed a profound sense of community. The city was lively, and Olga—that was the name she had taken—felt at home almost instantly. She adored Sviatoslav, her adoptive son, and grew to love her husband almost as much. Viking women enjoyed quite a bit of freedom. They could own property. They ran the affairs of the house as they saw fit. Konnungar and earl women also shared their husbands’ power and privilege. If Igor were to die, Olga would rule until their son was old enough to reign.
Come spring, Olga gave birth to a beautiful daughter, Hilde. “She has her mother’s eyes,” said Igor when he saw her for the first time. As pleased as he was, what Igor needed was another heir, and while holding his daughter for the first time, he told Olga she would soon give him a boy. Seven slaves were strangled and stabbed to ensure the gods’ goodwill. Olga knew the rules—the Kibsu come in twos, not threes—but she chose to be a wife and mother first, Kibsu second. Hilde might not survive winter, and she convinced herself another daughter was a good insurance policy.
Hilde did survive to see her sister born. Brynhild also had her mother’s eyes. She and her sister had their mother’s cheeks, her smile, her everything. Igor did not have another son. Hilde was reminding him of his wife a bit more every day. Brynhild reminded him of both. Igor tried his best to see something of himself in his girls. They were bold, fearless. Olga hoped that would be enough. She knew full well it was time to leave, but she chose not to. She loved her husband and could not fathom leaving her son behind.
When Sviatoslav was six, Igor was killed while collecting tribute from the Drevlians. After they captured him, they bent two birch trees, tied one to each of his legs, and watched Igor tear in half as they released the trees. Olga thought this might be the work of the Tracker, but she did not care. There would be no running. The Drevlians sent emissaries to Kiev to tell Olga of her husband’s death. They asked that she return with them to marry their prince and settle peace between their people. Olga thanked them for their offer and said she would welcome them to her court the next day. She had her people carry the emissaries inside their boats as if they were palanquins, and dropped them inside a trench she had dug during the night. All of Kiev watched as the messengers were buried alive.
Their death did little to quench Olga’s thirst for revenge. She requested the Drevlians send a proper diplomatic party so that she could return with them and meet the prince with distinction. The Drevlians sent a group of noblemen, whom she received with the highest honors. While they were bathing, Olga locked the doors and set the bathhouse on fire.
She sent a second message to the Drevlians and asked that they prepare a feast on the site of her husband’s death so that she might mourn him properly before marrying the prince. They did. Mead flowed profusely that night, and when Olga felt she had mourned enough, she and her party slaughtered the five thousand Drevlians who had gathered with them. Olga returned home to prepare an army and kill anyone left alive. The Drevlians knew better than to fight the Rus’ again, and they retreated behind their walls. Olga did not want a siege to drag on for years, and she offered to leave if the Drevlians simply gave her pigeons and sparrows as tribute. The Drevlians were suspicious but thought they had nothing to lose by answering such a small request. Olga wrapped some sulfur inside small strips of cloth and attached one to each of the bird’s feet before lighting them on fire. The scared birds returned to their nests at once and set the city ablaze.
When the Vikings returned home, Olga told her children their father had been avenged, but when she approached Sviatoslav to hug him, the boy cowered in fear. Consumed as she was with wrath, she failed to notice that her son had watched her through it all. He had seen her drink blood and slaughter children his age. The boy’s mother had died. All that remained was a monster. Olga could not bear to see herself through her son’s eyes. She took a small ship and headed south with her two daughters.
Wife and mother first, Kibsu second. Olga had bet it all on a man and a boy, and she had lost both of them. She had lost her family, her home, and most of herself. Olga had broken the rules, and it had caught up with her. She fought when she should have run. She stayed when she should have gone. She had two daughters. That night, Olga held Hilde for hours, until she fell asleep in her arms. When Hilde was dead, her mother kissed her on the head and gave her body to the Dnieper. Olga had broken the rules, and she had paid the price. She had lost the will to live, but she would not dare break the rules again. Survive at all costs.
Mother and daughter changed their names. Don’t leave a trace. Olga became Eurybia, goddess of the sea. She arrived in Athens a month later with her daughter Zosime, the survivor.
ACT V
40
You Belong to Me
Nights are getting colder. I should have brought a scarf. Here it is again. Big armored Packard limousine. It’s the third time I’ve seen it since I left Korolev’s house. Whoever it is, it’s someone important. Tinted windows. I can’t see who’s inside, but the car slows down every time it drives by. I’m pretty sure it’s me they’re looking at. I’ll take the long way home. No way I’m walking the alley by myself.
It could be nothing, but with the day I had, my guess is it’s more bad news. Korolev and I had a fight. I told him we should scrap the R-3 project altogether. That didn’t go well. I had to throw some math at him and, well… He doesn’t like it when I’m smarter. Makes him feel… I don’t know how it makes him feel. All I know is he was mad. It might have something to do with that marriage proposal. He said I owe him an answer. Owe. What’s the hurry? Oh, yeah. I told him I won’t sleep with anyone before I tie the knot. Anyway, he can find someone else if he doesn’t like it. It’s also not my fault his rocket’s a mess. Glushko built a nineteen-burner engine for the R-3, but the mixing chamber is too big to survive the pressure. He says he’s solved the problem, but I don’t want to build another engine for a rocket that won’t cross the ocean. If we’re going to do this thing, we’re going to do it right. I want to go straight for the prize and build an intercontinental ballistic missile. A short-range missile is just that, a missile. It can’t be used for anything but killing people. I want to build something that will get us to space. I want to build the perfect rocket.
Where the hell is everyone? Another car slowing down. Black sedan this time. Looks a hell of a lot like the secret police. Oh shit, this one’s stopping. Two men getting out. They’re… Yep. They’re secret police all right. I hate the MGB. There’s an alley behind me twelve meters to the right. It’s too far. I’d need to slow them down first.
—You need to come with us.
They’re both large and heavy. It’s intimidating but it usually means slow and clumsy. I could push one on the other, duck behind cars, and make the alley before they draw.
—Who? Me? This must be a mistake.
Forward might be better. I’ve got high heels. Push one down, kick him in the eye. Take his weapon. I can probably puncture a kidney with a hard kick.
—It’s no mistake, ma’am. Just get in the car.
Could it be because of the clinic? Maybe Billie talked. I need to decide now…. Pistols are holstered, straps are on. Shoulders are relaxed. Whatever they want, they don’t see me as a threat. There’s no point in taking them on now.