White Mare's Daughter

by Judith Tarr

  He turned his head to snap teeth at an importunate younger brother, and Agni’s breath caught. For a moment he was among the tribe again, celebrant of the sacrifice, looking into the quiet dark eye of the Stallion.

  This too was a red horse, a chestnut, taller and more elegant than most. But the sacrifice had had no white on him at all. This one bore on his brow a curve of white like a crescent moon.

  Horse Goddess’ mark, as clear as if she had risen out of the earth and drawn it with her own hand. Agni let his breath out slowly.

  Yes, he thought. Yes. This was the one. This was his stallion.

  40

  Agni returned to the place where he had left his mares. They were much as he had left them, grazing in the contentment of their own small herd.

  The spotted mare, he thought, would come into season soon. The dun sisters would not be far behind her. It was rather a wonder that none of the young stallions had found them yet.

  Well; and he had been careful to leave them downwind, and they were in no need of a larger herd. He had asked for the two duns in particular, because they were indeed sisters, daughters of the king’s old stallion, and they had not been parted since they were yearmates together. The spotted mare seemed pleased to be part of their company, and untempted by the scents of other herds.

  Now they would do what he had hoped they would do. But first he must be certain that when they did it, he had the means to secure his stallion.

  He searched the whole of the country round about, noting where the herds and their offshoots grazed, how they traveled, where they paused for the night. It was a matter of days of searching, and of nights camped out of sight and scent of the young stallions.

  On the day when the spotted mare was in clear but not yet full heat and the dun sisters had begun to show signs of following suit, Agni found the place that, perhaps, the gods had meant for him. It was near the plain’s edge, a small deep valley with cliff-sheer sides.

  The entrance was narrow, but more than wide enough to admit a horse. A fall of water ran down the cliffside into a cold clear pool. A little stand of trees grew there, slender and tall, too thick in the trunk for spearshafts but admirable for building a barrier across the valley’s entrance. If Agni had ventured to pray for any one particular place, he would have prayed for this.

  He camped there that night, setting the mares free to graze. In the morning he set to work cutting down the trees—with thanks to the gods and to Earth Mother for giving him such a gift. Then he built a wall and a gate, with posts set deep, and branches and withies woven through them and lashed with thongs. The dun mare who had carried the burden of axe and adze, thongs and bone saw and every other thing that he had reckoned useful, won a bit of wild honeycomb for her service.

  He built the wall as strong as if it must withstand a war. And so it well might, once the stallion woke to awareness of his captivity. Agni built it taller than himself and wove it tight, and made a bar for the gate.

  Then at last, on the third day since he began, with the spotted mare in full heat and the dun mares close to it, he left the sisters but took the spotted mare and led her to the place where the stallions liked to graze. She was none too happy to leave the others, but once he had won the argument she was willing enough to do as he bade.

  The stallions were not yet in their field, but if their pattern held, they would come to it soon. There they would find a mare all alone as it seemed, nibbling on the choicest of the grass. Agni they would neither see nor scent, buried deep in the grass close by the mare.

  Or so he hoped. He had anointed himself with grass and with the mare’s droppings, an odorous perfume but sweeter to stallion-nostrils than man-scent could ever be.

  So disguised, in hunter’s stillness, he lay waiting for the stallions’ coming.

  oOo

  They came as they always did, bright in the morning, racing one another, pausing for mock battles. The leader, Agni had seen already, was the red stallion with the goddess’ mark on his brow. His friend and rival, the whitenosed bay who was suffered to breed the herd-king’s daughters, was not in evidence. He was doing his duty, then.

  Agni let out a slow breath. That was well, and well indeed. Of all the stallions, that one could claim the mare first; though he might fight for it, and lose. But the one he would have fought with was the one whom Agni yearned after. One or both might have been killed or maimed. And that, Agni was glad not to risk.

  The herd of young stallions stopped short on the field’s edge, heads up, nostrils flared, struck motionless by the sight of a lone mare in their pasture. She ignored them, though her ears flicked. She knew they were there; and, in the way of mares, chose to be oblivious to their existence.

  One of the young stallions loosed a low whickering call. The mare took no notice. The red stallion however wheeled, ears flat back, and lunged at the colt who had been so bold.

  The colt retreated hastily. The red stallion glared at the whole pack of them. One or two might challenge, but lowered their heads, biding their time.

  Satisfied, for the moment, the chestnut stepped delicately toward the mare. He was at his most beautiful, and deliberately so: nostrils wide, neck up and arched, knees lifted high. She, whose beauty was chiefly in her good sense, did not even do him the favor of a glance.

  If he had been a man, Agni would have reckoned him insulted. He fluttered his nostrils at her. She made no response. He rumbled in his throat, almost a growl, almost a song.

  She looked up then, just as he ventured, at the farthest stretch of his neck, to brush her nape with his breath. Her ears flattened. He quivered a little and mouthed submission. She lunged with teeth bared. He withdrew to a prudent distance. She went back to her grazing.

  Agni bit down hard on laughter. There were men in plenty who maintained, often at great length, that the stallion ruled the herd and commanded the mares. Agni, who had eyes and ears, and who had grown up as brother to the Mare’s servant, knew better.

  Therefore he had brought his little herd of mares, risking the mockery of the tribe for being a man and a prince and yet stooping to sit on the back of a lowly female. But a gelding was worse than useless for luring a stallion into a trap.

  This stallion found the man-scent on the mare despite Agni’s best efforts to remove it: he snorted and shook his head. But he did not turn and bolt. It was more as if he had seldom or never scented such a thing, than as if he knew and feared it.

  So, thought Agni. That much was true. No tribe wandered or hunted in this country. He had found none, nor evidence of any; but they might simply be elusive. This was Horse Goddess’ land in truth, and these her children, these tall beautiful horses who had no fear of man.

  And if that was so, then his dream of Rudira might signify the goddess, and the death that he had seen might be his own, for violating the sanctity of her country.

  No. He would not think that. He had been brought here to find this one, this red stallion with the young moon on his brow.

  While Agni maundered, the stallion courted the mare. He was not headlong as some stallions were. He asked, and was polite; and if she flattened an ear or lifted a heel, he withdrew. He had sense, then, and a wise heart.

  Just as she began to soften to his advances, lifting her tail and indicating that, if he asked properly, she might invite him, Agni launched himself out of the grass onto her back.

  The stallion shied. The mare wheeled under Agni’s heel and hand, but not before she paused to stale full in the stallion’s startled face.

  Wise mare, wicked mare, blessed mare. The stallion was deeply taken aback by the creature that smelled of mare and had attached itself to the mare’s back, but she was in full season, and he was rampant for her.

  She was nothing averse to lifting that wicked tail of hers and bolting toward the haven of her herdmates. She had a fair turn of speed; not enough to outrun the chestnut, but enough to keep him preoccupied with keeping pace. The other stallions, startled or interested, trailed behind, bu
t none came close enough to be a nuisance.

  Horse Goddess was with Agni. By her good offices and the mare’s own irresistible scent, Agni on the mare led the stallion straight into the trap that he had made. He leaped from her back as he passed the gate, rolling, springing to his feet, setting shoulder to the gate and heaving it shut on its lashings of strong leather. He dropped the bar into place just as the herd of young stallions came thundering up to the gate; but they veered away, nor did a heavy body crash into it.

  The spotted mare stood heaving for breath some distance inside the gate. The stallion mounted her—O marvelous; he was barely winded—and bred her where she stood.

  She offered no resistance. If anything, Agni thought, she was amused. Such a chase she had led him, and now he strutted, beautifully certain that he had had the better of her.

  He was even more delighted to discover the dun mares. They were less haughty than the spotted mare, but less ready, too. He courted each, but did not mount either; he marked them, that was all, nibbled a nape, licked a shoulder, made their acquaintance as a well-bred stallion might. They liked him well enough, though they drove him off after a while, weary of his importunings.

  Then at last he discovered his captivity. He was not greatly inclined to leave this place with its treasure of stallionless mares, but neither did he intend to stay in it for longer than it pleased him. He trotted back the way that he had come, and stopped in confusion. Agni, perched atop the wall, went utterly still.

  The stallion explored the gate with nose and forefoot, prodding at it, starting when it shifted slightly, but it never gave way. He moved along the wall then. It was solid from cliff-face to cliff-face. Agni had made very sure of that.

  One of the mares called to the others. His head snapped about. Mares, he would be thinking. Grass, and water. Contentment.

  He knew no madness of confinement. Not yet. The mares would distract him for a while. Long enough, Agni hoped, to get his attention; then to begin his taming.

  But for this day Agni would be a hunter and not a horse-tamer. He would take refuge in stillness. He would do nothing to disturb the stallion.

  The others of the stallion’s herd had lingered for a while, pacing the wall, drinking deep of the scent of mares; but after a while they wandered away. None of them tried to break down or to leap the wall. Such urgency was not in them.

  For the stallion trapped within, that time would come. Agni shaped a prayer to Horse Goddess, that the madness be brief and soon over.

  oOo

  When the stallion had settled somewhat, snatching grass uneasily just out of reach of the mares, Agni slid softly from the wall. The stallion started erect. Agni stood still. The stallion’s nostrils flared; he snorted. Very, very slowly Agni moved away from the wall.

  That was a bold son of the goddess. He watched with every sense alert, eyes rolling white, but he did not shy or bolt.

  Agni sought the camp that he had made, moving as a hunter will, softly, softly. There was water close by, and provisions enough till he could go out to hunt. He could watch and be unseen, but senses as keen as a horse’s would be aware of him, would grow accustomed to him, would begin not to fear him.

  He was not particularly quiet in his camp. He moved about as he pleased. At dusk he built a fire, singing as he did it, any song that came into his head. He would make himself a part of this world, his sounds and movements as much of it as the birds in the remains of the trees, or the rabbits in the grass.

  He was aware nightlong, even in his sleep, of the horses moving about, the deeper snort that was the stallion, a squeal as he ventured too close to one of the mares. He dreamed of horses, just as he should have done. Horses running. Horses at play, stallion-play that was like war.

  oOo

  At dawn he started awake. For a moment he knew it had all been a dream, the red stallion as much as the horses running over fields of mist and shadow. But when he raised himself, he saw them standing in the gloom: the three short stocky mares, and the taller, lighter, finer-headed stallion with his red coat gleaming faintly. He grazed a little apart from them, but restlessly, more so than he had done before.

  By full morning the pacing had begun, stride and stride and stride along the wall, calling to his kin who were now far from here. Every now and then he would halt, gather himself, half-rear as if to leap the wall. But Agni had built it high and strong, and the stallion was at heart a sensible creature. He did not venture his life to climb over the barrier.

  The mares distracted him somewhat. He bred the spotted mare again, a handful of times as the day wore on; and one of the dun mares importuned him, so that he could not in courtesy refuse her. Agni, sitting in his camp, reflected rather wryly that even if he failed to win this stallion, his mares would bring home much more than a memory of him.

  The stallion was not won yet. Not by far. To capture him—that was simple enough. But Agni must ride him back to the tribe.

  It was already full summer. By the autumn dancing he must return—and it was many days’ journey from this country to the tribe’s autumn lands.

  He schooled himself to patience. Haste had never been wise in training horses. Some said nonetheless that it was best to seize the captive, pull him down, break his will; then ride him into submission. But Agni had too much of the Mare’s blood in him. He trusted in a gentler way.

  Gentler, but also slower. And the day wore away, and the night after that, with Agni in his camp and the stallion shifting from mares to wall and back again.

  The next day Agni moved his camp closer to the horses. Himself he moved even closer, little by little, till he sat close enough to touch the spotted mare. She did not object. No more did the sisters, but the stallion moved off mistrustfully, eyeing the strange creature askance.

  Agni was careful not to move suddenly or leap erect. As if this had been a foal come new to the world of men, he made himself small. Small, to a horse as to a man, offered no threat.

  The mares were his willing accomplices in the taming of the stallion. They had no fear of Agni, nor any dislike, either. Nor did they find this confinement unduly onerous. There was grass enough, and no long wearying traveling.

  He bridled and mounted the spotted mare and rode her about. The stallion took exception to that. He lunged at the mare, as if to mount and breed her.

  She however was coming out of season and in no indulgent mood. She let fly with her heels. Agni clung to her mane and rode through the flurry, which though brief was fierce enough.

  The stallion, chastened, withdrew. Agni rode her in a circle round the stallion, who tucked his tail and flattened his ears but offered no insolence. Agni halted the mare and slid from her back.

  The stallion was perhaps twice his arm’s reach away. He made that a pace shorter. The stallion eyed him and clearly considered flight, but was too curious, or too cowed by the mare’s temper, to venture it.

  Agni stopped. He would not press his advantage. Not yet. He retreated with care, returned to his camp, left the stallion to ponder what he had seen.

  And perhaps he did, at that. He did not have the look of a dull-witted beast.

  41

  By degrees and by caution Agni accustomed the stallion to his presence. He could not come close enough to touch, but he could sit a bare hand’s breadth out of reach while the stallion grazed, or sit on the wall while the stallion paced and yearned, and meet no resistance, find no fear.

  A stallion from a herd that knew men, that had been hunted and culled for time out of mind, would have been notably more difficult to subdue than this innocent. Nevertheless he was no docile creature. He had great pride, and no submission in him to anything that was not a mare.

  Agni must subdue that pride and win that submission. For that he built a smaller enclosure within the valley, with the remains of the grove for walls.

  The horses watched in great interest, even the stallion. At first he shied off from the opening of the pen, too wise now to be so gulled, but when the gate did
not shut and the mares came and went freely in quest of the sweeter grass within, he ventured it himself.

  On the day when Agni could sit within the enclosure, nearly under the stallion’s feet, and rise and not cause him to shy off, he secured the gate at last. The stallion, hearing the sound of it, leaped to the alert. A man betrayed by his own son, a child betrayed by its father, could not have been as angry as this stallion was, to have been caught again, and so easily, too.

  He raged. He roared round the enclosure. He flung himself at the walls. He battered them with his hooves.

  They groaned, but they held. Agni had set the posts deep and woven the walls tightly; and a good half of the supports were living trees, rooted in the earth. The gate, which was weakest, Agni himself guarded, driving the horse back with the snap of a rope-end.

  He waited out the stallion’s rage with patience that he had learned long ago in breaking colts. It seemed to last a very long time, but by the sun it was not so long: from midmorning till noon. Then at last, in the heat of the day, the stallion stopped. His sides were heaving. His neck was flecked with foam. Leaves and bits of torn grass and clawed-up earth were tangled in his tail. Even as exhausted as he was, he would not lower his head. He would not submit.

  Agni slipped over the wall into the pen. The stallion rounded on him. The flick of rope in his hand sent the horse shying back, but he returned with daunting quickness, teeth bared, half-rearing. Agni drove him back again with rope-end and swift movement and a stamp of the foot, never touching him or offering him pain.

  He made to whirl and kick. Agni shifted his body, flicked the rope-end, brought the horse about to face him again.

  That was the game, and that was its rule: that the horse face him, focus on him, be attentive to the shifts of his body and the flicks of the rope. Kicking, lunging, biting, yielded nothing.

  At last the stallion stood still. His head hung low. But, Agni thought, he was not quite spent. He was cunning in his way, and he learned swiftly. Agni moved toward him with care, rope-end at the ready, and did the thing that he had been looking to do: laid a hand on the sweat-streaming neck.