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AS THE big dapple mare came out of the turn at a gallop, the girl crouched on her back, braced her feet, and carefully straightened up, her knees flexed to absorb the mare’s pace. Together they flashed around the practice arena, once, twice, three times, the mare galloping steadily, the girl standing on her rump, arms raised.
“Better!” shouted the girl’s father, who had been watching critically. “Much better!”
Tishtry knew it was folly to try to answer him—for one thing, she would not be heard, for another, she might startle her mount, and that would be too risky. She waved her fists instead, and waited for the right moment to dismount. She leaned with the horse through the turn, then shifted her weight so that she could spring free. With a whoop, she vaulted into the air, did a somersault, and landed on her feet, arms still raised.
The mare continued on down the length of the arena, slowing to a trot now that she was riderless.
“That was more like it,” Tishtry’s father said gruffly, though his smile told more than the tone of his voice. He whistled through his teeth for the mare, then gave his attention to his daughter once more. “What do you think of it?”
“Well,” she answered carefully, “I did not get up as easily as I wanted to, and I wasn’t as well balanced on the first turn as I should have been, but most of it was pretty good. The last circuit was the best, and the dismount was almost perfect.”
Soduz nodded. “That’s a good evaluation. I’d have to say that you might try to turn a little more to the side once you’re standing up: the people in the stands want to see your face.”
“I want to see where my horse is going,” Tishtry countered. “You’ve always told me that should come first.”
“Well, and so it should,” Soduz said as if there were no contradiction in his two statements.
“But if I’m supposed to watch where the horse is going, how can I look toward the stands?” Tishtry braced her hands on her hips, trying to keep from laughing, which would annoy her father more than he would ever admit to her.
“It’s a matter of circumstances,” Soduz told her, looking a trifle stiff, as she had known he would. He was not a large man, but he was taller than she, rangy of build but with a barrel chest that gave him enormous strength and a large, resonant voice that seemed much bigger than he was. He regarded his daughter with a degree of pride. “You have to consider what’s best to do. You’ve been riding since you were three. Remember that when you are in the arena, you are there to entertain as much as to ride, and you must decide where to put your greatest concentration.”
Tishtry grinned. “If you tell me so, Father, then I believe you.” She was dressed very much as he was, in knee—length leather breeches and a short, sleeveless, close—fitting leather tunica. Her belt was made of alternate links of brass and bone, which were to bring her courage and luck. On her feet she wore very soft boots of reverse leather, so that the rough surface of the soles would help her grip her horse’s back when she rode standing.
“And you’re teasing me, girl, which isn’t right.” He put his wide hand on her shoulder. “You’re going out on your own soon, Tishtry, and I’m not going to be with you to remind you of all these things. I’ve trained you as best I know how, but you will have to learn to judge for yourself. Never forget that we are Armenians, for all our master lives in Cappadocia, and we have our honor to uphold; while we still have time, ask the things you need to know to do this.”
“But what are they?” Tishtry asked, trying to be sensible. “I’ve learned everything you’ve taught me, you admit that yourself. It’s true enough that I can do it all here, in this little arena, but when I’m before a crowd, with the sun beating down on me and the noise, it may be that I’ll have to learn other things, things you don’t know and I can’t guess yet.” She reached out to pat the neck of the mare, who had ambled up to them. “Look at her. Nine years old and she goes like a champion. Nothing ever bothers her.”
“Rezicha is a good horse,” her father agreed, giving the mare an offhanded pat. “You two work well together.”
“I know,” Tishtry said, not quite able to hide her sigh. “I’ll miss her.”
Soduz gave her a bracing smile, meant to encourage her. “Come now, girl, it isn’t for several months yet. You have much to do before you’ll be on your way. And with our master, who knows how many times he’ll change his mind between now and the time you leave?” He started toward the fence, his daughter and the mare coming after him. “You will need to take a little time to make yourself ready. Barantosz says that now you’re almost thirteen, he wants to see you establish yourself, and that means the arena.”
At the mention of their owner, Tishtry giggled. “I can hear him. And I’ll bet he was fussing with the hems of his tunicae when he said it.”
“No; with the ends of his sash,” Soduz corrected her, laughing a bit in spite of himself. “You know as well as I do how he fusses. He’ll have to see progress from you.”
“But I have progressed,” Tishtry protested. “You’ve told me so yourself.”
“And you, I trust, are aware of it as well.” He grabbed the top rail of the fence and swung up onto it, signaling to Tishtry to do the same.
“I hope I am,” she said slowly as she climbed. “I’m not sure.”
“Stop it,” Soduz chided her. “If you’re not sure … You can’t afford to be hesitant, girl. We bestiarii have to know every moment how well we do, or our lives are at risk.”
“They’re at risk in any case. When Janoun was my age, he …” She could not finish.
“Your brother was a good boy,” Soduz said in a strange voice. “But a reckless one; he didn’t remember the limits, and he forgot his horses. Those of us who perform with horses must not forget them. We’re not like charioteers, who simply race around the arena; we’re bestiarii, and our animals are as much a part of our performance as we are—more than we are, often.”
As if to agree, Rezicha nudged at Soduz’s leg with her nose, whickering softly.
“Yes, girl,” Soduz crooned, reaching out to rub the mare’s ears. “Good girl. You’re a pride, aren’t you?”
Tishtry grinned. “How could you have forgot Rezicha?”
“Now listen, Tishtry.” her father said. “You’ve taken on a lot. You are going to try to do what none of the rest of us have: perform in the largest arenae and gain enough wealth to free all of us. Don’t let that overwhelm you.” He paused. “Janoun couldn’t have done it. You have a chance to do this.”
She drew a deep breath, feeling both proud and frightened at this reminder. It was a great honor to be the one the family had such hopes for, but what if she failed. “I’ll do everything I can,” she promised her father.
“Fine,” he murmured, then looked at her squarely. “That does not mean you’re to let yourself be abused or endangered. I’ve lost one child to stupidity already, and I am not prepared to lose another. An arena slave who cannot perform with skill has no value to anyone.” He stared away toward the distant outline of the mountains. “A dead one is nothing.”
“Yes, my father,” Tishtry said quietly, thinking of her brother.
A short while later, Soduz spoke to her again. “You’re the best of the family, girl, and you are the one who can do the most. You’re young enough that you have at least a dozen years to work in the arena before it becomes too dangerous, and you have sense enough to be able to train others when you are done with performing. That gives you great worth. If you’re fortunate in your masters, the day will come when not one of us will have to wear a col
lar.”
“If I can save the money, you will all be free,” she vowed to him, and felt a glow of pride within her once more. She would do it!
“I know that, Tishtry.” He gave her single long braid an affectionate tug. “Just do not be tempted to recklessness. Not even freedom is worth the loss of you.” He patted the mare’s neck as he spoke. “We have been slaves for longer than my grandfather could remember, and we have done well enough for ourselves. If we sold all our horses, we could be free—true enough—but then what would we do?” His musing ended abruptly as he caught sight of one of the other bestiarii on the far side of the practice arena. “Gontho! What are you bringing in here?”
The squat Persian looked up from the cage he was handling. “A new bear, half grown! You’d better get your horse out of here, Soduz!”
“Gods of the air and fishes!” Soduz swore as he scrambled down off the fence, taking Rezicha by the mane and leading her to one of the gates in the wall. “Tishtry, go see if the training ring is free. You can work the yearlings for the rest of the afternoon.”
Tishtry did as she was told, but her mind was not on the rambunctious colts that cavorted and scampered on the end of the lunge; it was on the future and her debut in the Great Games. The Ludi Maximi! She had heard those words since she had been old enough to speak, and they had become magic to her. The heroes of the Games were famous throughout the Empire. There were times she hoped that she would be one of the heroes, famed from Gaul to Africa, with her own retinue and followers. It was what any bestiarii would want. She imagined herself, crowned with laurel, riding in a chariot garlanded in flowers while more people than there were in the world shouted and clapped for her.
The colts bucked, and one reached out to nip the other. Tishtry came back to herself at once. It would not do to let her mind drift that way. If she let herself be caught up in impossible wishes, she would end up leaving the arena through the Gates of Death. “Better to do your work,” she told herself sternly. These fancies of hers could wait for the time when she had proved herself.
* * *
On her thirteenth birthday, Tishtry was given a special meal and a number of gifts to mark her leaving childhood. To honor the event, her master joined her family for the celebration, turning the occasion into a formal one.
“It has been exciting to watch you,” her master said as he sat with the rest of them in the grape arbor at the back of his villa. “You are a most promising young woman.”
This was the first time anyone had called Tishtry a young woman, and for a moment it worried her; now she was thirteen, her master could give her to one of his other slaves to have children. She had been assured that he would not, but a man like Barantosz often changed his mind. She took care to speak respectfully. “It is my hope that I will be able to demonstrate myself worthy of your trust.”
Chimbue Barantosz was of mixed Armenian and Persian heritage, shaped like a wine cask and with a long, sagging hound’s face. He was habitually cold and wore two to three woolen tunicae all the time, with Persian leggings to give him added warmth. His favorite color was red. “Yes, yes. I’m counting on that, of course. We all are. Your father has made his plans clear to me. I approve; do not doubt that. But to earn enough to free him and his two wives and your brother and sisters, that will take real ability, Tishtry.” He wagged fat, stubby fingers at her, attempting to look severe and instead reminding everyone of an overgrown infant. “I’ll do what I can to give you every opportunity, but you cannot expect me to advance you beyond your skills. Can you?”
“It would be wrong of her,” Soduz said, stepping into the awkward moment. “And none of us would want it.”
“I am determined to do my best to excel,” Tishtry told her master, trying to find the best phrases to gain his support.
“A good thing. You have every reason to make the effort, that much is clear.” He chuckled and the others dutifully laughed. “Not that there haven’t been other offers. Not a week ago, Pilanis Shemic came to me with a generous offer—”
“What!” Soduz burst out. “And you said nothing?”
“I said no,” Barantosz said, looking hurt. “I am not one to go back on my word, even when it is given to a slave. I told you two years ago, Soduz, that your daughter would have her chance, and I will see that she has it.” He paused. “I know that it is not the same as it was with Janoun, but when your son died, I felt the loss as well.”
There was silence in the arbor, as intense as it was brief. “Yes, but that is in the past,” Soduz said as if there had been no silence at all. “And now it is time for my daughter to make her attempt. I know she is able to do the thing. Give her the chariot and the horses, and in three years, she will be in Roma, in the Circus Maximus itself, and the whole populace will cry her name in praise!”
The others echoed his cheer, but Tishtry remained thoughtful. “I think that it may take more than three years. We are in Cappadocia, and it is a long way to Roma. I have heard it said that they are more demanding there, because of the grandness of the place and because they see everything from everywhere all the time.”
“That’s what they boast of, at any case,” Tishtry’s older sister said with a toss of her head. “Anyone who performs well would be welcome there, I think. And we know that Tishtry performs well.”
“Macon is right,” Soduz said emphatically. “Yes, they will want to see her because she is as good as any of them.”
“I hope,” Tishtry said very quietly. “I will do everything I can, so that all of you will be proud.”
Macon reached over and touched her arm. “You’re the bravest of all of us. You don’t mind the crowds and the shouting and the rush of it. I think I would go mad if I had to live that way.”
Tishtry shrugged. “It’s part of it, that’s all. In time you get used to it.” She could not bring herself to admit that she did not like the constant rush and pressure of the circus, and what little exposure she had had to it terrified her. The thought of appearing in the Circus Maximus before all the people of Roma made her feel faintly sick. She had never performed for more than a hundred spectators, yet she knew that thousands came to the great amphitheaters; thousands scared her.
“She will be a credit to all of us,” Barantosz said, raising his wine cup and drinking to Tishtry. “You will do very well, Tishtry. All of us are certain of it.”
“How wonderful,” Tishtry said dutifully, a sinking sensation in her middle as she spoke. How could she ever live up to the hopes of her family, she wondered. What would she do if she failed? The thought haunted her all through the meal, and by sunset she felt she carried all of them on her shoulders.
* * *
Macon held out the supple leather she had been working, holding it up to the muted light so that Tishtry could see its luster. “For the bridles. I haven’t found the right leather yet for your reins, but I will.”
Tishtry nodded. “I know. You always know what will work best.” She pulled up a stool and watched while Macon continued her task. “How long will it take to finish, do you think?”
“It will depend on how soon Barantosz can get the brass fittings I requested. If he wants the buckles and eyes to last, I’ll have to use brass instead of horn. The horn is flexible, but for what you’ll be doing, you will require sturdier tack.” She took out an awl and began to punch holes in the leather. “For the saddle, I have asked for the leather from Hind. It is tougher and you’ll find that once I fix the horn, you will be able to ride without slipping.”
“And the girths?” Tishtry asked, thinking of the last time she had slipped because the girth had come loose.
“The same leather as the saddle, and more brass fittings. That should make a difference, don’t you think?” Macon took a long, thin strip of leather and began to bind the punched leather. “This will make it stronger without making it less flexible. That ought to be some help. T
hat’s the trouble with you going away—I won’t be able to do your repairs for you when you need them.”
“Then perhaps you should come with me, Macon, at least for a while, until we’re sure the tack is all right.” Tishtry tried not to sound too eager so that her sister would not realize how much she dreaded being completely alone and away from anyone she knew. It was exciting to think of the opportunities that might come her way, but the loneliness frightened her, although she had yet to experience it.
“I’ll ask our father. He’s the one to speak to Barantosz, no matter what’s decided.” Macon gave a little sigh. “I hope I’ll be able to go. I’d like to have more time with you, and it would be good to travel. And if I don’t go with you now, when will I ever, unless our master has to sell us for debts sometime.”
“Is that likely?” Tishtry asked, suddenly worried that even if she earned enough money, she would not have enough to find her family and buy their freedom. Barantosz had agreed on his prices, but another master might not be willing to keep the price low, and Tishtry had heard that petitioning a magistrate to set a fair price could take more than a year.
“Oh. I don’t think so,” Macon said with the sophistication of her sixteen years. “He claims that he gambles too much, but he has never lost so much as a horse for it, let alone a slave.” She looked toward the window. “I have another hour of light before I’ll need lamps. Let me get on with this, Tishtry. We’ll talk after we eat.”
The two girls had different mothers, and for that reason did not look very much alike. Both were olive skinned and dark haired, but Tishtry was small, big boned and well muscled, with a wide, strong face. Macon was taller, softer, with quick, clever hands and a gentle smile that played about the corners of her generous mouth when she spoke, turning her ordinary features pretty. As they stood side by side in the tack room, their differences were more marked than their similarities. Their voices sounded alike, although Tishtry spoke more energetically than her older sister did.
Four Horses For Tishtry Page 1
