Four Horses For Tishtry

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “Don’t blame the horses,” Naius said behind her. “They can’t help it when the crowd is noisy. You’re the one who has to keep them steady. They’re just animals, and it’s up to you to guide them.”

  This was more than Tishtry could stand. “Be quiet!” she grated.

  “Oh—ho!” Naius teased. “Getting miffed, are you? Annoyed because the master wouldn’t be convinced to do what you want?”

  “Stop it!” Her voice was louder and more ragged. “Right now.”

  “Now, now, don’t get touchy,” he chided her. “That’s not the way to get me to help you, is it?”

  “I don’t want you to help me, not after what you’ve done.” She could feel tears hot in her eyes and she wanted to run away from him, to be alone in the sudden rush of misery that threatened to overcome her. She had to convince Barantosz to get her a coach, she had to. Otherwise she might never be able to earn enough to buy her family’s freedom. It was unthinkable that she would let them down after all they had done for her. She had to admit that she was galled to be held back as much as she was infuriated by the thought of failure.

  “My, my, turning temperamental, aren’t you?”

  “You want to make it worse,” she accused him, and knew from his grin that she was right.

  “You should learn to be patient, girl, and to be more flexible, more accommodating. Otherwise you will gain enemies. Slaves cannot afford to have enemies.” He sucked at the mouth of the wineskin, watching her as a little of the red liquid dribbled down his chin.

  “Leave me alone, Naius.” She felt fatigue now, more consuming than her anger had been. “I have to have some time to myself.”

  “Surely,” he said, giving her a mocking inclination of his head. “And when you’re ready to be sensible, you come talk to me again, all right? Between us we should be able to arrange something.”

  She had already turned away from him, going toward the tack room at the far end of the stable, where she could occupy herself with waxing her bridles instead of dwelling on her growing sense of disappointment.

  * * *

  For a week, Barantosz refused to speak to Tishtry again, finding a variety of excuses to avoid her. She knew from the few tidbits of gossip Naius offered that Barantosz had been asking many questions about her, but to what end, Naius refused to say. When he bothered to mention anything, it was with the snide reminder that she would have to abide by their master’s decision, whatever it was.

  Tishtry tried to put her concern about this new development out of her mind by spending more time working with her team, working with them vigorously and drilling them while she practiced handstands and somersaults on their backs, driving herself into a fatigue so deep that she could not spend her nights in sleepless pondering. On the eighth day of this routine, she discovered a stranger sitting on the fence of the practice ring watching her.

  “You handle them very well,” he said when Tishtry took a break.

  “Thank you,” she said, paying little attention to him. There were many strangers in Salonae, and those who came to the amphitheater often spent an idle hour observing bestiarii and charioteers in training, since they were forbidden to watch the fighters—gladiators, retiarii, secutores, essedarii, and captured soldiers from every client nation of the Empire. She had learned early to pay no heed to such spectators.

  “I like the team. They’re innovative.” He motioned to Immit. “They say pale horses aren’t lucky.”

  “I haven’t found it so,” Tishtry answered, noting the man’s collar and wondering whose slave he was.

  He watched as she prepared to work Dozei on the lunge. “I’m an aurigatore, called Himic. I raced before I broke my leg.”

  She whistled Dozei out to the end of the lunge and began to take him through his paces, watching him critically.

  “I saw your quadriga in the arena yesterday. A bit old—fashioned, isn’t it?”

  Although Tishtry agreed with him, she knew better than to admit it. “It is what my master provides me.”

  “Ah.” He was content to sit still for a time. “You have marvelous hands.”

  “I have to have. I couldn’t do what I do without them,” she responded, forcing Dozei to lengthen his trot without breaking into a canter.

  “Your inner horse, the chestnut; he’s in need of more oil on his hooves. They look too dry, and that might cause them to split.” He offered this in the most helpful voice. “You have to pardon me for speaking out, but since I became an aurigatore, I notice things like hooves and the state of your tack and quadriga.”

  “Not surprising,” Tishtry said, trying not to be brusque with the man, for she felt very much in need of a friend, and thought perhaps this older slave would sympathize with her but not shame her with pity.

  “Do you think your horses could learn to do more than their usual paces?” He had not spoken for a little while, and his question, so unexpected, startled Tishtry.

  “I don’t know. I never thought about it. They will rear together if I force them, but that’s about it.” She went to unfasten the lunge and transfer it to Amath.

  “I see.” He remained quiet while she worked Amath, contenting himself with studying the way she handled the dark bay. He made only one suggestion, which again interested Tishtry. “You might try a different set of signals. The whistle you give for slowing down is very like what some of the audience do when they want to urge a team on in a race. You don’t race in competition, but it might confuse your animals.”

  Tishtry turned toward Himic again. “I’ll bear that in mind,” she said, warming to the stranger. “But it’s not easy to change them once they’ve learned something,” she could not resist pointing out.

  “They can be trained, with patience.” He came down off the high rail into the ring. “Let me look at that chestnut’s feet, will you?”

  Her first reaction was to refuse, but she had been hungry for some trace of companionship; this older man was the first who seemed genuine in his interest and his attitude. She thought it over. “All right. But be careful going near him, he’s a little head shy.”

  “I noticed that,” Himic said with a smile. “But you were good to tell me. There’s many another who would have let me tangle with him.” He went toward Shirdas at a steady pace, talking quietly as he went.

  Tishtry nodded as she watched him. There was no doubt that the man knew what he was doing around horses, unlike some who claimed to be expert and were not. She waited while he bent over the lifted hooves, trying them one at a time. “What do you think?” she asked when Himic was through.

  “Several breeds have trouble running on sand. It’s too dry, and it’s hard on their hooves. You’ve done a good job of keeping them filed—you are the one who does that aren’t you?—but they need oil on them as well.” He brushed off his hands against his tunica and the loose leggings he wore under them. “I have a preparation of wool fat and ground seaweed that I will give you for him.”

  Tishtry blinked. “Why would you do that for me?”

  Himic did not answer at once. “My master has offered to buy you from your master. He has said that I am to be your aurigatore. If anything were to happen to your team between now and then, he would be displeased with me, and I don’t want that to happen.”

  “Your master is buying me? Who is your master?” Tishtry was completely baffled now, as if she had somehow forgotten something very important. “I know nothing of this.”

  “Well, the arrangements haven’t been concluded yet, but my master is confident that Barantosz will sell you.” He folded his arms and looked down at her. “And my master is willing to see that you have the extra horses you need and a proper chariot for your tricks, not the quadriga you currently use.”

  “I see,” Tishtry said, though she did not see at all.

  * * *

  “It is
a good thing for you that this man is a generous fool,” Barantosz scolded Tishtry as he watched her remove his collar. “I would not accept an offer for you under ordinary circumstances, but the way my luck has been, and the expenses I have had, I cannot afford to keep you any longer, not without seeing more of a profit from you than I have done. This man seems to believe that you will earn him much money, which I have already warned him may not be the case. Nevertheless, he is persistent, and he has money enough to throw away on an arena slave like you. So be it.” He slapped his thigh in exasperation. “I have agreed to send Atadillius his fee for your sale, since it was he who brought you to this new master’s attention. That will be an obligation you will have, to justify the price Calpurnius has paid for you.”

  “Calpurnius?” Tishtry repeated, recalling the Roman who had talked to her in Troas.

  “Gnaeus Calpurnius, a Roman tribune; he has seen you in the arena before and he believes he can make something of you.” Barantosz lifted his hands to show that he was innocent of such foolishness. “You are to continue here for a time, and then he will make other arrangements for you. If you do not live up to his expectations, he may sell you again, or breed you, hoping your children will be worth the money he has spent.” He reached for the pitcher of wine that stood on the table in the arbor where they sat. “You have much to be thankful for, Tishtry, and I think you should let your new master know of it as soon as possible.” He glared at her.

  “What of my family? Will I still be able to purchase their freedom?” She felt stiff as she asked the question, and her tongue seemed too large for her mouth. “I gave my word that I—”

  “Yes; yes. I remember all about that, and I have turned enough profit on your sale not to interfere with your plans.” He paused. “And it is Roman law that you are entitled to purchase your freedom and the freedom of your family, and funds for that purpose cannot be taken or taxed or confiscated by anyone. Calpurnius reminded me of this, though I am well aware of it.” His features turned sulky. “The price for your family was fixed and I cannot change it. You may be sure that you will have to pay the amount we agreed upon, and no more. If one of your father’s two wives has another child, well, that will be for him to settle with me, but I swear that I will not sell him or any of his family for five more years. I will accept no offer from anyone else, and I will say so. That is part of the contract of your sale, and Calpurnius will enter it in his contract, if he should sell you.” He drank most of his wine at one gulp. “There. Are you satisfied?”

  Tishtry did not know what to say in answer. She looked at the new collar that was waiting for her, and saw her new master’s name inscribed on it. “I am grateful, Master.”

  “Call Calpurnius that now. And by all the gods of the sky, do not do anything that will bring him dishonor or shame. You are to be willing and cooperative with him, and to …” He stared past her toward the wall of the compound that stood beside the amphitheater. “He can help me sell horses, this Calpurnius. If he is well disposed toward me, it will do much to improve my fortunes. Remember that, and remember that I still own your family.”

  “I will not forget,” she vowed, unsure of the threat in Barantosz’s words.

  “You are to be sent tonight to the villa of Salvius Virginius Marco, where you will be told what your master expects of you. Your team will stay where it is, since it is Calpurnius’ intention to have you perform here for a little longer.” He indicated the new collar. “Put that on, or must I have one of my slaves do it for you?”

  Obediently, she picked up the silver collar and placed it around her neck, saying as she did, “I will conduct myself honorably, Barantosz. You have no need to fear that I won’t.”

  Barantosz sighed. “You had better. I have too much to gain from your new owner to tolerate any difficulty from you.” He turned away from her. “Now hurry; Calpurnius will want to talk with you.”

  “As you wish,” Tishtry said, feeling a bit dizzy as she left the arbor. So she was now a slave of the Roman tribune Gnaeus Calpurnius. What would that mean to her?

  Barantosz’s voice came after her as she walked away. “And for the gods of the air, improve your Latin!”

  “THAT’S STILL not good enough!” Himic shouted as Tishtry pulled her horses through a narrow gate set up in the practice ring. “You’re letting Shirdas tug the others, and that’s not right!”

  Tishtry jumped back into the lightweight chariot and drew the team to a halt. “It’s better than it’s ever been before,” she protested stubbornly.

  Himic responded mildly, “I’m not arguing that; but it’s still not good enough. You can do better, and I expect that you will.”

  “Is that an order?” she demanded.

  “Our master can order you—I can only instruct.” He approached her. “In eight weeks you have done very well, girl, but you have better in you, and Calpurnius has said that he will want you to be at your best form when you enter the arena again.”

  “Whenever that is,” Tishtry said glumly. When Calpurnius had withdrawn her from performance, she expected her recess to be brief, but it had stretched now to almost two months and there was no end in sight. She had begun to resent the time she practiced, since it seemed to serve no purpose.

  “I will tell him when I believe you are prepared enough,” Himic said, as he had said many times before. “You have done well, remember that.”

  She touched her new chariot. “This is better than the old one; I’ll grant that, and it’s lighter. That’s part of the problem,” she admitted. “I haven’t got used to how light it is, and that throws my timing off.”

  “Naturally,” Himic said, limping beside her as she took her horses at a walk around the ring. “But you must master the chariot before you get the new horses you wish. That is our master’s decision, and we must abide by it.” He signaled her to go on. “Make them trot together. Their paces are good, but they must drill like soldiers if you are to seem anything more than a clever barbarian to the Romans.”

  She sighed, but did her best to make her team move in unison. She noticed that Dozei was not as quick as the others, and she frowned at the sorrel. For the last week, he had been favoring his off rear hoof. She decided that she would have to ask Himic to look at it, in case there was some damage. “Come, you four,” she said, flicking the traces so that the team went from a trot to a canter. The transition was not smooth, and she knew that Himic would not be pleased. “I know!” she called out, forestalling his criticism.

  “Then do something about it,” he shouted back, raising his arms to encourage her as she swept by him. “Make them work!”

  “They are working!” Tishtry shouted back. She set her jaw and tightened her hold on the traces. It infuriated her when anyone criticized her horses, and it was maddening to be treated like a beginner, knowing nothing about handling a team. She had been driving and riding horses for as long as she could remember, so she knew that she was better than almost anyone she had seen perform so far. “Dozei. Up!” she shouted as the sorrel lagged again. She used the traces to guide the team more tightly, holding them under firmer control than she usually did. Then she brought her team to a walk. She made sure her balance was perfect before taking them through their paces again: walk, trot, rack, canter, and gallop, striving to keep them absolutely in unison. This time they did better, and she began to relax, permitting herself to smile as she reined them down from gallop to walk. She halted them a few strides away from Himic and waited, keeping her team in perfect order as her aurigatore looked them over.

  “Not too bad. You’re going to have to train them to stand together, but that time you showed real improvement,” he said after he had studied the way she held her team. “It’ll make your stunts easier, too, once you’ve got them out of their bad habits. Now, I want you to take them on the lunge, all four of them, and get them used to moving together at your order. The Romans expect that o
f trick riders, and if the horses do not perform well—and a team like this one especially—they’ll discount anything the rider can do.”

  A month ago, Tishtry would have argued with him, but now she accepted what he said with resignation. “All right; I’ll work them four abreast on the lunge. Anything else?”

  “You’re going to have to learn to hold them tightly together. I want you to be able to put the chariot through those gates quickly and with room to spare. After that, we’ll add a few new tricks to your repertoire.” He favored her with a thumbs—up signal. “You’re doing very well, and so I’ll tell our master.”

  “Well, that’s something,” she said with an exaggerated show of relief. “I was beginning to fear I would never live up to your expectations.”

  He shook his head. “You haven’t done so yet, but you’re getting closer all the time,” Himic said calmly. “You’re not prepared for Roma, but by this time next year, no doubt you’ll—”

  “Next year?” Tishtry challenged him. “It won’t take that long.”

  “It might,” Himic said, refusing to dispute the matter with her. “I want you to have Petros massage you after you’ve had your bath: you’re tense and that’s affecting your driving. You can’t afford to be tense when you’re trying to hold four horses galloping flat out.”

  Tishtry could not disagree. “All right. But I want to spend more time doing my own tricks. You haven’t let me do one handstand this week, and I’m afraid I’ll get weak.”

  “All right. Tomorrow, if you can get your team to move in unison, you can do four somersaults and a handstand as a reward. Will that satisfy you?” He offered her a hand down from the chariot.

  “No, but if that’s the best you can do, I suppose I must endure it.” She tossed her head saucily and came to take the reins from his hand.