Four Horses For Tishtry (2 page)

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. That’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.

“I’ll have a word with the grooms,” Tishtry said as she went toward the door. “There’s so much to do, and I’m ... worried I might forget something, or leave something behind. What do I need, leaving home?”

“Don’t be in too much of a rush,” Macon replied.

“You have time enough to check your requirements. You need not leave us for a month or so.”

“Or more,” Tishtry said, frowning as she went out into the bright afternoon.

ALL FOUR
of
the horses were two years old. Tishtry had worked them for Soduz for half a year, and had liked them. She watched them as they were yoked up to the special chariot she used.

“What do you think of them now?” Soduz asked as one of the grooms led them across the practice arena toward father and daughter.

“I think that Dozei is yoked up too tightly,” Tishtry answered. “He’s nervous, and if you press him, he only becomes worse.”

“Then you adjust it,” Soduz told her, and stood, his hands braced on his hips, while Tishtry went to the groom and started to adjust the yoke. “What do you think of them as a team?”

“Nicely balanced,” Tishtry answered, not raising her voice much. “Shirdas will need special work if he’s going to be on the inside. He’s not quite strong enough yet, but with some extra time on the lunge, he ought to be all right.” She patted the chestnut, automatically checking the bit in his mouth. “Look at his chin. He’s going to have a square nose when he’s fully grown.”

“Does he strike you as being a little short in the back?” Soduz inquired as he came toward Tishtry. “That could mean trouble later on.”

“Oh, I don’t think it’s a problem. Look at his legs. His stance is good.” Her voice had softened. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you, Shirdas?”

As if in response to this, Shirdas wagged his head vehemently, snorting.

“Well, so much for agreement.” Soduz laughed. “What about Immit? They say pale horses are bad luck.”

“How could Immit be bad luck?” Tishtry smiled as she patted the silver—dun horse. “Look at the barrel on her. Look at her neck. And she shines so nicely. She’s a perfect horse.”

Immit gave a low whinny, and Tishtry blew into her nostrils when the mare dropped her nose onto the girl’s shoulder.

“Dozei is a better color,” Soduz remarked, giving the sorrel a pat. “He is colored for courage. And the blaze on his face is a good omen.”

“Immit is fine,” Tishtry insisted. “And so is Amath; bays are known to be steady,” she added to defend the four of them.

“But you know that a team should be matched. That’s the usual way. A mismatched team like this one will cause some laughs in the arena,” Soduz pointed out. “To have such a mixed lot ... well, there are those who believe that horses of diverse colors can never be made into a true team.”

“Anyone who’d say such a thing is a fool. It doesn’t matter if the coats match, but that the strides and paces match. The rest is unimportant. In fact,” Tishtry said, concentrating on the horses, “I like the variety of them. If they were all dun or sorrel or chestnut, they would not be distinctive. They are unalike, and that reminds me that they are not the same horse copied over and over. If they were too much alike, I might confuse them in the arena, and that might be dangerous. This way, I can’t forget how different each of my horses is, and that I must treat them differently.”

“There’s some sense in that,” Soduz allowed. “Our master won’t understand, but I’ll try to explain it so he will not think you mock him.”

“Why should my preference for these horses mock him?” she asked without paying much attention.

“Are you certain you would not like others better?” Soduz inquired.

“Better for what?” Tishtry asked, becoming impatient with her father. “For show? Or is my judgment of horseflesh in question?”

“Only in terms of what you want. Our master has said—and it shows he
can
do the proper thing every now and then—that you are to be given four two—year—olds for your team, and if you are fond of these, then—” He was not able to finish. With a squeal of delight, Tishtry threw herself into her father’s arms, for once paying little attention to the alarm she gave her horses.

“There, girl. There, that’s enough,” Soduz protested as Tishtry tried to hug him and jump up and down at the same time.

“Mine?
Really?
Are they mine?” she demanded when she could speak again. “Truly?”

“Barantosz gave the authorization yesterday, and I took the most likely four in the stables. You’ve been working with these brutes for over a year, you know them and they go well together. So your master wants you to have them for your own.”

“Completely?” Her face fell when she wondered if Barantosz intended to deed them to her, or merely let her have them for her performing.

“As your own, of course,” Soduz said at once. “He is aware that to do less would reflect badly on his reputation. You will have to train your team to do tricks. That would be the case, no matter what horses you choose. If you’re satisfied with these four, then I’ll enter their names and descriptions with the head groom and the documents will be sent to the magistrates.”

At last Tishtry believed him. “Will I have a copy of it?”

“But you can’t read,” her father said, laughing kindly.

“I might need it, you know. There might be doubts, and the protests of a slave without proof don’t get much attention.”

What she said was true enough, but Soduz reminded her, “If they’re your property, they can’t be seized, and if their ownership is in doubt, a magistrate must be brought to decide the matter. Barantosz told you this before.”

“It wasn’t the same. And I was afraid he might change his mind.”

Soduz gave in. “All right. I’ll ask the scribe to make a copy for you to take with you. But don’t forget that more than half the bestiarii who work with horses own their teams. You remember that Scythian who came here with a team of bears? Well, those were his, and no one was inclined to dispute it.”

“That’s different,” Tishtry said slowly. “No one wants to ride bears or hitch a pair of them to a biga. A good horse is another matter, and these are very good horses, all four of them.” She still found it hard to think of the horses as her own, and she touched Immit’s glossy neck to reassure herself.

“You have a point,” Soduz conceded. “And one that Barantosz should understand. It might be a good precaution, once you’re away from here. Some of the Masters of Bestiarii are overeager to make use of good teams. With your deed, there could be no question of misuse. I wouldn’t want you to have to enter the arena with your horses against lions and tigers.”

“Do they
do
that?” Tishtry was shocked, for although she knew a fair amount about the Great Games, she had only seen the smallest and mildest of spectacles when the local horse breeders got together for informal races at the time of wine pressing in the autumn. “Do they send horses against lions?”

“Yes, they do, and worse besides. Don’t worry,” he went on, seeing how troubled she was. “Barantosz will give specific instructions that you’re to be exempt from such presentation. The training of your team should be argument enough, but you never know. Some ambitious sponsor of the Games might think that because he is editor, he has the right to demand ‘something a little different.’”

“Can editoris do that?” Tishtry asked.

“Depends on how much money they’re willing to spend on their Games, and how high their rank is. If a Senator decided that he wanted such display and he had gold enough to afford it, it’s not impossible. When an editor sponsors Games, it’s his right to choose the entertainment.”

Tishtry’s deep misgivings increased as she heard this. “Father,” she said quietly, “what happens if I refuse to do what an editor wants? Would that keep me out of the Games, or would there be punishment because I’m an arena slave and a bestiarii?”

“If Barantosz permits an editor such use of you and your team, then you can’t refuse without getting into trouble.” Soduz knew she was not satisfied with that explanation. “But the editor must ask, since you don’t usually work with wild animals, and I doubt that Barantosz would endanger his investment in you, to say nothing of your horses, by permitting you to be exposed to any greater danger than the tricks you do.”

“Is there any way he can say that, so there won’t be an argument about it?” Tishtry asked, still not pleased.

“Naturally. And a man of his cautious nature is probably prepared to make such a statement. Look, girl, Barantosz raises horses and mules for the Legions, and that makes him an important man to the Romans. Cappadocia is valuable to them, and you may be sure that no Roman is going to offend an Armenian horse breeder over one slave. It isn’t worth it.”

Tishtry was not entirely convinced, but she did not press her father. “I’d better finish exercising ...
my
team.”

“Your
team,” he agreed. “And I trust you’ll never regret your choices.”

“How could I?” she called after him as he left her alone with her racing chariot and four horses, which were her only possessions other than her tack and clothes. She looked at her team and grinned.
“I
don’t think you’re mismatched,” she told the horses. “I think you’re perfect.”

* * *

For two weeks, Tishtry spent the greater part of every day working her team. She took them out on the practice trails, worked them individually and in combination, ran them through their paces on the lunge, rode them as well as yoked them up to her chariot, and spent hours in the practice ring getting them used to working together. Every sign of improvement made her glow with pride; every mistake seemed almost a personal insult.

“I think they’re almost ready to start learning the tricks,” Tishtry confided to her sister Macon as they sat alone in their little bedroom late one evening.

“The saddles aren’t finished yet. I’ve got bridles for three of them.” Macon was not easily excited, and now her unflustered attitude annoyed Tishtry.

“Don’t you want to come and watch?”

Macon shrugged. “Why should I? I’ve seen your tricks many times. And if it
turns out that I’m to go with you when you leave, I’ll
see them often then. Right now I’d rather spend the time with the saddles. Now that I know which horses they’re for, I can make a perfect fit on each.” She smiled, showing her pride in her work.

Tishtry tossed her head. “Don’t you even
care
about my tricks?”

“Well, of course I do,” Macon answered, as if unaware of Tishtry’s irritation.

“It doesn’t sound like it,” Tishtry snapped, her face flushing.

“Tishtry.” Macon said very seriously, “I saw Janoun get killed. I could only stare while it happened. You weren’t there. You don’t know what it was like, watching our brother dragged and trampled. I don’t
like
watching trick riders and trick charioteers anymore. I can’t get the memory of Janoun out of my mind while I watch. And though I know you’re a better rider than he, I can’t help but be afraid.”

“Oh.” Tishtry said quietly. It had never occurred to her that Macon might be worried for her, and the discovery of this startled her, making her feel troubled and shamed that she had not realized it before.

“In time I may change. But for now, Tishtry, don’t ask me to watch you any more than I must.” She turned away before Tishtry could say anything more, and she did not speak again until she was ready for sleep, when she looked at her younger sister. “You
are
better than Janoun. That’s something.”

With that thought for consolation, Tishtry fell into a restless sleep that was haunted by dreams of strange places and unexpected accidents.

* * *

Chimbue Barantosz toddled over to Tishtry as she came out of the practice arena. “I am pleased with what you are doing, girl,” he announced loudly. He did not look pleased; his face was set in a perpetual frown, and when he spoke, he did not meet her eyes, but stared over her shoulder at some distant point. He was fiddling with the ends of his sash.

“That is gratifying,” Tishtry said in her most respectful manner as she gathered the traces in her hands. “I must walk my team, Master. They’re sweaty and it will hurt them if they’re allowed to stand this way.”

“Of course, of course,” he said at once, and fell into step beside her while she led her team toward the stable yard. “I have been speaking to your father about you. We must make plans, you know.”

There was nothing that Tishtry could correctly say in response, so she remained quiet. She let herself and her team into the cooling area and began the familiar routine of leading her horses while they cooled. It surprised her to find Barantosz keeping step with her.

“You will be pleased to know that I have registered your ownership of your team, and there will be another copy of the deed for you. That was a wise request. I told Soduz that he has a clever daughter; it is true.”

“Thank you, Master,” Tishtry said, trying to puzzle out what Barantosz could want of her.

“And I hear you are improving daily. That is commendable.” He cleared his throat. “There will be Games in Apollonia in April. That is five months away. Are you prepared to be ready to perform there?”

The question came so abruptly that Tishtry stopped walking and was bumped into by Dozei. She resumed walking, a bit embarrassed at being inept with her horses. “Five months? Why not? I will have these horses ready before then.”

“I will arrange for a party of local horse breeders and wine growers to watch you before then. You will see how they like you, and listen to what they have to say, so that you can correct any faults they may notice. You’re very young, girl, and you still have much to learn.” His face was a bit flushed, but whether from awkwardness or from exercise, Tishtry did not know. “I expect you to do very well.”