Four Horses For Tishtry (8 page)

It was more than Tishtry could picture. “How do they flood the arena?” she asked, thinking of what seemed the most impossible.

“There are special seals at both the Gates of Life and the Gates of Death, and there are pipes that lead from the aqueduct to the amphitheater. They’ve had to raise the stands and the spina because of it, but no one minds.” He had a faraway look in his eyes and he spoke slowly, dreamily.

“I cannot think how it would be possible,” she said, shaking her head.

“Wait until you see it for yourself,” the bestiarii said, patting her arm in a friendly way.

“I hope I will.” Now it was Tishtry’s turn to have her thoughts go a great distance from where she was.

“Oh, I have no doubt you will,” he said, cheering her with his offhanded attitude. “If you keep on as you’ve started, they’ll be wild for you in Roma.”

Tishtry cocked her head to the side. “I hope you are right.”

He
chuckled. “Do you want to be the talk of Roma?”

She turned to him in surprise. “Of course. Then I would be able to buy my family’s freedom and set money aside for when I can no longer perform with my team. When that happens, I will buy my own freedom and find a place where I can breed horses.”

The old bestiarii shook his head in astonishment. “You’re either a very clearheaded girl, or you have been trained by an extremely sensible man. In either case, count yourself fortunate, for there are those who can think of nothing beyond the next adventure on the sands. They
are the ones who take the needless risks and end up going out the Gates of Death.”

“My father trained me,” Tishtry said, not quite as cordially as before. As always, a compliment made her suspicious.

“Then he knew what he was about. You should be grateful,” the old bestiarii said to her. He gave her an offhanded salute and left her to her chores with her team.

TISHTRY
was
bent over Amath’s rear hoof, examining it for chips and splits, when she heard someone speak her name. Startled, she straightened up, releasing the bay’s leg as she did. “Yes?” She glanced out of the stall to see who had addressed her.

“You are Tishtry, the Armenian charioteer?” the man said, his regular features giving no hint of his emotions. He wore a linen dalmatica belted with gold, and there was a signet ring on his middle finger. His brown hair had been curled, and he smelled faintly of lilac and nutmeg.

“Yes.” She made a gesture of respect wondering as she did so why a high—ranking Roman would wish to have words with her.

“I am Gnaeus Calpurnius.” he said, as if this should mean something to her.

“It is an honor to speak with you, sir,” she responded in as gracious a manner as she knew, though she was still puzzled.

“I’ve seen you work, both in the ring and in the arena. You’re very good.” He smiled at her. “I’ve seen many charioteers and stunt riders in my day, and you promise to be one of the best ever.”

She thought he had chosen a strange way to compliment her, and was afraid that he might be trying to offer her a bribe, but she held her tongue. Her command of Latin was not terribly good, and she was afraid she might misinterpret what he said and offend him. “It is a pleasure to hear you say this.”

“And no doubt in time you will be even better than you are now,” he went on. “It will require a guide who is knowledgeable in the ways of the Games, and someone with the associates who appreciate talent like yours.”

“My master has invested much in me,” Tishtry said, frowning now.

“No doubt, no doubt,” Calpurnius said in an apologetic manner. “But he is not a Roman, or so I have been told, and although he raises fine horses for the Legions and the arena, he is not a man with much experience of the Games, which might be to your disadvantage.”

“What are you saying, good Roman?” Tishtry asked sharply.

Calpurnius did not answer her directly. “You can see why it is that I am concerned for you. It would distress me to see ability like yours languish in the provinces because your master has not the funds or the connections to advance you properly.”

“It is improper for me to listen to this,” Tishtry reminded him. “No slave should hear her master abused.”

“But I am not abusing him,” Calpurnius protested. “He has done a very fine job for you, given the limits of his resources. But there are those who would be able to do so much more than he has done. It is my intention to offer to buy you; have you any objections?”

This announcement made Tishtry blink. “Buy me?” she repeated, shocked.

“Surely you’ve been thinking of it? Wouldn’t another master serve your ambitions better than the Armenian who owns you?” He waited, and when she said nothing, continued. “If I am the first to suggest this, then I am astonished, for a charioteer of your abilities must attract all sorts of attention. But if there is some reason why it would not be possible for you to call me master, I would like to know of it.”

Tishtry found her mouth suddenly very dry. “I want to buy my family’s freedom.”

“You can do that more swiftly with me than with Barantosz. He does not have the opportunities that I can give you.” He had a disarming smile, one that showed his lined face kindly.

“He might not consent,” Tishtry warned.

“Let me speak with him, and we’ll see
what comes of it. You may be right and he will not agree, or will set the price so high that no one will want to bargain with him.” He smoothed his dalmatica. “As long as you would not mind the change, I will approach him.”

Tishtry came a few steps nearer. “Why do you ask me? You may purchase me and be done with it.”

“So I might,” Calpurnius said candidly. “And I might then find myself with an expensive and unwilling slave on my hands, one with abilities that she could refuse to use to their fullest. You could decide that your horses could not manage the change, or that one of them was in danger of foundering. Believe me, all these things have happened to slave owners at one time or another. I would prefer not to have such troubles.”

Tishtry could not help smiling. “Yes, that could happen, but I would not behave so shabbily. My father told me long ago that it is important for a slave to show value to his master.”

“Very wise, your father,” Calpurnius said. “You own four horses, your tack, and your quadriga. What else?”

“Very little. My clothes and my copper bracelets, a satchel to carry my things while traveling, two pairs of Persian boots, a few personal goods, that is about the sum of it. I would like to have another horse, so that if one of the team suffers, I need not stop appearing while the horse recovers.” She felt very worldly now, and decided that she would be able to do more with her life than she had thought a year ago. “I would want to perform in other amphitheaters, if that is not inconvenient.”

“I hope you will. It would be in both our interests to have that happen.” He nodded to her. “Are we striking a bargain?”

“Slaves cannot bargain,” she reminded him primly. “But it would not distress me to call you master.” It was improper to admit so much, but she could not deny her enthusiasm.

“Very good. Be as circumspect when you are mine and I will see that you are handsomely rewarded. Oh,” he added in a different tone, “I will deal harshly with you if you take bribes.”

Tishtry drew herself erect feeling very angry. “I would not dishonor my family or my master. I may not speak smoothly or have high—bred manners, but I know what I owe my master, and you may be sure I will conduct myself properly.” She did not like his implication, and wished she had better ways to tell him so.

Calpurnius chuckled. “And a firebrand as well. There, don’t bristle at me that way, my girl. I have no doubt you’ll behave well.” Again he smiled at her, and she felt her anger evaporate.

“You should not have said that to me.” It would be more correct to apologize, but she could not quite bring herself to do that. She wished she could find out if the man was as serious as he claimed to be, or if he was only amusing himself by asking her these questions. The man was a Roman, and wealthy enough to wear gold. His accent was educated and his manners were beautiful. What sort of master would he be? She wished she could ask him what other arena slaves he owned, so that she could find out from them what they thought of him.

He
gave her a measuring look. “Take care, girl, for you could make enemies with that ready tongue of yours. There are those who would not be
as forgiving as I am, especially of a barbarian slave.” His wave was lazy and good—natured as he turned away from the stall. “I will speak to you again soon, after I have had a word or two with your owner.”

“All right” she replied, and tried to concentrate again on Amath’s hooves. It took all of her willpower to keep to her task, for her curiosity was burning in her, though there was no way to answer the questions that plagued her.

* * *

“So you have a Roman tribune wanting to buy you,” Atadillius said to Tishtry a few days later.

“I think there is a Roman who
says
he wants to buy me,” Tishtry corrected, knowing that it was wise to be cautious in these dealings.

“He’s written to Barantosz; that’s a good indication of how serious his intentions are.” He folded his arms and looked down at her, eyes narrowed. “I cannot make up my mind—you are either the innocent you appear to be, or you are sly beyond your years. Which is it?”

“I can’t answer a question like that,” Tishtry said, determined not to be insulted. “You shame me even to ask.”

“Don’t take that tone with me,” Atadillius ordered. “You are going beyond what is proper in a slave.”

Now Tishtry was stung. “You have not called me a slave before!”

“You haven’t made it necessary,” Atadillius told her severely. “Look here, Tishtry: you have come a little way, and you think that now you are one with the great charioteers. You’re in error, girl. The great ones are so far above you that you would seem little more than an apprentice to them, which is what you are. Don’t forget who brought you to this point and I’ll have no more of your insolence.”

Tishtry was deeply shocked by Atadillius’ outburst. “Why do you accuse me? What have I done?”

“You’re forgetting who you are and where you come from,” Atadillius warned her. “You are thinking beyond yourself.”

With real insight, Tishtry shook her head. “No, Atadillius. You are afraid that I will advance beyond you, and you will then have to return to your own amphitheater and have no chance to go to Roma.” Over his sputtered and indignant protests, she went on, “You believe that I will carry you where you want to go. You see yourself being Master of the Bestiarii in a larger amphitheater than Apollonia, and you intend that I should make you that.”

“You
have
got beyond yourself,” Atadillius blustered.

“No, but perhaps I have got beyond you. We’ll see.” She took a few steps back. “I am sorry to speak to you this way because of my sister, but if Macon knew of this, she would be very much shocked.”

“One Roman makes a few vague suggestions and you start imagining yourself as the most celebrated charioteer in the Empire!” he scoffed.

Her eyes were somber. “You know that isn’t so. You must not say such things, or it will be more difficult for me with the others. Already they resent me because of what I can do, and if you start speaking against me,
they will assume they can do much to annoy me, and that would be a misfortune for all of us. Including you, Atadillius.”

“You’re being a fool,” he warned her, but would say no more, choosing to sit far away from her, making a point of ignoring her while she rubbed her saddles and harness with wax.

* * *

Barantosz sent his reply by messenger, and Atadillius read it with pleasure. “You are not going to be sold to anyone, Tishtry.” he informed her that evening as they gathered for supper in the tavern where they had lodging. “You are going to stay his slave at least for a year. So curb those ambitions of yours and be glad that I did not take your outbursts too seriously.”

“It is not for me to say who will own me,” Tishtry answered with a shrug, but with inner surprise as she realized that she was disappointed that Barantosz had not accepted the offer of Gnaeus Calpurnius. “It is not fitting for me to consider one master over another.”

“So long as you remember that” Atadillius said smugly, then turned toward Macon. “We are going to be sent on to Salonae. Barantosz wishes to see how she does in a slightly larger amphitheater.”

“Salonae?” Tishtry said, puzzled at her master’s order.

“When are we to leave?” Macon asked at the same time.

“In Salonae there are longer Games, and you will have to compete with some truly capable charioteers and stunt riders, not like here where you are something of a novelty and have got a following on the strength of it.” Atadillius nodded with satisfaction. “Consider how it has been for you so far, and realize that now you will be required to show something more than three or four tricks if you are to be worth anything.”

“Atadillius, for the gods’ sake,” Macon protested.

“It is for her own good that I say this, Macon. You’re Tishtry’s sister, and you can’t see how she’s been changing. She’s too taken with herself, and she supposes that she’s more important than she is. Her master’s made sure that she won’t be so foolish in future, and will justify his time and attention with learning her craft in a fitting manner. She’s been too much indulged, and he’s been so lenient that she’s supposed it was her right to behave with unfitting pride.”

“That’s not true!” Tishtry insisted. “And you haven’t suffered. Anytime you’ve arranged for me to appear, you’ve earned your sweetening, just as I’ve earned mine. You don’t want to lose that, do you?”

Atadillius sneered. “You haven’t been careful in your behavior, and now you’re upset because you’re not permitted to continue as you’ve been going.” He paused, his eyes full of false pity. “I can tell you’re cast down, and that’s not surprising. You’ve had too much adulation too young, and you don’t yet know what the world is like. You believe that because the people here praise you, you will meet the same endorsement everywhere. Barantosz is wise enough to know that this isn’t true, and he’s chosen to show you your error now, while only a reprimand is required rather than chastisement. You ought to be grateful.”

“You’re sorry to lose the money,” Tishtry repeated. “You’ve enjoyed all the attention as much as I have.” She
shook her head.
“For Macon’s sake, I don’t want to fight with you, Atadillius, but if I’ve let the approval of the crowd go to my head, you’ve let your power and influence go to yours.”

“I
didn’t make up my mind to take you to task; Barantosz did,” he said, his features flushing.

Tishtry tossed her head. “Chimbue Barantosz never had such a thought in his life; he’s too indecisive for that. If he thinks ill of me, it’s because someone has persuaded him that I’m behaving badly.” She stared at Atadillius. “Who would that person be, do you think?”