Four Horses For Tishtry (6 page)

“Troas?” Tishtry stopped brushing. “Do you mean that?”

“Naturally. I know better than to offer you base coin, Tishtry. I think that if you take a little more time and work very hard, you will be appreciated in Troas even more than you have been here.”

Tishtry frowned. “I will have to convince Barantosz that it would be worth his while to do it.” The prospect of trying to persuade her master to spend more money was not pleasant, and she shook her head. “I don’t know if I can.”

“I’ll take care of that part,” Atadillius assured her. “He will listen to me because he knows that I know the Games.”

“I hope so. He’s been getting more nervous of late. He told one of the other charioteers that he wants to see a better return on me.” She cocked her head to the side. “You’re not trying to trick him, are you? He’s a strange little man, but he
has an ugly temper when tried, and he’s been vindictive.”

It was obvious that Atadillius doubted this. “I won’t give him cause.”

“See that you don’t. You’re a freedman, but I’m still a slave, and if he decides to send me
home, there’s nothing I can do about it. If he sends me
home, that’s the end of it—I don’t have enough money to buy my freedom, let alone the freedom of my family. As long as I wear a collar, I can’t choose for myself.”

“True, but as long as you wear a collar, you can perform in the arena. Once you’re free, those days are over,” Atadillius reminded her. “Slaves and convicts only are permitted to appear in the arena.”

Tishtry nodded. “I don’t mind that part. When I have done all that I can, I will buy my freedom and ... oh, I don’t know. If I’ve done well enough, I suppose I could hire out as a trainer, or set myself up as a trick riding teacher. But I’d have to do more than perform here for that to work, wouldn’t I?”

“Probably,” Atadillius said carefully, giving Tishtry a measuring look. “You’re ambitious, are you?”

She did not answer at once; she had not considered the question before. “I suppose I am. At first it was enough to earn the money to free my family, and myself, later on, but not so much anymore. When I think of my performing days ending here, I get angry, and not just because it would mean I’d be a slave all my life.”

“Those can be dangerous thoughts, girl,” Atadillius warned her. “They can get you into trouble.”

“Yes”—she put her hands on her hips—“I
know
that, Atadillius. That’s why I warned you about Barantosz. If he guessed that I want more than he wants to give me, I’d be back in Cappadocia before the moon was full again.”

Atadillius sighed. “I’ll be cautious. I’ve said that I would be.” He paused a moment, then said, “What if he were to sell you, what then?”

“It would depend on who bought me,” Tishtry answered. “It’s his right to sell me, after all, no matter what he
said before.”

“Suppose you had a master who wanted to take you to the larger arenae. would you object?” His dark eyes fixed on one of her horses, as if he
were afraid to look at her.

“It wouldn’t be my place to object,” Tishtry answered, hardly thinking about the question.

“But is that what you want?” Atadillius persisted.

“Of course. Who would not? But it’s for Barantosz to send me.” She looked at Atadillius with new curiosity. “Why do you ask? Is he
thinking of selling me?”

“I don’t know. I don’t have a reason,” he answered vaguely, directing his attention to the nearest railing. “When winter’s over, we’ll speak of this again.” He started to walk away, then saw Macon approaching, and turned toward her. “I’ve been speaking with your little sister; she’s a very canny girl.”

“A family trait,” Macon remarked, dimples appearing in her cheeks. “She’s more outspoken than the rest of us, that’s all.”

Atadillius smiled, and this time his smile changed his face, made it more pleasant, almost boyish. “You’re not going to claim that you’re as bad as she is, surely.”

“The way she talks,” Macon said affectionately, “you’d think she’d been born free.”

“I’m not that bad,” Tishtry said, and did not linger to hear the banter. She led her horses off to the stable, where she could take time to go over their bodies, searching for any sign of welt or swelling that might mean hurt to the horses and the possibility of harm to her. She thought of the winter ahead, and could not bring herself to stop worrying about what her master might do at the end of it. She knew that Atadillius was up to something, and for that reason, in spite of his assurances, Tishtry knew it would take very little to convince Barantosz that he had made a mistake in bringing her to Apollonia; and should that happen, she would doubtless be sent back to her father and the life she had led there. No matter how she tried, she could not resign herself to that idea; she was determined to go on as a performer.

ALL DURING
the
winter months, Tishtry drilled with her
team, going over her routines, perfecting the tricks she knew and developing new ones. Atadillius watched her and was stern in his instructions, making her
strive for a more theatrical style and a better sequence of presentation. On her own, Tishtry worked with each of her horses on a lunge, drilling the four animals as rigorously as she was being drilled herself. Although she rarely admitted it, she was enjoying herself tremendously.

Not long after the Saturnalia and the start of the New Year, Atadillius sent for Tishtry, offering her a cup of hot spiced wine. “Sit down. We
have to talk.”

Tishtry dropped into the nearest chair and leaned back, crossing her legs at the ankle. “What do we have to talk about?”

“Barantosz is planning to return home at the beginning of next week. We must convince him before he leaves that you are ready to go on to Troas.” He held out a dish of walnuts and raisins. “Have some.”

“All right,” Tishtry said, taking a handful. “How do you know he’s planning to leave? Has he said so?”

“He’s told his grooms to prepare for travel. And Macon was told that she must have new reins and traces ready by the end of the week. Therefore our time is short. How are your new routines coming along? Have you mastered that spin on Shirdas’ rump yet? The one with the flag you were working on?”

“Well,” she hedged, “it’s coming along, but it isn’t perfect. I think that the soles of my boots irritate his coat when I do it. I’ve asked Macon to try to make me another pair with softer soles, more flexible. They
won’t last as long, but if they’re more pliant, it’ll be worth it for many reasons.” She popped a few of the raisins and nuts into her mouth. “Do you know what made my master want to leave? Has he said anything about it to you?”

Atadillius shrugged. “I think it was that Roman, Balbo, who was talking about a new horse breeder he’s found. Barantosz’s afraid that it might mean a loss of business for him—that’s absurd, of course—and he’s got himself convinced that he must take action at once or be without buyers for his stock.”

“I see.” There was no way she could admit to Atadillius how great a blow this was for her. She felt a dull pain behind her eyes, as if she had been in the sun too long; her throat was oddly stiff, so that when she
talked, she sounded like an old woman. “He would be troubled if he
thought he’d
been deprived of a market.”

“Don’t be
worried, Tishtry.” Atadillius said, seeing how distressed she was. “I’m sure I can convince him of the need for you to go on. Or perhaps I can find a new master for you. That would be one solution, wouldn’t it?”

“But who’d take the chance?” Tishtry said miserably.

“There might be someone,” Atadillius said with a smooth smile. “It could be worked out, with a little luck. Burn a pinch of incense to Tyche and see if she doesn’t show you favor. I’ll start making inquiries for you, all right?” He poured them both a little more wine. “Your sister will help you, that’s certain.”

“What can she do?” Tishtry asked, feeling the icy touch of hopelessness. “Barantosz can be a very determined man. If he’s decided we’re going home, then there’s nothing I can do to change that.”

“And you’re not a very determined girl?” Atadillius asked with such an air of complete innocence that Tishtry laughed in spite of her falling spirits.

“Oh. I know what I want, but I’m a slave, and that takes my life out of my hands. You remember what it’s like, don’t you? I know Barantosz said I’d have five years, but it’s not binding, since there’s no formal contract.” This gloomy thought took hold of her, and she stared into the middle distance as if the answer might lie just out of sight.

“You let me talk to him, and you can be certain that we’ll have you on your way to Troas. My word on it. And since I’m a freedman, my word has some worth.” He got up. “I’ll need a few days, and if you can avoid talking with your master until after I’ve had a chance to reason with him, we might carry it off.”

“All right. I’ll keep silent if I can. But if he sends for me, you know I must come,” she said, sighing. “I was hoping there would be more time.”

“There will be,” Atadillius said.

“I could learn so much more, and I’m just starting to know how to perform for a large crowd. It’s hard to give it up.”

Atadillius shook his head in exasperation. “Will you
listen
to me? I think he can be persuaded. Do you understand that? Do you?”

“Yes,” she said softly. “But I dare not get my hopes up.”

This somber realization took some of the confidence out of Atadillius, who reached over and tousled Tishtry’s short—cropped hair. “I know; I know.”

* * *

Barantosz came puffing through the stable yard, his dumpy body swathed in three woolen dalmaticae to keep out the winter chill. “You! Tishtry! Come here!” He toddled quickly toward her when he caught sight of her team.

“Master?” Tishtry said, trying to appear casual while her courage sank down to her knees. “What is it?”

“I’ve been speaking to that Atadillius fellow. The—”

“Master of the Bestiarii.” Tishtry finished for him. “What about?”

“You
know
what about, girl. I’ll have none of that pretense from you!” His face darkened and his fat little hands were bunched into fists. “You’ve been talking with him, I know you have.”

“Naturally. He has been coaching me,” Tishtry admitted, trying not to hold the reins too tight, for that would frighten her horses more than the tone of her voice was already disturbing them.

“And he’s
been saying things about Troas and other arenae, hasn’t he?
That’s what he wanted to talk to me about, Troas!” He looked around to see if they were being watched, and noticing that several of the grooms had stopped, he lowered his voice. “I hear you’re ambitious. I hear you want to go to the Circus Maximus in Roma. What is the matter with you?”

“Nothing,” Tishtry answered, not caring if she angered Barantosz with her candor. “Atadillius has encouraged me, and I know that I am improving. Why should I not go to Troas and Roma?” She reached up to pat Immit’s neck in reassurance.

“By all the gods of thunder and horses, what possessed you?” He glowered at her. “You’re being disobedient, and you’ve spoken against me. You know I could have you flogged for that.” He paced, waiting for an explanation.

“You were the one who brought me here and asked me to do what I could to improve. I have followed your orders, Master, and I’ve come to realize that I might go far, if I am careful and take time to perfect my act. I was under the impression that this was what you wanted, too.” She saw that some of Barantosz’s ferocity was fading, and she took advantage of this. “I have an obligation to my family to do all that I can, so that one day we can all be free. They lavished their time and their skills on me, and I want to be worthy of their trust. I never meant to speak against you.”

“It’s your right to free your family, of course, if you can get the money,” Barantosz growled.

“I have enough to buy Macon’s freedom right now, but not the rest. One day, when I am too old to ride in the arena, I will buy my own freedom. If you will permit me, Master, to go to Troas, you’ll be well rewarded for it. I wish to go as far as my abilities can take me.” This was more forthright than was proper for her to be when speaking to the man who owned her, but saying the words gave her satisfaction, and she waited for her master’s response with some apprehension.

“What if I took you back. There are many slaves who would be happy to breed with you, and your children might have a better chance than you to free you and the rest of your family. Three children performing make more money than one girl.” He nodded to himself. “I’d protect my investment that way, and there would be no risk. If I send you on, there could be ... well, any number of things to go wrong.”

Tishtry felt as if her bones had gone soft inside her, so great was her fear that Barantosz had already made up his mind. “What you do is your decision, Master, and I will abide by it, as I must. But if you decide to breed me, it would mean you would have to wait a long time for the money you want, and during that time, the value of my family would decline through age, and in the end you would not get as much for any of us. If I do well, you could find yourself much richer than you are, and without gambling for years and years on the sort of children I might have.” To her own ears she sounded defeated, but apparently Barantosz did not notice.

“You speak boldly for a slave,” he chided her.

“I do not mean to offend you.”

Barantosz shook his head. “You’re a feisty girl, there’s no denying that. And you have a mind of your own. That may stand you in good stead in the arena, but it is not the best thing for a slave to be so independent.” He paused and chewed his lower lip. “Atadillius believes that you will be
very popular wherever you go.” He
hesitated. “I am minded to give you one year in which to demonstrate your worth. In that time, you will have to earn back all that I have invested in bringing you here, and show me that your value has increased enough to offset the loss of a child, which you would have in a year if I take you home.”

This was the first positive thing Tishtry had heard from Barantosz and she seized on it. “You will have better from me letting me perform in the arena than using me for breeding.”

“It’s likely,” Barantosz said with no trace of satisfaction. “A girl like you is not the best for bearing. In a year, you will have enough of a chance to prove your claim, and that is as reasonable as a man can be.”

Tishtry nodded. “I will show my worth,” she promised, at once pleasantly surprised and terrified. “A year in Troas and other arenae, you will see, I will make my way.”

“I will tell your father of this when I reach home.” He paused. “You need have no concern for your sister.”

“Macon?” The thought of being without her older sister dashed Tishtry’s sense of triumph at once. “Are you taking her home?”

“No. She’s one less for you to buy now. The
Master of the Bestiarii has bought her from me. He says he needs a good saddler here, and that you will need more tack when you go on. He drives a hard bargain, that one.” Barantosz shrugged heavily. “This world is not for me. I cannot sort out all the currents that run here. At home, I know what is right and reasonable, but not here.”

“Master?” Tishtry blinked. She had always thought Barantosz a dithering fool, but never, until that moment, had she felt sorry for him.

“You seem to do well enough. I’m counting on that, and so is your family. Remember that.” He turned away from her, then looked back once. “I hope you do well, girl. I will lose good slaves if you prosper, but ...” His words trailed away as he started away from her once more. This time he did not look back.

Tishtry stared after him, filled with confusion. Her life, which had seemed so bleak before, now had the promise she had longed for. Yet mixed with this elation was worry; she had said she would prove herself in the year she had been given, but now she had to admit to doubts, and they weighed her down, along with the realization that there was no longer any turning back except in total defeat.

Dozei whickered and nuzzled her neck, as if reminding her that they had work to do. The other three horses caught something of his restlessness.

“Very well,” she said aloud, trying to put her turmoil aside in the familiar routine of practice.

* * *

Macon was flustered by Tishtry’s question, and she did not answer it at once. “He said he needed a saddler. That’s what he told Barantosz.”

“But that isn’t all there is to it, is there?” Tishtry asked. They had finished their evening meal and were
sitting by the small brick stove in the corner of the room; unlike the residents of the great villae, they did not have their heat from a central furnace that circulated warm air just under the floor, and so there were few parts of their quarters that were not cold.

“Not all,” Macon admitted. “He is fond of me.”

“And?” Tishtry pursued. “What more?”

Macon picked up a length of leather and began automatically to work it through her fingers, softening and shining it. “He has said that he will ... make me his wife.”

Tishtry stared. “Wife? But why?”

“For protection. As a freedwoman, I am still part of our family, but as his wife, I am part of his.” She shrugged. “And he may simply want to have a wife, like a freeman has.”

“But your children would be freemen in any case,” Tishtry pointed out. “Never mind. Don’t try to explain it to me. If you want to be his wife, that’s fine with me. But who would have thought that any of us would be married?” She laughed and stretched out her muscular legs to the warmth. “When will this happen?”

“Sometime in the spring, after we have left for Troas,” Macon answered, some of her habitual calm returning. “We will go to the magistrates and record the marriage contract and then have a celebration.” She blushed deeply. “A marriage contract. Imagine that.”

“And what then? Do you return here or what?” Tishtry felt a pang of loneliness as she said this, because she could sense that although Macon had not gone home
with Chimbue Barantosz, she was still leaving her.