Four Horses For Tishtry (9 page)

“You’re being foolish,” Atadillius said, but his face darkened and he refused to meet her eyes. “Besides, it is for your own good.”

“No; for your good,” Tishtry countered. “You have done well for yourself being the one who manages me, and no one has challenged your right to all you have said and done, which has been sufficient until now. You know that it’s not so any longer, and you are afraid that you will lose whatever advantage I have provided you if I compete in larger amphitheaters or have another, more ambitious master. You know this is true, Atadillius.” She paused to gather her thoughts. “You helped me very much, and you have freed my sister, and for those two things alone, I am grateful to you, and always will be. Yet I cannot hold myself back for you, or protect you.”

“Protect me?” he jeered.

“You want to advance yourself, and that is wise of you. But you intend to use me for that advance, and I won’t let you. It would not be correct for you or for me.” She got up. “I’m sorry, Macon. I have to go see to my team, and then I will stay in the stables tonight.”

Macon, confused and worried by all she had heard, made no objection to this. She turned her large eyes up toward Atadillius. “You are being harsh, my master.”

“I am being sensible,” he informed her. Then, looking hard at Tishtry, he shook his head. “Very well. If you must make this fruitless gesture, go ahead. Sleep with your horses and share their vermin.”

Tishtry laughed at this, which made Atadillius stand more straight than ever. “What’s a flea or two? There are plenty of them in this tavern, and I’m used to them. The rats stay away from me for the most part, and I haven’t found a scorpion yet.” She cocked her head to the side. “Do you think I should be on guard against them, Atadillius?”

“There are very few scorpions in the stable,” he grumbled.

“Then I will not look out for them too much,” Tishtry said, reaching for her short cloak, cut like the caracalla that soldiers wore.

“I’d like you to eat with us in the morning,” Macon ventured, not looking at either her sister or the man who now owned her.

“If there’s time. I have to exercise the team and go over the quadriga. I want to try some new tricks with it.” She wanted, too, a chance to be alone, so that she could sort out her feelings.

“More tricks to impress the Roman?” Atadillius suggested in a snide tone. “You want to convince him you’re worth the price that Barantosz will ask, is that it?”

“No, I want to impress the crowds I perform for.” Tishtry responded hotly. “I am obligated to them, even more than to my master, no matter who owns me. My worth is determined by the crowd. As you yourself taught me. What the crowd likes makes my success. You have bought Macon, but there are others still depending on me to earn their freedom.” She tossed the folded cloak over her shoulder. “I’m sorry you overheard all this, Macon. It’s not pleasant for you, just as it isn’t pleasant for me.”

“Then you should listen to my good advice,” Atadillius could not resist saying to Tishtry. “You’re too headstrong.”

“When I hear good advice, I listen,” Tishtry told him, and went for the door. “I suppose you mean well, Atadillius. I hope you mean well. But you’re wrong.”

She was still very angry, but had tried to hold herself in check. Now that she was away from the aggravation of Atadillius, she had to admit that she had been hoping that one of the Romans would buy her and let her perform in larger, more important amphitheaters. When she was in the arena, she knew that she was capable of the most unusual performances. She had to be better, she knew that, and for that she would need more opportunity than she had been given so far. There was no doubt in her mind that Barantosz would not want her to advance any further. He was making good money on her now and there was very little risk. Perhaps the same was true of Atadillius, who could always get her a place in any Games here for a good fee, but would not have that certainty at another amphitheater. She sighed as she walked, going to the charioteers’ entrance to the amphitheater.

“Staying with your team, are you?” the scarred old slave who kept the door asked as he recognized Tishtry.

“I ought to. Immit has been fractious lately and needs attention.” She smiled at the old slave as he opened the gate to her.

“Strange team you have,” he said. “What possessed you to train such dissimilar horses?”

By now Tishtry had grown tired of answering the question, and of justifying her choice to the superstitious who thought that mismatched teams were unlucky. “Only their coats are dissimilar.” Tishtry pointed out in patient annoyance. “Their strides match perfectly.”

The old man shook his head, laughing a bit. “You youngsters: always trying something new and outrageous.”

“It’s expected of us,” Tishtry said lightly, swaggering a little as she walked away toward the stables.

WITHIN
the
month another letter came from Chimbue Barantosz, saying that he had decided that Tishtry was ready for more advancement; he would send one of his older charioteers to her to accompany her to Salonae, where she would perform in the arena. They were to depart within seven days of the old charioteer’s arrival and would remain until he ordered her back, or to another amphitheater.

Atadillius was nonplussed at this development. “I am astounded that your master could want this” was all he could say, and he repeated it several times, as if he would come to understand Barantosz’s decision better if he said the words enough.

“I understand that he has had reports from others who attend the Games, and they have advised him to send me on,” Tishtry said carefully. She had done her best to keep their arguments to a minimum for Macon’s sake.

“I will have to send a message to him, explaining that you are not prepared.”

Tishtry joined her hands together and studied her fingers. “You would return to Apollonia, wouldn’t you, if my master sent me on?”

“Of course,” he said with more bluster than he had intended.

“And Macon would go with you,” Tishtry said, more softly.

“She is mine now, and I would want her with me.” He stopped abruptly. “You would miss her, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes; I miss all the others, too,” she admitted. She had been rubbing wax into her boots to make them shine, but she stopped to look squarely at Atadillius. “Once she is gone, I will probably never see any of them again. That is a slave’s lot. When they are free, they will have to make their way in the world, as I will have to do, when my days on the sands are over. Then it might be possible to find them all again, but ...” She picked up her boot and went back to work on it with renewed determination.

“You’re what, fifteen years old?” Atadillius asked.

“Almost.” She put the right boot aside and picked up the left one.

“It could be many years before you are free.”

“It could be never.” She sighed. “I have much to learn. You think I do not know this, but you’re in error. I know that there are many things I have to correct in what I do, and improvements I must master. But I will do it, Atadillius. I know I will do it.”

Atadillius shrugged. “You will not listen to me, and so I suppose you must learn your limitations for yourself.”

“Yes, I must.” She looked at her boots, examining them critically. “You have done as you think best and in the manner you think best. What I hope now is that you will care for Macon. She is a woman who is gentle and kind, and there are times she is more distressed because of it.” She got off the bench and picked up her boots. “It would have been better if my master had permitted me another horse. I must abide by his decision, but I fret when one of my horses is not in top form. It is a risk to the horse and to me.”

“I will inform him of that,” Atadillius said stiffly.

“You need not. If he will not believe me, it will take more than you or his charioteer to persuade him.” She padded across the rough planking to where her small leather chest stood open. “Macon is binding all the traces for me so that they will be tougher and last longer. She is a good sister.”

“You have said so before,” Atadillius remarked.

“I could say it every hour and it would not be the whole of it.” Tishtry put her boots into the chest, then pulled out a pair of sandals, which she set on the floor. Bending over at the waist, she began to loosen the laces. “If there is a scribe you can use, ask Macon to send me word when she can. I will find someone to read it to me.”

“I will.” He paused while she put on her sandals. “We have had harsh words, Tishtry.”

“They were not what I would want,” she said as she tied the last knot.

“You made accusations.” He sounded petulant, and he waited for her to respond.

“I said what I thought was so. That hasn’t changed, Atadillius. I have never said you did anything for malice, but you are a man who defends his own advantage. There is nothing wrong with that, unless your advantage is not also my advantage.” She stood up, her features flushed.

“It was not only for my advantage,” he insisted. “I believe that you are not yet ready for the challenges you seem so eager to accept.”

“I may never be ready for them,” Tishtry said candidly. “But I will not know until I try, will I?” She looked at Atadillius, her expression polite and faintly curious, giving him time to answer her.

“You’d better go exercise your team. You have to perform tomorrow.” He indicated the door. “The charioteer will be here in a few days. You should be prepared for him.”

“I will,” she assured him, closing the door as she went out.

* * *

The charioteer was a Persian called Naius, a grizzled man nearing forty, with weathered features, a tough, stringy, sun—baked body, and the first signs of the disease of the crab on his shoulder. He regarded Tishtry through bleary eyes and spat in the dust. “So you’re the one they’re all talking about,” he said by way of introduction.

“I’m Tishtry.” she said, knowing no other way to respond to this opening.

“Well, the master’s certain you’re going to bring him a fortune in Salonae. Or so he tells me.” He clapped his hands together. “The passage is all arranged. I hear your team and rig are ready. Is there anything else you need to tend to? Better settle up your debts if the master won’t cover them for you.”

“There’s only my keep, and that’s paid for. I don’t gamble.” She was aware that most charioteers were avid bettors, seeking any excuse to make a wager, but so far gambling was not attractive to her.

“Strange,” he said. “But you’re young enough to have got into little trouble yet. Wait a year or two, when the money’s greater and they offer you big bribes and other enticements. I know what it’ll be like. There was a time when I did it all myself.” He signaled to two of the porters near the tavern. “Bring her chest. There’s a ship waiting for us that goes with the tide.”

The porters hurried to obey while Tishtry said, “The horses are ready at the amphitheater. One of them is difficult to get onto a ship—Dozei doesn’t like ships.”

“The men know how to handle that. This is a crew that’s brought leopards and crocodiles to arenae all over the Empire. A horse is nothing to them.” He inspected Tishtry again. “I heard your sister left yesterday, with her new master.”

“She did,” Tishtry said, her throat tightening. “We didn’t get to say any true farewells.”

“It’s better if you don’t. The parting’s less painful that way. You think that it would be otherwise, but it’s not. I remember when I was parted from my woman and our two children—I wanted to spend days and days with them, but my master did the wise thing and sent them away without warning. One day I went back to our quarters and they were gone. The grief was over sooner. That’s why the Romans have the custom. It’s wise of them.”

“But I—” She stopped, afraid she would cry.

The old charioteer gave her a rough pat on the shoulder. “I don’t mind if you want to weep for her. We may be slaves, but we’re still human.”

“They didn’t have to go like that. There were things I wanted to say.” Tishtry swallowed hard and looked away, her lips pressed tightly together.

“Our master said that she’s good with tack. You must be sorry to have her gone.” He looked at the tavern door, impatient for the porters.

“I will miss her very much,” Tishtry said softly.

Naius turned back to her. “There. Don’t take it to heart. It’s the way of slaves to lose their families. You were fortunate to be with yours for so long.” He cleared his throat. “Do they have decent wine at this place?”

“I think so,” she answered, irritated by his attitude.

“The crab is eating me,” he said matter—of—factly. “There are times I like to drown it in wine. It helps for a while.”

Tishtry felt alarmed at this revelation, for she knew what men were like who took to comforting themselves with wine. “Will it be wise, going aboard a ship as we are?”

He laughed roughly. “Why, I’ve had enough wine in my skin that I don’t think it could bother me if we were caught by both Scylla and Charybdis.” He grinned at the prospect of this double disaster. “We stop at Apollonia—”

“Apollonia?” Tishtry repeated with amazement.

“Oh, not the one you’re thinking of, on the Pontus Euxinus; this one is on our way to Salonae, on the Mare Adriaticum. I raced there when I was much younger. I’ve seen them all, even the Circus Maximus in Roma. It’s an enormous place.” He could not conceal the satisfaction he felt. “It will be a pleasant thing to see some of it again. Barantosz lives at the back of the world, though he doesn’t know it. Ah! There’re the porters. Over here, you sluggards. And bring me two skins of wine while you’re at it.” He threw them three copper coins, then turned back to Tishtry. “Do you need help carrying this to the boat, or can you manage?”

“I can manage,” Tishtry said, more irritated than ever.

“Just as well. No saying what a porter’ll do with a chest.” He peered up at the sky, watching the clouds. “We might have some rough weather if the wind picks up. How are your horses in a storm?”

Tishtry could not keep her worry out of her voice. “Do you think it will be bad weather? My team ... I don’t want anything to happen to them.”

“The captain knows his business, and he isn’t about to lose good animals if he can help it. For one thing, he’d have to pay Barantosz for the loss, and that could get expensive.”

“To say nothing of the time it would take me to train another horse,” Tishtry snapped. “If there is any doubt, it would be best to wait.”

“You’re being too cautious,” he said bluntly. “You’re still new to this; give yourself a few years and you’ll change your tune—trust me.” Naius winked raffishly. “By the time you’re an old hand like me, you’ll think nothing of setting out in a gale.”

“Not with my team,” she declared.

“Get your chest, girl.” Naius ordered, closing the argument. “We must be under way.”

* * *

By the time they reached the dock, the clouds had thickened overhead and the wind was brisk, coming in from the southwest. The transport ship, still tied up, rolled ominously and the gangplank shifted treacherously as Tishtry attempted to help two of the ship’s slaves lead Shirdas aboard.

The chestnut rolled his eyes and stamped nervously, squealing as the gangplank rocked. He tried to buck, but was restrained expertly by the ship’s slaves on either side of him.

“Don’t hurt him. He’s got a soft mouth!” Tishtry called to them.

“We know how to do this,” the older of the slaves replied, keeping a firm hold on Shirdas’ bridle. “We’ll have him aboard and in his sling in no time.”

Tishtry scowled as she watched them, fearing that at any instant Shirdas would buck and break free, hurting himself and perhaps one of the slaves as well. She did not want to have to get him out of the water, for she could not swim. “Careful!” she shouted as the slaves finally got him onto the deck. “Don’t force him; he gets frightened.”

This time the slaves did not answer her, being fully occupied with getting Shirdas down the ramp to the stalls belowdecks.

Immit was more cooperative, though she whinnied in distress at the movement of the ship. The slaves patted her and cajoled her, luring her down into the hold with a nosebag of mixed grains.

When Amath was brought onto the deck, his ears went flat back and he started to rear, his front hooves striking out. Tishtry, still on the dock with Dozei, started to rush onto the ship, but was warned back by Naius.

“You let them handle him. That bay of yours won’t be any calmer if you go running up to him in a panic.” He spat again. “Drosos is a good captain, and his slaves are the best. They won’t bring him to any harm.”

“But look at him!” Tishtry protested.

“They’ll handle him,” Naius repeated. “You look after this sorrel of yours, that’s what you need to do.”

Reluctantly, Tishtry turned to pat Dozei’s neck and blow into his nostrils, trying to reassure him. “You’re going to be fine, boy,” she said uncertainly as he whickered.

At last the slaves brought Amath under control and had him mincing down the ramp into the hold.

“There, you see? Nothing to it. Why, these slaves could load lions and tigers and ostriches without any problems. You can be sure that horses are nothing to them. They’ve even carried a rhinoceros once; I heard all about it from Drosos this morning. Tricksy animals, rhinos, and they weigh more than your horses do, too.” He rubbed at the discoloration on his shoulder. “Take care that you do not find the crab growing on you, girl. Make sure you wear your tunica all the time you race.”

“I wear a leather tunica when I race,” she told him, her attention on the ship, not on his warning.

“See that you do.” He nodded to the slaves who now emerged from the hold to lead Dozei aboard. “How many other horses do you have aboard this trip?”

“Twelve more than these,” the younger one answered. “Two mares in foal among them.” He reached out for Dozei’s bridle. “Come on, fellow. Your friends are waiting for you.” He held out his hand, offering raisins to the sorrel. “Come on,” he coaxed.