Four Horses For Tishtry

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “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.”

  “I will do everything I can to justify your confidence in me,” she said, a little stiffly. It was correct to address the master with formality, but the proper phrases came badly to her. “I know I am young. I know I have much to learn. My father has reminded me of this every day since I was six. He probably did so before then, but I no longer recall it. I do not need to be reminded again.”

  “You will also have to learn to guard your tongue. I am a liberal master, and I do not want my slaves to be silent, but there are others who are less willing to tolerate such conduct. Remember that when you are in Apollonia.” He panted when he was through, as if he had been running instead of talking. “Have Minish make you some new clothes. Leather leggings and tunica if you like, but with a little more ... dash. Have the leather dyed in bright colors, or fringed, or something so that you do not look like a stable hand. Ask Minish what she suggests. She has seen arena performers. She’ll know what’s best to do.”

  “As you wish,” Tishtry said, more baffled than ever by this unexpected kindness. “Is there anything else you require of me, or am I free to finish looking after my team? They need currying.”

  “Take care of your team,” Barantosz said with the practicality of a man who had worked with horses for a long time. “When they are stabled and you have seen Minish, then come to my study with your father, and I will see you have a copy of the deed to your horses, as well as a proper chest to keep it in. Nothing too large, so that you may carry it with you. I’ll also provide a blanket authorization that will permit you to decide how you want to perform, so that you will not find yourself having to argue at a later date.” He looked at her thoughtfully. “You will have to learn more tricks, of course, but you know enough for Apollonia. If you intend to go further, you should start now to learn new tricks.”

  “Yes. I’ve been thinking about that,” Tishtry said, surprised
at the generosity that Barantosz was showing her. “I can jump from back to back of the team while they gallop, but I’ve been trying to find a way to do a somersault in the air while I leap, and then land on the next horse. I can do it coming off the back, but not going from one to another. I also want to find some way to get from the chariot onto their backs without just climbing. It seems so ... ordinary, doing that.”

  “A good start,” Barantosz agreed. “And you might teach the horses to do more, you know, to change paces together while you’re on them, or to dance while you’re in the chariot. All those things would be interesting.” He tried to smile, but his face was not used to it and he ended up looking as if he had a headache or a sore tooth. “I could ask some of the other horse breeders who have charioteers, if you like, what tricks their bestiarii can do. You might learn something from—”

  It was wrong for a slave to interrupt a master, but Tishtry did. “No, not anyone here. Everyone will have seen what they can do, and will compare me to the others, and all that will happen is that I will look like a beginner, which I am. If I am to learn new tricks, I must think of them myself, or wait until I arrive in Apollonia. Nothing else will work.”

  “I had not considered that,” Barantosz said, trying to show his approval.

  “I have. It’s all I’ve had to think about these evenings. I want to show you that I can improve.”

  “And show your worth so that you can earn enough to buy your family’s freedom,” Barantosz finished for her. “A worthy ambition for you. I have already placed the valuation with the court, and the price is fixed. I have also given my word that I will not sell any of them for a period of five years—barring bankruptcy or war, of course—so that you will have time enough to get the money needed.”

  Tishtry stopped walking her horses again. “Why are you being so reasonable? There are other masters who would not do this.”