She paused, searching for the taunting man. “Driving it in the arena,” she answered firmly. “Just like you.”
“You race?” The man laughed.
“No, I do other things,” she replied, and regretted it as soon as she had said it. There was bawdy laughter from some of the men in the courtyard that angered her.
“What other things, kitten?”
Tishtry turned to him and stared hard at him. “I do tricks. The day after tomorrow, you may judge for yourself what they are worth.” With that, she continued toward the stalls, paying no more attention to the comments that followed her.
She stayed on at the stables while her horses were fed and watered, then she made certain that there was a salt lick for each of them, that their coats were brushed and their manes and tails combed free of tangles, before she left the amphitheater and started in the direction of the street of the taverns, where Atadillius and Macon had found lodging. As she walked, she stared about her in wonder, amazed at how crowded, huge, and busy the place was. Everyone seemed to have something to do and was in a hurry to do it. People bustled through the streets, unmindful of those around them, their manners brusque and abrupt.
“They’re going to be curious about you,” Atadillius promised Tishtry when she reached the tavern. “I heard some of the aurigatores talking about you, saying that they had heard you were skilled. Most of them expected one of those strapping great women, like the Cimri have, not a compact thing like you.” He held out a plate of fish chunks cooked with grapes. “Better have some.”
Tishtry helped herself, looking at her sister. “I want to go over the tack tonight, just in case we need to make any repairs.”
Macon looked down at her fingers. “If you think it’s best.”
“Of course it’s best. No one performs when there’s something wrong with her equipment.” She ate some more, thinking that she had become hungry during her walk. “Do they have any nuts? I’m famished for nuts.”
“Probably they have almonds in the kitchen. They have sausages, too. Do you want them?” Atadillius was being kinder than usual, but Tishtry did not question his reasons.
“Fine. If I’m going to do a demonstration ride, I might as well have as much energy as I can get.” She leaned back on her stool, bracing precariously on one leg. “Who knows, someday we may eat lying down like all the high-ranking Romans do. Wouldn’t that be a treat.”
“Tishtry!” Macon chided her. “Remember where we are and that we are guests in this city.”
Tishtry shrugged. “I’ll be respectful, if that’s what’s needed. But I won’t take time to cater to those charioteers at the arena—they all think that I’m incapable of riding decently because I’m young and I’m short.”
“You’ll have to show them otherwise, won’t you?” Atadillius said, winking at Macon. “They’ll find out.”
“They will,” Tishtry promised.
* * *
“I’d do better if I had another horse,” Tishtry complained to Atadillius two days later. “They want me to ride again, and with Shirdas favoring his off rear hoof, I can’t do it. If I had another horse, to take over when one of mine is not well, then I would be able to do far more than I’m doing now.”
“Ask Barantosz.” Atadillius suggested. They were at the practice ring near the arena and Tishtry was taking a break from her morning exercise with her team.
“He’ll say no. He’s already irritated at how much all this is costing, and how little he has had to show for it so far.” She folded her arms and looked across the ring to where an African bestiarii was working with a horse and a lion, teaching the half-grown cat to ride on the horse’s back. “I wish I could do something like that. Look at him; those animals are marvelous, and everyone will remember him forever because of how well he does this.”
“They’ll remember you, too, Tishtry.” Atadillius assured her, smiling at her with more friendship than he usually showed her.
“Possibly,” she said without a trace of vanity. “And possibly not. If I could do something truly spectacular—”
“You already do spectacular things,” Atadillius reminded her.
“Not truly spectacular. I wish I had something more to my performance, a trick or series of tricks that no one would be able to duplicate in a hundred years.” She reached out and patted Shirdas’ neck. “He’ll be better in a day or two and then he’ll have a chance to show them all what he can do. That will still those ugly whispers.”
“What whispers?” Atadillius wanted to know.
“They’re saying that most of what I do is sham and that my master is trying to hoax everyone, creating interest in a charioteer as a novelty and then delivering nothing.” She turned to glare at Atadillius. “I’m not going to let them say that. I won’t have it.”
Atadillius decided that he should not encourage her in her attitude, for it might lead to more difficulties than she was already having. “You will show them to everyone’s satisfaction. There is no use in telling them, for they are used to hearing idle boasts. Be patient, girl, and you will have your chance. After that, they may say what they will, you will have no cause to concern yourself with them.”
“Perhaps,” she allowed, her expression set in stubborn lines. “But it is maddening to know that they doubt my abilities.”
“They will not in a day or so,” he soothed.
Tishtry patted her horses once more. “I’ve been working on another running mount. I think I’ll try it out when I have my first demonstration. It looks far more dangerous than it is, but I don’t mind that.”
“How do you mean?” Atadillius asked, trying to hide his worry, for he knew that Macon relied on him to keep Tishtry from attempting anything reckless.
“Well, I worked it out yesterday, and I tried it out with Immit. I’d show you now, but with that lion in the ring, I don’t think Immit would manage well. What I do is start the team going, then jump out of the quadriga. I let the team go on, run across the arena so that I meet them as they come out of the turn, I spring back into the quadriga, then up, onto Immit. It’s really quite easy, if they keep to a steady pace.”
Atadillius gulped. “You might be trampled if you mistimed your ... spring.”
“Oh, I’m not afraid of that,” she said blithely, unaware of the distress she was causing Atadillius. “The team is used to me and they’ll stop quickly if I falter.”
“You could still be dragged for quite a distance,” he pointed out.
“It’s unlikely. I’d be more apt to roll free, the way I was taught to do. My father taught me about rolling away before he ever put me on a horse.” She reached up for the reins. “I’d better get back to work. This is no time to be lazy.”
“Is the fifth horse so important,” Atadillius asked, anticipating her answer.
“I wouldn’t have said it if it wasn’t so,” she answered as she led her horses back into the ring for more work.
* * *
Her stage fright had returned, but she was used to it, and it did not upset her as it had the first time. She took a few long, deep breaths, then nodded to the aurigatore, bringing her head up and smiling widely. The glare from the sun and the sand hurt her eyes, but she kept the smile as she blinked.
There was the roar she had come to expect, but this one was louder and it echoed in a way she had never heard before. She was glad that the brass studs on her tunica and breeches had been polished, because, in so large an arena, she was worried she would not easily be seen. Tishtry swung by the editor’s box and gave the customary bow before vaulting into the air, turning a somersault, and landing on Amath’s back. She could tell from the sound that this had been a success. She let her horses make a circuit of the arena while she simply stood on Amath’s back.
On the second turn, she started her tricks, and had the satisfaction of hearing gasp
s and hoots from the crowd as she rose on one leg on Immit’s back. She flashed her grin at the editor’s box again and continued around the arena. She liked the larger amphitheater now that she was used to it, for it gave her more room to show off. She turned a somersault between horses and came up on Dozei, letting the sorrel’s mane blow in her face before she got to her feet. Next she steadied herself, then tried the most difficult of her tricks: standing on her hands on Shirdas’ back. She was only able to hold herself erect for a little distance, but she could tell she had her triumph in that trick by the enthusiasm of the audience. She ran through the rest of her stunts quickly, then exited through the Gates of Life at the far end of the arena, beaming to herself.
“That was some display,” one of the Greek charioteers said as he came up to her. “You’re better than I thought you’d be.”
“My master expects it of me,” she answered, determined not to be falsely modest, but not to puff herself up, either. “He’s sent me here because he thinks I’ll do well for him.”
“If that performance was any indication of your skill, I’d say he has every reason to be confident of you.” It was a gallant compliment, but said with a trace of mockery that infuriated Tishtry.
“How kind you are,” she said through her teeth, then turned to accept the praise of several other arena performers, trying not to let the Greek’s snide attitude spoil her sense of accomplishment.
“Your horses are quite surprising,” one of the bestiarii told her as she walked her team to cool them. “To look at them, you’d think they’d never pull as one, but when they’re in the arena, they’re better than most of the racing teams.”
“I chose them for that,” Tishtry said with excusable pride. “They have the same length of stride and Shirdas here is strong enough to hold the others in the turns.” She looked toward the Gates of Life. “I heard there was to be a venation. What are they hunting?”
“There are eight dwarfs hunting wild pigs. I’ve seen better contests, but not in as backward a place as this. Troas is a disappointing place.” He gestured philosophically. “Well, when you reach my age, what can you expect? I’m too old for working in the important amphitheaters.”
Tishtry was amazed to hear him speak so, for she still thought of this amphitheater as the most impressive she had ever seen. “If this is poor, what are the great ones like?”
The old bestiarii laughed. “Why, child, they are gigantic, with ten times the number of seats you have here, and the Games last for two and three days, with hundreds of animals, some of them brought from the farthest ends of the Empire. There are four and five chariot races, and the performers have skills that you cannot imagine. In Roma once, I saw a team of Dacian boys trained to swim as a team, and they pulled a barge through the flooded arena performing great and beautiful movements as fine as any dance. They then fought a mock battle with a miniature bireme manned by monkeys. After that, three of the boys performed with dolphins. Then they had a true battle with sharks. A number of them were killed, but not as many as you might expect. They are very expert, those Daci. The crowd loved them.”
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 firs
t 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.”
Four Horses For Tishtry Page 7