Four Horses For Tishtry

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “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?”

  “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.”