Four Horses For Tishtry

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “Probably not,” Tishtry agreed. She felt queasy, and the prospect of being enclosed in the hold while the ship weathered the storm was more terrifying than she could admit, even to herself. “The horses should have someone else to look after them.”

  “True enough,” Drosos said. “I’ll have one of the deck slaves come help you. Don’t worry; he’s good with horses. All my slaves are good with horses.” He swung around and started back up the ramp, steadying himself with his hands as he went.

  “Quite a ride, isn’t it? Nothing like a chariot,” Naius murmured, helping himself to more wine. “Think of how it will be tonight, all the water and the dark.” He giggled.

  There were shouted orders above them and the hatch cover was swung over the entrance to the ramp. Just before it closed, a small young man with a monkey face and tangled hair slipped through into the hold, reaching back to help batten the hatch into place.

  Tishtry felt the dark close in around her and she had to resist the urge to bolt, to claw her way onto the deck, out of the dark confines of the hold. She swallowed hard, knowing that her team would sense her fear and become more distraught than they were already.

  The monkey—faced deck slave made his way toward Tishtry. “The captain sent me to help out, charioteer,” he said with a strong Baetican accent. “We’ll take care of the horses, you and I.”

  Tishtry nodded, then realized he would not see the movement. “Of course,” she forced herself to say, as if she were as used to being on a ship as he was. “The pregnant mare, the yellow one, not the other, is very restless. She’s in the fourth stall from the end.”

  “I’ll go to her,” the Baetican said, making his way down the narrow corridor between the stalls. “Your comrade has been foolish.”

  “Worse than that,” Tishtry said. She was still shocked at how Naius had behaved since they had boarded the ship, but her reaction, if any, would have to wait until the storm was over.

  * * *

  All through the night the ship was battered by waves. Tishtry could hear water break over the prow and rush down the decks. In spite of the hatch covers, trickles spattered down on her. She tried not to notice them, and as she grew more exhausted, she did not. At the suggestion of the Baetican, she began to move from one stall to another, patting the horses, checking their slings, and talking to them. At first she disliked the duty, then she took comfort in it, because it kept her mind from the storm and made it impossible for her to fall asleep from utter fatigue.

  When the night was almost over, one of the other horses, a big Galatian stallion with a spotted coat and a bad temper, broke one side of his sling in his struggles. Immediately he began to scramble on the floor, trying for better purchase on the straw—littered boards; he lashed out with teeth and hooves at anything that touched him. The other horses, already near panic, began to struggle even more desperately, straining at the slings that held them.

  “Get him! Get him!” the Baetican slave shouted to Tishtry. “You’re nearer.”

  “I can’t! He’s too wild!”

  “Take a stick and hit him,” came the order. “Hard! The others will break free if this keeps up much longer.”

  The Galatian stallion bucked and twisted, trying to get out of the one remaining support of his sling. His hooves thundered against the side of his stall, splintering the wood and making the horse beside him paw the air with his hooves.

  “Stop him, stop him, stop him!” the Baetican slave yelled, barely audible over the sound of the storm and the horses.

  At last Tishtry found a length of wood and seized it in her free hand. She could not reach the stallion from where she was, and she was afraid to get too much closer, for there was danger from the maddened horse. There was almost no light in the hold, just the faint wavering illumination of two oil lamps that swung as the ship rose and fell. It was very chancy. She could feel her pulse drum in her ears, rapid and hard, like a fist pounding at her skull. She knew she was terrified. Vainly she tried to recall her father’s voice, exhorting her to go on, to steady her nerves and take the risk.

  “Hang on!” the Baetican slave bellowed at her as the ship swooped down the side of a wave. Beams groaned and the planks shuddered under the impact.

  Tishtry latched her arm around another upright post, swinging as she was nearly thrown off her feet. The horse in the stall beside her flailed in his sling.

  “Now. It’s easier now!” the young man urged.

  Tishtry pulled herself one stall closer to the struggling Galatian stallion. She almost lost her grip on the wood she carried as the ship plunged through another wave. With all her strength she braced herself, then swung with the club.

  Her first blow went wild and she wanted to scream with vexation. That, she told herself inwardly, would only make matters worse. The second time she brought the wood up, she drove it toward the head of the stallion, and felt her arm shudder as the club struck home.

  The stallion shrieked, kicked viciously, then stumbled and fell heavily onto his side.

  Tishtry stood, aghast at her act.

  “Good!” the Baetican shouted to her. “Now we have some chance of saving the others.”

  Wearily Tishtry righted herself and started toward the next stall, where one of the mares had succeeded in tangling her rear leg in her sling. The habit of years kept her to her work as she went from horse to horse.

  * * *

  Morning was more than half gone by the time the worst of the storm let up. The winds were still high, but no longer blowing in unpredictable gusts; now they were steady, filling the sails and shoving the merchantman farther to the south than it would usually go.

  “You did very well,” the Baetican slave told Tishtry as they leaned against the bulkhead together. Most of the horses were calmer, a few of them even willing to eat from nosebags.

  “That stallion ...” Tishtry said, hardly able to look at where the big spotted horse had fallen.

  “The others would have broken free if you had not done it,” the young man reminded her. “The horses would have injured themselves or been killed, and they could have damaged the ship. One horse is not a great price to pay for the lives of all the others.” He patted her shoulder, this rough gesture showing his respect. “There’s many sailors who could not have done as well as you did.”

  Tishtry sighed. “Still, I wish I had not had to do it. He was a beautiful animal, and it’s such a waste.” Her shoulders ached as if she had been dragged by her team around the arena, and now that she was more accustomed to the motion of the ship, she was more hungry than she could ever remember being. The only need greater than her need for food was her desire for sleep. “How much longer do we have to wait here?”

  “Until the captain opens the hatch and tells us that we can leave.” He looked contemptuously at Naius, who lay snoring in the corner. “That one is worse than useless.”

  Tishtry only nodded. “The mare, the one who caught her leg in the sling?—she’s got a sprain, I think. I’ll put a poultice on it in a little while, so that it won’t stiffen up on her.”

  “You can do that after you’ve rested,” the Baetican slave said.

  “I’d better do that before. I feel as if I’ll sleep for a week.” She moved away from the bulkhead. “There are rags in my chest, if you’ll bring some to me. And there’s a leather pouch, dyed green, with herbs in it. I’ll use them to make a poultice if the cook can spare some olive oil.”

  “I’ll ask as soon as we’re let out.” He scrambled to his feet. His tunica was torn and its belt had come untied sometime in the night. There were smudges on his face and a long cut on his forearm where he had scraped himself in an effort to get away from a nasty kick. Looking at him, Tishtry wondered if she was as bedraggled as he was.

  Naius coughed and rolled over, spilling the rest of the contents of his wineskin over the damp plan
king.

  “Your master should flog him,” the Baetican said.

  “My master is not very decisive,” Tishtry said, smiling faintly. “I don’t think he punishes his slaves very often.”

  “And see what such laxness brings,” the young man observed. “A slave who is a sot.”

  “Naius was that long before my master owned him,” Tishtry pointed out. “He has been this way for many years, or so I heard the others say when I was still ... home.”

  There was a subtle shift in the movement of the ship through the water. The Baetican slave cocked his head to the side. “We’re turning. We’re moving more to the north. The storm must have driven us farther south than the usual course.”

  “What does that mean?” Tishtry asked. She looked up at the closed hatch as if the force of her eyes would move it.

  “Who knows? It may bring us to shore more quickly, if Drosos wishes to stop at Athenae. If he does not, then we might add a day to the voyage. The wind has come around to our back, which gives us speed, but it can be very dangerous. Drosos has great skill, but the sea is a dangerous master.” He ran his hands through his hair. “Am I a complete disgrace?”

  “Am I?” Tishtry asked.

  The Baetican laughed. “No doubt we’re both a disgrace.” Then he shrugged. “What is your name?”

  “Tishtry,” she told him.

  “I’m Holik.”

  For some reason, this struck both of them as very amusing; first they chuckled, then laughed, then all but fell to the floor with guffaws that bordered on tears. As Tishtry clutched her sides, some part of her realized that her reaction was more the product of terror and fatigue than of anything funny, but she made no effort to stop herself until the laughter ended of its own volition. Gradually the manic humor left them both, and they sat, more tired than ever, and stared dazedly at each other.

  “Holik,” Tishtry said, and this time the name was only a name. No strange mirth rose to her lips.

  “Tishtry.” he said, nodding to her. “You would have been a good sailor, girl, if you were male and not a charioteer.”

  Her smile was genuine. “Thank you.”

  There was a sound above them of the upper battens being drawn back. Holik scrambled to his feet and helped lift the heavy cover from the hatch.

  Drosos looked down on them, worry on his tanned and creased countenance. “Is all well in here?”

  “The Galatian stallion got loose,” Holik said at once. “Tishtry was able to strike him with a club.”

  “I’m afraid he’s badly hurt. Or dead,” she admitted.

  “Just one?” Drosos said, his shaggy brows going up in disbelief. “You must be very lucky or you worked harder than anyone on this ship.” He sighed. “We lost two slaves overboard in the night. They were reefing the sails when we hit a bad swell. Even if we could have gone back, in such heavy seas, there would have been no way to find them.”

  Holik nodded. “Two men, one horse.”

  Drosos shrugged philosophically. “I’ve had worse luck in better weather. Come. You will want to have food and rest.”

  Tishtry almost succumbed to this temptation, but she controlled the yawn that lay in her throat. “I want to make a poultice first. One of the mares has a bad sprain.” She reached up to take Drosos’ hand and climbed out of the hold onto the sunny, wind—scoured deck. “I’ll rest after that.”

  “If that’s what you want.” Drosos said, already turning his attention to the ripped sail that flapped overhead. “Holik will help you.”

  As she started after the Baetican slave, Tishtry doubted she could keep her eyes open long enough to find her bunk, let alone prepare the poultice. She stumbled once, and then steeled herself to her work. Soon, she promised herself as she got out the green leather pouch. Soon you will sleep. Soon. Soon.

  AFTER five days, they rounded the end of Achaea and turned northwest, going up the Mare Adriaticum. The weather, after such a ferocious beginning, steadied and held fine, with a good breeze and untroubled waters.

  To Tishtry’s surprise, she began to enjoy the voyage, and often spent several hours on deck, watching the distant land slide by.

  “That’s Macedonia,” Holik told her as he pointed out the mountains that seemed to rise out of the edge of the sea. “And beyond is Illyricum. We stop first at Apollonia, in Macedonia. It will be two days at the most from Apollonia to Salonae.”

  “If there isn’t another storm,” she cautioned.

  “True.” He cuffed her shoulder. “You’d take it in stride, though.”

  Tishtry shrugged. She was grateful to the young Baetican, for he had appointed himself her friend and her helper. The aid was as welcome as it was unexpected, but she accepted it without question, since she knew she would have no assistance from Naius. “Let us hope it will not be necessary.”

  Holik grinned. “Fair skies and calm seas all the way.”

  “Good.” Tishtry realized with a pang that she would miss him when she reached Salonae.

  “Your horses are getting restive,” Holik commented when a whinny was heard from the open hatch.

  “It’s the inactivity. Even with reduced food, they do not like being kept in those slings. They’re used to running every day, and working on the lunge. To be confined for so long is strange to them.” She turned her face up to the sky. “It would be a good day to race, today.”

  Holik gave her a friendly, inquiring glance. “Why?”

  “It’s warm but not hot, the sun is bright but there is little glare, and there is enough wind to give freshness but not enough to raise dust.” She leaned on the barrier of heavy, knotted ropes that stretched along the side of the ship above the wooden railing. “What is the purpose of these?”

  “They let the seas wash over us but catch any cargo that might come loose,” Holik explained. “There are drains at six places on the deck, but these assure us that we will not ship too much water in heavy seas. And you know for yourself how important that can be.”

  “Yes,” she said with a touch of grimness in her voice. “I know.”

  “Neptune and the winds were kind to us. They did not blow away the sails, or the masts. Drosos is a good captain, and he is sensible enough to take the most prudent course; not like some who would try to battle the storm with a full hold. There are not many merchantmen that would have come through the storm as well as we have done.” He beamed with pride, his monkey face showing weathered creases already. Tishtry, watching him, thought that he would be as brown and wrinkled as a walnut before he was thirty. “You will have something to boast of when you arrive in Salonae.”

  Tishtry shrugged. “I don’t boast. It’s a bad business in the arena. It makes the others test you and trap you. Men have died on the sands for a boast.”

  “But how many of them have been in a storm like the one you have come through?” He looked off toward the shore. “We’ll be turning soon. Apollonia is not far ahead now. By nightfall we’ll be at the dock.”

  “And I can walk on something that doesn’t move all the time,” Tishtry said with relief.

  “You drive a quadriga.” Holik pointed out.

  “Hardly the same thing. The ground under the wheels is stable enough.” She smiled. “And then Salonae. I wonder if Naius will be sober enough to find his way to the amphitheater by then?”

  “He won’t be if he goes on as he has been going,” Holik cautioned her. “Don’t depend on him for much, Tishtry. Men of his sort are poor risks.”

  “Yes; I know.” She looked at the Baetican slave. “I’d prefer having you about than Naius.”

  “Slaves cannot choose such things,” Holik said, a bitterness at the back of his eyes. “Still, in time I will have enough to buy my freedom, and then I will do as I wish.”

  “What do you intend to do, when you are free?” Tishtry a
sked him.

  “I would like to have a little shop where I could sell equipment and material to merchants: ropes, sails, oil lamps, netting, all the fittings for a good ship like this one.” His expression warmed as he spoke.

  “It costs money to start a shop,” Tishtry remarked.

  “It does. But Drosos has agreed to be my partner when I am free. He will provide the money to start, and I will pay him thirty percent of my profits until the loan is paid off, and twenty—five percent thereafter.” Now he grinned. “It isn’t an uncommon arrangement.”

  Tishtry had heard of many similar agreements. “I hope it goes well for you, Holik.”

  “And I hope it goes well for you, Tishtry.” He cuffed her on the shoulder once more. “I have to go aloft. And it’s time you watered your horses again.”

  “Yes,” she said, reluctant to leave the deck and Holik’s company. “Perhaps we’ll talk later.”

  “All right.” he said, reaching for one of the thick hempen lines that ran to the top of the mast.

  She watched him climb, then went down into the hold to tend to her team and the other horses confined there.

  * * *

  The layover in Apollonia was brief, and Drosos was under way again before the sun had set. He had left off eight of the horses he carried, and now the ship was light in the water, skimming along briskly. The crew were in good spirits and they called jokes to one another while they went about their tasks. The two steersmen sang as they held on course, and even Drosos made a witty remark or two while he issued his orders.

  Tishtry sat near the afterdeck, staring up at the sails and the stars beyond. The movement of the vessel was comfortable to her now, and she felt happily relaxed. It would be over before night fell again, she told herself sternly, and she would have to get her horses and herself back into form for racing and doing tricks. The storm had frightened her, and she still winced when she thought of clubbing the maddened stallion, but for the most part, her voyage had been pleasant and, except for Naius, enjoyable. At the thought of that ruin of a man, she tightened her jaw. While she was in Salonae, he would be in charge of her, and she did not like the idea. Still, her master had sent him and given him authority, and she could not defy those orders without serious consequences. She leaned back on her elbows. She would have to find a way to guard herself against him, for he had threatened to hurt her more than once. Nothing had happened so far because Drosos and his crew had prevented it. That protection would be gone shortly and she would have to find other means to deal with him.