Four Horses For Tishtry

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “Yes. And I must admit, not entirely innocently. I have been authorized to speak to your master on behalf of a man who wishes to buy you.” He hesitated. “You are aware that Calpurnius intends to sell you.”

  “Yes. He said so.” She looked down at her boots. “After the contest, he’ll be able to set a price, or so he said.”

  Lykos touched her shoulder. “Do not let that prey on you.”

  “I try not to. It isn’t always easy.” She whistled for her team. “I have to rub them down and see them fed and watered and walked. Later tonight, while I change their bedding straw, perhaps we can talk then, if you are inclined to do so.” She felt awkward making this suggestion, but she knew that she would have to talk to this impressive man sooner or later, and it might be easier before she raced than after.

  “I will look forward to it. After I post my men, I will come to you.” He motioned to Himic. “Come, old friend. I brought some wine with me that we should share, in memory of those old days in the arena.”

  Himic clapped his arm around Lykos’ shoulders, and the two left Tishtry to her horses.

  * * *

  Her horses were fed a mixture of wheat, barley, oats, and millet, with nuts, raisins, and chopped apples mixed through it. Tishtry brushed them to a high gloss and coated their hooves with the mixture of wool fat and ground seaweed that Himic had given her. She inspected her horses’ eyes and teeth and smelled their breath, to be sure they were as healthy as they could be. Then she left an old Thracian groom to watch them while she went off to have her evening meal.

  Because she would not eat again until after the race, Calpurnius’ cooks had provided a generous meal for her: ground pork in a spicy sauce served over bread chunks, followed by roasted chicken coated in honey and cinnamon. Then came vegetables cooked in milk with baked kid and a braised fish seasoned with liquamen; next, scallops wrapped in bacon and broiled. Last there were dates and figs in a mixture of wine and honey. Tishtry resisted the urge to eat quickly, and took her time with her supper, savoring the foods and enjoying the flavors of all of them. She had rarely had such a fine meal, and she did not know when she would have another such. Morosely, she told herself it would depend upon who bought her and what became of her next.

  By the time she went back to the stables, Lykos was waiting for her. “I have heard that there is a great deal of betting going on about your contest.”

  “I have heard that, too,” she said. “Calpurnius has told me that his whole fortune is at risk on these Games.” She had not intended to sound bitter, but she heard the anger in her tone as clearly as Lykos did. “It is my master’s right to do that, but it is a difficult burden.”

  “I would think so,” Lykos said without too much obvious sympathy. “I was told by Himic that you are trying to get sufficient money to purchase the freedom of your father and his wives and children.”

  “Yes. Chimbue Barantosz, who was my first master, has agreed to keep the price for their freedom at a fixed rate for another three and a half years. After that, we will see.” She picked up a pitchfork. “I must get the bedding up. If you do not mind?”

  “Go ahead.” He stood back while she got a shovel and went into Shirdas’ stall. “Your father is still a slave of Barantosz’s, then?”

  “Yes. He’s Armenian, living in Cappadocia. Barantosz’s father bought him from an Armenian noble when my father was younger than I am now. Barantosz has kept the family together to help him with the horses he raises.” She had shoveled most of the used straw out the door of the stall and was now forking down fresh bedding from the loft above. “He trained me, my father, as his father had trained him. My father said that our family has done stunt riding for more than five generations.”

  “A proud heritage,” Lykos agreed. “You have developed more skills, or so Himic informs me.”

  “Himic has been very good to me, teaching me all manner of skills and new stunts. He has shown me how to perform so that the audience will like what I do better, and he has helped me do what I do better.” She was almost finished with the bedding when she stopped. “There is something strange in this straw. It smells peculiar.”

  Lykos stepped closer. “What is it like?”

  “I don’t know.” She lifted the pitchfork closer to her face, sniffing. “It’s sort of sweet—sticky smelling.” She sniffed again and felt a queasy sensation go through her.

  “You had better toss that straw out and let my men inspect the loft. It could be that this is another attempt to interfere.” He said this calmly. “I have seen similar things done in Ancona and Roma. My men know what to look for.” He did not wait to see if Tishtry followed his instructions, but hurried to the stable entrance. “Marcos, Cyral, Demobri, into the loft. Check the straw for tampering.”

  Tishtry had cleaned out two more of the stalls, adding no new bedding, when Lykos came to her. “Someone has made a mixture of syrup of poppies and syrup of hemp and put it on the straw. At the least, it would have made your horses drowsy and inactive. At the most, they would have collapsed in a stupor.”

  “What ... how?” She was filled with a baffled rage. “How dare they try to harm my team?”

  Lykos chuckled grimly. “Whoever it was, they will not try again. You have my word on it.” His blue eyes met her dark ones. “Be complimented, girl. Someone out there is afraid you’re going to win.”

  AT THE beginning of the Games, there was a parade. Calpurnius and Valericus, as editoris, rode in the first chariot, this one a huge vehicle, drawn by twelve matched Egyptian horses the color of coral. There were slaves on the chariot who were dressed like Grecian gods and goddesses, all wearing sheer garments of fine Coan linen; they threw flowers and fragrant herbs over the arena and waved happily to the crowd.

  Behind this first chariot came a troupe of musicians, playing their instruments as loudly as possible. Five litui bleated beside five tibiae. Then came a rank of men blowing their corni, each cornum held circling his arm and projecting from behind over his shoulder and head. Last came players of the sistrum and cymbals, making their rackets to a heavy beat.

  Immediately after them, Tishtry and Dionysos rode in their chariots, the teams held firmly by their aurigatores, who walked beside the horses, handling the traces so that the horses could not bolt.

  “Be careful, girl,” Dionysos threatened her, waving blithely at the crowd. “I’m not going to let you win.”

  “You have nothing to say about what I do,” Tishtry answered, and looked down at Himic. “Neronis is trying to get the bit in his teeth. Be careful.”

  After these two there were groups of fighters—gladiators, secutores, retiarii, essedarii, and the rest—and then some of the bestiarii with their trained animals whose performance would conclude the first day of the Games. The crowd hailed them all with noisy enthusiasm.

  They went around the arena twice, then exited through the Gates of Life, each group gathering in the area set aside for it. Near the stables, the physician set up his bench and sorted out his unguents and splints and knives, preparing for the injuries he would treat throughout the day.

  Calpurnius came through the crowd, pushing the arena slaves aside. “Tishtry!” he called as he neared her. “I must have a word with you!”

  Tishtry, who was starting her last inspection of her chariot, turned toward him. “Yes, my master? What is it?”

  He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her near the Gates of Life. In a furious whisper, he said, “Lose!”

  Her face went white. “What are you saying?” She tried to laugh and discovered that she could not. “You ... it isn’t amusing, my master.”

  “It’s not meant to be,” he hissed. “I order you to lose.” He glared at her. “I’ve bet against you. Do you understand me? If you want to be sold at an advantage, you will go out there and lose. I will have the profit from your sale and the money from the bets. D
o you understand!” He pushed at her shoulder. “Do as I tell you.” With that, he spun away from her and was lost among the men gathered at the Gates of Life.

  Tishtry stared blankly ahead, trying to make sense of what he had told her to do. It seemed impossible that, after so much preparation, he would actually tell her she was not to win. Then she thought that he had bet against her, and that made her angry in a way she had never felt before. “How dare he?” she whispered, glaring at the Gates of Life.

  Himic came and touched her shoulder. “Tishtry?”

  “What?” She rounded on him furiously. “Calpurnius has already spoken to me.”

  “When?” Himic was clearly puzzled by this outburst. “What is the matter, girl? You can’t be getting nervous now, can you?” He patted her arm tentatively. “If you’re troubled, tell me about it and I will do what I can for you.” The tone of his voice was sincere, and Tishtry wondered if Himic knew of their master’s betrayal. “The team is ready, and the contest is about to begin.”

  “Did you place any bets?” she demanded of him. “Did you?”

  “Yes,” he admitted.

  “How did you bet?” She turned her eyes up at him. “Well?”

  “What kind of question is that?” Himic asked her, annoyance changing his attitude to a more critical one.

  “Did you bet on me to win or lose?” she asked harshly.

  Himic laughed. “What’s wrong with you, girl? We both know you’ll win.”

  “Truly?” she said, still unconvinced of his innocence.

  “Naturally. I’ve seen you and Dionysos in the arena, and I’ve seen you practice. You’re the better horseman, and you’re the better performer. Of course you’re going to win. All you have to do is concentrate.” He frowned. “Have you been offered a bribe not to win?”

  “Not a bribe, an order,” she said. “Calpurnius said I am to lose. And Himic, I don’t want to!” Tears came to her eyes without warning. “I want to win. I want to show that I can win!”

  “You must have misunderstood,” Himic said, staring at her. “Calpurnius would not issue such an order. He could not.” He held up his hand as Lykos came toward them. “You should not say such things, girl.”

  “I shouldn’t?” she burst out. “It is Calpurnius who should not say such things. Calpurnius is the one who has—” She stopped abruptly and looked away from Himic.

  Lykos saw that something was troubling Tishtry, for he regarded her seriously. “Are you worried about the race?” He held out his hand, which contained a small knife. “In the Circus Maximus in Roma, all charioteers carry these. They are to cut yourself free of the traces if there is an accident, so that you will not get dragged or kicked.”

  Tishtry took the knife. “Where did you get this?”

  He hesitated before he answered. “Your master gave it to me.”

  “My master?” Tishtry repeated, making no effort to conceal her amazement. “Why would he do this? Calpurnius just told me to lose and now he sends me a knife. What does he expect me to do, slit my own throat?”

  “Did Calpurnius give you orders? When?” Lykos asked sharply.

  “Just now.” She scowled. “He said I was to lose. He is my master, and he wants me to lose!” She smashed her fist onto her thigh.

  “But he is not your master,” Lykos said. “When I saw Calpurnius approach you, I thought it was to tell you ...” He glanced at Himic. “Calpurnius sold you this morning. Your new owner is a foreigner named Franciscus.” He paused. “You need not obey Calpurnius. In anything.” This last afterthought was accompanied by a tight, grim smile. “You need only do the best you can.”

  “Calpurnius already sold me!” Tishtry exclaimed, staring at Himic. “Do you know anything about this?”

  Himic shook his head, stunned at what he had heard.

  “So you have no reason to do as Calpurnius told you,” Lykos said. “Go on. Your quadriga is waiting. Win if you can.” He made a gesture of encouragement, then stepped back. “I will see you when it is over.”

  Though she was still caught up in her surprise, Tishtry was able to nod to Lykos. “Afterward,” she said, starting toward her chariot with a new sense of purpose.

  * * *

  The Gates of Life swung open and the audience roared as energetically as lions. Tishtry drew up her team at the alba linea, holding her restless horses as Dionysos thundered up in his ten—horse rig. She nodded to him and did not mind that he ignored her.

  In the editoris’ box, Valericus leaned forward, to drop the white handkerchief to start the race.

  “These are the rules!” the Master of the Games bawled out, trying to be heard over the voices of the crowd. “You will have seven circuits of the arena, each to be completed with one trick or stunt during the circuit. If at any time a lap is completed without a trick, that lap will be disallowed in the total of the race. At the end of seven laps, the first chariot to be drawn up at the editoris’ box will be declared the winner, providing the correct number of stunts has been completed!” The man, purple in the face from his effort, stepped back to stand beside Valericus.

  “Be on guard, girl!” Dionysos hissed as the handkerchief fell and the race began.

  Dionysos took the lead at first, cutting ahead of Tishtry and using his team to block her from advancing. As he drove, he climbed up on the inside of his chariot and stood on the top of the vehicle, balancing as the team plunged ahead.

  Nothing daunted, Tishtry launched herself onto her team’s backs, somersaulting from one horse to the other, then backflipping into the chariot before urging them to pass Dionysos’ team on the outside. It was a very risky move and one she was apprehensive of making, but she did not want Dionysos to hold the lead one moment longer than necessary. As she brought her team close to his, he countered the move by signaling his horses to rush to the side, throwing Tishtry’s horses off their stride.

  There was a shout from the crowd as Dionysos drew his team up onto their hind legs and kept them advancing, their front hooves in the air. Dionysos grinned at the reception of his trick, and he made a rude sign to Tishtry, which she answered with one that was even ruder.

  On the second lap, Tishtry once again got onto the backs of her team, this time standing on her hands while her team tried once again to get past Dionysos’ ten horses. From her place on Amath’s back, Tishtry shouted instructions to her horses, relying on her voice instead of the signals of her reins. She could feel Amath almost break stride as Dionysos once again urged his horses in the direction of her chariot.

  The crowd was growing even noisier as the competition went into the third lap. Tishtry wondered what stunt Dionysos had done on the second lap, and thought that the rearing was not as much of a stunt as it ought to be. She wondered if she should protest that stunt later, when the final decision was made about who won the race. She vaulted onto Immit’s back and got to her feet on the dun mare’s rump, bracing herself as the horses rounded the end of the arena and began the third lap. Now she was prepared to go under the necks of her team. It was more difficult without the three outer horses yoked together, but she had practiced it enough that she was certain she would be able to do it safely.

  Dionysos brought his team up close to hers just as Tishtry started to swing under Shirdas’ neck. He signaled his lead rank of horses to veer toward her, knocking into Amath, so that the bay staggered and lurched against Neronis.

  Shirdas faltered in his canter and Tishtry was almost flung free of her horse. She clung to his neck, making no attempt to move while Shirdas steadied himself, and the other three horses resumed their steady canter. When she was certain that it was safe to move, she swung under Shirdas’ neck, reaching for the base of Immit’s mane.

  Once again Dionysos slammed his team into Tishtry’s, and this time she was so badly jarred that her shoulder wrenched and pain shot along her arm and alm
ost made her let go of the mane she held. She gripped convulsively, for the first time afraid that she might fall and be trampled. With an agonizing effort, she pulled herself onto Immit’s back, gathering her strength before she got to her feet. Her left arm ached terribly and she was not sure she could complete her next swing under Neronis’ neck and onto Amath’s back.

  Now Dionysos was dropping back, trying to find a way to hook the wheel of his chariot with the wheel of hers. It was a tricky maneuver, and one that was very dangerous, for it could lead to both vehicles being wrecked. The size of his team got in his way, and he was not able to get near enough to bring the two wheels close together.

  Tishtry took advantage of this and urged her team into the lead, then swung under Neronis’ neck and onto Amath’s back before Dionysos could slam her horses again. She knew that she would not be able to hold on through another such violent collision. As she rose to her feet on Amath’s back, she could feel the big bay limping a bit. She looked to his head, and saw him duck, slightly and regularly, as he ran. One of the impacts the bay had taken had injured him somehow, and Tishtry would not know how seriously until this hideous race was finished.

  Dionysos was trying to pass her on the outside again, holding his team as close to hers as he could without another impact. Amath ran with his ears back, no longer matching the stride of the other horses in Tishtry’s team. There were flecks of foam on his dark coat, and he was already panting heavily. Tishtry could feel the strain through his muscles, quickly leaped into the air, somersaulting onto Neronis’ back to give Amath a chance to recover. She thought of the tricks she wanted to do and worked out ways to do them without using Amath again. The pressure of Dionysos’ team was making her own horses run faster, no longer coordinated in their strides. Tishtry vaulted back into the chariot, and as she did, she heard an ominous crack from one of the wheels, and the chariot wobbled under her.