Four Horses For Tishtry Read online

  “Twenty thousand!” she scoffed, determined not to let the secutor get the better of her. She had learned that the veteran arena performers enjoyed gulling the newcomers with ridiculous tall stories. “You’re outrageous.”

  “A lot you know of it, girl,” the secutor chuckled. “Wait until you get to Roma.”

  “I will,” Tishtry promised him, wondering if she would ever get to Roma to perform in the Circus Maximus, where the greatest Games in the Empire were held for more than a hundred days out of every year. She went about her tasks with her team, cleaning their hooves and inspecting them for any signs of damage, then stretching out each horse’s legs, pulling them slowly, extending them to help the animals limber up. When she was satisfied, she signaled for a groom to help her yoke them up. “Be careful of Immit. She’s a little head shy.”

  The groom stared at the silver—dun mare as if daring her to misbehave. “I’ve yoked up lions, girl. There aren’t many horses that are too much for me.”

  “That may be,” Tishtry said sharply, “but you may be too much for her. She has to be on the sands shortly and that crowd is bad enough. If you vex her now, then we may do badly.” She took the bridle out of the groom’s hands. “I had better do it myself.”

  Atadillius, who had been watching this exchange, took a moment to stroll over to the young Armenian. “Very wise, Tishtry.”

  “Don’t you start on me,” Tishtry countered as she fixed the bit in Shirdas’ mouth.

  “I’m not starting on you,” Atadillius protested with what appeared to be genuine concern. “There are those who would prefer you fail today, and there are many ways to accomplish that. Take care, girl. You are not amusing your master’s friends at home anymore, you are a bestiarii in the amphitheater at Apollonia. Remember that. Fortunes are made and lost on these Games.”

  Tishtry shrugged. “That is the worry of the gamblers,” she said, dismissing the matter.

  “And suppose that gambler has put money on you, to win or to lose. Do you think that they would stop at hurting a few horses or an unknown slave? At the moment, it would cost little to compensate your master for your market value, and there are some who would find that an excellent investment.”

  “They’re fools,” Tishtry said as she tightened the last of the buckles.

  “Possibly. But just the same, stay near the spina, so that they cannot throw things at you.” Atadillius hesitated, puzzled by Tishtry’s attitude. “Word has spread about you, girl. There are men in the stands who have been speculating about you, with denarii.”

  At this mention of money, Tishtry looked up at him, curious for the first time. She wished she could still the sudden rush of stage fright that had taken hold of her. “They’re betting on me? But why? I don’t race, I just drive and ride.”

  “And perhaps you might fall, or you might do a trick they haven’t seen before,” Atadillius suggested. “Have a care, girl. Your sister would never pardon me if I let you be hurt here.”

  Tishtry tossed her head, more nervous than ever. “What has my sister to do with this?” Her interest was piqued by this turn of their conversation, but her apprehension kept her from asking anything more.

  “Go ride. Then have her explain it to you.” With that, Atadillius strode abruptly away.

  * * *

  Just before the Gates of Life were opened, Tishtry got into her chariot and tried to whisper a few reassurances to her team, but gave up when she found herself almost shouting to be heard. She tried to calm herself, afraid that her nervousness would communicate itself to her horses, and they would be more keyed up than they were already. She forced herself to take a few deep breaths and be calm. “It’s just like home,” she said to herself. “This crowd is no different from the horse breeders and wine makers. There’s just more of them.” She cleared her throat, surprised at how tight it had become.

  The brazen hoots of the hydraulic organ ended and the aurigatore standing at the heads of her team signaled her as the Gates of Life swung open.

  Tishtry gathered up the traces and stretched her mouth into a smile as she sent her horses hurtling out onto the sands.

  A sound between a buzz and a roar greeted her appearance, and Tishtry watched her teams’ ears turn back. She felt her hands shaking and she forced them to be still. It was bad enough to have her team so upset, but for her to be as distressed as they went beyond anything she could accept. She set her jaw and put her mind on her tricks.

  Her first vault onto Dozei’s back brought applause, and this startled her so much she almost lost her footing. She did her best to turn her near—stumble into a kind of jig, and kept up this impromptu little dance for one whole circuit of the arena. She discovered that this was soothing to her, making her less distracted by the noise around her. She nodded once to herself and put her mind on her next trick. The noise around her became less demanding, and she decided that she could continue her ride without too much difficulty. She started her bounce from horse to horse and felt a certain satisfaction that this time the enthusiasm of the crowd did not shatter her concentration.

  On Atadillius’ suggestion, Tishtry kept her first appearance brief, doing only those tricks she had the greatest experience performing. Her confidence improved, and the crowd loved it.

  In less than a week, she and her team were back on the sands once more. This time she did a few more of her tricks, but not her handstand. She argued with Atadillius about it, but he remained firm.

  “Your horses are still skittish from the noise, you can’t deny that,” he reminded her. “And that would mean you might do badly. Not doing a trick at all is better than doing it badly. You have all summer to get ready for it. By fall, you will have a routine twice as long as the one you do now, and the sweetenings the editor pays you will more than double. Everyone will think that you are improving before their eyes—which you are, but not the way they will assume—and that will increase the fee paid for your performances.”

  That last was powerfully persuasive, since the sweetenings and the small portion that was her share of the performance fees would go toward buying her family’s freedom. Tishtry was quite pleased to have amassed a pouchful of silver denarii and an assortment of copper coins, some Roman, some Greek. “How much more?”

  “Double,” he said confidently. “If your reputation spreads, possibly more.”

  Tishtry laughed. “My reputation?”

  “You’re getting one. Now is the time you must have a care. I’ll tell Barantosz, so he’ll take extra care of you.”

  “Very well.” Tishtry chuckled, convinced that Atadillius was being absurdly cautious.

  Yet by midsummer she had had one trace snap on her while she was working with Shirdas, and had discovered that the leather had been deeply cut with a knife. And not long after, she had noticed that the spokes of her quadriga had been tampered with. She became more cautious.

  August was difficult, for the engulfing heat was worsened by hot, dry winds blowing in from Asia. Everyone in the arena turned surly, even her horses, and Tishtry, for the first time in her life, wanted to avoid performing with her team.

  “Tell Barantosz that you are ill,” Macon suggested as they sat in the cabin, both of them half dressed and sweating.

  “But I am not ill, and he has already been paid for my appearance. He hates to give back money. Atadillius ... he thinks that it might be better if I perform because there are others who are going to refuse. That Boeotian bestiarii with the tigers has already said he cannot trust his cats in this heat.” She looked directly at Macon. “I could earn a lot, working these Games.”

  “And you could lose a lot too,” her older sister reminded her. “You are not so favored by the gods that you may fly in the face of fate.”

  “I will not do that,” Tishtry said with a weary smile. “I will do a shorter version of my tricks and it will be enough.”<
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  “If you’re sure,” Macon said doubtfully.

  “Well, I think I am,” she responded. “But there must be enough water for the horses when I am through, and I will need a long time to walk them cool, otherwise they could be harmed, and I draw the line at that.”

  Three other bestiarii withdrew from the Games during the hot winds, and as a result, Tishtry was one of the specialty entertainments. She created more excitement with her performance because there were few bestiarii, and she decided to take full advantage of this, introducing a new trick to her routine: she somersaulted across the backs of all four horses as they galloped, and having reached Shirdas’ back this way, she did a backflip that landed her on Dozei once again. The crowd went wild for it, and the editor of the Games awarded her a sweetening of fifty silver denarii.

  “You see,” she boasted to Macon that evening while they ate figs and chopped mutton, “I said it would be all right, and here we are, richer than ever before.”

  “The money is not the most important thing,” Macon warned her.

  “It might not be, but there is no other way to gain your freedom and the freedom of our family. Barantosz might be a fool, but he’s not so much of a fool that he’ll grant his slaves their freedom on a whim. He expects money for his writ of manumission.”

  “The family wouldn’t mind if you didn’t succeed,” Macon pointed out.

  “I would mind,” Tishtry said stubbornly, and despite her youth, there was no doubting her determination.

  “Then be wise, so that you can achieve your goal,” Macon said, then changed the subject. “Your tunica is getting worn. Would you like me to repair it?”

  “Can you do that?” Tishtry asked, genuinely surprised.

  “Well, leather is leather, and whether I’m making a saddle or repairing a tunica, there shouldn’t be much difference, should there? I could put a few more studs on the tunica while I’m at it.”

  “All right. I think I’d like a sunburst design. Could you do that?” She grinned at her older sister. “Something that catches the light.”

  “If that’s what you want,” Macon said, trying not to giggle. “A sunburst it will be.”

  * * *

  “There are two more Games scheduled between now and the end of October,” Atadillius told Tishtry when she came in from her morning practice. “You’ve been asked for both of them. One of those asking to be editor is a Roman. His name is Marius Balbo, and he will pay very well for your performance, so save your best tricks for him. Barantosz has said that you must do something very unusual.”

  “What about the handstand? I’ve only done it once, and you know how the crowd roared for it.” She grinned eagerly. “That would be sure to please Balbo, and it will please Barantosz.”

  Atadillius winked. “Your master has good reason to flatter the Romans; they buy most of his horses and mules.”

  “Fine. Then I will do what I can.” She was brushing down her team’s coats, going over the hair until it was free of dust. “They like this best, I think. They’re as bad as cats.”

  “They’re much bigger than cats,” Atadillius observed. “Don’t be too obvious with Balbo. He has that Roman tendency to like flattery unless he knows that’s what it is, and then he hates it.” He folded his arms. “Barantosz has given me permission to work with you in the winter, strengthening your routine.”

  “So I can keep the crowds coming next year?” Tishtry asked with a sigh. “If you think it’s wise, I suppose I ought to do it.”

  Finally Atadillius could keep the idea to himself no longer. “No, not so you can keep the crowd here happy next year. Next year, if you work well, we will take you to another amphitheater. How would you like to perform in the arena at Troas?”

  “Troas?” Tishtry stopped brushing. “Do you mean that?”

  “Naturally. I know better than to offer you base coin, Tishtry. I think that if you take a little more time and work very hard, you will be appreciated in Troas even more than you have been here.”

  Tishtry frowned. “I will have to convince Barantosz that it would be worth his while to do it.” The prospect of trying to persuade her master to spend more money was not pleasant, and she shook her head. “I don’t know if I can.”

  “I’ll take care of that part,” Atadillius assured her. “He will listen to me because he knows that I know the Games.”

  “I hope so. He’s been getting more nervous of late. He told one of the other charioteers that he wants to see a better return on me.” She cocked her head to the side. “You’re not trying to trick him, are you? He’s a strange little man, but he has an ugly temper when tried, and he’s been vindictive.”

  It was obvious that Atadillius doubted this. “I won’t give him cause.”

  “See that you don’t. You’re a freedman, but I’m still a slave, and if he decides to send me home, there’s nothing I can do about it. If he sends me home, that’s the end of it—I don’t have enough money to buy my freedom, let alone the freedom of my family. As long as I wear a collar, I can’t choose for myself.”

  “True, but as long as you wear a collar, you can perform in the arena. Once you’re free, those days are over,” Atadillius reminded her. “Slaves and convicts only are permitted to appear in the arena.”

  Tishtry nodded. “I don’t mind that part. When I have done all that I can, I will buy my freedom and ... oh, I don’t know. If I’ve done well enough, I suppose I could hire out as a trainer, or set myself up as a trick riding teacher. But I’d have to do more than perform here for that to work, wouldn’t I?”

  “Probably,” Atadillius said carefully, giving Tishtry a measuring look. “You’re ambitious, are you?”

  She did not answer at once; she had not considered the question before. “I suppose I am. At first it was enough to earn the money to free my family, and myself, later on, but not so much anymore. When I think of my performing days ending here, I get angry, and not just because it would mean I’d be a slave all my life.”

  “Those can be dangerous thoughts, girl,” Atadillius warned her. “They can get you into trouble.”

  “Yes”—she put her hands on her hips—“I know that, Atadillius. That’s why I warned you about Barantosz. If he guessed that I want more than he wants to give me, I’d be back in Cappadocia before the moon was full again.”

  Atadillius sighed. “I’ll be cautious. I’ve said that I would be.” He paused a moment, then said, “What if he were to sell you, what then?”

  “It would depend on who bought me,” Tishtry answered. “It’s his right to sell me, after all, no matter what he said before.”

  “Suppose you had a master who wanted to take you to the larger arenae. would you object?” His dark eyes fixed on one of her horses, as if he were afraid to look at her.

  “It wouldn’t be my place to object,” Tishtry answered, hardly thinking about the question.

  “But is that what you want?” Atadillius persisted.

  “Of course. Who would not? But it’s for Barantosz to send me.” She looked at Atadillius with new curiosity. “Why do you ask? Is he thinking of selling me?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t have a reason,” he answered vaguely, directing his attention to the nearest railing. “When winter’s over, we’ll speak of this again.” He started to walk away, then saw Macon approaching, and turned toward her. “I’ve been speaking with your little sister; she’s a very canny girl.”

  “A family trait,” Macon remarked, dimples appearing in her cheeks. “She’s more outspoken than the rest of us, that’s all.”

  Atadillius smiled, and this time his smile changed his face, made it more pleasant, almost boyish. “You’re not going to claim that you’re as bad as she is, surely.”

  “The way she talks,” Macon said affectionately, “you’d think she’d been born free.”
r />   “I’m not that bad,” Tishtry said, and did not linger to hear the banter. She led her horses off to the stable, where she could take time to go over their bodies, searching for any sign of welt or swelling that might mean hurt to the horses and the possibility of harm to her. She thought of the winter ahead, and could not bring herself to stop worrying about what her master might do at the end of it. She knew that Atadillius was up to something, and for that reason, in spite of his assurances, Tishtry knew it would take very little to convince Barantosz that he had made a mistake in bringing her to Apollonia; and should that happen, she would doubtless be sent back to her father and the life she had led there. No matter how she tried, she could not resign herself to that idea; she was determined to go on as a performer.

  ALL DURING the winter months, Tishtry drilled with her team, going over her routines, perfecting the tricks she knew and developing new ones. Atadillius watched her and was stern in his instructions, making her strive for a more theatrical style and a better sequence of presentation. On her own, Tishtry worked with each of her horses on a lunge, drilling the four animals as rigorously as she was being drilled herself. Although she rarely admitted it, she was enjoying herself tremendously.

  Not long after the Saturnalia and the start of the New Year, Atadillius sent for Tishtry, offering her a cup of hot spiced wine. “Sit down. We have to talk.”

  Tishtry dropped into the nearest chair and leaned back, crossing her legs at the ankle. “What do we have to talk about?”

  “Barantosz is planning to return home at the beginning of next week. We must convince him before he leaves that you are ready to go on to Troas.” He held out a dish of walnuts and raisins. “Have some.”

  “All right,” Tishtry said, taking a handful. “How do you know he’s planning to leave? Has he said so?”

  “He’s told his grooms to prepare for travel. And Macon was told that she must have new reins and traces ready by the end of the week. Therefore our time is short. How are your new routines coming along? Have you mastered that spin on Shirdas’ rump yet? The one with the flag you were working on?”