Chapter 1 – Into the Night
Shasta crept away from the small cottage he shared with the fisherman and in the warm darkness mulled over what he had heard.
"Why, I might be anyone!" he thought. "I might be the son of a Tarkaan myself—or the son of the Tisroc (may he live for ever)—or of a god!"
He was standing out in the grassy place before the cottage while he thought these things. Twilight was coming on apace and a star or two was already out, but the remains of the sunset could still be seen in the west.
Not far away the stranger's horse, loosely tied to an iron ring in the wall of the donkey's stable, was grazing. Shasta strolled over to it and patted its neck. It eyed him and then swung its head and nuzzled him, snuffling a little, pulling at Shasta's shirt with its lips. Shasta thought it might be about to bite him, so he pulled away. It eyed him again closely, for all the world as if it was going to speak but seemed to think better of it. It went back to tearing up the grass and took no more notice of him.
Then another thought came into Shasta's mind.
"I wonder what sort of a man that Tarkaan is," he said out loud.
"It would be splendid if he was kind. Some of the slaves in a great lord's house have next to nothing to do. They wear lovely clothes and eat meat every day. Perhaps he'd take me to the wars and I'd save his life in a battle and then he'd set me free and adopt me as his son and give me a palace and a chariot and a suit of armour. But then he might be a horrid, cruel man. He might send me to work on the fields in chains. I wish I knew. How can I know? I bet this horse knows, if only he could tell me."
The horse had lifted its head. Shasta stroked its smooth-as-satin nose and said, "I wish you could talk, old fellow."
But the horse said nothing, merely gazed at him with dark eyes, nuzzled Shasta's arm again and whuffed a little as it took in the fishy smell from his clothes. But it did make a deep low rumbling noise in its chest that could almost have sounded like some muffled words. Then it went back to grazing the turf, swishing its tail in the warm night air, although every now and then it lifted its head and gazed at him, silently.
Shasta's mind was so full of turmoil that he hardly noticed. He was consumed with the practicality and the uncertainty of his situation. For he had just learned his father was not his father! He had just learned that he was probably from the north. He had just learned that the Tarkaan thought he was beautiful... but cursed.
And worse, he had just learned that the man he had always been expected to love and obey was about to sell him like he would sell a net of mullet, to a rich lord… for an undisclosed sum. And he had learned that the world he lived in was a much less certain place than he had ever thought.
This time he would be a slave in truth, not just in deed. If the muttered, half-spoken words he had heard in the village were true, he could face worse more than a beating if he did not obey his master, or even if he did. It was only now as he thought about things more deeply, he wondered what could be worse than a beating or being placed in chains and made to work all day. Shasta scratched the sandy dirt with his heel and big toe, scuffing a long swathe in the ground in his agitation.
At that moment, the man he had thought was his father came to the door with his lamp and holding it high in the darkness called briefly to Shasta.
Shasta walked over to him, and stood looking up at Arsheesh, more out of habit more than affection. Arsheesh was breathing heavily and looked slightly triumphant.
"So. Now you know. You were listening of course. Little sneak! The Tarkaan has offered me less than I might have wished for but more than I could have hoped. It seems he heard of your presence here and made a special detour to come and see the wares for himself. In return for 5 crescents, he is willing to give you a trial this very night. If you fail to please him, he will leave you behind and give nothing more and I will then have you for the rest of my days or until the next Tarkaan comes looking for your northern flesh and makes me a better offer. But if you do please him, he will give me all that I wanted and you shall go to serve him and his friends, for as long as he chooses. Then I shall be rid of the sight of your pale eyes and sunburned skin and I shall get myself a good wife."
"Can I come back here if he lets me go or if I escape?" he gasped, grasping at straws in his fright and anxiety.
But Arsheesh grabbed Shasta by the chin and forced the startled and frightened boy to look him full in his face.
"Know this boy. You shall please the Tarkaan. I want my full payment for all the nurture and education I have given you. There will be no coming back for you. In you go".
Then, grasping Shasta by the shoulder and upper arm, Arsheesh's hard hands pushed Shasta into the hut and steered him towards the normally dark alcove which had been given over to the Tarkaan for the night. It was lit by a beautiful lamp which cast patterned shadows across the walls. It must have belonged to the Tarkaan.
Arsheesh closed the door behind him. Shasta was frozen. Shasta could not hear him shuffling towards the stable and then his weight could be heard to lean against the door. This meant he was standing guard. No doubt Arsheesh would have gone to play at dice in the village with the men if he didn't have a Tarkaan on his hands, wanting to take his wastrel son away with him. Shasta knew this was a once in a lifetime chance for Arsheesh. It would certainly give him the money to attract the wife he had never found, so Shasta had no doubt that Arsheesh would also keep an eye on that horse, and its saddle, as surety against Shasta being stolen away.
Nevertheless he was being left here to the mercies of the Tarkaan anyway. Shasta realised that he felt very hurt and very angry... and very scared.
…
In the patterned light of the lantern he could see the armour lying to one side. The Tarkaan beckoned to Shasta to come closer, his gaze upon the boy.
Shasta looked more closely and then looked quickly away, dumbstruck.
The Tarkaan's tall, lean muscular body was visible, his honey coloured skin glowed in the orange lamplight. Just a lungi covered his nakedness. The curls of the Tarkaan's oiled crimson beard half covered his dark chest with more hair down his belly, disappearing in a trail under the loose cloth.
Shasta swallowed tightly his heart beating hard. He inched as far away as he could and sat on the only furniture in the room, the chest which contained clean robes and turbans for times of festival and blankets for the depths of winter. He stared down at the dirt floor in the dim light, glad there was somewhere else to look, wondering what he was expected to do to please the Tarkaan. He caught the flash of the man's smile from the corner of his eye.
Shasta continued to stare hard at the floor, a thousand thoughts flooding through his head. Maybe the Tarkaan was truly friendly after-all. Maybe he was going to save him from a life of drudgery. Maybe he could leave the fish behind and eat goat meat, tabbouleh and babaghanoush every day and get fat. Maybe he really would end up in the lap of luxury and get to wear the lovely clothes he had imagined. Robes and turbans and curl toed shoes! Armour even? Or was The Tarkaan just planning on taking him off to his slave barracks to put him to the whip to crush stones and make roads? Maybe he would end his days wearing even less than he wore now. Just a loincloth, or even naked, and be burned red in the hot sun with years of hard labour. Maybe he would face starvation and watch his new owners feast on plentiful food. Oh! He just didn't know. And more to the point, here and now, what did the Tarkaan want from him, right here on Arsheesh's sleeping palette?
Was he expected to say something… to do something? Was he going to be told to massage the Tarkaan's aching feet? Brush his hair… or his beard? To be asked questions about his suitability for the tasks he would be expected to perform? Rub oil into his back? He just didn't know. And when would the Tarkaan say something? For he knew that if he tried to begin communication, he would risk being beaten, by the Tarkaan, if not killed. No, he was too well trained by Arsheesh to risk that.
For this Tarkaan was part of a social order of which Shasta could still only guess by reputation and rumour. He belonged to the caste of people who reportedly could snap their fingers and get you flayed merely for staring at him, or call Tash, the inexorable, the irresistible down from the sky to gobble him up, for daring to yawn in the Tarkaan's presence.
Clearly Arsheesh didn't want him anymore. The Tarkaan wanted him. For something.
The Tarkaan showed his teeth, smiling some more and beckoned to Shasta.
He knew he should offer something, hoping to make the best of the most terrible situation. The Tarkaan seemed to like him. So he smiled shyly, seeming to plead for his approval. It seemed to work. The Tarkaan smiled back broadly and patted the palette next to him encouragingly.
But Shasta's limbs seemed like lead. They refused to move. His legs seemed to shake and his jaw began juddering. It was almost as if he could feel the wings of Tash beating down on him.
Shasta could never recall afterwards how he got there but, sometime later he found himself lying on the palette next to the Tarkaan with the Tarkaan's warm hand on his shoulder. The lingering scent of patchouli wafted from the Tarkaan's body, mixed in with the scent of sweat and horse. After a long time nothing bad seemed to happen and he listened to the man's breathing, Shasta began to think that the Tarkaan had gone to sleep. Furtively, he rolled a little and looked over his shoulder into the darkness. But there were the man's dark eyes glinting in the lamplight, studying him. His teeth showed in a smile again and Shasta thought, just for a moment that his eyes seemed kind, until he realized that they also looked determined.
Shasta froze, his heart beating harder than ever. He swallowed convulsively as the Tarkaan's warm hand began to draw lazy broad circles and spirals over his shoulder and after a few minutes onto his chest. The hand brushed Shasta's nipples several times, raising goose-bumps and then continued downwards to massage his belly. The Tarkaan was skilled and Shasta could feel his guts being gently but firmly massaged into a delicious form of relaxation, the Tarkaan's warm hand moving in slow clockwise circles around and around. Eventually he stopped and it seemed the Tarkaan had fallen into sleep again. And it was pleasant lying here, with the unfamiliar scents, and the warmth of the man beside him. It seemed like nothing bad was going to happen. So after the long day of work and the emotional upheaval of the evening, despite all his misgivings, Shasta began to doze.
It was later, it could have been minutes or hours, Shasta woke to find that the Tarkaan was indeed asleep and that his hand was no longer on Shasta's stomach, chest or shoulders. Oh no, it was further down, cupping his privates.
Shasta went hot and then cold. What was he to do? This kind of thing had never been in the bargain to his knowledge. What bargain? The bargain struck between Arsheesh and this lord. Then both the full meaning of the Tarkaan's words to Arsheesh and his own naivety came flooding over him... "the boy is fair and white like the accursed but beautiful barbarians who inhabit the remote north." Beautiful.
Shasta now realised with crystal clarity that this man wanted him as his plaything. Tonight he might have been playing him gently and without force. But back in the Tarkaan's palace, anything might happen and probably would. Why else would the lord be prepared to pay so many crescents for him?
His skin crawled and it was as much as he could do to not bat the hand away and run out the door, no doubt to be given chase. So, gathering his courage and fortitude, Shasta lay there for some time longer, listening to the man's breathing before gently taking the man's hand in his own and lifting it back so that it lay behind him. The Tarkaan stirred and muttered something. So Shasta remained still some more. Listening. Heart beating hard. Gradually the Tarkaan's breathing evened again and Shasta heard a light snore. Shasta sat up, ever so slowly and pulling his loincloth about himself, padded silently out of the sleeping alcove and out the door.
Outside, with no moon, the stars hung overhead in great drifts, like an immense chandelier, gently lighting up the dewy grass and making the trees glow in this sheltered dell back behind the dunes. The hiss and pound of the surf as always could be heard. The tang of rockrose and the sweet scent of oleander hung in the air.
But Shasta was in no state to enjoy these familiar sights and smells and sounds.
He knew what he was going to do, if he could only do it quickly enough.
The Tarkaan's tall horse was still at the iron ring, looking at him. Arsheesh was nowhere to be seen. Then Shasta saw that of course the saddle was not on the horse but locked up in the stable with the donkey and no doubt Arsheesh as well, curled up next to the saddle amongst the straw. When he went silently to the door, he could hear, after a second or two, the familiar noise of the old fisherman's squeaky snore. It was funny to think that if all went well he would never hear it again. But there would be no saddle.
He very nearly ran off by himself then and there, but thinking better of it - maybe there was a chance of stealing a saddle somewhere along the line - he unhitched the horse and leading it by the halter with no encouragement at all, took the Tarkaan's warhorse as silently as he could down the path through the sand-hills to the beach which was lined with tall groves of shadowy tamarisk.
Turning left Shasta could see the skein of bright northern stars twinkling, two Great Stars hanging in their midst. He knew their names. Arneb the Hare and Auva the Barking Dog. Towards these he swung. The great tall horse, despite being a stallion, was showing no signs of resistance and was remarkably biddable. So he led the horse with pricked interested ears, under, into and through the tall tamarisks out of sight of any eyes that may have been following their progress. This was a winding pathway he knew well and it led rapidly downhill to a creek before rising again as it followed the sand-hills northward towards the range of low hills. The horse resisted him at this point. Instead of tamely following Shasta directly across, it turned left and drew Shasta through the shallows of the sandy creek inland. Shasta could not do much else but follow, but after a few hundred yards or so, the horse climbed out of the creek where it became rocky and then gradually angled back to the beach Tamarisks again. But this time the horse and the boy had re-joined the rough track through long grove with no hoof-prints or foot-prints all the way from the creek to their new location about a mile further north.
Shasta was fit and hardened from years of dragging nets and swimming and within a few minutes, once they had regained the track, he set a steady run that the horse was able to keep up with just through an ambling pace. Shasta paused every now and then keeping his ears open for sounds of pursuit and he began to speak in a soft whisper to the creature.
"I can't think why you're coming along with me at all," he panted. "A great big stallion like you. O I do wish I could ride you, but there's nothing to sit on and no proper reins and no stirrups. And how would I even get up… or stay on?"
The horse whickered again and in a few moments it broke from Shasta's hold and sidled over to a tree with a stout horizontal branch and stood there rubbing against the branch, tossing his head, breathing loudly and just beginning to make a few noises deep in his chest. He was looking at Shasta.
At that moment, Shasta heard cries and looking back, between the tamarisk trees, could see two bobbing lanterns down on the beach, only half a mile away.
The horse rumbled and it was then that in the midst of the rumble, Shasta could have sworn he heard it say "Get on, quick, gwip with your legth!"
As you can imagine, Shasta was dumbfounded, but in the midst of this evening of horrors and wonders, it really was the only thing that made any sense. He needed no encouragement. Remembering to swing the reins back over the horse's head, he scrambled onto the branch, stood up and swung himself onto the horse's broad back. "Ooof!" he said.
The stallion didn't wait for long. As soon as Shasta was sitting fairly upright, he took off at a steady pace. Up the slope, onwards and upwards, still in the shelter of trees, toward the heathery hilltops beyond which Shasta had never been nor seen.
This was really Shasta's first time on a horse and to him it was alarming in every way imaginable, except that it drew him further away from danger. He held onto the reins too tightly. The horse wriggled its head about to get some give. The rise and fall bruised his backside and roughed his thighs. But the truth be told, the horse had been trained in keeping its rider on its back and it used an unnatural gait which meant that there were always three feet on the ground. If Shasta had been more experienced in horse riding he would have said it was like riding on air. But as there was no saddle to soften things and no stirrups to stand in to relief the pressure and to balance himself, it really was remarkable that Shasta stayed on at all.
The stallion paced on into the night. On onto the northern hills, miles and miles later, Shasta could dimly see headland after headland and bay after bay winding along the coast to the north, the great huge gleaming sea to the east and forested hills to the west. Then, changing its pace to a walk, it ambled over a rocky outcrop and down through a brake and sidled into a copse of olive and broom. At this point the horse finally stopped. Rumbling with quiet deep sounds that were almost words, it actually knelt down and Shasta was able to tumble off its back and lie down aching in the thick grass, wondering when he was going to get his next drink of water and bite to eat. For with no saddle, there were also no saddlebags.
Afterword:
Bree had been enslaved for many years and in the book he is represented as being insecure but also snobbish. I represent him somewhat differently. He is no less heroic but he has a less confident and brash personality and a more gentle and respectful approach to his task of helping a human escape. Having lived as a non-talking horse amongst other non-talking horses since a yearling colt, he has lost the art of conversation and has little confidence in talking at all. Hence his great hesitation in articulating anything to Shasta, even when Shasta says he wishes the horse could talk. Indeed in the weeks ahead as they travel northwards together, it will be Shasta who himself has few words, who will draw Bree out and teach him once again how to communicate as a Talking Horse of Narnia can and should.
In The Horse and His Boy, there are two children running away from slavery. Aravis from a clear-cut and well defined child-marriage, Shasta from an unknown quantity which is only hinted at by Lewis. But the Tarkaan's interest is summed up in the phrase, "beautiful and accursed white barbarians," which I take to mean that he definitely means no good to Shasta, even without Bree's words. I am a gay man, and whilst as a teenager man I had some fantasies about older men, I like to think that if I had been in Shasta's shoes, I would have recognised grooming and abuse if it was beginning to happen, and that I would have done all I could to get away. I think Shasta's story without the warning of Bree to speed the story up, throws this set of dynamics into high relief.
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