17
Almost a full year had passed since Csoda awoke in the prison wagon, and it was impossible for him to know how long he had been unconscious before he awoke. Biro was also unsure of how much time had passed. He did not count the days. Instead he recognized that they were close to the end of the parade circuit by the activities, the landscape around them, and a slight change of weather hinting at the change of seasons.
“Soon…” he would say, as if to himself, as he stared out onto the landscape they crossed, “Soon we will be in Phaedon. Soon the Grand Kirkos will begin. Twelve cities, twelve coliseums we will need to survive.”
True to Biro’s prediction, the traveling Kirkos caravan had grown over the months. The wagons, performers and slaves were joined by cages of exotic animals, lines
