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The shadows from the velarium awnings had shifted across the arena floor. The men who controlled them heaved on the ropes and pulleys, directing the heavy canvases to stretch far towards the center, their girth widening and dropping much needed shade onto the stands. The wind was now funneled upwards, and the hot air of the stadium flowed out of the top making the entire space cooler and more comfortable. With the changing wind through the heaving awnings, the crowds unified demand echoed, “Sal-UTE, Sal-UTE, Sal-UTE…”
Below, Biro and Csoda pulled their wagon to a halt. They were far from any combatants and bulls. Csoda held the reins, ready to signal the horses to move, but for the moment, he did not know where they should go. Biro stood tall, but the wounds he suffered were weakening
