He was in a fever, and he came and went from full consciousness, and he was hot and miserable, and despite all that, Apollodorus had taken command and was moving them – fast – across the valleys of western Asia, going due east on the Zeugma road.A lifetime of riding left Satyrus capable of staying in the saddle even when fevered. But the experience was horrible – he had delusions, his wound was inflamed and jarred by every fourth step of the horse, and when they trotted, his leg felt as if it was being broken with every bump.And the constant ministrations of his friends wore on him, day after day. He felt a burden. He was a burden.But on the fourth day the fever broke, and he lay in his own sweat and was irritated by insects, and the fact that he could be irritated by insects was itself a source of joy.Anaxagoras crouched by him with an oil lamp. He moved very quietly.Satyrus sighed. ‘I’m awake,’ he said.‘Ah!’ Anaxagoras said. ‘Fever?’‘Not so much,’ Satyrus said.
