He lay flat on his back, the rhythmic, heavy swaying of the ship worsening the dull ache that throbbed behind his temples.
The air in the hold was thick with the scent of brine, old wood, and the cold air promising of rain.
"I will be sending my physician to you," Lucius had said the morning they embarked.
He had noticed Latio's paleness, and thought it better to have the prisoner checked.
As it turned out that was the right choice, he had developed a high burning fever, which, had he remained with the hounds for another week, would have probably claimed his life and deprived them of their prize.
The physician was skilled, however, cooling his brow with damp cloths and forcing a bitter willow-bark concoction down his throat to dull the fire in his joints.
In two days he had notably improved, with only some dull aching in his head being all that remained of that sickness.
