‘Well then, Euryale,’ he said. ‘Let me see your beauty, and know you.’ The hissing stopped, and Tisamenos opened his eyes.

The woman he’d seen before was in the reflection of his shield. Her tresses were now red, tinged with gold, falling around her face like flame. She smiled at him, a smile that encompassed the universe. No wonder gods had loved her, he thought. Long white robes swept the ground.

The tingling began this time in his ear, stronger now.

At that moment, her fiery locks transformed into snapping red snakes.

It was now or never.

Tisamenos protected his eyes with his shield, and prepared to throw the torch.

The snakes let out a terrible noise, like steam from a boiling cauldron. The Last Gorgon shrieked. He didn’t dare to look.

It took a moment for Tisamenos to realise that she was shrieking in pleasure at her reflection.

‘See! See! I am so beautiful!’ she hissed, and her voice was now indistinct from the snakes. Tisamenos heard her swishing towards him, her tattered robes flowing.

The torch was ready in his hand. ‘Oh, see! See my golden tresses, and my lips so red. How beautiful!’

Euryale glided nearer, and Tisamenos gasped as her taloned hands gripped either side of his shield. Her nails were long and filthy, her skin pallid. He could not move from fear.

This was it. If he wasn’t turned to stone, the snakes were going to poison him to death, or he would be torn apart by her claws till he was unrecognisable.

He tensed himself, ready to go down fighting, ready to thrust the torch into her.

But nothing happened. She was muttering to herself, gazing at the mirrored surface of the shield.

And then he realised.

Clasping the shield, and looking at herself, she had entirely forgotten him.

She crooned, enchanted by her own image as the hissing of the snakes reverberated around them. Gently, slowly, Tisamenos released the handle of the shield so that she was holding it by herself. She did not notice the movement, whispering quietly, her red snakes dancing about her head in glee.

Warily, Tisamenos slipped round her until he was to her left, with the cave entrance behind him, and picked up his sword. The guttering torch he placed back where it had been. Then he gathered his strength, rocked back on his heels and sliced. The snakes spat venom, spattering his face.

The Last Gorgon didn’t scream, but fell, still holding the mirror. As the snakes began to droop, she still whispered to herself, ‘You are so beautiful …’

He saw his own face in the shield’s surface, distorted but triumphant. Three beasts, Hero had said. This could be the first. He shuddered to think what would come next.