Cato stared at the snake. It was close enough now to make out the individual bumps of its scales, and the beady gleam in one of its eyes. A sudden flicker indicated where its mouth was as the cobra’s head towered over the two men.

‘Just . . . keep . . . still,’ Cato whispered.

‘Right.’

Cato had seen some snake charmers in the market at Alexandria and knew how fast the serpents could strike. There was no chance of jumping up and dashing past it towards the swords. If either of them tried, they were dead. He reached his left hand slowly towards his tunic, lying rumpled beside the bedroll. His fingers stole across the earth towards the cloth and closed round a fold.

‘Macro, I’m going to try and distract it. When I make a move you go for the swords. All right?’

‘What kind of distraction?’

‘Doesn’t matter, just be ready. On three.’

The snake was unsettled by the noises and hissed again, still louder, and the head leaned back, ready to strike.

Cato moistened his lips and spoke softly. ‘One . . . two . . . three!’

He whipped up the tunic and jumped to his feet, swinging the tunic waist high through the air towards the snake. The cobra lunged at once, whacking into the cloth before it reversed direction and hissed again. Macro had clambered up and taken a step towards the tent post when the snake slithered round and lunged at him. He jumped back on to his bedroll.

‘Fuck, that was close.’

‘I’ll try again,’ said Cato. He wrapped some of the tunic about his fist and tentatively held the rest out towards the snake. At once it turned its head back towards him, its eyes burning like rubies. Cato moved the tunic to the right and shook it. The snake struck again and at the same time Cato jerked the cloth back. The fangs, caught in the thick strands of wool, came with it and Cato gave a terrified cry as the body of the snake came towards him. He threw the tunic over the cobra’s head and with his spare hand he grabbed at the neck, just below the hood. The snake’s skin was dry and rough and the coils writhed wildly as Cato struggled to keep his grip and at the same time wrap the tunic about its head with his other hand.

Macro leaped forward, reached the tent post and snatched out his blade. He turned and hacked at the wriggling body and struck the ground instead.

‘Macro!’ Cato shouted as the head thrashed about inside the tunic. ‘Just kill the bastard!’