Walo took another step, bent forward and played the notes again. This time the asp reared up its head, and hissed loudly at him.
My blood ran cold.
Walo took another half-pace closer.
The asp was hissing constantly now, and its thick body was bloating and inflating, a grotesque sight. The flat head and upper part of its body began to rise from the ground. The mouth opened wide and pale, showing the throat. All of a sudden I knew that it was not about to thrust its tail into its own ear to try to block out the music. This was the warning of death.
‘Walo! No nearer!’ I begged him.
Walo ignored me and moved closer still. He was now within an arm’s length of the asp, still bending forward and playing the pipe. His shadow fell across the serpent.
The asp struck. It happened almost too fast for the eye to see; a gaping pale mouth, a glimpse of fangs, and the asp had bitten Walo on his leg.
Walo did not flinch. He stayed where he was, still playing the whistle.
The serpent struck again, viciously and twice more, each blow as lightning-fast as the previous one. Only then did Walo stagger. The serpent turned, and its evil gross body slithered away beneath the log.
Walo seemed disappointed rather than distressed. He had been wearing loose sailor’s trousers, and there were marks with patches of blood where the fangs had struck. ‘I should have played a different tune,’ he said meekly.
He was swaying, his face puzzled.
I ran forward as his leg began to crumple beneath him, and caught him as he fell. There was a ripping sound and I turned to see Osric tearing a strip of cloth from the hem of his gown.
‘We have to bind the leg tight and get him back to the boat as quickly as we can,’ said my friend. As a young man in Hispania Osric had been a student of medicine among the Saracens. In Hispania, too, there were serpents.
Together we helped Walo along the path, his arms around our necks. His injured leg was dragging on the dry earth.
On the beach we found that Sulaiman and his men had nearly completed watering.
‘An asp has bitten Walo,’ I told the shipmaster, near-panic in my voice, and he shouted to his boat crew to hurry to assist us.
We lifted Walo into the ship’s boat and brought him out to the vessel. ‘My leg is getting stiff. It hurts very much,’ he groaned as we laid him on deck.
Zaynab placed a roll of cloth beneath his head to make him more comfortable but her face was troubled.
While the crew were rigging a length of canvas to shade Walo where he lay, she took me to one side and asked me to describe the serpent. It took only a few words, and when I finished she turned away, tears filling her eyes.
‘Is there no cure?’ I asked.
She shook her head.
*
Walo’s death was painful and ugly. He was unable to move or bend the injured leg. A pale fluid mixed with blood oozed from the puncture holes where the serpent’s fangs had pierced. Within hours he was feverish and flushed. From thigh to ankle the leg began to swell, puffing up as if in imitation of the asp that had bitten him. The skin turned a nasty purplish-grey. The next day it burst, splitting like an over-ripe plum. A long weeping wound revealed rotting flesh beneath. That evening Walo lay with his eyes closed, taking shallow breaths, losing the fight for life. Yet he still clung to his belief in the bestiary. ‘That was a prester asp,’ he told me, his voice so weak that I had to lean closer to him. ‘If it had been the hypnalis, I would be asleep, like Cleopatra.’
He licked his lips and swallowed, struggling to speak. ‘I remember you read to me that the asp called prester moves with an open mouth, and those it bites swell up and rot follows the bite.’
A spasm of pain racked him and he reached out and clutched my hand. ‘The rare beasts are here! Take a young griffin from its nest and bring it home. Feed it meat, just like Madi and Modi.’ Those were the last coherent words he spoke.
We dug his grave at the foot of the low cliff close to the spot where we had filled the water jars. The hole was deep enough so that the wild animals would not reach his body, and we put him in the ground within hours of his passing. Sulaiman was urging us to hurry.
As we left the beach, the shipmaster drew my attention to the heavy swell now rolling in from the sea.
‘There’s a storm somewhere out there,’ he told me bluntly. ‘If it catches us on this exposed coast, we’ll be as dead as your friend back there.’
His words struck me as callous and I had to remind myself that on his voyages Sulaiman must have seen many deaths from accident, drowning and disease.
‘We should head back to al-Ubullah,’ I said. Until Walo died I had been prepared to give the bestiary the benefit of the doubt and was ready to accept its descriptions of outlandish creatures – after all, so many had come true. I blamed myself for not questioning the claim that music would tame the asp. Had I done so, Walo, whom I had brought on this venture, would still be alive.