“The contest of our loves, Decurion,” she said. “Art thou prepared to wage it?”
He looked at her steadfastly, and answered, “Yes, Queen.”
“To free thy master,” she said, “from this curse? Wilt thou teach me how to die?”
“Aye, gladly,” he said.
She pointed to the casket. “It lies therein—the means. Open and handle it. It is said its sting benumbs—puts Death asleep. So thou diest sweetly, I am thy slave and grave-fellow.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, he strode to the casket, and unfastened and raised the lid. Within, upon a mat of green leaves, lay coiled a thick emblazoned worm, all bronzed and gold—a poisonous horned viper. He grasped and held it aloft; received the stabbing tooth, once, twice, in his arm; flung the reptile back into its box and closed the lid.
After long waiting, he was down upon his knees, pallid but triumphant.
“Sufferest thou?” she demanded.
“But too much bliss,” he answered faintly. “I swoon from it.”
He crawled towards her, but sank on the way and died, forcing a smile to his agonised lips.