Lorenzo Seneci
According to current estimates, snakebite claims the lives of up to 138,000 people per year worldwide, with an additional 400,000 survivors suffering from permanent disabilities. Since systematic recordings only began in relatively recent times (and are probably gross underestimations), the total number of snakebite cases from the dawn of civilization to the present day must be truly staggering. However, barely any snakebite victims ever have the chance to make their story heard, which sadly feeds into the neglect this global emergency has long endured. It is telling that the most famous alleged snakebite fatality of all time dates all the way back to the 1st century BC – and it was a voluntary suicide.
Cleopatra VII Philopator (69–30 BC), the last queen of the Ptolemaic dynasty in Hellenistic Egypt, was already a near-legendary figure in her own lifetime, conquering the hearts of Julius Caesar and later Mark Antony. However, none of this could ultimately save her from doom. Her forces were defeated by Octavian’s at the battle of Actium, which sealed both her fate and Antony’s. While Antony, in true soldierly fashion, threw himself on his sword, the fallen queen was arrested by Octavian’s men in Alexandria and placed under watch until it was time for his triumphal celebration.
But that was not an end worthy of royalty. According to sources including Plutarch’s Life of Antony and Velleius Paterculus’ History of Rome, Cleopatra had one last coup de théâtre up her sleeve. Hidden in a fruit basket, a deadly serpent was brought into her quarters by a maiden; the queen’s plan was to take it out and offer herself to its fangs. By the time the Roman guards realized what had happened, Cleopatra VII already lay dead in her bed, regal and dignified, never to be humiliated by being jeered at and paraded in Octavian’s triumph.
Such is the tale ancient chronicles tell, but did it really happen? Even ancient historians themselves cast doubt on it, with Plutarch only reporting snakebite as one of several possibilities, and others (such as Cassius Dio and Suetonius) echoing this uncertainty.
This essay will not investigate which snake killed Cleopatra, as the alleged culprit has already been identified. Although the ancient sources lack any physical description of this animal, Plutarch and Velleius refer to it respectively as an ἀσπίς in Greek and an aspis in Latin. Despite what you might think, this is not the asp viper (Vipera aspis), which is a beautiful small serpent native to western Europe: this is by no means among the deadliest snakes in the Mediterranean region (although fatal bites do occur even today, albeit rarely).
In Greek, ἀσπίς is the name of a large, round shield, which the trademark defensive pose of Cleopatra’s snake clearly resembled, at least in the eyes of Greco-Roman scholars. This “shield” turns out to be the spread-out hood of an Egyptian cobra (Naja haje).
This species would have been Cleopatra’s best bet. A truly majestic animal, N. haje ranks among the most venomous snakes in all of Africa and has a long-standing connection to ancient Egyptian mythology. Numerous deities from throughout the region’s history were associated with snakes, with N. haje lending its image to Wadjet, the patron goddess of Lower Egypt (the Nile Delta area) even before the nation’s first unification in the 3rd millennium BC. From that point onwards, all pharaohs up to Cleopatra herself wore a royal tiara encircled by the Uraeus, a hooding cobra that symbolized the solar disc. Given how Cleopatra wanted to end her life in the most spectacular manner possible, what better choice could there be for her titanic ego than the very embodiment of royal authority?
Yet it seems highly unlikely that the queen resorted to suicide by snake. This is what the distinguished toxinologist Dietrich Mebs and the historian Christoph Schaefer concluded in 2010, a position echoed in 2015 by the Egyptologist Joyce Tyldesley and the herpetologist Andrew Gray on the same grounds. The Egyptian cobra is a large, often unruly animal that would not appreciate being shoved into a fruit basket without resisting. Having handled cobras personally on a few occasions, I can confirm this.
Besides, its venom – while undoubtedly lethal (it is high in paralyzing neurotoxins) – is anything but painless and lightning-fast in its action, despite that being the common belief in Cleopatra’s time. Also, a snake would involve too many unaccountable variables as a suicide weapon. Unlike plant-derived or inorganic poisons that can be prepared according to the user’s whim, one has no control over the dose of venom that a serpent would inject. With this subject settled, we can move beyond Cleopatra’s death; although her story remains the perfect starting-point for taking a plunge into ancient herpetology.
Cleopatra VII was no ditzy diva; she had talents beyond charming powerful men. Indeed, she was renowned for her wide and deep cultural interests, and frequent erudite exchanges with leading scholars from all nations (she was fluent in seven languages). As ruler of Egypt she naturally had access to the famous library at Alexandria, which was by far the greatest center for fostering knowledge and thought in the Mediterranean basin. Among the hundreds of thousands of papyri scrolls housed in the library, a few dealt specifically with snakes and their venom.
The most reliable and comprehensive Greek-language source available in Alexandria would undoubtedly have been the Περὶ θηρίων (Peri thēriōn, “On Poisonous Beasts”) by the enigmatic naturalist Apollodorus, about whom we scarcely know anything other than his lifelong interest in wildlife: he is credited with undertaking the first documented herpetological expedition in the deserts of Libya back in the 3rd century BC. Apollodorus rose as an authority in the field; his work was used extensively as a reference by subsequent polymaths including Pliny the Elder and Galen; but the Peri thēriōn is sadly lost to us.
However, much of its invaluable knowledge was preserved through an unexpected medium: poetry. In fact, Hellenistic intellectuals had a penchant for showing off their literary skills by writing elaborately convoluted poems about the most unlikely subject matter. For Nicander of Colophon (c.197–130 BC), the topic of choice was animal poisons. And so it happened that the Peri thēriōn was versified and embellished by Nicander in the form of two poems, the Θηριακά (Thēriaka) and the Ἀλεξιφάρμακα (Alexipharmaka), which have luckily both survived to the present day.
While Nicander used Apollodorus as his source, he was no naturalist, and knew nothing about snakes and poisons. Besides, he added his own personal touch to the material, inserting purely mythical creatures such as the basilisk, a tiny snake whose venom was known to kill instantly and could even travel through inanimate objects to reach its target.
However, some of the snakes he describes are unquestionably real, and a select few can even be identified to species level with the help of modern knowledge. This is certainly the case for the notorious ἀσπίς that supposedly killed Cleopatra, but also for the κεράστης (kerastēs), a sand-colored serpent with two prominent ‘horns’ on its head. This is none other than the Saharan horned viper (Cerastes cerastes), still widespread in the deserts of North Africa and the Near East today; it has even retained the original Greek nomenclature as its current scientific name. Nicander (and, therefore, Apollodorus) marvels at how this snake moves sideways on the sand rather than in a straight line – the first known description of the locomotory behavior known as sidewinding, which is demonstrated by various desert snakes as a means of minimizing contact with the scorching ground.
Another intriguing case is the αἱμορροΐς (haemorrhois), whose names mean ‘blood-letter’ in reference to the copious and devastating loss of blood provoked by its venom. This might already be sufficient information for identification, but the dead giveaway lies in the snake’s scales, which Nicander describes as producing a “rattling noise” when rubbed against each other. This is the trademark defensive behavior of saw-scaled vipers, two species of which (Echis pyramidum and Echis coloratus) are found in Egypt.
The symptomatology also checks out: these devilishly cute little vipers possess toxins that boost blood clotting, which normally causes thrombosis and strokes in smaller prey. Because the blood volume is much larger in humans, their venom causes the formation of micro-clots all over the circulatory system until the clotting factors are used up, which in turn makes the blood incoagulable and results in extensive bleeding both internally and externally.
The haemorrhois appears again in Lucan’s Bellum civile (60s AD), where its venom is said to have claimed the lives of many in Cato the Younger’s army on their march through the Libyan desert; Aelian (AD 170–235) too points to it as one of the most dangerous snakes in the Mediterranean region. Even the Arabo-Persian polymath of legendary fame Avicenna (980–1037) mentions this snake as Omorios in his monumental Canon of Medicine; his example turns out to be the species Echis carinatus, which is found a little further to the east, from Iraq to India.
Saw-scaled vipers are a prime example of how ancient sources can provide valuable information to biologists. According to current estimates, these ill-famed serpents are responsible for the highest number of fatalities out of any snake genus (i.e. group of species) in the world. Seeing them portrayed in such a negative light in accounts from over two millennia ago tells us that bites from these animals were a significant public health concern even that far back in time. Ironically, the scientific name Haemorrhois is now used for a genus of completely harmless snakes, while Nicander’s and Lucan’s Echis refers to another, unidentifiable species.
The knowledge capital stored in the Library of Alexandria extended well beyond the Hellenistic culture’s boundaries of time and space. Ancient Egyptians had prospered and advanced knowledge thousands of years before Cleopatra’s time- it is always humbling to remember that more time divides the famous queen from the pyramids at Giza than from the present day. An exceptional reminder in this regard is the Brooklyn Papyrus, a medical manual dating back to the 6th century BC in its surviving physical form, but probably first redacted much earlier.
In this invaluable text, one can recognize a few of the snakes later mentioned by Apollodorus and Nicander: the Saharan horned viper, which was even used as a hieroglyph to depict the letter “m”; the gany, a dark, elusive snake that greatly resembles the black desert cobra (Walterinnesia aegyptia); the Egyptian cobra, Cleopatra’s ἀσπίς; and “little vipers” that possibly hint once more at the saw-scaled Echis. However, there is one more species that might capture a herpetologist’s attention.
This is a strange serpent that seems not to be moving even when it is, packs an extremely dangerous venom that rots the victim’s flesh, and produces a distinctive blowing noise when approached – hence its Egyptian name, which translates to “blower” or “puffer”. This is most likely to be the mighty puff adder (Bitis arietans), one of the largest vipers in the continent, and sadly a major cause of snakebite incidents in humans. Its venom is highly necrotizing, with multiple toxins specifically targeting and destroying soft tissue. This leads to many victims losing limbs to amputation or motor functionality at bitten extremities.
As for its movement, perhaps what the ancient author meant is that this snake usually employs the so-called rectilinear locomotion, whereby the animal moves in a straight line like a caterpillar and thus possibly gives the illusion of staying still while advancing – but this is my own speculation. I may attest that it’s quite comical and endearing when you witness it in person.
Intriguingly, Bitis arietans is no longer found in Egypt. This species and many other animals were affected by the climatic fluctuations experienced by the Sahara in recent millennia, with repeated shifts between desertification and milder climatic conditions. Nowadays, puff adders are only found south of the Sahara and in the Arabian Peninsula, except for a relict population in Morocco; but they were surely present in southern Egypt and in neighboring regions within the last 6,000 years. Recent research has shown that this might have been the case for many other snake species now restricted to sub-Saharan distributions, such as the iconic black mamba (Dendroaspis polylepis). Once more, a closer look at ancient texts might give scientists clues as to when and how environmental conditions and species distributions changed over time.
Although Cleopatra’s death was no doubt very different from the snakebite legend elaborated by writers and artists up to the present day, the history of venomous herpetology in the ancient world still deserves attention as a subject worthy of interest in its own right. It also serves as a reminder that snakebite envenoming was perhaps taken more seriously in the 1st century BC than it has been in modern times. This doesn’t speak well of us. Cleopatra’s story has been told, retold and reinvented to death; now it’s time to turn our attention to the historical and scientific context surrounding her demise. The Queen is dead; long live the snake.
Lorenzo Seneci is a PhD student at the University of Queensland, where he studies the evolution of venom in vipers. A life-long Classics enthusiast, he is fascinated by the relations between people and animals (particularly snakes) in the ancient world.
Further Reading
Recent arguments that poison killed Cleopatra instead of a snakebite can be read here, here and (in German) here. More technical treatments of venemous snakes in antiquity include:
J. Scarborough “Nicander’s toxicology I: Snakes,” Pharmacy in History 19 (1977) 3–23.
W. Böhme & T. Koppetsch, “Snake names in the Greek-Roman antiquity: old characterizations, identity in current zoology, and change of their original meaning in post-Linnean herpetology,” Salamandra 57 (2021) 475–501.
M.Q. Stewart, “Ancient snakebite literature: the Brooklyn Medical Papyrus and Nicander’s Theriaca,” CUNY Academic Works (2020), available here.
J.R. Orimi et al., “Analyzing the biological traits of snakes in Avicenna’s Canon of Medicine and making a comparison with contemporary serpentology,” Toxicon (2023) Jun 17:107198.
D.A. Warrell, “Clinical toxicology of snakebite in Africa and the Middle East/Arabian Peninsula,” in J. Meier & J. White (edd.), Handbook of Clinical Toxicology of Animal Venoms and Poisons (CRC Press, Boca Raton, FL, 1995) 433–92.
E. McBride, I.C. Winder, & W. Wüster, “What bit the Ancient Egyptians? Niche modelling to identify the snakes described in the Brooklyn Medical Papyrus,” Environmental Archaeology (Oct. 2023) 1–14.