CHAPTER V
The place was called the Shrine of Oracles, Burke gathered. It featured distinctively Minoan pillars—of cypress, and so tapered as to be smaller at the base than at the top.
Also, it stank with a peculiar, acrid odor.
But beyond that, to Burke, it seemed disappointingly ordinary ... hardly colorful enough to rate the trial of a man accused of playing god.
That is, so it appeared until his captors dragged him into a central room ... and there, black-browed and haughty, sat bearded Minos on his throne.
A chill ran through Burke. Never had he seen such malevolence staring out of human eyes.
For his own part, it would be the supreme test of his skill and daring if he even left this room alive. With all his heart, he wished he had the Smith & Wesson back.
Lacking it, he'd have to rely upon his wits and play the scene by ear.
And that brought up another nagging question: why had Ariadne insisted on possessing herself of the weapon? And why did she take such pains to stay well separated from him, with others of his captors always in between?
Studying her now, it once again came home to Burke that she was indeed a strange, a tragic figure, for all her loveliness. For even here, in the presence of the mighty sea-king who was her father, her isolation showed up all too clearly. The guards, the priests, the nobles—as one, they walked wide around her, as if some mark of shame and menace were blazoned on her forehead.
Perhaps—
But now Minos leaned forward upon his carved gypsum throne. "Well, blasphemer? How do you choose to die?"
The monarch's voice echoed the black hatred of all mankind that gleamed with such intensity in his eyes.
Burke forced himself to boldness. "Who says I blaspheme?" he demanded.
"Do you deny it, then, dog?" King Minos came up from his throne in blazing fury. "Do you dare to say that the Princess Ariadne, my own daughter, lies?"
"When she says I claim to be a god? No." Burke laughed harshly. And then, with sudden inspiration: "It's only the blasphemy I deny; not the godhood."
"Not the godhood—?" Now Minos' eyes distended. A note of uncertainty crept into his voice. "You mean, you stand before me claiming kinship to the mighty ones, the lords of earth and sea and sky who rule men's destinies?"
"Do you doubt it?"
"Then name yourself, mocker! Who is it you claim to be?"
With a strange sort of detachment, Burke found himself mentally flicking through the pantheon for some name that would fit well with his own.
"Well, blasphemer?"
Burke twisted his mouth into a thin, wry smile. "Would you disown mighty Dionysus?" he queried coolly. "Would you drive from your midst the giver of grapes and wine and joy?"
"Dionysus—!" In awed whispers, the name ran round the crowded room.
For the fraction of a second, Minos' gaze flickered.
Only then, a new storm of belligerence seemed to shake him. He strode forward, shaking his fist. "We'll see, dog! We'll see! The oracle shall decide!"
The whole throne-room quivered with sudden hushed fear.
"Make way!" roared Minos. "Make way to the shrine, that the oracle himself may judge this mocker!"
Then, to Burke: "—And if he declares you false, you dog, you'll wish I'd thrown you to the Minotaur before you die!"
He pivoted; stalked down an aisle formed by the onlookers.
Roughly, Burke's guards shoved him along behind. A stone-walled well loomed, with broad steps leading down.
—The lustral area! The sacred place of purification that Sir Arthur Evans first had assumed to be a bath!
Only now, it was turning out in reality to be for revelation, not purification; a holy of holies where Man could receive the pronouncements of the gods.
The guards let go of Burke when he reached the steps. Apparently they had no intention of following him down into the pit itself.
Of a sudden he felt strangely nervous. His knees showed a tendency to shake.
But he couldn't let that happen, and he knew it. Not if he wanted ever to leave this weird place alive. So he straightened his shoulders and clenched his teeth and strode boldly after King Minos.
With every step, the biting, acrid smell grew stronger. Burke almost choked on it. He found himself wondering if perhaps the oracle spoke in trances induced by vapors; if maybe this pit were outlet for a pocket of some sort of natural gas.
Not even a whisper rose from the watchers in the throne-room. The only sound was the scrape of his own shoes upon the stone.
Then, at last, he and Minos reached the bottom of the stair. Dramatically, the sea-king threw wide his arms. "Mighty oracle of Zeus, it is your chosen one who calls!" he thundered. "Speak to me! Tell me—tell all of us—if this creature here beside me is a god!"
Silence.
"Speak, oracle! Give us your answer! Is this truly Dionysus? Or is it but a man, a blasphemer we should slay?"
More silence.
Burke choked on a sudden impulse to laugh. To think of it—a twentieth century man and a Bronze Age sea-king, together in this dank, smelly hole, calling on the gods for a revelation!
And what if the oracle's secret really turned out to be gas? Might it prove his own salvation—or at least give him a quick and easy death?
For instance, suppose he were to flick the wheel of his pocket lighter—would the all-pervasive smell explode or burn?
"Oracle, I am your chosen one, King Minos! I command you—"
Quietly, Burke palmed the lighter.
"Speak, oracle; speak!"
A sudden recklessness surged through Burke. He opened his mouth to laugh.
And stopped stone cold.
Because suddenly, out of nowhere, another mind was probing in his brain!
Instinctively, he strove to force out the invader.
The very effort gave him new insight. For now, as he fought, he knew that the mind which he had joined in combat was not human, but alien. Its whole quality and mode of thought were of another order, another realm.
Feeling that mind, fighting it, Burke all at once understood the malevolence he'd seen in Minos' eyes.
In the sea-king, he faced a man possessed.
Now, the alien thing sought to possess him, too.
Savagely, Burke met its probings. Sweating, straining, he fought it, hate for hate, and turned it back, and drove it from his brain.
Then, as quickly as it had come, the pressure was gone.
But in the same instant, Minos cried out, "This is no god! This is but a man!"
And from the crowd above, a thunderous echo: "Yes, yes! He's but a man!"
The bearded king turned on Burke. His sword-point scraped the grillwork of the translator case still strapped flat against Burke's belly beneath the clothes. "Up, dog! Up from this holy shrine and meet your doom!"
Bleak, dry-lipped, Burke started up the stair.
At the top, directly ahead of him and in the front row of those waiting, stood Ariadne.
As he climbed, now, her eyes caught his and, burning, held them for a moment. Then her hands moved in a quick, restricted gesture that momentarily pulled her stylized apron to one side.
The Smith & Wesson hung beneath it.
Burke drew a shallow, unsteady breath.
Six steps more and he'd be at floor level. That left no time to question motives.
Casually, he flipped back his lighter's lid.
Three steps more, now.
Another quick, shallow breath. Then, spinning the lighter's wheel with his right thumb, he knocked Minos' sword from his back with his left forearm and thrust flame straight at the sea-king's eyes.
The monarch gave a choked, incoherent yell and jerked back. A shove, and he was crashing down the stair.
Whirling, Burke charged like a battering-ram straight into the crowd at the head of the steps.
Screams, scrambling, panic. Burke dived across two fallen priests, at Ariadne.
The next instant he had the revolver, and his free arm was locked about her waist. When a thick-shouldered noble started towards him, swinging a great double-axe, he fired by sheer reflex.
The axeman stopped short, a shocked expression on his face and a hole in his chest. When he fell, the whole throne-room sounded with the hiss of breaths sharply indrawn.
Burke rapped, "I'm leaving. Your princess goes with me. Try to stop me and she dies!"
Out the door, then. Down a corridor.
Ariadne whispered, "Quick, my lord Dionysus! Up this stair, here!"
More halls, more stairways. Big rooms and little.
Finally, a tiny, windowless cubicle opening off a light-well.
Burke turned to Ariadne. "All right, princess. We'll hide here till dark, then get you out of Knossos."
A look of strain came to the girl's face. "My lord, it—it cannot be."
"It can't?"
"No, my lord. We—I—I dare not leave the palace. My father's men—they'd run me down within a finger's-breadth of time."
"Oh?" Burke studied her. "Tell me, princess, what makes you so sure?"
"It—it is the Minotaur, my brother." Ariadne's face took on a heightened color. "You see, Lord Dionysus, at my father's will the monster holds me here within the palace. No matter how I try to hide or run away, always he tracks me down."
Burke stood very still. "He—tracks you down—?"
"Yes, my lord." The girl raised a restless hand to smooth her jet-black hair. "His mind—it follows mine, you see. So when I would flee, he sends pursuers to drag me back." And then: "Lord Dion, I confess: at first I sought to save you so that you, a god, would slay the Minotaur and carry me away."
"I see."
"But now—I'm not so sure that you're a god."
"So?"
"So ... so...." The girl's voice broke. She hid her face. "My lord, I know only that I bear a curse. So, you must go quickly, and forget me. Because if you should die on my account, I—I—"
Her words faded into sobs.
A sudden tenderness rose in Burke. He held the shaking girl close.
And then, all at once, the things he felt were beyond tenderness.
It gave his problem a new dimension; added another element to complicate his road.
"Could it be that the Minotaur and the oracle really are one?" he asked abruptly.
Ariadne lifted a tear-stained face. "How did you guess, my lord?"
"This mind-track business—do you have any idea how it works?"
The girl's cheeks flamed. "Don't shame me, Lord Dionysus! You know he's only—half—my brother."
"And on account of that wild story about the sacred bull and your mother, Pasiphae, you think he's got powers beyond the human?" Burke snorted. "Believe me, princess, it isn't true. Either that creature's not half a bull, or else he's not half your brother. A thing called science says it can't be." He grinned suddenly. "My own bet's that he's neither bull nor human. And maybe the best way to check on that is to ask your mother a few questions."
"Then I'll come with you!" This eagerly, from Ariadne.
Burke shook his head. "No. We'll not risk your pretty neck on the kind of thing I need to do."
"To walk with a god can bring no risk, my lord."
"That's just the trouble, princess," Burke acknowledged ruefully. "You see, you were right. I'm a man, not a god."
"Then all the more reason for me to stay with you."
"There's no use arguing. It's settled."
A small foot, stamping. "Lord Dion, I shall go!"
"Sorry, princess." Burke smiled bleakly. "I'll see you at your quarters later. Meanwhile...."
He struck quick and hard, straight to her jaw, then gently stretched her limp form on the floor....