"As for your father, he's alive. But we don't need to worry any more about him. All he's thinking of is avenging himself on Daedalus for helping us. Only Daedalus is going to get away to the court of King Cocalus, in Sicily, and Cocalus' daughter will kill Minos."
It was a long speech. When he'd finished, Ariadne brought up her hands and crossed them on her firm, bared breasts. "It is good to know what the future holds, my lord Dionysus. I thank you."
Quick irritation touched Burke. "Damn it, girl, I'm not—"
He stopped short.
That line he'd half spoken—the one about him not being Dionysus, not a god; just plain Dion Burke?
Was it true, really?
After all, in a world as primitive as this, what was a god but a man who knew spectacularly more than his fellows?
So, wasn't Ariadne maybe right? Wasn't the Dionysus of legend maybe just plain Dion Burke, twentieth century man, set down in Bronze Age Crete with his name corrupted to fit the language and the era?
And in that case—
Ariadne squirmed a little and began to smooth his hair again. Her hand trembled, ever so slightly. Her voice, too. She whispered, "My lord, this talk of days to come—would you tell me about—about—"