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.