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!