“And it wasn’t only the men who were trained in battle,” Griffin added. He turned toward the Kurgan trove keeper. “Tell her, Stefan.”
“That is so,” Stefan agreed. “In the Kurgan homeland in southern Russia, many women warriors are buried with weapons. Their bones show battle injuries.”
“Really?” Cassie sat forward, intrigued.
“Most certainly,” Stefan continued. “Here is a very interesting picture.” He hastily flipped through his photo album to a page at the front. The image showed a faceless mannequin dressed in leggings and a jacket embroidered with hundreds of small squares of beaten gold. The figure wore a tall conical hat. It stood in a museum display case.
Cassie looked up at Stefan quizzically. “I don’t get it.”
The trove keeper laughed. “This costume came from a rich kurgan grave in Kazakhstan that the tomb robbers missed. It is now in a national museum. Archaeologists have long called it ‘The Golden Man.’”
“OK, so?” Cassie asked warily, sensing there was more to the story.
Griffin leaned toward the pythia and gave her a hint. “Remember the so-called Prince of Lilies on Crete?”
“You’re kidding. You mean this is a woman?”
The trove keeper nodded energetically. “We are most sure it is. The grave contained weapons, and it used to be that whenever archaeologists found a grave with weapons, they automatically said it was a man buried there. Nobody bothered to look at the skeleton.”
“Remember what I told you when I first showed you the vault?” Griffin interjected. “Mainstream archaeologists make assumptions about what they’re seeing, and those assumptions are steeped in overlord cultural values.”
Cassie studied the photo. “But how can you be sure this costume belonged to a woman? Did anybody examine the body?”
“The government does not allow us to look.” Stefan sighed. “We were not there at the time the digging was done, and now it was too late.” He brightened. “But the grave goods, they tell us the story. The earrings and jewelry that men do not wear. The polished mirror that is always found in the graves of shaman priestesses. The tall hat that is a sign of women of rank among the steppe peoples. No male grave has been found anywhere with these objects along with the weapons.”
“It’s very likely that she wasn’t merely a priestess. She may have been one of the royals of her tribe,” Griffin added. “This is a Saka costume, and the Saka culture had many queens. The Scythians and the Sarmatians, who were related to them, did also.”
“Yes, the Sarmatians I know well,” Stefan added eagerly. “They left their homeland north of the Black Sea, and the legend tells that they settled in my country of Poland a very long time ago. The women were very warlike. The tribe had a custom that a girl would not be allowed to marry until she had killed a man in battle.”
“That’s my kind of gal.” Cassie laughed.
At that moment, the waitress returned bearing a tray of glasses and cans. She set it down on the table, and the group helped her pass around the order. They busied themselves with flipping tabs on cans and pouring the contents into glasses while they waited for her to retreat back into the lobby. When she was out of earshot, Griffin turned to Cassie and said, “Your kind of gal? I had no idea you were so bloodthirsty.” He pretended to sound shocked. “Really, I’m appalled.”
“Yeah, yeah,” the pythia rolled her eyes. “Get on with the story.”
The scrivener complied. “Stefan’s evidence suggests that the steppe nomads were not rigidly male-dominated early in their history. They maintained many of the matristic customs of the cultures that surrounded them. While it’s certainly true that the steppes were a harsh land that brought out the fiercest and most aggressive tendencies in humans, it would be safe to assume that those combative traits were not limited to the male sex.”
“OK, I get the picture,” Cassie said. “These tribes are hungry and thirsty which makes them mean and desperate. They get horses which makes them mobile, so they all mount up, charge out of the steppes, and start whacking everybody else.”
The men exchanged looks.
“Well, not exactly,” Fred hedged.
“What do you mean?”
“Not all of them left. In fact, most of them stayed right where they were, raiding and pillaging each other.”
“But what about the flood of barbarians sweeping across Europe and killing everything in their path?” Cassie felt confused.
“You’re thinking of Genghis Khan,” Erik corrected. “That was thousands of years later.”
“It wasn’t a massive flood,” Griffin added. “More like a slow trickle.”
“Well, somebody trickled out of those steppes and changed history,” Cassie challenged. “Tell me who they were.”
The scrivener paused and considered a moment. “Do you know the story of Hengest and Horsa?”
Cassie gave him a withering look. “Excuse me. Have we met?”
Griffin smiled. “You were doing so well today I thought you’d like to try for three right answers.”
“Nope, two’s my limit. I wouldn’t want to take away your job. Go ahead and tell the story.”
“Ahem,” the scrivener pointedly cleared his throat. “Hengest and Horsa were two brothers who belonged to the Anglo-Saxon tribes of Germany. They came to Britain in the fifth century to offer their services as mercenaries to King Vortigern who was having some difficulties with the Picts at the time. When the king asked them why they had left their homeland, Hengest answered that it was a custom among his people that when the tribe became too numerous, the leaders would summon all the fittest and bravest youths in the land. These would draw lots to determine who would have to leave the community in order not to become a burden on the resources of the rest. Those who were selected by the lottery would be expected to pack up their weapons, mount their horses and seek their fortune out in the world from that day forward.”
“That means these guys were Kurgans,” Cassie offered doubtfully.
“Very, very distant descendants of them, yes,” Griffin replied. “A legend of twin brothers with equine names
