They ordered soft drinks, paid for their purchases and claimed a table outside where they could survey the square.
Once they’d gotten settled and started on their snacks, Cassie said, “Griffin, you haven’t been your usual chatty self since we left Malta. What’s up?”
“I do apologize,” the scrivener said in embarrassment. “Maddie and I had a bit of a tangle cataloging some artifacts from Ethiopia. I’ve been somewhat distracted while we were sorting it all out.”
“So distracted that you haven’t told us why we’re here,” Cassie remarked. “Erik and I have been following along blindly while you and Maddie made all the travel arrangements. Now that the dust has settled, how’s about you give us an idea why we ended up in Bilbao? I know the Maltese trove keeper figured out that Eberos is the Greek name for the Ebro River, but the Ebro cuts across the entire country so why did we make a bee line for the north coast instead of starting in Barcelona and working our way up here?”
“Because of the rest of the clue,” Griffin replied between bites of salmon. “‘Follow Eberos where it climbs to the sky.’ I take that to mean the headwaters of the river which flow from springs in the Cantabrian Mountains directly west of here.”
Completely oblivious to the conversation between his teammates, Erik regarded his food with surprise. “You know, this actually isn’t bad.”
The pythia shot him an incredulous look before transferring her attention back to Griffin. “Then why aren’t we in Cantabria if it’s closer to the headwaters of the river?”
Griffin finished his dish and fastidiously dusted crumbs from his jacket. “Because Bilbao is the largest city in the Basque region of Spain and the Basque region holds our best hope of finding the next artifact.”
“Why’s that?” Cassie prompted, taking a last bite of her tortilla.
“Well, for one thing, Euskara—the Basque tongue—has no known antecedents anywhere on the planet.”
“So it’s not an overlord language?”
“Definitely not. No Indo-European root words at all. Linguists have been puzzling over it for years. They’ve concluded that the Basques were the indigenous occupants of this area based on the uniqueness of their language. Recent DNA evidence seems to confirm that theory at least on the maternal side. Basque mitochondrial DNA can be traced as far back as 50,000 BCE which would make these people the original Caucasian inhabitants of Europe. However, the male DNA profile is somewhat more muddled. Much of it is indistinguishable from the yDNA patterns of the rest of Spain. That would mean a more recent movement westward. The conflicting DNA profile can be explained by my own theory about Kurgan migration patterns. If you’ll recall when we were in Turkey, I said that small bands of roving males on horseback tended to intermarry with indigenous female populations. Usually, cultural changes were forced on the native people by invading Kurgans. In the case of the Basques, it would appear the migrating males got assimilated into existing Basque culture rather than the other way around. That’s the reason Basque customs survived and persisted even when the Romans arrived to conquer and colonize Spain.”
Erik, now finished eating, finally joined the conversation. “The Basques were able to hold onto their language and culture longer than anybody else in western Europe in spite of the Romans. The fact that Rome fell apart right around the time the legions were putting the squeeze on this part of the world worked in their favor.”
“Geography may also have worked in their favor,” Griffin added. “This area is isolated and mountainous. It affords a multitude of places to hide and harry one’s enemies from the shelter of the hills. All overlord cultures—from the Kurgans to the Romans—depended on the horse to extend the range of their conquests. While the horse may be a huge tactical advantage over open terrain, it provides very little benefit in mountainous regions. In fact, maneuvering a large animal through a mountain pass while under attack may have constituted a liability.”
Erik once more took up the explanation. “The Romans were mainly interested in conquering the tribes on the Mediterranean side of the peninsula anyway. It was too much trouble to chase after a bunch of renegades who could hide out in the mountains and ambush them at will. After a while, they figured it wasn’t worth the effort and they left the Basques alone.”
“That’s handy for us,” Griffin remarked, “because the Basques constitute a living remnant of what must once have been the universal matristic civilization of old Europe.”
Cassie sat forward with interest. “That would mean their culture has a lot in common with the Minoans.”
“In many respects, it’s very likely. Since we haven’t deciphered Linear A yet, we have no way of knowing whether there is a linguistic connection but both groups share the tradition of goddess worship and high female social status.”
Griffin sighed. “Sadly, the Basque customs of matrilineal descent and female management of agriculture have eroded over the centuries because of the encroachment of overlord nations. I’m sure it hasn’t been easy to maintain a unified cultural identity since their territory straddles the border between modern-day Spain and France. It’s amazing that they’ve managed to hold onto any matristic elements of their past after so many other ancient European tribes lost theirs. To this day, Basque inheritance laws contain no gender bias and many of the people still actively venerate their traditional goddess, Mari.”
“You mean like the mother of Jesus?” Cassie asked in surprise.
“No, there is no relation to the biblical Mary though I suspect that Christian missionaries eager to convert the natives would have exploited the similarity in the names as much as possible. The goddess of the Basques is hardly a meek handmaiden of an overlord thunder god. She is a powerful creation deity and
