The group of onlookers huddled around to observe what the scrivener was doing. After positioning himself to face north, he stared up at the night sky with great fixity. “Ah, there you are!” he murmured. Next, he took the two sticks which Ochanda had given him and the knotted twine. At the position of the first knot, he tied the twine to the top of one of the sticks. Then he tied the golden bee to the opposite end of the string, letting it act as a weight. He held the two sticks as if they were hinged together on one end and pointed one of the sticks at the horizon line. Judging from his expression, he seemed to be trying to line up the top of the other stick with something in the sky. Holding his arm steady, he looked at the top of the stick and then at the string dangling straight down from it. “One, two, three, four,” he murmured. Then he whirled on his companions with a jubilant smile. “Yes, by goddess, I was right!” He waved the sticks in front of them. “This proves it. I was right!”
“Great,” Cassie said warily. “Wanna share with the class now?”
“Absolutely! Everyone gather round, please.” He sounded like a grade school teacher lecturing a class of students on a field trip.
“Do all of you know where to find Polaris?”
“The north star?” Ortzi asked. “Yes, of course.” He sounded almost offended.
“I don’t,” Cassie admitted sheepishly. “Which one is it?”
“The easiest way to locate it is to find the constellation Ursa Major. You might know it as the Big Dipper. Once you’ve located it, pay attention to the four stars that constitute the bowl of the dipper. Then look at the two which are farthest away from the handle. Let your eyes follow where those stars point. In direct line with them, you’ll see another very bright star a little farther away. That’s Polaris. It’s actually part of the constellation Ursa Minor or the Little Dipper, but it’s very difficult to spot without the help of Ursa Major.”
The pythia hesitated a few seconds. Then gesturing excitedly at the sky, she said, “There it is! I see it.”
“Very good,” Griffin approved. “Now take the sticks and make sure you hold them together at one end so you can hinge them. Point one stick at the horizon where the ocean meets the sky. Point the end of the other stick at Polaris.”
Cassie did as instructed.
“Ignoring the knot at the very top of the stick, count the number of knots in the string to the point where it intersects the bottom stick,” he prompted.
She studied it closely. “Four knots.”
“Precisely,” Griffin agreed. “You’ve just taken a very crude measurement of latitude.”
“Latitude?” Cassie echoed. “You mean how many degrees north or south of the equator we are?”
“Yes.”
Erik took the sticks from Cassie and performed his own test. “Huh, go figure,” he murmured in surprise.
After he’d finished, he handed the stick to the Basques who each took a turn.
“But how can you tell latitude from a couple of sticks, a piece of string and a star?” Cassie asked in wonderment. “Don’t the stars move all night long?”
“They do with the exception of the pole star—currently that would be Polaris. It remains at a fixed point in the night sky. The other stars appear to whirl around it with the rotation of the earth. Ancient mariners frequently used the pole star to plot their course while on the open sea. They knew that if they maintained a constant position relative to the pole star that they were heading in a straight line, or as we might say, holding to the same latitude. In our case, so long as the string always measures four knots between the pole star and the horizon, we would know we were on course.”
“Wait, back up a minute. You said something about ‘current pole star.’ What do you mean by that?” Cassie pressed him.
“Remember the earth’s wobble?” Griffin hinted.
“Oh right,” she agreed. “Because of that precession thing. It would change which star was right above the North Pole.”
“Yes, over a very long period of time. For example, around 2700 BCE, the pole star would have been Thuban in the constellation of Draco, the dragon.”
“Dragon!” Cassie exclaimed sharply.
Griffin gave her a knowing smile. “All in good time, dear girl. Let’s continue discussing Polaris for now, shall we?”
“Fine,” the pythia replied, reining in her impatience. “Have it your way. You were saying something about pole stars and precession?”
“Quite so. By the time our Minoan friends undertook their expedition, the North Pole was moving away from Thuban and toward Polaris, so it’s very likely they were already using the latter for navigation purposes.”
By this time, the Basques had finished their inspection of the horizon, conferring with one another in Euskara about Griffin’s findings.
Ortzi handed the sticks back to Griffin. “This method is very ingenious,” he said.
“It was a tool the ancient Minoans used,” Griffin replied. “I’d done extensive research a while ago about their navigational techniques. I just had no idea how to apply that knowledge until tonight.”
Cassie’s eyes narrowed as a new thought occurred to her. “The knots in the string.” She gasped as the conclusion struck her. “Four bees! You measured the length of the golden bee four times, end to end, and then you knotted the string to match that length.”
“Precisely,” Griffin beamed. “Our riddle makes more sense now, doesn’t it? ‘Set your course four bees from the dragon’s wing to the sea.’”
“I get the part about the bee,” Cassie replied, “but what’s the deal with the dragon’s wing? Does it have something to do with the other pole star in Draco?”
“Not exactly. I’ve had my staff back at the vault researching the topic ever since we left. As luck would have it, one of the calls I received as we were driving here gave me the final piece of information I needed. Apparently, Ursa Minor, or the
