"You heard what I said to the Captain?"
"Yes," the Targa answered calmly.
"I am going with him. We leave you at Tit, to which place you must
bring us. Where is the place you proposed to show the Captain?"
"I did not propose to show it to him; it was his own idea," said the
Targa coldly. "The grottos with the inscriptions are three-days' march
southward in the mountains. At first, the road is rather rough. But
farther on, it turns, and you gain Timissao very easily. There are
good wells where the Tuareg Taitoqs, who are friendly to the French,
come to water their camels."
"And you know the road well?"
He shrugged his shoulders. His eyes had a scornful smile.
"I have taken it twenty times," he said.
"In that case, let's get started."
We rode for two hours. I did not exchange a word with Morhange. I had
a clear intuition of the folly we were committing in risking ourselves
so unconcernedly in that least known and most dangerous part of the
Sahara. Every blow which had been struck in the last twenty years to
undermine the French advance had come from this redoubtable Ahaggar.
But what of it? It was of my own will that I had joined in this mad
scheme. No need of going over it again. What was the use of spoiling
my action by a continual exhibition of disapproval? And, furthermore,
I may as well admit that I rather liked the turn that our trip was
beginning to take. I had, at that instant, the sensation of journeying
toward something incredible, toward some tremendous adventure. You do
not live with impunity for months and years as the guest of the
desert. Sooner or later, it has its way with you, annihilates the good
officer, the timid executive, overthrows his solicitude for his
responsibilities. What is there behind those mysterious rocks, those
dim solitudes, which have held at bay the most illustrious pursuers of
mystery? You follow, I tell you, you follow.
* * * * *
"Are you sure at least that this inscription is interesting enough to
justify us in our undertaking?" I asked Morhange.
My companion started with pleasure. Ever since we began our journey I
had realized his fear that I was coming along half-heartedly. As soon
as I offered him a chance to convince me, his scruples vanished, and
his triumph seemed assured to him.
"Never," he answered, in a voice that he tried to control, but through
which the enthusiasm rang out, "never has a Greek inscription been
found so far south. The farthest points where they have been reported
are in the south of Algeria and Cyrene. But in Ahaggar! Think of it!
It is true that this one is translated into Tifinar. But this
peculiarity does not diminish the interest of the coincidence: it
increases it."
"What do you take to be the meaning of this word?"
"_Antinea_ can only be a proper name," said Morhange. "To whom does it
refer? I admit I don't know, and if at this very moment I am marching
toward the south, dragging you along with me, it is because I count on
learning more about it. Its etymology? It hasn't one definitely, but
there are thirty possibilities. Bear in mind that the Tifinar alphabet
is far from tallying with the Greek alphabet, which increases the
number of hypotheses. Shall I suggest several?"
"I was just about to ask you to."
"To begin with, there is [Greek: agti] and [Greek: neos], _the woman
who is placed opposite a vessel_, an explanation which would have been
pleasing to Gaffarel and to my venerated master Berlioux. That would
apply well enough to the figure-heads of ships. There is a technical
term that I cannot recall at this moment, not if you beat me a hundred
times over.[7]
[Footnote 7: It is perhaps worth noting here that _Figures de Proues_
is the exact title of a very remarkable collection of poems by Mme.
Delarus-Mardrus. (Note by M. Leroux.)]
"Then there is [Greek: agtinêa], that you must relate to [Greek: agti]
and [Greek: naos], _she who holds herself before the_ [Greek: naos],
the [Greek: naos] of the temple, _she who is opposite the sanctuary,_
therefore priestess. An interpretation which would enchant Girard and
Renan.
"Next we have [Greek: agtine], from [Greek: agti] and [Greek: neos],
new, which can mean two things: either _she who is the contrary of
young_, which is to say old; or _she who is the enemy of novelty_ or
_the enemy of youth_.
"There is still another sense of [Greek: gati], _in exchange for,_
which is capable of complicating all the others I have mentioned;
likewise there are four meanings for the verb [Greek: neô], which
means in turn _to go, to flow, to thread_ or _weave, to heap_. There
is more still.... And notice, please, that I have not at my
disposition on the otherwise commodious hump of this mehari, either
the great dictionary of Estienne or the lexicons of Passow, of Pape,
or of Liddel-Scott. This is only to show you, my dear friend, that
epigraphy is but a relative science, always dependent on the discovery
of a new text which contradicts the previous findings, when it is not
merely at the mercy of the humors of the epigraphists and their pet
conceptions of the universe.
"That was rather my view of it," I said, "But I must admit my
astonishment to find that, with such a sceptical opinion of the goal,
you still do not hesitate to take risks which may be quite
considerable."
Morhange smiled wanly.
"I do not interpret, my friend; I collect. From what I will take back
to him, Dom Granger has the ability to draw conclusions which are
beyond my slight knowledge. I was amusing myself a little. Pardon me."
Just then the girth of one of the baggage camels, evidently not well
fastened, came loose. Part of the load slipped and fell to the ground.
Eg-Anteouen descended instantly from his beast and helped Bou-Djema
repair the damage.
When they had finished, I made my mehari walk beside Bou-Djema's.
"It will be better to resaddle the camels at the next stop. They will
have to climb the mountain."
The guide looked at me with amazement. Up to that time I had thought
it unnecessary to acquaint him with our new projects. But I supposed
Eg-Anteouen would have told him.
"Lieutenant, the road across the white plain to Shikh-Salah is not
mountainous," said the Chaamba.
"We are not keeping to the road across the white plain. We are going
south, by Ahaggar."
"By Ahaggar," he murmured. "But...."
"But what?"
"I do not know the road."
"Eg-Anteouen is going to guide us."
"Eg-Anteouen!"
I watched Bou-Djema as he made this suppressed ejaculation. His eyes
were fixed on the Targa with a mixture of stupor and fright.
Eg-Anteouen's camel was a dozen yards ahead of us, side by side with
Morhange's. The two men were talking. I realized that Morhange must be
conversing with Eg-Anteouen about the famous inscriptions. But we were
not so far behind that they could not have overheard our words.
Again I looked at my guide. I saw that he was pale.
"What is it, Bou-Djema?" I asked in a low voice.
"Not here, Lieutenant, not here," he muttered.
His teeth chattered. He added in a whisper:
"Not here. This evening, when we stop, when he turns to the East to
pray, when the sun goes down. Then, call me to you. I will tell
you.... But not here. He is talking, but he is listening. Go ahead.
Join the Captain."
"What next?" I murmured, pressing my camel's neck with my foot so as
to make him overtake Morhange.
* * * * *
It was about five o'clock when Eg-Anteouen who was leading the way,
came to a stop.
"Here it is," he said, getting down from his camel.
It was a beautiful and sinister place. To our left a fantastic wall of
granite outlined its gray ribs against the sky. This wall was pierced,
from top to bottom, by a winding corridor about a thousand feet high
and scarcely wide enough in places to allow three camels to walk
abreast.
"Here it is," repeated the Targa.
To the west, straight behind us, the track that we were leaving
unrolled like a pale ribbon. The white plain, the road to Shikh-Salah,
the established halts, the well-known wells.... And, on the other
side, this black wall against the mauve sky, this dark passage.