The Chief Treasurer of the harem, together with the Sultan Valideh received the Sultan in state at the entrance to the harem and conducted him with the Chief Eunuch to the reception held either in the apartments of the Sultan’s mother or in those of his reigning favourite.

“It is very exciting!” Mihri explained. “A Eunuch walks first, magnificently dressed and chanting, ‘Behold our Sovereign! Emperor of the True Believers, Shadow Of Allah upon Earth, The Prophet’s Successor, Master of Masters, Chosen among the Chosen, our Padishah, our Sultan! Long live our Sultan! Let us admire him who is the glory of the House of Osman!’”

“What happens then?” Yamina asked.

“The Sultan passes through the ranks of women,” Mihri answered. “Everyone holds herself in the prescribed pose, the head thrown back, the hands across the breast.”

“Who is there?” Yamina enquired.

“Everybody!” Mihri answered. “Past favourites, the family, the daughters, or Sultanas, the Kadins or wives by whom the Sultan has had children, the Ikbals who have already enjoyed the Royal attention, and the Guzdehs.”

“What are those?” Yamina asked.

“They who have caught the Sultan’s eye but have not yet been tried by him.”

She went on to explain how at such a ceremony everyone was offered silver trays of coffee and sweetmeats, while the odalisques clustered round the Sultan feverishly making every effort to attract his attention.

“And he chose you!” Yamina smiled.

“He chose me!” Mihri agreed.

“How?” Yamina asked.

“He asked the Sultan Valideh my name. I was then authorised to approach the dais and kiss the cushion of the Master’s divan.”

“And after he sent for you?”

“We have been very happy, happier than I could have believed possible. And if, as I think, I am to have a child, then he has promised to take me as his wife, his Kadin!”

She gave a little sigh of satisfaction and added,

“Then I shall have larger rooms, more slaves, more jewels and more money!”

Yamina could not help wondering whether this counted more than the Sultan himself, but she was too wise to say so.

Abdul Medjid, she had learnt, possessed none of his father’s personality. His good qualities – a kind disposition, and a sense of duty – were overshadowed by his lack of vigour.

In appearance he was short, thin and pale. He was, Yamina heard, often melancholy, but his face lit up when he smiled.

He had already reigned for sixteen years, a phenomenally long time in the history of the Ottoman Empire. Sultans invariably died after a few years of power by poison, the knife, or the traditional bowstring.

Yamina realised that Mihri wanted to impress her with how much she had and how fortunate she was in her new position.

She showed her through the latticework of a balcony the great Central Hall of the Palace surrounded by a dome with massive gold columns.