“I have a plan for you to leave, but we have not much time!”

“What is it?” Yamina asked, aware that her heart had begun to beat quickly at the thought of escape.

“First you must change your clothes,” Mihri said.

“But why?” Yamina asked.

“Leave everything to me,” Mihri said hardly breathing.

She moved from Yamina’s side and clapped her hands loudly.

When the slaves came running at the summons, she cried out in a voice of fury,

“Is this the way you carry out my orders? Are these the shabby garments you give my sister? She has worn that dress two – no three – times. You insult me – I – the Ikbal, the favoured of the Padishah!”

The slaves were thrown into consternation.

“No, no, Mistress! We did not mean any harm. The odalisque chose her own garments. We are not responsible for them!”

“Of course you are responsible for them!” Mihri stormed. “I am ashamed, utterly ashamed that my sister should be humiliated by your inefficiency and your incompetence! She must change immediately! Bring in the trunk you will find in the passage, which contains new garments I have ordered for myself, but I will now dress my sister in them.”

Terrified at their Mistress’s anger the slaves ran to obey.

They came back carrying an ornate trunk painted in the manner that found favour in Eastern eyes and fastened with gold locks and hinges.

With trembling fingers they unfastened the entari, which Yamina had thought when she put it on was extremely attractive. But now from the trunk they took out clothes that were far more luxurious – in fact only equalled by those worn by Mihri herself.

Half-a-dozen hands robed Yamina in a gauze chemise, so fine it would have passed through a gold ring. It was open to the waist revealing her breasts.

Vast chalvari were fastened at her ankles with jewelled bands and a crimson silk entari embroidered with precious stones was fastened with pearl buttons. The sleeves trailed almost to the floor and the girdle was of pearls and amethysts which also decorated the stomacher-clasp.

A molten shower of diamonds glittered in the gold chains to be threaded through her dark hair and there were rings for her fingers and bracelets for her wrists.

“That is better!” proclaimed Mihri, who had stood watching the women at work, a scowl between her eyes.

“You may go!” she went on, “but never allow my sister to appear again in such a manner or I will have you whipped until you scream for mercy!”

The slaves rushed trembling from the room.

When they had gone, Mihri stood for a moment as if to make certain that no one was listening at the door.

Then she turned to Yamina and said in a whisper,

“Get into the trunk!”

Yamina looked at her in astonishment.

“What do you – mean?” she asked.