What could Namlah, a humble slave, do, even if she connived with Yussuf, to further their escape?
“Bring me sherbet instantly!”
Yussuf made no movement as the words came to him through the window. Helen’s heart beat heavily as she prayed for help in her hour of great need.
“Now, God, help me now,” she whispered, as she rose slowly and crossed the room to the corner where she prepared the drinks or messes of sweetmeats the Arabian consumed frequently in the night. With her back to her tormentor she pulled the flask which contained the drug from inside her belt and unscrewed the tight-fitting top, and with steady hand dropped ten drops into the golden goblet which Zarah loved on account of its barbaric jewelled stem.
“In the name of Allah, was a snail included in your parentage, or are your fingers as heavy as your wits? You will fetch but a poor price with your clumsiness and shaven crown. Hasten, or by the Prophet’s beard I will lower your price still further by marking your shoulders with the whip.”
Helen slowly crossed the room, carrying the tray with the goblet, filled to the brim with sweet, frothing drink, and offered it to the Arabian, who sat up suddenly, making a quick, savage gesture with both her hands.
“Do you think such arrogance suits a slave? Kneel!”
The prisoner’s fate trembled in the balance as for one brief second Helen, consumed with a desire to fling the goblet in the beautiful, mocking face, grasped its jewelled stem; then, remembering that the victorious or disastrous ending of the attempt to escape depended entirely upon her, she knelt and, stirring the sherbet with an ivory spoon, offered the tray on uplifted hands.
To keep her kneeling Zarah drank slowly, whilst Helen half closed her eyes under the agony of her suspense. There was no sign in her face of her terror when, with but a drain to drink, Zarah sniffed at the goblet, scowled and flung it to the farther end of the room, thereby drinking one drop too little of the drug.
“Have you not yet learned how to mix so simple a drink as this?” she raved, inelegantly wiping her beautiful mouth with the back of her hand. “Were it not that my women taste all that you touch and replace all you have touched every hour, and likewise that none but my women approach you or have speech with you, I would swear by the Prophet that you had put something in my cup. Bring me coffee, hot and strong, in the big bowl. Hasten, lest I summon the black women to teach you the real meaning of speed.”