Copyright © January 2009, Anastasia Rabiyah

Hessa stepped into the hall, her arms weighted by the bundles of food. Through the bars, the men held out their hands, some missing fingers, others still bloody from fighting in the pits, but all too tired to taunt her. She walked along the cells and dropped the required amount into their palms. A round of bread, a chunk of dry cheese. Behind her, the water girl followed with her bucket and ladle. It was not difficult work for a servant of the Omi House to feed the prisoners kept for the fighting pits-certainly not as bad as what the more beautiful women were expected to do. But Hessa didn’t hope her life would end in the place of her birth. She was a daughter of the brothel. An unfortunate act of rebellion as a child had scarred her face-but fortunately for her, she was considered undesirable as a result. Still, she longed for the company of a man who could love her and see past her imperfection.

She passed her reflection in the window of the miserable prison, and counted her blessings, smiling to herself. Hessa opened the door that led to the lower cells, her bundle lighter now for her work was nearly done. Someone down there grunted. She held her breath as she descended into the darkness. The men kept here had proved their worth in battle and now were required to breed more children to fight in the pits.

She set the food into the hands of the first three captives. They leered at her and muttered provocative words. The last man sat in the corner of his chamber, his mouth a grim, straight line, his body muscular and tense. He stared at the light from the doorway she had come through and held up one hand to shadow his eyes. He was handsome and dangerous looking, huge compared to the other men there. All he wore was a beaded, embroidered loincloth that barely covered his extremities, a piece of fabric that looked exotic, as unusual in the dungeons as he was.