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It was a trick, Zayd thought, staring at the banquet laid before him. His elders had warned him of the dangers of the outsiders. When he'd been captured and transported to the slave markets of Medina, he'd anticipated a fate worse than death. Pale savages had purchased him and transported him over the ocean to this cold, alien land.

And now they offered this feast to him. More food than he'd ever seen in his life. Poisoned, most likely, but his stomach growled regardless. They were observing him with fascinated expressions. Well, if he was to die, at least he'd eat first. He seized the roasted leg of some unfamiliar creature, slick with gravy, in one hand, and a goblet of a thick red drink in the other.

He ate and ate, while they watched. When he licked clean a plate, his new master would bark a command, and servants would bring more plates, heaped high with delicacies. They had come and gone to the kitchen many times before Zayd satiated the burning ache in his stomach, realising for the first time how starved he'd been all his life in the harshness of the desert.

The armor around his chest was growing uncomfortably tight. He unbuckled it, not noticing the softness of his exposed chest. The men of the foreign court began to murmur.

"By Christ, that slaver was right," Zayd's master jabbered in his incomprehensible tongue. "Servants, bring more food! And more wine!"

Sauce dripped over Zayd's breasts as he forked more meat into his mouth. Lost in gluttony, he was oblivious to the effect it was having on his body, or on the bodies of the men who watched his burgeoning teats with lustful anticipation.