Lion Head Mesa Antallagí

They are the Fellahin. They have a unique place here-

Jawahir appeared as Arsenio spoke to the young woman. The sharp eyes of the Pharaoh’s jewel glittered upon them, and the concubine made a remark about the changing of tastes. The Greek tilted his head with a daft grin. Inside, he could feel his gut tighten and his chest rise with the heat of his anger. It made sense that the spoiled king would, in turn, make spoiled slaves. It did not make Jawahir any less pathetic.

Jahwah-heeeeer, Arsenio boomed with a boyish grin.

This is Belen. She travels looking for her mother and father. She is mine to bring to Pharaoh. You may leave.

Arsenio smiled at Jawahir. His icy gaze sharpened. There was no question in his statement. The Greek man did not care to have the Pharaoh’s little tenderloin close at hand. There was a trade to be made, and Arsenio was the only one who would make it. Belen was a casualty, one that his morals could battle later.