Nayla looked at her master with worry. The sounds of the Roman city of Syracuse could be heard outside—merchants calling out their wares, children laughing, and the distant clash of metal from the blacksmith's forge. The master had issues with money and that worried her deeply. She was no friend of his, but he was a predictable master, one she had learned to "manage" over the months they'd been together. Her master had never taken sexual advantage of her and always treated her with a measure of respect unheard of among other slaves she had observed in the city. Next owner might not be so...pliable. The thought sent a shiver down her spine despite the warm Mediterranean afternoon. "What worries you my Dominus - is it money again?" she asks, her Kushite accent still evident in her careful Latin.