As Titus listened to the tale of Pallas' father and his lack of skill at gambling, he felt nothing but sorrow for this wonderful Greek, so set upon by life that he could see little of it's joys...but then he heard once again the belittling tone that he had thought was gone; Pallas had borne much in his short life, but he could see it only as a sign of some failure on his own part, not the faults of his parents. Titus grew impatient and angry the longer he listened, and was about to tear into his friend when the last words brought him up short.

"Leave...now?" Words failed Titus for a time. He had been about to tell Pallas that if he didn't stop blaming himself for his parents' errors, the two of them would never be happy...and now he was being told that this entire affair was Pallas' fault! Titus had been about to pour some wine for them when those words registerd at last--in a fit of rage, he threw the pitcher against the garden wall, and watched as the purple liquid stained the grey plaster in patterns that could have been left by blood. He whirled to face the other, and saw Pallas cringe when Titus raised a hand....

Titus closed his eyes for a moment, and cursed himself, life was never easy, and he had had things his own way for too long. When he opened his eyes again, he moved to one of the couches, and patted the seat next to him. It took a reassuring smile and an outstretched hand before Pallas joined him.

"Pallas, let's do this logically...isn't that something you believe in?" When the Greek nodded, Titus went on. "A man has a habit of doing something--now, is this habit somethinig he decides to take up on a whim? No, it is something he likes to do, and it gives him satisfaction....You agree that the longer you do something, the more likely it is to continue, and the harder it will be to give up? Yes...common sense tells us that. So, rightly or wrongly, if a man derives joy from something, even if it is not good for him, you admit that no one can make him stop unless the man himself decides to change?

"Now, given those circumstances, do you think--honestly--that there is anything you could have done to stop your father's gambling?" Several times, Pallas started to say something, but the determined look in Titus' eyes made him stop. "Your father must have been gambling a long time...and if your mother couldn't stop him--and she had been around him far longer--why do you think you could have done any better? The fault lies in him, not in yourself! You have done remarkably well to take on his problems and attempt to deal with them...but don't take them into yourself--you are not your father!

"Your parents had their problems, but you were not responsible for them! They are in the past, buried with them...your job is to get on with your own life! A son's task is to honor his parents, yes...but then to go on and try to better them--and this is something you have shown yourself capable of already by keeping the shop going against worse odds than Fortune could possibly grant!"

When Pallas let his gaze fall to the floor, Titus lifted his chin up again so he could see those liquid eyes he loved so much. His fingers traced the line of the strong, pert nose, and came to rest on one soft cheek. Titus stared at him for a long time, until Pallas finally gave a soft nod...and received a soft kiss for that admittance.

"Now, enough of this..." Titus stood, and dragged Pallas after him through the shop, and toward the front door. Outside, at his usual spot, Hermokrates sat with a loaf of bread and some soft cheese. He smiled when the two boys came out, and invited them to join him. Titus shook his head, and still grasping Pallas by the hand, led him off through the streets.

"Close the shop Hermokrates," he called back. "Affairs have called Pallas away for a bit, and we will re-open with a whole new outlook!"