“It is stupid to even try and deal with a subject like Medea that has already been brought to stage so perfectly”, Aristogeiton pointed out, and both Titus and Pallas nodded in assent. True to his nature, Pallas remained silent and left it to the young Roman to discuss the play; even more as he was still baffled at Hylas’ strong reaction to the newcomer, Aristogeiton. He remembered the young man; he’d been here several times, at a time when his father had been still alive. An aspiring actor if Pallas remembered correctly. He couldn’t tell what Titus was really thinking about this heated exchange; the young Roman’s face showed nothing but polite interest in the subject they were discussing.

Ever so often Aristogeiton glanced nervously over at Hylas and Olaf, his expression varying between longing, whenever his gaze fell upon the Northerner, and aversion when he eyed his fellow-Greek. Pallas felt particularly uneasy in this constellation and, as usual, shrunk back into himself. Aristogeiton fidgeted on his couch as he noticed Olaf’s face swiftly alternating between pale and blushed while he whispered urgently and at length into his friend’s ears.

Drawing as little attention to himself as possible, Pallas took the wine jug and slid almost furtively off the couch, trying to put as much distance between himself and the strained situation for a few moments. When he was about to enter the safety of the back room he could feel Titus’ eyes on him, and turned around, feeling vaguely blamable for the entire situation, even though he knew he wasn’t. To Pallas’ surprise Titus winked at him, smiling reassuringly, and the young Greek could feel himself smile back at the only a few years older but apparently so much more confident Roman, before he finally turned around and entered the back room to refill the jug.