Marus returned to Sophia’s apartment and spent the next two days and nights there. Alone.

Activity slowly returned to the street. Surviving citizens and slave alike mourned the absence of loved ones. The lethargy of grief gave way to hungry stomachs that must be fed. Those who lived returned to their work, their livelihood. Marus returned to his quarters in the home of Belisarius.

As he entered through the slave entrance near the garden, he heard his name called in that oh-so-familiar voice, “Marus!”

Belisarius sounded almost happy to see him. He came forward and clasped Marus by the shoulders, “Marus, you live. I feared you dead. It is good to see you.”

Marus looked into the eyes of the man he had so easily followed, A man he had looked up to. Someone he admired and sought approval from. A man he thought he knew. “They were not soldiers.” He held Belisarius’ gaze.

Belisarius released his embraced and took a step back, still holding Marus’ eyes. “No, they were not.” His voice was soft, a voice he might used with a child. “They certainly were not.”

“Your soldiers seek honor and glory in battle. Your fame as a general is secure.”

Belisarius was silent.

Marus continued, “You have brought honor to Constantinople, to Justinian. You reclaim Roman lands.”

Belisarius listened.

“They had no weapons.”

“I know.”

“Street knives are no match for swords and shields.”

“I know.”

“The women had nothing.”

“I know.”

“There were children among the crowd.”

Belisarius said nothing.

“No one survived.”

“I know.”

“This was not a war. “

“It was an uprising. Chaos was growing.”

It was Marus’ turn to be silent.

“Constantinople is in ruins. Buildings burnt to the ground. The streets were not safe. For anyone.”

“How many did you slaughter? What is the value of a city when its inhabitants are dead?”

“It had to be stopped.”

“At what cost?”

Belisarius’ shoulders slumped. His voice was just above a whisper. “The price is high. The survivors pay the high price. But they are alive. They carry on. And the violence has ceased.”

“The one who controlled it all paid no price.”

“Someone has to make the hard decisions. Those who lead pay a different kind of price.”

“What do they pay? You still have your Antonia. Justinian still has Theodora.”

“That is true.” Belisarius again reached out and put one hand on Marus’ shoulder.

Marus felt the compassion of the gesture. Belisarius had been good to him and Marus did not want to hate him. “Someone must pay. Those who decide the fate of others must feel the pain of the sacrificed.”

“I am sorry, my friend.”

Marus’ heart softened. Belisarius had not called him friend before. He was only following orders. Orders from Justinian. Justinian should be the one to pay. He must realize the pain that his orders cause. It became clear. Justinian must pay. A feeling began growing within Marus. Justice can come from many sources. Not only can leaders mete out justice. Ordinary people can also. Marus can. Marus, a humble cook can dispense justice when wrongs have been committed. Justinian must be made to feel his pain. Pain of losing a most prized possession. The object of love. Marus had lost his love because of Justinian. Justinian must feel this pain. Theodora must be killed.

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