Statesmen, merchants, the elite of Constantinople all attended the funeral of Theodora. Marus, like most of the curious population, watched the procession to the Church of the Holy Apostle from the street. Many women mourned her passing for they had benefited from the laws that she insisted be enacted giving them rights to own property, to divorce an abusive husband. Others remembered her arrogance as Empress, demanding visitors supplicate and kiss her shoes. Still others had seen the beauty of the rebuilt city after the Nika riots and the economic prosperity that had followed.

 For the first time in many years Marus slept well. Justinian was publicly grieving. Marus could see his pain and felt a transference from his own body to Justinian. His heart was lighter. The bodily aches and pains which were a normal part of life seemed to dissipate.

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Marus again dreamed of Sophia. He held the now-ragged sleeping gown close to his breast as he slept. Her scent filled his nostrils as he beheld her countenance, young, fresh and beautiful. She was laughing. He felt her embrace. He could guide his movements, control the actions of the dream. No longer was he helpless to unseen forces awakening him in the night. Sophia was there. He was young again, holding her, loving her. He woke gently, a strange mist encompassing the room. A shadow, just out of sight. Sophia? 

For three nights, the dream was the same. He arrived at Sophia’s apartment to find her working on the beaded cloak. They embraced and talked of going to the Hippodrome to hear Justinian’s words. Then left the apartment together and walked in the opposite direction to the city gates and out into the countryside. She didn’t ask why. They did not look back, He would awake gently as they reached the open road. Each night the dream was more vivid. More real.

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