Marus must return to Belisarius’ camp. A three day journey, alone. No escort urging him on to his destination. Perhaps he would not be able to find his way. Perhaps one of the small villages along the way or even off the path would beckon. He had had enough of city life. Enough of a soldier’s life. He could easily live off the land and support himself. Belisarius could find another cook. If he did not return his fate would not be mourned. It would be assumed that he had met thieves and murderers on the road. He was not a fighter. Or a wild animal could attack a lone traveler when camped for the night. A thousand different things could happen. No one would come looking.

He would miss Peter. Peter, who stood by his side in his grief. Peter, who kept his knowledge of Marus’ plans to himself. Peter, who was always ready to share a laugh. Peter would understand.

Marus no longer had any reason to stay in Constantinople. His task was complete. He did not want to burden Peter with his plans. Better to go alone. He would not mention his thoughts.

They met in the eating establishment where they had reunited a short time ago.

“Marus, you look different.”

“Oh?”

“The lines of distress no longer crease your face.”

“Much has been accomplished.”

“Theodora?”

“Ah, yes. The situation is different, is it not?”

“Um… what you talked about earlier.”

“I’ve spoken of many things. Let us not dwell on the past. The future is before us. Justinian grieves. Anyone can see it. He knows the burden I have felt.”

“Did you… um… do…”

“Peter, my friend, do not bother yourself with such thoughts. My conscious is clear. I sleep well for the first time in many years. Sophia is in my dreams.”

“Really?”

“Yes, I no longer search. We walk together.”

“In all these years, you have never desired another?”

“No. Sophia is all I need. Now that her memory is complete I can live the rest of my days with that.”

Peter nodded.

“And what of you, Peter. You never speak of a love. You live still with other mosaicist. Who warms your bed on a cold winter night?”

“There are many forms of love. Mine is not such as yours.” Peter reached across the table and put his hands atop Marus’ resting hand. He looked into Marus’ eyes.

Marus started at the intimate gesture and found himself gazing into eyes adoring him. He could see Peter’s innermost thoughts and emotions and realized they were directed towards himself.

“Peter, I did not know. I am sorry, but this is not returned in that way.”

Peter laughed. “I know, Marus. I know. Our friendship is enough.”

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