I am Rome. I am Roman. My flesh extends from Gascony to Guyenne. My blood and sinews are the Tiber. When the books are written, I prolonged the legacy of my Father. Emperor-King I was, will be, and am. From 79-81, two years of divine rule. Swift and decisive, I pluck Roman rule from the depths of Nero and his tribune of goons. Roman people–listen–I end the jeremiad clouding hanging over this city, clouding our judgement, blurring our connection to God. We have taken the ships toward the cursed land. Every pulse and breathing life in Jaffa will know now of Roman superiority and our unwavering spirituality. We are not on a mission for God–we fight beside him, and him with us. Battle not, there is not implication of defeat, just swift justice. On steed I am unstoppable. When an swarm of horses begins to break the horizon, and the Earth shakes. Thousands of brown and black beasts, dot the hill side and as they approach they swell until they take up the entire eye-line, then and only then will those at Jaffa know my name as the Lord. I care not for tribune, and tributes. This is not a Nero kingdom of old my fellow Romans. Those who attempt to defy my truths and speak heretical rhetoric and of Lollard likeness, I pray you ask Josephus, he will relay. Hand and knee on was he, when he crawled into my camp. He begged and pleaded, wounded and bleeded to be saved from certain death. Favors were given, certain and proven, to save the Jew from perish. Now he speaks of Christian truths and maybe saves a nation.