He headed to Jerusalem with only one thought on his mind. He wanted to find men filled with the same passion that was now consuming his every waking moment. He knew of a group of men who had pledged to kill as many roman soldiers as possible before they died. His death would be an honorable end to the hell that has been his life for the past days. The Zealots were in Jerusalem and he would find them and join their cause. His reason was different but his sword would join theirs. The burning passion to kill had been seared in his heart and the images forever in his eyes.
The Romans trek across the north of Africa had been as swift as the locust swarms. The bodies left in their path was in the thousands. It wasn't just armed men they slaughtered, they killed everything in their path. Villages were burned to the ground, livestock butchered or stolen. Even the innocent were flesh for their swords and lances. Children left lifeless in the arms of their mothers whose eyes stare into the sky but see nothing.
The people of the land heard the approaching legions. Some tried to hide and others fled to the desert to the south. Still others, the foolish and dead, thought the butchers would leave the innocents alone. He never heard them coming as he was down to the great sea that dark and evil day. Down at the sea delivering works from his trade and to bring some fish home.
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