Page 10 of Unveiled Tamar’s Story (Mysteries & Wonders of the Bible #1)

V alerius had long ago abandoned the hard surface of the rock he’d sat on to eat and now stood near the sealed tomb.

They’d heated the wax while they ate and poured it around the stone once it was pliable enough, creating a seal.

It certainly wouldn’t keep out anyone determined to get in, but it would indicate if the tomb’s rock was rolled away.

He’d glanced inside only once, when they first arrived, before he’d instructed his men to put the stone in place.

Verified that the body of Jesus was there, laid out on a stone shelf carved into the empty tomb.

His torchlight had cast the prone figure in sharp relief, making the white of the carefully positioned shroud that covered His body shine bright against the darkness of the stone.

His throat had gone so tight, he hadn’t been sure he could eat a bite. But he’d made himself—not because he was hungry but because he would need the energy to stay awake and alert tonight.

Albus and Caeso were still in good spirits, laughing about some story they’d heard in the barracks that day.

Valerius didn’t bother asking them to tell it to him so he could share in the joke.

He had no desire to laugh. No desire to treat this task like any other.

But he didn’t chide them either. He knew these men.

He knew that the moment anyone else approached, their levity would fall away and they’d snap to attention, all senses focused and alert.

They were two of his best men, on and off the battlefield.

Even so, their laughter grated against his sorrow, and it took effort not to keep looking at that sealed tomb.

It wasn’t just a body in there. Wasn’t just a condemned criminal who had been executed.

It was Jesus . The man whose teaching had made Valerius dare to believe that there was more to this life than accruing wealth and doing prescribed actions and praying it was enough to please some capricious, selfish god.

Jesus had made him believe in the possibility of miracles, of healing… of forgiveness.

Repent! For the kingdom of God is at hand .

That was the message His precursor had preached and which He had picked up. Repent .

Valerius used the bottom of his sandal to nudge an annoying stone out of the way and then replanted his foot. His gaze cut through the shadows, looking for anything out of place. Any movement. Any sign that someone was trying even now to sneak up and steal away the body.

He almost wished someone would. Not because he fancied arresting Jesus’s disciples but because he needed to meet them. Talk to them. I have repented , he would tell them. I turned from my sin. I know that Jesus was the Son of God. But now He is gone…and I do not know what to do .

Before, even just a few days before, it had seemed simple.

He would listen to whatever sermons the Rabbi gave in the vicinity of Jerusalem.

He would go home and write down all the instruction he could remember.

He would study those commands and insights every day, whenever he had the chance.

He would talk them over with Mariana. They would, together, attempt to shape their lives around the words.

It had never felt as though they were doing enough, true. But he’d had a sense, deep in his spirit, that trusting Jesus, trusting that His words were truth, was the most important thing.

What did that mean now, when He was gone? When He would give no more instruction? When He would shine no more light on truth? How could Valerius trust a dead man to help him? To wash him clean of his sins? To somehow, maybe, possibly make a way to the Father?

He had claimed that—Valerius had those words inked onto a scroll too. He’d promised that He was the way to God. He was the path. That whoever followed Him would meet the Lord.

Did that mean following Him to the grave? Did it mean simply following His words still, though His lips had gone silent?

His fingers went tight around the shaft of his spear, and he prayed that something, someone would break through the darkness.

Someone who, rather than slinking away again in fear when he spotted three Roman soldiers guarding the tomb, would approach anyway.

Would know, as Jesus had always seemed to, what he was thinking.

The questions spiraling through his mind.

I know He was the Son of God. But then why did He die?

The heroes of legend, the supposed sons of the Greek and Roman gods—Heracles, Achilles, Aeneas—gave him no insights here.

Theirs were always stories of great triumph, great strength, great victories…

and then tragic and heroic death when some other great hero or monster overwhelmed their godlike strength and feasted on their human nature.

Jesus was like none of those stories though.

His was not a tale of adventurous quests, inhuman physical strength, or conquering armies led by His charm and powers of intimidation.

No, His was a tale of profound wisdom. A heart that loved beyond human limitations.

Mercy that stretched beyond the borders of His own country and people.

He was not a demigod. Not a legend. Not a warrior.

He was something more. Something different. Something Valerius had only just been beginning to understand, and now everything he’d thought he knew seemed useless.

Because Jesus, the Son of God, the one who claimed to be the way to the Father, was gone.

Albus and Caeso settled into silence, as they always did after the first hour of a night watch.

They took up their positions on the paths leading away from this newly carved tomb, their torches crackling from the holders they’d jammed into crevices or the ground itself, the orange light shouldering the darkness away from their little triangle.

Valerius drew a long, slow breath into his lungs.

He wanted the quiet to be soothing, but it wasn’t.

He doubted that anything really would be.

It seemed that the longer he stood here, nothing but a stone separating him from the man he’d never allowed himself to meet face-to-face, the more grief filled his heart.

He had known, when he sent his friends to beseech Jesus on his behalf, to beg Him to heal Gaius with a word, that he was unworthy to approach Him himself.

He’d known it down to his bones. He’d always been content to be just one person in the crowd, unassuming.

He had needed to be that, to feel, if only for an hour, like one of many.

Like the rest of the seekers needing His touch, His words.

Now, though, he regretted all of those decisions. He regretted that the first time the Lord had looked him in the eyes, it was on Golgotha, when Valerius was there as one of His executioners.

The eyes had cast no blame upon him. He had even whispered a prayer that God would forgive His tormentors.

But would He? How could He? The whole world ought to be punished for allowing this to happen—and maybe it had been. Maybe that was what the earthquake, the darkness had been about. Maybe, because they’d treated His Son so poorly, God would remove His hand of protection from all of humanity now.

Maybe this night wasn’t just a vigil to keep anyone from stealing the corpse of a master teacher. Maybe it was one of the last nights that the world would even exist. Maybe God would pour out His wrath upon them all after this.

As if they could hear his thoughts, Albus and Caeso both shifted uneasily, clearly sensing something out of the ordinary. Something that wasn’t right. Valerius renewed his vigil as well, straining to see beyond the ring of firelight, to hear something more than the rustle of the wind in the trees.

But there was no wind. It was still, far more still than usual, making the cloaks they’d donned nearly unnecessary in the temperate spring evening.

He pulled his torch from where he’d set it and stepped forward.

“I am going to check the rest of the garden.” His voice came out low, quiet, more murmur than anything.

His men both gave a quick nod, on alert for anyone or anything that approached.

He hadn’t expected this assignment to require much by way of action.

Their role was simply to stand here and dissuade any vandals or thieves, and hence he hadn’t ordered his men to sweep the whole area as soon as they arrived.

They didn’t need to chase off any actual mourners at other tombs, and with night and the Sabbath falling, no one had been in sight anyway.

But perhaps he should have been more thorough, because he could swear he felt someone watching him.

Nonsense, probably. Just the unease of the day and all the questions stampeding through his mind.

He started along the path, moving first to the nearest tomb, which was unused, given its mouth gaping open, no rock even in place to roll over it.

A quick peek inside, a flash of his torch from the left to right, and he stepped out again.

The tomb, as he’d assumed it would be, was empty.

Not so much as a jar of spices or a burial cloth to hint at its impending use.

It looked as though it might have a rear chamber too, but he saw no point in examining it, given the utter silence.

This was newly hewn, quite possibly not even purchased yet.

He did pause and listen for a moment, but he heard no breathing, no shuffling, nothing to indicate any thieves lurking within.

He ducked out again, continuing his search through the rest of the garden of tombs.

He found three other open, empty caves that held no one, either living or dead, and saw no one on the paths, not even the usual small, scurrying animals.

Not until he returned to his post did he hear anything to make his shoulders knot.