Page 20 of Unveiled Tamar’s Story (Mysteries & Wonders of the Bible #1)

B ithnia left them near the city’s gate, pointing toward her family’s home. “I would invite you to stay with us,” she said in a hush, casting an anxious glance around her, “but I do not think my home is any safer than yours just now.”

They’d drawn near enough to Tamar’s home to verify that temple guards were lurking at the corners, waiting for her to appear.

Even though she likely could have walked right past them in her current garb without earning a second glance, they’d take notice if she approached either of the doors.

What business, after all, would a wealthy Roman matron have with Tamar’s family?

But Bithnia’s claim made her frown. Not that she was fishing for an invitation, but… “I cannot think why your family would be in any danger, Bithnia. I doubt Caiaphas even knows who you are, given how new you are.”

“That is not why,” Bithnia said softly. She glanced toward Mariana and Gaius, and then toward the home built into the wall. “My brother…he is one of the seventy.”

Tamar frowned. “The seventy what?”

“Disciples. Of Jesus. There are thousands who follow Him, of course, and everyone knows of the Twelve—or Eleven now, I suppose. My brother said that Judas, the traitor, hanged himself last night.”

Tamar had heard of the Twelve, now that Bithnia mentioned it. But not the seventy.

“A while back, Jesus chose seventy of the men who had been with Him the longest and sent them out into the towns He planned to visit, to prepare the way for Him. To preach the good news of salvation from sin. My brother Noam was one of them.” Bithnia scanned the street, not seeming satisfied at the lack of guards.

“He is concerned—they all are—that we will be rounded up. He said that as soon as the Sabbath is over at sundown, or perhaps at first light, we should expect them to move.”

Tamar reached for Bithnia’s hand. After all this girl had done to help Tamar, why was she resigning herself to this fate for herself? “Then you should not go home. You should come with me.”

Bithnia gave a closed-lip smile. “No. If the followers are taken, I will be with them. I am not ashamed of where I have put my faith.”

“In Jesus?” She squeezed the girl’s hand. “Bithnia, He is gone. I am sorry, but it is true. There is no reason for anyone else to face prison or death for their loyalty to Him.”

Bithnia squeezed her fingers in return but then pulled away. “I will not deny Him. Better to be thrown to the lions or cast into the furnace than to deny the Lord.”

“That was different.” The fact that Bithnia equated them made bands of worry tighten around Tamar’s chest. “That was denying God. Not a teacher. Even if He was a prophet—”

“He is more than a teacher. More than a prophet.” Bithnia sought Mariana’s gaze, and she must have seen something in it that encouraged her. “He is the Son of God.”

Tamar pulled back a step. That was the phrase Valerius had used, and one she’d heard rumors about Jesus claiming.

But to hear Bithnia speak it… She ought to know better.

Valerius likely didn’t, having been raised in a society that had so many stories about demigods and heroes with one immortal parent. But Bithnia should.

God was One. God was alone. God was all. He was not like Jupiter, descending to earth and dallying with human women. The very thought was abhorrent. God was perfection. The definition of morality. How could any Jew even suggest that God had a human—half-human?—son. It was ludicrous.

It was worse than ludicrous. It was heresy. The moment Jesus went from preaching repentance and love to claiming that He was the means to forgiveness, Bithnia ought to have known to run, just as Tamar’s family had.

Perhaps her young friend read the disapproval on her face.

Her expression shifted, not to apology but to resignation.

She handed Tamar the sack she’d been carrying, which had the rest of the food she’d brought that morning.

“You are welcome to stay in the tomb as long as you need. I will check on you again tomorrow and bring you more food.”

“There is no need. I will return home tomorrow.” She didn’t know if she would, or if Levi would have another plan in place for her when she met him at noon at the market stall he’d named, but she suddenly didn’t want Bithnia coming again.

Even so, she owed the girl. She’d risked much to help her.

“Thank you for all you have done, Bithnia.”

“It is a privilege to help you. It is what Jesus would have advised me to do.”

Tamar had no answer to that, so she said no more, just offered a tight smile and watched Bithnia dart off.

Mariana shifted closer. “This disturbs you—calling Jesus the Son of God.”

It was a statement, an observation, not a question.

Yet the pause waited for an explanation.

Tamar sighed. “I imagine Roman inheritance laws are not so different from ours. When a man has a son, all that he owns belongs to that son. He is not just a servant, not just another worker, not just a child to love. He is the heir. When he travels on behalf of his father, he has his father’s authority.

He can give orders in his father’s name.

Even while the father still lives, while the wealth and land are his and he is the only one who can decide how to use it, the son can act on his behalf.

He is the one person in the family who is equal to his father. ”

Mariana nodded, and understanding lit her eyes. “So if Jesus is the Son of God…”

“He is equal to God. He has the authority of God. And that cannot be.”

“But what if it can?” Mariana leaned close, her eyes burning brighter than the sinking sun. “Has He not acted with the authority of God? He calmed the waves. Stilled the wind. Raised the dead.”

“Nonsense.” For what felt like the hundredth time that day, she bristled. “Just a story.”

“It is not, and you know it. Lazarus lives only a few miles from here. You know he was four days in the grave, yet you have seen him walking in the city again. You cannot deny that!”

Tamar bit back a retort. She did know that Lazarus had been reported dead.

His was a prominent family, owning a wide expanse of land in Bethany.

Vineyards, farms, a villa to match none other.

His sudden death had rocked the whole region, and though Tamar didn’t know the family personally, she had felt so sorry for his two sisters, who were left with no one.

But then came the claims that Jesus had called Lazarus forth and, after four days in the grave, he emerged. Where there should have been rot and stink, there had been a man in perfect health.

Her eldest brother, Moshe, had refused to believe it.

Her second-eldest, Jeremiah, had instead gotten a dark look on his face, muttering that if Lazarus had indeed been resurrected by Jesus, he would soon wish he hadn’t been.

That the high priest would seek to silence him in whatever way he could find.

Her younger brother, Simon, had pressed his lips together and said nothing.

Mariana held her gaze. “He healed the sick. Gave sight to the blind. Opened the ears of the deaf. He healed Gaius when he was on the brink of death, from miles away, just by speaking a word.”

“Coincidence.”

“It was not .” Mariana splayed a hand over her chest. “I saw it, Tamar. I saw him struggle for each breath. I saw him grow weaker and weaker. Then all at once, without warning, he simply sat up, healthy again. The fever hadn’t just broken, he was healthy .

Stronger than he’d been in years. No shadows under his eyes. Healthy color in his cheeks.”

“My arthritic joints were young again,” Gaius added from behind her. “All the aches and pains of age, gone. I remembered being so sick, wishing death would hurry. And then, it was like a flash of light was before my eyes, and I was…bright. Filled with light. Made anew.”

She could see there was no point in arguing. And, to be honest, she didn’t know how she would have. It was one thing to dismiss a story heard secondhand or to try to explain that sometimes things were coincidence, that people just got better.

But they didn’t, not like that. Men blind from birth didn’t simply begin seeing one afternoon. Men on the brink of death, who’d been wasting away for weeks, didn’t sit up with strong muscles and revived joints.

God also didn’t walk among men anymore though. He didn’t have a son. He was One .

The incongruity made her head ache.

Mariana offered a sweet, guileless smile. “I will not try to convince you. But I will offer you what Bithnia could not—refuge for the night. Come to our home, please. Do not spend another night on the cave floor. Have a hot meal, sleep in a real bed.”

“No.” The refusal was out before she could stop it.

But how could she have anyway? Pharisees didn’t eat with Gentiles, and even if this woman and her husband really had cleansed their house of idols, they still were not Jews.

They hadn’t gone through the ritual of conversion.

If she ate at their table and slept under their roof, she would be unclean.

Mariana blinked at her quick answer, hurt flashing in her eyes. But she covered it quickly. “Of course. Well then, will you at least accept a cushion and blankets?”

Why was she so kind? So generous? Tamar shook her head. “You have done so much already. I will be fine. And I will change back into my garments when I return to the cave and will leave these within it. Your husband can collect them tomorrow, perhaps?”

Mariana’s smile went sad. “Very well.”

There was nothing left to say other than farewell. She couldn’t promise they’d see each other again. She couldn’t apologize for all that separated them.