Page 22 of Unveiled Tamar’s Story (Mysteries & Wonders of the Bible #1)

V alerius waved the three soldiers away and motioned Albus and Caeso into the same positions they’d had last night. He hadn’t asked them to take another night shift, but when he’d announced that he would, they volunteered.

He hadn’t argued. They were good company, they never struggled to stay awake for a night watch, and he wouldn’t have to explain himself to them when he kept to the same routine he’d initiated before. He merely nodded at them and said, “I will do a circuit again.”

“Do you want to eat first, sir?”

He’d done that last night, he supposed. But tonight, he had a more pressing concern. “You go ahead. Livia thinks she left something here this morning, and I promised her I would check.”

His men smiled at that. Livia had them all wrapped around her sweet little finger. No one would question him looking for this “something” now, when barely any light remained in the sky, rather than tomorrow morning.

Since this “something” was in fact a someone, he hastened away, one of their torches in hand.

He’d intercepted Mariana just moments after she and Tamar parted ways, it seemed, and she’d had that look on her face that said she was trying not to be hurt, not to be disappointed. He guessed that she’d invited Tamar home and been refused. He knew that, intellectually, she understood.

That never stopped the sting.

But she’d perked up when he promised he would check in on Tamar and make certain she was settled, and showed her that he’d brought a blanket and pillow for Tamar, suspecting she would opt for another night in her proven hiding spot rather than finding a new one.

If he was wrong, he’d simply set them aside and gather them back up in the morning.

He didn’t do anything so obvious as glance over his shoulder to make certain his men weren’t looking.

He just walked into the cave that Bithnia’s family owned.

He’d lain awake longer than he should have that morning, marveling at how, hours after he’d prayed that God would send him someone to explain what would happen now that Jesus was gone, what it meant for those who loved Him, He’d sent a believer. A follower of Jesus.

Bithnia might not have had all the answers. But even so—she was a follower . She had spent the day with Mariana and Gaius, and they now knew where she lived. According to Gaius, she’d even whispered a time and place they could meet her family two days from now…assuming they hadn’t been arrested.

God had answered. God had provided a means to get answers.

He stepped now into the dark of the cave, his torch casting its flickering orange light on an empty space. But he wasn’t about to fall for that again. “Tamar?” he called quietly. “It is only me. Valerius.”

A beat of silent stillness, and then she eased around the back wall. She wore her own clothes again, but she was holding her hands strangely. He frowned. “What is the matter?”

“Nothing.” But as she drew closer, he could see blood on her palms that had him hissing out a sympathetic breath.

“It looks as though you slipped and caught yourself on rocks.”

She shrugged, clearly trying to ignore it. But her hands trembled. Cold? Pain?

If only she’d accepted Mariana’s invitation.

He understood why she hadn’t, of course, but sometimes he wished these people whose God he loved could put aside their pride and accept friendship without so many rules and regulations.

He’d read the Scripture. God had never told them they couldn’t so much as share a meal or a roof with other peoples.

It was man who had devised those rules. Men who were afraid, after the last captivity, of falling away again.

Men who were so keen on making sure that didn’t recur that they overcompensated.

He removed the bag he’d been carrying slung over his shoulder, disguised by his cloak, and dropped it to the ground as he fitted the torch into a hole in the wall that seemed designed for it. “I brought you a few things.”

“Oh, you needn’t have—”

“Perhaps instead of arguing, you simply ought to thank the Lord for His provision?” He lifted a brow and crouched down to open the bag.

“It isn’t much. I knew you wouldn’t eat or drink anything I brought, but there are no stipulations about blankets, are there?

We can cut a few strips off to bind your hands too. ”

He pulled his knife from his belt and got to work, trying not to count the seconds until she lowered herself to the floor several feet away from him. Twenty-three.

“You and your wife are too kind.”

“I do not think one can be too kind. We are simply trying to live a life that will please the Lord.”

She nodded, and her hair fell forward, into her face.

It had a wave and curl he recognized—the same sort Mariana’s always had after she’d worn her hair up all day in its twists and braids and finally took it down at night.

She had the yellow and blue headscarf again, but it wasn’t quite in place.

No doubt her hands hurt enough that she couldn’t be precise with them.

“I fear…when I fell. Your wife’s fine silk… I will take it home with me tomorrow and wash it. I pray it is not ripped. There is no way I could ever replace it if it is damaged.”

His knife sliced through the wool of the blanket as she said it, and he had to breathe a short laugh.

“Tamar, Mariana will not care if it is ruined. She does not like silk. She says it is too decadent. She only accepts such gifts to keep from offending her friend. But I assure you, if it is ruined, she will not mourn its loss.”

A glance showed him that Tamar’s jaw was set. “I care though.”

He studied her face for a moment. More than its only vaguely familiar lines and features, he saw bits and pieces he knew far better. His sister in the flair of her nostrils. His mother in the straightness of her spine. Mariana in the glint in her eye.

She didn’t want to be in anyone’s debt, he would imagine, especially not theirs.

But she was right that there was no way she could replace the silk.

He could count on one hand the number of Jews he’d spotted wearing the rare imported fabric, and they’d all been at Herod’s court, not living ordinary lives in Jerusalem.

Frankly, he couldn’t afford to dress his wife regularly in silk either.

It was only due to Claudia’s generosity that Mariana even knew she didn’t like to wear it.

“If you find it needs replacing, then I know my wife would treasure something you wove yourself. You must be talented, to have earned your position.”

Tamar measured him for a long moment, no doubt trying to discern if he spoke the truth or offered a comforting lie. He finished slicing off the long strip of cloth from the blanket, folded it in half, and made another slice in the middle to create two bandages of more manageable length.

Perhaps she believed him. Or perhaps she was too weary to argue. Either way, she nodded. “Thank you.”

The words sounded as though they cost her far more than a breath and a few sounds. He held out the cloth. “May I assist you, or would you be more comfortable doing it yourself?”

“I…do not know. I imagine I can do the left, but I may need some help on my right.”

Were she one of his men, he simply would have issued a command to let him help so that it would be accomplished more quickly and with more speed. Had she been one of the women in his family, she’d have known she could trust him with so simple a task and would have accepted his help eagerly.

As it was, he told himself to be patient. She was neither a soldier nor a sister, and a single day’s acquaintance wasn’t enough to prove to her that he meant her no harm.

Her hands continued to tremble as she wrapped the first strip around her left palm, and he winced again as he saw the raw flesh better in the torchlight as she held it up.

It needed a more thorough cleaning too, but he didn’t have the means available to him to offer.

That would have to wait until she returned home tomorrow.

She got it wrapped well enough but had trouble securing the end and, after an exasperated huff, held it out to him.

He gently tucked the end under the other strips and then reached for her other, dominant hand.

“Let me know if it is too tight.” He’d bound plenty of wounds on his men over the years, but he’d discovered with his wife and daughter that the same amount of pressure was too much for them.

She made no objection though, so he concentrated on wrapping the cloth in even circles and avoiding so much as a graze of his fingertips on her flesh, knowing it would make her uncomfortable.

In half the time it had taken her, he was finished.

He turned away, pulling forward the cushion he’d brought and handing it to her.

“If you need anything else through the night, make the call of a nightjar.”

She blinked at him. “I have not imitated birdcalls since I was a child.”

“It will return to you, if you need it.” Offering her a smile, he pushed to his feet and reached for his torch. “Would you like to get situated while you have the light?”

She shook her head, but then she paused, drew in a breath, and nodded. It took her only a moment to spread out the blanket and position the pillow at one end of it. “Thank you.”

He nodded, and once she’d settled again onto her makeshift bed, he turned toward the exit. Albus and Caeso were talking quietly at the other tomb, no doubt enjoying their dinners. He did a quick patrol of the rest of the garden and then joined them, putting his torch in its spot.

“Did you find Livia’s missing toy, sir?” Albus asked.

“No toys in evidence.” He settled onto the same rock he’d used as a chair last night and drew out his rations. “I will look again before we leave in the morning.”