Page 9 of Unveiled Tamar’s Story (Mysteries & Wonders of the Bible #1)

Bithnia could have at least warned her. Told her what this garden was, so that she’d know not to wander beyond this one unused cave tomb. Why had the girl remained silent on this crucial bit of information?

With the next thud of her pulse, the anger grew.

Shifted. Bithnia, despite that oversight, had at least tried to help.

Caiaphas was the one truly to blame. The high priest was supposed to lead their people in spiritual matters, be the one who, above all other men in Israel, could be trusted to be wise and loving, to represent God before men.

How dare he stoop so low? Succumb to prejudice and hatred? Cast blame on hapless artisans only trying to honor the Lord and make a living for their families? What kind of shepherd treated his sheep so?

Beyond that, why hadn’t Levi considered how impossible renting a room would be? He should have made a better plan than thrusting a few coins at her. He should have advised more specifically her on where to go. Why had he left her to come up with a plan alone?

But also, what of her brothers? Were Moshe and Jeremiah and Simon even bothering to look for her, or had they merely shrugged when their cousins told them she wasn’t coming home, and left it at that? She certainly didn’t hear anyone calling her name out there.

Her family probably wouldn’t even miss her, not really.

They would note her absence, but it would be easily filled.

They wouldn’t worry for more than a minute or two.

Levi’s assurances would soothe them, and no one would spare a thought to wonder where she was now, whether she had food or water, where she would sleep.

No one else would spend the night on a cold stone bed meant for a dead man, absent so much as a blanket or a dipper of water. No one else would suffer a rumbling stomach tonight—no, they’d all be feasting, while she shivered, hollow-bellied, in the night.

It wasn’t fair, wasn’t just, and the very fact of that made the anger burn brighter, fiercer, hotter.

Then, all at once, it went out. Her eyes slid closed, leaving her in deeper darkness.

Forgive me . She sent the plea heavenward, even though it seemed to bounce back at her off the stone ceiling.

She oughtn’t get angry with any of her friends and family for not being able to do more—this situation was beyond their control.

Caiaphas was the high priest, the anointed of the Lord.

How dare she think she had any right to stand in judgment of him?

He was the appointed leader of their people, not her.

He was the one with spiritual authority, and he’d done such a good job thus far that already his term had outlasted any other in recent history.

If he said she was guilty…then she was guilty.

A new pang, a new squeeze of pain hit her. But before she could do more than acknowledge it, the voices from outside grew louder again, and she shrank farther into the shadows.

The women were insisting they should stay, to see to the body more completely.

The man was insisting they couldn’t, that they must hurry back to Bethany before they lost the last of the light.

One of the women assured another that they would be prepared to come with the first light of dawn on the first day of the week.

Then their voices were trailing off, along with their footsteps. They were leaving, and though it didn’t sound as if it was by the same path they’d come up, they didn’t pass in front of Tamar’s hiding place.

Dragging in a long breath, she rearranged herself against the cold stone wall and let her eyes slide closed again. She was so thirsty—probably more so than if she wasn’t keenly aware that she wouldn’t drink until tomorrow, and that was assuming that Bithnia did come back.

If she did, perhaps Tamar would let herself indulge in that much of the provisions. Just water. The food she would still refuse out of principle.

Though would it matter, if she didn’t refuse it all?

These thoughts were going to give her a headache if she didn’t find a way to silence them. It promised to be a long, trying Sabbath.

More noises interrupted her brooding—heavier steps than those that had come before, but from the same direction, coming up the same path. Voices, but these too were different. Three of them, all the deeper tones of men. Speaking not in the familiar cadences of Greek or Aramaic, but in Latin.

This couldn’t be good. She opened her eyes again, but it made little difference—darkness had cloaked the landscape and covered the opening to the tomb. But it eased away as the voices grew nearer, light flickering and dancing in time to the torches she glimpsed in the hands of the men.

Romans, yes. But not just any Romans. Roman soldiers . One wore the uniform of a centurion, the other two of regular soldiers. The two lower-ranking ones were joking, laughing between themselves, while the centurion led the way to the tomb the women and man had vacated moments earlier.

Careful to keep out of the torchlight, Tamar repositioned herself so she had a better view.

Her pulse quickened, palms going damp. They are not here for me , she told herself.

They were heading toward that one particular tomb, though she had no idea why.

They weren’t so much as looking around to see what else was in the vicinity.

Not yet, anyway. Though surely they would. They were Roman soldiers, after all. Renowned for their thoroughness and skill. How was she supposed to hide from them if they looked in here?

The centurion jammed his torch into a crevice so that it lit the scene without being held and then motioned toward a large stone chiseled into a circle.

He gave a command in Latin. She knew little of the language, but the few words she could pick out matched their next actions. They were sealing the tomb.

The soldiers went about it cheerfully, grunting with the effort but still laughing under their breath at whatever their private joke was. The centurion watched and gave directions, halting them once the stone was in place.

Maybe that was all they’d come here for. Unburdened by the rules of Sabbath, they could perform the tasks the Jewish family that had just been here could not.

Reasonable…almost. But why would they do it?

The Romans weren’t known for going out of their way to assist the Jews in their chores and tasks.

Quite the contrary—they were known for pressing Jewish citizens into helping them with their chores, forcing them to carry their burdens while they walked.

There was even a law saying how far they could force someone to help them—one mile.

Her second brother, Jeremiah, had been forced to carry a Roman’s burdens for a mile just a year ago, and thinking about it now brought his seething countenance back into her mind.

“Humiliating!” he had declared. “Not just because I had to bear the load of our oppressors but because the very act stated that his business was so much more important than mine. I lost hours! He forced me to go in the opposite direction of where I needed to, so I had to double back. I wanted to spit at his feet when he finally released me.”

He hadn’t, of course. That would have been asking for punishment. But her family had been even more careful to avoid any Roman they saw after that. The lesson had hit hard. Romans cared for no one and nothing but themselves.

So why, then, were they here? Was the body in that tomb one that needed to be sealed away? Perhaps it was a person who had some sort of contagious disease…or perhaps it was one of the criminals executed that day. That would concern the Romans, perhaps.

Her musings went heavy and sank into her stomach when, rather than pick up his torch again, the centurion settled onto one of the many rocks in the garden and pulled forward a sack he’d been carrying.

He opened it up and took out what appeared to be rations.

He offered portions to each of his men, who had claimed rocks of their own.

This wasn’t the behavior of a trio soon to make their way back to the city and their duties within it. This was the behavior of men who meant to stay right where they were for long hours.

Had she dared to, she would have groaned. As if it wasn’t bad enough that she had to spend the next day and a half in a tomb, she’d have to spend it with Romans but a few feet away. Could things get any worse?