Bath in Dover
He sank into the water and closed his eyes, letting out a long sigh as he leant back and allowed the water to rise around him. His shoulders were stiff and sore, and he had a line of bruises across his ribs - pity the poor devils who have to haul those sacks day in, day out to earn a crust, he thought - but otherwise he seemed to be unscathed this time. And he was safe, home safe to Marguerite and the peace and order of England: he would count his blessings - not the least of which was being able to have a bath, in fresh water, in his own tub. It had been a matter of some gossip when he had caused the cottage to be provided with such a large copper, and even more gossip when the lad Robert had been engaged to keep it fired; but both developments had been well worthwhile.
Robert, young and strong, had proved adept with the copper and it seemed to be a matter of pride to the lad that there would be hot water for a bath whenever it was required.
The scent of the herbs in the water was refreshing after all the odours which had assailed him during the past few days: the tang of unwashed bodies; the squalor of the streets around the harbour, with the open kennel and reeking shambles; the sickness of Mme la Comtesse and her poor daughter as the Day Dream breasted the swell mid-Channel. He took a deep breath, allowing the clean fragrance of the crushed rosemary to envelop him. He felt the tension of the past mission gradually loosen its grip and he began to drift into a pleasant doze.
A sharp knock at the door woke him: "More water, Sir Percy".
"Ah yes, Robert, thank you, come in!"
Robert entered with the pails and as his master slowly stood up in the tub, he stared. It had never occurred to him that under Sir Percy's gorgeous clothes there was a human body just like anyone else's. Except this was like no other body he had ever seen: massively tall and broad-shouldered, with strong chest and muscled arms... his gaze wandered over the flat stomach and narrow hips... Feeling his master's eyes on him, he did not dare allow his own to look any lower; covered in confusion, scarlet with embarrassment, he met Sir Percy's gaze: the deep blue eyes were looking back at him with evident amusement, though not unkindly.
"Hand me my robe, please, Robert, and I'll let you do what you came to."
Robert watched as he stepped out of the tub and turned his back to don the robe; the lad could see the muscles rippling in the shoulders, but also the marks on the pale skin: scars, not yet white so quite recent, criss-crossing the flesh. How did he get those, he wondered, before realising he was keeping Sir Percy waiting. He lowered the empty pail into the tub and filled it, and as he reached for the fresh water his master spoke:
"I'm sorry if I embarrassed you, Robert; having spent some days with old friends I tend to forget my manners."
"Not - not at all, Sir Percy", he stammered. "Will that be all, Sir?"
With his usual mischief it crossed Percy's mind to ask if Robert would scrub his back - but that would probably be a step too far; and anyway, he liked it best when Marguerite tended to him. Unwilling, however, to miss an opportunity to tease, he said as nonchalantly as he could manage, "Perhaps you could find Lady Blakeney and ask if she would care to assist me, Robert."
"Yes Sir Percy, of course, Sir Percy"; covered in fresh confusion and blushing furiously again, Robert made his escape.
The End