She tends to the bath herself.
First she scrubs the fired red tiles (thick red blood down the altar side) such that they gleam. Gleam you Bastard, she scrubs. She tends to the water. She pulls it from the well. Her maids flutter. She is the Queen, but none but she (her daughter's hand in hers. soft. bouncing with eagerness. bright eyed to see her promised husband) will tend to this. She pulls the water from the well. The deep well into the deep dark earth. A labyrinth. Labrys. She stares down. She heats the water (her baby in her arms. suckling at her breast. fragile. wide eyed) bucket by bucket. She carries it to the tub, (dressing her baby girl. young woman in a bride's finery) the wide red tile tub. The slave sees her. She looks in her eyes and shakes her head. The slave is screaming (her daughter screaming as they take her hands. lift her up) and she just will not stop, but no one listens. They never listen. The water steams and pale lines (white virgin ropes tying her down) twist and dance on the water's surface. She adds herbs (burned wet meat smell as the pyre lights), sweet smelling herbs.
He laughs to see her waiting. He laughs and tickles his wild eyed slave. She takes off his robes himself, (screams as the knife flashes down. down. down. it's always coming down.) she folds them carefully to one side. He slides into the water and sighs (silence) his pleasure. He stretches back (stretched out and tied. struggling) and closes his eyes.
She goes to the chest. This bath will not be complete without the axe.