The smell of saltwater, latrine buckets, and the smell of blood hung heavily in the air inside the close quarters of where the Burning Bitch’s doctor worked over the Englishman and Omero. Artemisia had been shooed away from the operating area, and barred against re-entry by the sailors. They had more faith in their ship doctor than they did for a ragged barmaid. She paced the corridors fervently, worried about the commotion occurring over head. At one point in time, a bright light shone through the cracks in the wooden planks, causing Artemisia to gaze up in wonderment, and awe. What was going on out there? 

After some time, Artemisia grew tired of pacing anxiously outside the door, so she went in search of the women's quarters who shared with the children. Upon arrival she found that the women had barricaded themselves inside, in fear of the fighting above deck. It wasn’t long after before she could convince them to let her in, as there were no more sounds of engagement of the battle. As she slipped inside the room, their eyes were large with fear and questions of what had happened. Instead Artemisia side stepped their questions by telling them the Captain would answer in the morning. She headed straight for an empty hammock and collapsed into it which much relief. All this time, Artemisia hadn't realized how fast her heart was beating. Her arms and legs throbbed with each pulse that sent radiating waves of pain. She let her head fall back into the canvas, and the sense of weightlessness soon clouded her mind as sleep over took her. 

Her mind flickered with past images that only stirred her heart with agony as she slept.

[i]‘The smell of salt filled her lungs as she had boarded the ship, La Galilea, with her other siblings in tow; Apollo, Vincenzo, Giada, Francesca and Anabela. Ahead on the boarding plank, she could see the captain of the ship. A frightening old man with a scarred left eye that rendered him blind. As she walked hesitantly over the boards, she cried out in terror as the height grew drastically from the edge of the port city and she crossed over the water and onto the Spanish galleon. A comforting hand caught her wrist to steady her, ‘twas her brother Apollo. He looked her in the eyes and said… something. She realized that she couldn't understand him, as if she’d lost her hearing.

Salt. And shit. And death. The smell stung viciously in her nose as the constant rocking of the boat miserably tried to lure her to sleep. A familiar hand, stroked her head as she attempted to sleep. ‘Twas her oldest sister Giada. Francesca and Anabela dozed in and out of sleep, the two sharing the only blanket they had. 
“My sister, do not fret. This voyage will pass sooner than you can imagine.’Giada spoke, her voice clear in Artemisia's mind still, after all those years that had passed. Yet the only thing that troubled her consciously was the fact that she could not see the details to Giada’s face.’[/i]

Artemisia awoke suddenly with a gasp, her forehead slick with sweat from her troubling dream. With a shaky hand, she brushed away her black tresses that clung to her forehead like little black serpents. Her stomach growled fiercely as it did every morning, demanding food to fill the ache. She slipped out from the hammock, and departed from the room. Her head swam with the sea as the Burning Bitch lolled gently with the waves, causing her to feel nauseous. She groaned inwardly and placed a shaky hand upon the wooden wall and forced herself to walk, she hadn't made it far before she doubled over in pain. Panting heavily, she wiped the drool that dribbled down her chin. Righting herself, she forced her feet to make the climb to the top deck. They had survived the night, and that alone relieved Artemisia of her worries. Surely they must have slain the unholy knight?

As she ascended the steps to the main deck, Artemisia again could smell the salt in the air. Though this time it did not bother her as much. And then it struck her, the deck had been somewhat repaired, and it dawned on her then, how much damage the Burning Bitch had really taken. She made a beeline straight for the railing, moving as slow as a snail. Anyone who saw her, would see her disheveled hair and her sweaty face, and perhaps wonder if she was ill. That wasn't the case however, as her fitful sleep and ghosts of years past had made for a poor nights rest.

She neared the railing, and fell upon it as soon as she could allow herself, emptying the contents of the last evening meal into the water below. Artemisia remained leaning over the railing, her head pounding with a furious headache. 

[i]’Oh what did I get myself into?’[/i] She wondered with misery as she laid a palm upon her feverish brow. Artemisia then pondered who all survived the night, she hoped that Omero hadn't suffered too much from the wound in his side. But what of the Captain and the Englishman, along with the rest of the crew? She turned about and watched the few sailors on deck, getting the ship in working order still and waited, for her stomach to calm down, or rather for someone else to come above deck. Silently, Artemisia longed for a cup of hot chamomile tea with honey. She knew the mixture would settle her stomach and nerves.