Daughters of the Silk Road: A beautiful and epic novel of family, love and the secrets of a Ming Vase Read Online Free PDF

face as she sat, her mouth a little refreshed, her stomach settling, gazing across the water.
    Up above, on the bridge, the captain, Marco, shouted instructions to one of the crew.
    ‘Throw up that mainsail; the wind’s coming up behind us.’
    The young sailor paid out lengths of rope and the huge mainsail began to flap feebly as it unfurled. It continued its pointless dance with the wind until a sudden gust filled the sail, causing it to bloom outwards like a belly filled with child. Two crewmen formed a tug of war with the sail’s ‘sheet’ – the rope that would be used to make the sail fast. The sheet tied in securely, Maria felt the change of speed instantly as the boat began to crest across the waves.
    ‘When do we make land?’ she yelled up to Marco.
    ‘Not long now,’ he replied. ‘Keep your eye on the horizon over there; we should see a first sight of Venice anytime.’
    Maria felt excited at the prospect of finally, aged seventeen, seeing the place of her father’s birth. Niccolò dei Conti had left his home twenty-five years before. He had travelled far and wide – all through the Middle East, as far as India and further east still to the land of ‘further India’, as China was known. And now he was to return, at last, to the land of his fathers. He had left as a twenty-one–year-old with a thirst for knowledge and adventure. And adventures he had had, aplenty. Now, aged forty-six, he had decided that his duty lay in Italy. He would write of his adventures, and his experiences would serve as a vital tool for future travellers. He brought with him a precious cargo to trade on his return – spices, silver, and other precious metals from India; carpets from Damascus, and lengths of silk and damask from the lands east of India. And porcelain – buried deep in the ship’s hold – the palest, most translucent porcelain that dei Conti had ever seen. Some pieces were in delicate shades of pale celadon, their glaze crackled, like the veins of a leaf. But most were pure white, their surfaces painted in bright cobalt blue with flowers, fruit and courtly scenes, or with dragons – the symbols of good fortune. He had watched as these pots and plates were decorated in the porcelain workshops on the banks of the Yangtze River; he had witnessed the delicate hands of the artists who created such beauty.
    He had purchased much of what lay now in vast wooden barrels in the bowels of the Venetian government ship. But one or two pieces had been gifts, presented several years before by Admiral Zheng He, the military leader and favourite of the Emperor of China himself, Emperor Xuande.
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    A dmiral Zheng He was a eunuch , and as such had been promoted by his master to a position of absolute trust. He was free to enter the private quarters of the Emperor, to mix amongst his many wives and concubines. He was also a brave and adventurous explorer and military leader. Since the age of ten, he had been in the employ of successive Chinese Emperors, and at the impressive age of sixty-two was in charge of his seventh and what was to be his final expedition, travelling as far as the eastern coast of Africa, commanding a vast fleet of two hundred and fifty ships and twenty-seven thousand men. Sixty vast treasure ships, supplied by one hundred and ninety ‘support’ ships, carrying horses, troops and a month’s supply of fresh water.
    Like many of his Mongol forebears, Zheng He was an exceptionally tall man, measuring almost seven feet in height; he sported long moustaches, and was resplendent in silken robes decorated with the Chinese dragon motif, with a jewelled belt wrapped round his vast stomach. He had arranged to meet dei Conti during his final expedition, on the island of Sumatra. There, they had feasted on board Admiral He’s ship. Dei Conti liked and admired the Admiral.
    ‘ We dined in some style with the Admiral,’ he wrote in his diary late that night. ‘ The people of further India lead cultivated lives,