Daughters of the Silk Road: A beautiful and epic novel of family, love and the secrets of a Ming Vase (9 page)

‘But you are not unwell, are you?’ she asked.

‘No, and neither is Daniele; it is a mistake, but we are powerless. I have written to my father, but please tell Peter. I do not wish him to think I do not care – that I have just disappeared. Tell him… Tell him that I love him.’

‘I will tell him. And I will pray for you both Maria – with all my heart.’

Maria heard footsteps outside the study door.

‘Hurry in there; time is running out,’ the man spoke gruffly.

‘I’m coming,’ she called out. ‘Just one moment, please.’

She crossed over to the shelf where her father kept the Ming vase. The dragon’s blue eyes stared back at her as if to say, ‘I will keep you safe. The dragon will protect you.’ She took it down carefully, feeling it cool and comforting beneath her trembling fingers, and wrapped it in a rug that her father kept on the back of his chair. She took it to her bedchamber, where Bella was rapidly packing some clothes into a bag.

‘Here, Bella – put the vase into the bag. Hide it under my clothes.’

The girl did as she was told, and tearfully bid farewell to Maria.

A
s the small
boat set off from the pier at San Marco, Maria looked back at the beautiful Piazza, rose-gold, apricot and pink in the early evening light; she made a silent promise to herself. ‘We will survive, and we will see this place again.’ She clung tightly to Daniele’s hand. They sat in the prow of the boat and gazed towards the city, their backs to the tiny island of Poveglia, somewhere out there, unknown, threatening in the lagoon. They could not bring themselves to face it; not yet. Gradually the city transformed into a thin sliver hovering on the horizon; the sea became choppy and the boatman struggled to hold the boat steady. On any other day Daniele would have leapt up cheerfully to help the man, delighted to be able to demonstrate his strength, grateful for the exercise. But he sat, paralysed with fear at what was unfolding.

Andrea sat opposite the pair, looking towards their destination. He too felt fear, but it was more of an anxiety of anticipation, mixed with a curious excitement. Would his plan work? Would Maria be grateful to him for his loyalty? Would she, could she, be made to love him?

The journey took longer than they had expected; the island was several miles out into the lagoon, beyond Malamocco. The sea became rougher as they travelled on; the boat rocked and bucked as the billowing water broke over the bow, leaving a fine sticky film of salty dampness on the passengers’ clothing. Maria and Daniele began to feel nauseous.

‘I feel sick,’ said Daniele to his sister.

‘I know,’ she said helplessly. ‘Try to take a deep breath of air.’

As she attempted to breathe through the nausea, Daniele leant over the side of the boat and vomited. He tasted fear mixed with the salt of the sea, bile and bitterness. His mind was numb. He could not understand how such a terrible mistake had been made. He knew he did not have the plague. He had watched as his mother, brother and sister had suffered with it, and knew what they went through as they died. He felt sure that he did not have this terrible illness. Somehow this nightmare must come to an end. He could not, surely, be taken to this dreadful island and left to die.

Maria clutched his hand in hers and spoke gently to him throughout the journey. ‘You will be all right, little brother. You are strong. Remember to do as Papa did and cover your mouth at all times. Here, let me show you. Take the end of your turban like this and tie it across your face, as Papa did. I asked Bella to put two clean lengths of cloth in your bag. Change them often and try to find some way of washing them. Do not breathe the air of another person if they are unwell. Do not share food with anyone. Do you understand? Alfreda packed some food in your bag. Eat that. Do not eat anything they give you. Oh my dearest, I would do anything to be with you and protect you.’

Daniele sat mute, listening and yet unable to hear. He began to weep, silently.

Maria turned to the boatman. ‘You – boatman. Do you know where each of us is to be taken?’

The boatman took his eyes off the horizon for a second and took in the beautiful girl, her blue eyes almost a match for the incongruously clear blue sky above.

‘Two of you for the
Nuovo
, one for the
Vecchio
,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘The lad, there – he’s for the
Vecchio
.’

Daniele’s weeping turned to sobbing.

‘My brother… He is not strong. I would like to go with him, to look after him.’

‘You’ll not be wanting to do that,’ said the boatman, keeping his eyes steadfastly on the sea ahead. ‘You’re to go to the
Nuovo
with this other here.’

‘There has been a change of plan. It cannot matter to you where I go. It is my choice. I wish to go with my brother.’

‘I’m not sure about that,’ said the boatman. ‘My orders is to take two of you to the
Nuovo
.’

Maria reached into her pocket and removed six ducats; it was more than six months’ wages to the boatman. ‘Here take this; does that make it easier to forget your orders?’

The boatman looked at the money suspiciously. Maria laid the coins carefully at his feet in case he was fearful of touching her hand.

He picked them up and slipped them beneath his cape, revealing a dagger in his belt. He was clearly under orders not to let them escape.

‘Two for the
Vecchio
then,’ was all he said.

Andrea, on hearing this exchange, was in a blind panic. This was a disaster. This was not part of the plan. Maria must stay with him on the other island, where there was no illness. Daniele alone must be taken to the plague island. His mind was struggling with how to deal with this development. Finally he said, ‘Maria… I do not think this wise.’ He spoke quietly, his voice almost drowned out by the wind. ‘The boatman might take you, but surely they will not let you stay there. You are to go to the other island with me. Once Daniele is free of the disease he will be sent to join us. That is the plan.’

Maria stared at Andrea. ‘Plan? What do you mean?’

‘Oh, well that’s what the doctor told us at the house. That is what he said must happen.’

‘Well, I do not care what the doctor said. I do not believe he was even a doctor. I intend to stay with my brother. That is my duty; to protect him. You must do as you see fit, Andrea.’

‘But Maria… You might catch the illness. Surely you will not take that risk?’

‘My brother might catch the illness. You know as well as I that there is nothing wrong with him. This is all a terrible mistake. If he must take the risk, then so will I. I would do anything to protect my brother,’ she said firmly.

Daniele gazed at her bewildered. ‘But Maria, Andrea is right. Please, remain on the other island and protect yourself. I could not bear for you to get ill. Please.’

‘
Cara
, did our father desert our mother in her last hour? Did he leave Magdalena and Dario? No, he was with them to the end. But remember this: he took precautions and survived. And so will I, and so will you.’ She held Daniel’s face between her hands and kissed his forehead.

Andrea knew that he should offer to stay with the pair. His plan depended on Maria understanding how much he cared for her. But when faced with the prospect of almost certain death, his courage faltered. He sat silently, staring out to sea, nausea rising in his throat, as the realisation of what he had set in motion enveloped him like a dark, terrible storm.

The boatman steered the boat expertly towards the island. The sun shone brightly and the hospital and its neighbouring church glowed rose-red against the sparkling blue sky. The gardens of the house were wild and unkempt, but Maria took some comfort that there would be berries to eat there perhaps, or a shady corner where she and Daniele might shelter. But as they drew closer, she saw that the garden was, in fact, just a tangle of thorny bushes and scrubland.

The boatman was paid well to transport patients to Poveglia. However, he would not risk touching his passengers, and so could not help them from the boat. But he was not a cruel man and took care to bring his boat up alongside the stone jetty and threw a rope fore and aft to hold the boat steady.

Andrea, filled now with a mixture of fear and remorse, was the first to speak. ‘Is this it? The Lazzaretto Vecchio?’

‘It is.’

‘And the Lazzaretto Nuovo?’

‘Over there. It is the smaller island of the two. I shall take you there once these two have been left here.’

Andrea unloaded the bags onto the jetty for Maria and Daniele, all the while agonising as to how to proceed. To stay, or go? He felt sick with indecision, appalled at the prospect of remaining in this hellhole, but equally distraught at the missed opportunity of convincing Maria of his undying love. Maria stepped gracefully off the boat first, climbing determinedly up the stone steps and onto the jetty. She got to the top and held her hand out to Daniele.

‘Come, brother. Come with me.’ He followed her obediently, in a daze, still struggling to understand how they had come to this.

As the two stood on the jetty, their bags at their feet, she looked down at Andrea.

‘Well, are you coming? Or going?’

She had sensed his despair as they travelled from the city and was perplexed by it. There was no need for him to remain with them.

‘I… I…’

‘Andrea – go the
Nuovo
. With luck we will see you there in forty days. Maybe you can get word to Papa; that is the best way you can serve us now.’

And with that, the boatman released the ropes and pushed off from the jetty with his oar. The boat floated round in front of the main building. Andrea looked back at the pair as they picked up their bags and walked the twenty yards towards the studded oak door of the hospital. Maria stood erect, her brother weeping slightly. She put her arms around him and he saw her say something to the boy, but their voices were drowned out by the wind. Andrea held his hand up to wave, but Maria was not looking in his direction. She was gazing up at the hospital. He saw her cross herself, and within minutes she was out of sight as the boatman steered their boat round the side of the island and out into the open sea towards the smaller island that housed the Lazzaretto Nuovo.

N
iccolò received
Maria’s letter six days after she had sent it. He had been in Florence for over five weeks, and his work with the scholar Poggio Bracciolini was nearing completion. He had dictated a long and thorough memoir – although Bracciolini chose neither to enquire about, nor record Niccolò’s perceptions of the places he had visited, nor his motivation. He was interested solely in the facts: the countries he had visited; the length of rivers; the animals he had seen; the customs he had witnessed. The memoir would be published under the title ‘
Historia de Varietate Fortunae’
(A History on the Vicissitudes of Fortune) and dedicated to Pope Nicholas V.

Later, this work would be the inspiration for the Genoese map maker Fra Mauro, who depicted the old world as a beautiful ovoid shape, much like an eye, who took many of the location names and descriptions from dei Conti’s account, describing him as ‘a trustworthy source’.

Referred to by subsequent writers as ‘The Man from Cathay’, dei Conti wrote of the vast Chinese junks that were two thousand tons, with five sails and masts, and three decks separated into different compartments. He impressed with tales of the beauty and industry of the people of further India, and of the marble bridges that straddled their rivers and their great wealth from gold, silver, gems and spices. He suggested that the ‘Latins’ should visit this country and experience for themselves the impressive nature of their philosophy, astrology and art.

‘
Civility increases the more one moves inwards,’
he wrote
, ‘the inhabitants of the further India being, by repute, most polite, wealthy, humane and refined
.’

When he read Maria’s letter he was filled with dread. He went at once to visit Bracciolini. ‘I must leave Florence, my friend,’ he said. ‘I have troubles at home and must travel to Venice to make arrangements. God willing, I shall return and we shall continue our work.’

Bracciolini wished him Godspeed, and accompanied by his servants, Mattheo and Vincenzo, Niccolò rode out of Florence that night. Their journey was one hundred and sixty miles. If they managed twenty-five miles a day, it would take them nearly a week to get back. Desperate to rescue his daughter and son, Niccolò was determined to get to Venice as soon as possible. He drove the horses and his servants hard. They arrived in Venice barely five days later, to find the house locked and deserted.

He went at once to the Council and demanded to know what had happened and where his children had been taken.

‘What evidence was there of plague?’ he asked.

‘The boy had marks on his face, arms and legs – suppurating sores, they appeared to be.’

‘And my daughter?’

‘She appeared well, and was taken to the
Lazaretto Nuovo, with one of your servants, I believe.’

‘And how did you come to notice my son and his “suppurating sores?”’ Niccolò asked.

‘It was reported; that is all I can say. Someone told us that they had their suspicions. We sent our inspectors and they confirmed it.’

Niccolò racked his brains, trying to work out who amongst their acquaintances would have ‘reported’ such a thing.

‘And how long will they remain there?’ Niccolò asked the official.

‘Some forty days in the
Vecchio
, and then another thirty on the
Nuovo
– seventy in all – as long as they stay alive, of course.’

‘You know as well as I do that if he was not ill when he arrived, he almost certainly will be by the time he leaves… If he ever gets to leave at all.’ Niccolò sat, his head in his hands. Finally, he stood. ‘I need to get into my house,’ he said.

‘No, the house is quarantined – also for forty days. You may enter once again in a little over a month’s time; as soon as we are sure that any trace of the disease has been eliminated.’

Niccolò wanted to argue with them, to shout and scream, ‘My children are well, and you are probably going to kill them with your meddling.’ But he knew well enough that nothing could be achieved by arguing. The decision had been taken and he must abide by it. He would have to find some other way of helping Maria and Daniele.

He found temporary lodgings in a
taverna
near the Piazza San Marco and slept fitfully that night. The following morning, he walked to his house down the lane that led past the convent. He stood at the side door and pushed, more in hope than anticipation, wishing it to open. But it was locked, and there were strong wooden barriers nailed across the door barring entry. A tall young man with blond hair, who had been hovering in the lane nearby, approached him.

‘Excuse me,
Signor
,’ he said to Niccolò. ‘Forgive me, but do you know the family that live in this house?’

‘I do – and well. I
live in this house – or at least I did. Why?’

‘Are you Maria dei Conti’s father?’

‘I am.’

‘Sir, I am a friend of your daughter… A good friend. She sent me a message telling me what had happened to her. I presume that is why you are returned? She told me that you were in Florence.’

Niccolò looked up at the man in some surprise.

‘You appear to know much of my business and that of my daughter.’

‘Sir, please. I mean no harm. I am a merchant too, as you are. I come from Nuremberg. I was recently introduced to your daughter.’ The young man paused.

‘Go on,’ said Niccolò.

‘Sir, I seek only to help her and her brother. I know that they have been taken in error. I am sure there is nothing wrong with Daniele. It is all a terrible mistake. I am here to help you, Sir. To offer you any assistance.’

The two men retreated to the
taverna
on the Piazza and Peter told Niccolò all that he knew of Maria and Daniele’s predicament.

‘I know she wrote you a letter. She has become friends with a young nun in the convent over there.’ He gestured towards San Zaccaria.

‘Yes,’ said Niccolò. ‘She mentioned her to me in one of her letters – Polisena, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, Polisena. She is the friend of a friend of mine. She is there against her will, if you understand?’

‘I do Peter. I understand well. But what of her?’

‘Maria spoke to her as she was being taken away, I understand. It was fortunate that she was working in the garden that day. She said it was all a terrible mistake and asked Polisena to make sure that I knew, so that I could help her.’

‘Maria must have great faith in you,’ said Niccolò.

‘I certainly hope so. Sir, I am willing to try to rescue her – if you will allow it.’

‘That surely would be impossible,’ said Niccolò darkly.

‘No, I do not think so. I have been making enquiries about this island.’

‘Poveglia?’

‘Yes. It is a boat ride away. I can row a boat. Surely we can rescue them both.’

‘Well, I admire your bravery. But even if we could rescue them, and I am doubtful, what then? They will be tracked down in Venice and returned to the island immediately. The authorities take any suggestion of the plague very seriously.’

‘Yes, well, I agree that it is a complex problem. But I have a solution.’

‘Go on.’

‘Sir, I love your daughter, and I believe she loves me. I give you my word that I have not dishonoured her in any way, but just a few days ago, we discussed marriage. She was concerned that she has no dowry, or at least was not sure if she did. But I do not care, Sir. She is the most remarkable woman I have ever met. I am a merchant from Germany. My family – we do not require any dowry. We are successful. Besides, I’m sure my father would be delighted to know that you are also a merchant. He has always wanted our family to be united with another great mercantile family. I am sure I can persuade my father. And if you would allow us to marry, I would take her straightway to live with me in the north, far from here. I would take her brother too – if you would allow it. She has often mentioned that he yearns for a more active life. I could take him into my business, Sir, and care for him.’

Niccolò sat quietly through Peter’s speech. ‘You take a lot on your young shoulders, Peter Haas.’

‘I am ready for it, believe me.’

They sat in silence for a few minutes, before Niccolò spoke again. ‘I have spent the last twenty-five years travelling the world. I have seen and done many things – things that would amaze you, Peter. I have met Emperors and Princes: men of extraordinary wealth and power; who married hundreds of wives – women who must be burned alive when their husband dies. I have seen all manner of wild animals and strange creatures. I have travelled by sea, and on land. I have studied languages and religions. And I was married to a beautiful woman from the land of India. I had four children with my wife and lost two of them, and her, to plague in Egypt. I returned to Venice hoping to live peacefully until my death with my two remaining children. But the truth is that my children are travellers, as I have been. They have lived all over the world and travelled from the moment they were born. They have only known adventure. They are both brave and capable. If my daughter truly loves you and wishes to marry you, then who am I to prevent it? And as for my son, I know that he struggles with life here in Venice. He misses his active life on the road.

‘Of one thing, I am certain. If I leave him on Poveglia for forty days, he will almost certainly die. Maria will probably survive on the quarantine island, if she is there. But I know my daughter, and what I fear is that she will have gone with Daniele. She would not let him face that on his own. So, young Peter Haas, let us rescue them, for they will not survive on that island, full as it is of illness and depravity. But I beg you, do not betray me. If we do this, you must take them away from here. If you go back on your word, I will never forgive you.’

‘We will not fail; and I will not betray you, sir. You have my word – my merchant’s bond.’