Read Online Daughters of the Silk Road: A beautiful and epic novel of family, love and the secrets of a Ming Vase by Debbie Rix - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Debbie Rix
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the wall.
‘ Buona sera ,’ she called down to the young nun. ‘Those pears look lovely.’ She pointed to the large basket filled with fruit at the young nun’s feet.
‘ Buona sera ,’ the nun replied. ‘Would you like one?’ And she made to throw one up to Maria.
‘You’d better not, you might get into trouble. Are you allowed to speak to me today?’
‘No, not really,’ said the nun, ‘but there’s no one else around. What is your name?’
‘Maria, and you?’
‘Polisena.’
‘How are you Polisena?’ asked Maria kindly.
‘Rather lonely… Ooh, I had better go,’ she said suddenly, as an elderly nun appeared on the opposite side of the garden. She cast a last, longing look up at Maria and threw a pear up to her; she caught it, and as she did so whispered, ‘ Grazie. A domani .’
Polisena smiled back before she picked up her basket and retreated into the cloisters.
Maria went to her father’s study every day after that; partly in case Polisena wanted to see her, but also because it helped her to feel close to her father. She tried to pretend to Daniele that she was strong and capable, but in reality she felt very alone and missed her father desperately. Sitting at his desk, fingering his pens and touching the box of seals that he kept there made her feel close to him. Once or twice she even took down the vase and placed it tenderly in the centre of his desk in order to study the painting, gazing intently at the dragon’s face. She wondered how such a fierce creature could be considered a symbol of good luck. It seemed curious to her, and yet there was something about the dragon – about its intent, beady blue stare. If she placed the vase so that the dragon’s face was towards her, its eyes would follow her around the room, tracking her as she crossed from one side to the other. She would stroke the porcelain, feeling it cool and smooth beneath her fingers before placing it carefully back on the shelf. In some strange way, it made her feel closer to her father. He had believed in its power and had been desolate that he had allowed it out of his sight when his son became ill. And he was a wise man, the wisest man she had ever known. If he believed in its power to protect them, then it must be true. She pondered sadly on the fact that it was intended not for them but one day would have to be handed over to the Doge. She hoped that her father might have a rare moment of forgetfulness once he returned from Florence, and somehow the vase would be allowed to remain with them forever.
The following day, she sat again at her father’s desk, the vase placed before her. She was writing to her father telling him about the little nun she had befriended.
‘ I think she must be one of those nuns who are there because their families have no dowry for them. She seems rather jolly and occasionally I catch sight of her beautiful red hair poking out from her wimple. I only speak to her when she is alone in the garden. The older nuns do not approve of the younger ones speaking to people outside the order. It must be so sad and lonely for her…’
She remembered what he had told her about the nuns in Venice and how so many of them were in the convents against their will.
‘Why are they forced to live there?’ she had asked him, horrified, when he told her.
‘They are often the daughters of good families, but perhaps their parents have died, or they are unable to find them a suitable marriage partner, or they cannot afford a dowry. The authorities in Venice demand that any girl must have a dowry in order to marry, and that does create problems.’
‘But that is terrible,’ protested Maria. ‘Does that mean that if you have no dowry, you cannot marry?’
‘It does,’ said her father.
‘But Mamma did not have a dowry did she? And you married her.’
‘Ah, little one, that is because I am not interested in rules, and I go my own way.’
‘Well I shall follow my own way too,’ said Maria
‘ Buona sera ,’ she called down to the young nun. ‘Those pears look lovely.’ She pointed to the large basket filled with fruit at the young nun’s feet.
‘ Buona sera ,’ the nun replied. ‘Would you like one?’ And she made to throw one up to Maria.
‘You’d better not, you might get into trouble. Are you allowed to speak to me today?’
‘No, not really,’ said the nun, ‘but there’s no one else around. What is your name?’
‘Maria, and you?’
‘Polisena.’
‘How are you Polisena?’ asked Maria kindly.
‘Rather lonely… Ooh, I had better go,’ she said suddenly, as an elderly nun appeared on the opposite side of the garden. She cast a last, longing look up at Maria and threw a pear up to her; she caught it, and as she did so whispered, ‘ Grazie. A domani .’
Polisena smiled back before she picked up her basket and retreated into the cloisters.
Maria went to her father’s study every day after that; partly in case Polisena wanted to see her, but also because it helped her to feel close to her father. She tried to pretend to Daniele that she was strong and capable, but in reality she felt very alone and missed her father desperately. Sitting at his desk, fingering his pens and touching the box of seals that he kept there made her feel close to him. Once or twice she even took down the vase and placed it tenderly in the centre of his desk in order to study the painting, gazing intently at the dragon’s face. She wondered how such a fierce creature could be considered a symbol of good luck. It seemed curious to her, and yet there was something about the dragon – about its intent, beady blue stare. If she placed the vase so that the dragon’s face was towards her, its eyes would follow her around the room, tracking her as she crossed from one side to the other. She would stroke the porcelain, feeling it cool and smooth beneath her fingers before placing it carefully back on the shelf. In some strange way, it made her feel closer to her father. He had believed in its power and had been desolate that he had allowed it out of his sight when his son became ill. And he was a wise man, the wisest man she had ever known. If he believed in its power to protect them, then it must be true. She pondered sadly on the fact that it was intended not for them but one day would have to be handed over to the Doge. She hoped that her father might have a rare moment of forgetfulness once he returned from Florence, and somehow the vase would be allowed to remain with them forever.
The following day, she sat again at her father’s desk, the vase placed before her. She was writing to her father telling him about the little nun she had befriended.
‘ I think she must be one of those nuns who are there because their families have no dowry for them. She seems rather jolly and occasionally I catch sight of her beautiful red hair poking out from her wimple. I only speak to her when she is alone in the garden. The older nuns do not approve of the younger ones speaking to people outside the order. It must be so sad and lonely for her…’
She remembered what he had told her about the nuns in Venice and how so many of them were in the convents against their will.
‘Why are they forced to live there?’ she had asked him, horrified, when he told her.
‘They are often the daughters of good families, but perhaps their parents have died, or they are unable to find them a suitable marriage partner, or they cannot afford a dowry. The authorities in Venice demand that any girl must have a dowry in order to marry, and that does create problems.’
‘But that is terrible,’ protested Maria. ‘Does that mean that if you have no dowry, you cannot marry?’
‘It does,’ said her father.
‘But Mamma did not have a dowry did she? And you married her.’
‘Ah, little one, that is because I am not interested in rules, and I go my own way.’
‘Well I shall follow my own way too,’ said Maria
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