#this zhu zhanji has had no moments at all

[eigwayne]

I’m watching Ming Dynasty again, and I hate the male lead so much. So much. He’s arrogant and cruel and manipulative and smarmy and maybe that’s the point? No one in this show is looking good as a human being except maaaaaybe Ruowei, who haas already had her character arc apparently and has learned to let go of her anger, maaaaybe Xu Bin, whose greatest flaw so far is the same as Zhu Yilong’s character in Minglan, that in order to keep the peace, he won’t fight hard enough to keep his love. And I respect someone who will give up their personal wish in order to keep thousands of others safe, so I rather like Xu Bin. Everyone else is a piece of shit.

But Zhu Zanji is the most stomach-turningly irritating of them. I want to punch him in the face every time he shows up. I would stop watching even though I made it to the halfway point, he gets on my nerves that much. But this is based on history and his character dies relatively young, so the thought of him finally kicking the bucket is keeping me going.

[noisydeerfestival-blog]

My Voyage to Veneto

Chapters one and two for your free reading pleasure. Watch for following chapters every Sunday. Please email me at thomastime175@gmail.com with your comments - positive or negative. Today is Sunday 7/8/18 and I have added Chapters 3 and 4 four your enjoyment,

I stand on deck fascinated as the harbor boils with activity. Suddenly the air is filled with fireworks, but this is no fanciful entertainment. The booming and blasting signals the fleet that the hour of departure nears. “You there, get below,” a coarse voice orders. A common sailor points to me.

“Go to hell,” I scream back at him. Who is he to order me about?

He rushes over and manhandles me to an open hatch. I kick and scream, but he is too strong. I reach into my stocking and take out the bronze dagger I was given at my graduation ceremony. It is supposed to be used to kill myself should I find no other way out of a shameful situation. Instead of using it to end my young life, I swing it with all my might and catch the seaman in his right thigh. He drops to the floor and writhes in pain but soon regains his footing. He is really mad now. Foam curls from his lips, and rage blinds him as he rushes at me. I take a step to one side. As he barrels by me, I plunge the dagger into his shoulder. He crumples to the deck. He does not try to stand up this time but takes a firearm from his waistband and points it at me. His hand is shaking as his finger feels for the matchlock that will fire the weapon. I suspect that this may be my last moment on earth.

“Stand down sailor,” a gruff voice commands him. It is the Sergeant of the Deck. “You would not have the money in a lifetime of saving to pay for the loss of this woman,” he scolds.

The wounded man strains to reach his feet. He grasps his bleeding shoulder and limps slowly in my direction. “Whore,” he snarls.

The Sergeant of the Deck pushes the sailor away and turns to me. “Give me the knife,” he says firmly. I hand him the bloody dagger, and he turns it in his hands then tosses it overboard. “I must report this incident,” he tells me, “but I will say that this man was injured in a fight with another sailor.” He lights the clay pipe clenched in his teeth.

“But will the seaman not say what really happened?” I ask.

“I doubt he will brag about being bested by a woman. However, it may be wise if you do turn in,” he says, a puff of smoke spiraling from his lips.

“I will. Thank you Sergeant.” He moves away, but I stand there still trembling from my close call. Let me introduce myself. My name is Liling which means “sound of white jasmine”. I am a trained concubine. Concubines are called Beautiful and Talented Ladies because we are a special class of woman in China. We are very highly educated especially in the arts, literature, astronomy, and the social graces. We are respected for our intelligence and knowledge. Sexual favors are a very small part of our allure.

The ship I am on holds hundreds of women, one quarter of whom are concubines tasked with pleasuring officers and high ranking guests who will be housed aboard the ships of a vast armada forming up in the harbor. The other three quarters are slave girls, all of whom are virgins and will be given, one hundred at a time, to each ruler of the foreign countries we will visit. I am glad I am not one of them.

The air is warm and the night grows darker as the last sparks from the fireworks fade. Lanterns of the other ships in the great harbor cast wriggling coils of light on the undulating dark water. There are ships’ lanterns as far as the eye can see, and, winking in the distance, I can make out the lights and bold outline of Grand Admiral Zheng He’s flagship. It is more than three stories high with twelve masts waiting for red silk sails to be lifted. I am told the Admiral’s ship is a warren of staterooms that are being prepared for the ambassadors and honored guests traveling back to their home countries. Along the way, the ship will be refitted and new envoys boarded who we will bring back to China. After a voyage of many months, maybe years, the representatives of the Western Lands will be presented to the court of Zhu Zhanji. There they will give their tribute to the Emperor and honor his name. They will stay at court and be instructed in the way of Heaven, so they may bring Confucian harmony to their people when they are returned home. Then enlightenment and trade will be forthcoming.

Who is Zheng He and why has the greatest fleet in the history of the world been assembled in the harbor at Taicang you ask?

You see, Zheng He is a eunuch. Shortly after birth, his male parts were surgically removed. The practice is very common in my time and has been for thousands of years. Eunuchs are trained to perform many functions for the royal courts of the Far East, Southeastern Asia, the Sub-continent, and deep into the Near East. My country, China, has such a large and important population of eunuchs that they form an elite society, the most politically influential bloc in the land. But it is the mandarins who are the most highly educated, and they resent the eunuchs’ power. So much so that revolt is in the air. They especially despise Zheng He who has grown to be a scholar and administrator of such accomplishment that he above all others has Emperor Zhu Zhanji’s ear.

Zhu Zhanji, grandson of the great Zhu Di, is a visionary. He has tirelessly promoted and sponsored with his personal treasure the exploration of the world by sea. Educated Chinese know that the world is round and for centuries have been exploring the seas around them. They have been visiting and trading with country after country from Malaya, the Moluccas, India, and ever westward. So extensive have been our travels by sea, that maps of the world including Africa, Europe and points beyond are readily available.

Zhu Zhanji had summoned Zheng He to his royal quarters. He told Zheng He something that the eunuch already knew: over three hundred ocean going vessels were being staged at Taicang for the long trip to the Western Lands. I, as I said before, am on one of them.

I stand at the rail waiting for peace to come into my heart. The smell of the horse ships wafts over the sea and into my nostrils. Petroleum is being loaded into the tanks of the fire ships. I can smell the naphtha that will be used to shoot streams of fire into the ships of pirates and brigands. The odor of manure and oil stings my nose. When it is daylight, I will be able to see the water ships; the grain ships; and the cargo ships that carry fine porcelain, silk cloth, spices, perfumes, and gold. There will be provision ships that carry the fleet’s food stores including citrus and coconuts to ward off scurvy. All manner of vessels large and small, each with its own mission, will accompany the fleet. Some will be sent off to familiar ports to re-provision the fleet as it sails ever onward. Some will stand in reserve to replace those lost in storms or to defeat in battle. Not that defeat is a common occurrence.

In the van, on the flanks, and bringing up the rear are our warships, ships that bristle with canons, rockets, mortars, and even machine guns. The fire ships are for pirates; the warships are for hostile navies and shore batteries. A ruler would be foolhardy to pit his puny navy against the fleet of Zheng He. Although we come in peace for trade and the exchange of knowledge, it does not hurt to carry a big stick. But I must get below. It is getting late.

My best friends, Ju and Yan, are waiting for me. “Where have you been, Liling, We were getting worried when you did not return as quickly as you had promised. What did you see up there?” Yan asks me.

I tell them the minimum. “Not much. I was just enjoying the night air and all I saw were many ships.” My friends and I are at once eager to get under way yet afraid of what is to come. What is the sea like when it is angry? Will our lovers be kind? What horrors await us in the unfamiliar lands to the west? We hear that Java is wet and humid, that India is filled with strange smells, and that Africa is a land of black men and women. How can human beings be black? Do they paint themselves with pigments from the earth? We are told there are places that border a red sea. Is it blood that colors its waters? Yan asks me these and many other questions, questions I cannot answer with certainty. Ju is quiet, but I can see she too is full of trepidation and also seeks answers.

Then there is Hai. She is the timid one. She stays on her pallet, fearful of coming on deck. She is afraid of the dark and the ghosts that hide in its ebony cloak. The sun hurts her eyes and burns her porcelain skin, so she refuses to leave the security of the hold. Why after all her training she still believes in ghosts, I will never know. Hai is not going to be much of an asset to Zheng He. Ju, Yan, and I vow to protect her. We will see to it that she fares well on the journey. Yet secretly I wish I were she, the weak one. I put on a brave front and everyone looks to me for guidance. I even deceive myself into believing that I have no fear. But enough of this foolishness. I must get some sleep, for tomorrow we set sail into the future.

The bowels of the ship creaks and groans with each passing swell no matter how gentle. Hai is already asleep, and Ju and Yan are snuggling with her. I will join them, for this is the only way to keep warm in the cold and damp hold of the Women’s Ship. Thoughts of what will happen tomorrow and the tomorrow after that fill my mind. What will become of us as we put to sea and sail for strange ports? My mother warned me that life as a concubine could be difficult and maybe even dangerous, but what was a poor farm girl to do? I did not want to be bent over like she from years of planting and harvesting paddy. My father and brothers would come home each night smelling of the oxen that plow the fields. I will never forget that odor. I hope the men I sleep with smell better.

I wedge myself between Ju and Yan. They wriggle in protest to my intrusion. I lay my head on damp straw and pull a blanket made of woven jute up to my chin. It is not unlike the way my family slept in our one room farmhouse, except now I sleep with sweet smelling woman who do not bump me with their manhood. We drift off to sleep huddled with our thoughts.

In the morning, more fireworks fill the air signaling Zheng He’s orders to the fleet. We hear the constant sound of gongs, bells, and drums that tell the ships’ captains how to form up, at what speed to proceed, and when to turn as one. A myriad combination of clatters, tinkles, thrums, and jangles will announce the time of prayer, the firing of cannon, the change of direction, and thousands of other bits of information necessary to oil the huge machinery of men and ships.

Detailed written communications, maps, and compass headings will be sent by carrier pigeons trained to roam the fleet and swoop down to their intended lofts with uncanny accuracy. Zheng He will write to Hong Bao thusly: 海軍上將寶採取四十艘艦，並為蘇門答臘上交一小時 [Admiral Bao, take forty ships and turn for Sumatra in one hour]. And it will be done, for Zheng He’s seal will be on the missive, and Hong Bao, second in command and also a devote Muslim and eunuch, will follow the orders to the letter.

The clang of gongs wakes the fleet. The sun is yet to rise, but our ship and the other ships in the harbor are alive with activity. Hai is standing on tippy-toes trying to see out the square porthole.

“What is going on, Hai?” I ask.

“Yellow and orange fireworks light the sky, and a small boat approaches the ship.”

Orange is the signal for afternoon departure. The gongs tell our sister ships how to form up. “Who is in the boat?” I ask Hai.

“Twelve oarsmen. A short man in blue gown stands in the front.”

“Uh oh,” I say reflexively.

“What uh oh?” asks Ju.

“It is the Procurer. Apparently he has come for some of us even before we are underway.”

“I want to stay here,” Hai moans. We try to comfort her but it is no use. Soon we hear the cry of the Purser. “All Beautiful and Talented Ladies, numbers 1 through 25, on deck!”

That is us.

We have not time to dress properly for our trunks filled with our formal clothes are stored elsewhere on the ship. Our muslin shifts hang loosely on our bodies and our hair is tousled and unkempt. Why would the Procurer be here so early in the morning? Hai, starts to cry again. Ju shakes her shoulders and she quiets down. “Heads high, ladies. This is what we signed on for,” I tell the others, knowing that I am desperately trying to bolster my own courage. We are numbers 19, 20, 21, and 22, so we wait our turn as our compatriots climb the ladder to the deck. What a ragged bunch we are.

The sun is now low on the horizon as Ju, Yan, Hai, and I reach the deck and fall in line. The Procurer walks up and down the row stroking his chin and mumbling. He has a baton in one hand, and every once in a while, he uses it to lift the hem of a girl’s chemise to inspect her private parts. He stands before me now and taps me on the shoulder with his baton. It is a signal that I may speak when spoken to.

“What is the night sky just diminished called?” he asks.

“White Tiger of the West,” I answer.

“What is the principal star of the constellation Zi, The Turtle Beak?”

“Orion.”

“What is the best medicine to improve eyesight?”

“Bear bile.”

“Who wrote The Romance of the Three Kingdoms?”

“Lo Kuan-chung.”

He lifts my chemise with his baton. He strokes his chin, and his head bobs up and down.

“Report to the Purser,” he tells me.

I am one of eight chosen this day; Ju, Yan, and Hai are not. The Purser orders the trunks for 3, 5, 10, 11, 15, 17, 19, and 25 brought to the quarterdeck then loaded onto the Procurer’s boat. We stand there shivering in the morning gloom. No one thinks to bring us a blanket for our shoulders or sandals for our feet. The Procurer is lowered to his boat by block and tackle as he sits regally on a wooden bench. We must climb down a hemp net to the heaving boat. The oarsmen stare at our near nakedness. Once in the boat, we are finally given blankets. The coxswain pushes us away from the ship, and the small boat glides to who knows where. The chant of the coxswain and the rhythm of the oars lulls us into a kind of trance, but it does not last long, for looming up ahead is the imposing silhouette of Zheng He’s flagship. “Zheng He’s flagship!” I gasp aloud.

The girl next to me is incredulous. “Did you say Zheng He’s ship?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

There is a buzz among the girls.

“Up left!” the coxswain roars, and the oarsmen on the left side of the boat raise their oars as one. The boat veers right then slides effortlessly against the giant ship. “Up right!” the coxswain commands. Now all oars are pointed skyward. A rope is thrown down, and the Procurer’s boat is tethered to the side of the flagship. Our boat rises and falls as the swells frolic under us. Two huge blocks and tackles are lowered. The coxswain fastens one to the rear of the boat; an oarsman fastens the other to the front. The rest of the rowers stow their oars and hold on to their seats. We do the same. Slowly the boat is lifted from the water, tilting from side to side as it rises. It bounces against the side of the leviathan with a loud bang every as it rises. Finally we are at the quarterdeck. We are ordered off. We shed our blankets and are told to leap out of the swaying craft. It is a long way to the sea below. The first girl hesitates and is roughly pulled aboard by a sailor. It is my turn next, and I jump across not daring to look down. One by one all the girls make it onto the ship. Our trunks are off-loaded and the boat is lowered. The Procurer and crew head out into the harbor and back to the Women’s Ship.

A man in a golden robe embroidered with black dragons appears. He is very short and has to stand on a box to address us. He is without a beard and his voice is shrill. He must be a eunuch. “Beautiful and Talented Ladies, I am Tong Lishi. I am the ship’s purser. You have been chosen to serve the highest ranking of this ship’s company and its guests, and as such, you will be expected to maintain the highest standards of comportment. You may not leave the ship for any reason. You may not consort with anyone other than the person to whom you are assigned. You will wait out your menses in your quarters and have no contact with anyone but your handmaiden during this time.” Tong harangues us interminably with his rules and regulations.

He finally gives us our assignments. “3, 10, and 11, you will be consorts to the ambassadors of Malacca, Java, and Calicut. These men will show you your quarters,” he says pointing to three huge stevedores already lifting the heavy trunks of the assignees. The women put their hands to their mouths and giggle as they were trained to do when nervous. To frown, grimace, or cry would be unbecoming and a social faux pas. “5 and 15, you are to report to the Merchants’ Rooms for further instructions.” The women dutifully follow the bearers of their trunks, fear in their eyes but smiles on their lips. “17, you will be consort to the Captain of the Sails. Go!” She looks back at the two of us who remain but keeps her head high. “19,” he shouts. That is me. I am determined to show no emotion. “You are given to the Chief Navigator.” A stevedore lifts my trunk to his shoulder and I follow him. I do not giggle or smile but look straight ahead and keep my face a blank mask. As we trundle into the unknown, I hear the final assignment given out. “25, you will report to the Monks’ quarters.”

I follow my bearer through a labyrinth of hallways until at last we make our way to a stairway to yet another deck. I follow him up the steep steps trying to cinch my hem close to my legs should any man follow behind. As we emerge onto a wide passageway, I feel a cool and salted breeze. He shows me to my stateroom. The door is made of the finest teak and is carved with cattails, sparrows, and geese. The inside is palatial and is lit by two blown glass oil lamps. Gaily colored silk pillows litter the floor. There is a black lacquered highboy inlaid with mother-of-pearl against one wall. On top sits a blue porcelain bowl filled with fresh water. A long divan that doubles as a bed and is covered in a greenish silk brocade hugs the other wall. There is a blue porcelain chamber pot at one edge. The bearer sets down my trunk in front of a large armoire. He next walks to a mysterious area draped floor to ceiling with rich fabric. Is it a window? He pulls back the drapes and morning sunlight floods into the room. I shield my eyes as I walk toward it. It is not a window at all. It is a set of double doors. I push them open and stand on a balcony overlooking deck and sea. Gulls swoop and dive and ducks swim on the undulating water. The Navigator must be a very important man. I can only imagine what his cabin might look like. Then a rap on the door.

The bearer opens the door and ushers in a young girl. He nods toward me and leaves us alone. The girl, slight of build and with eyes cast down, shuffles toward me. She can be no more than thirteen years old. I suspect she is my handmaiden. I meet her in the middle of the room. She practically collapses to the floor in my presence. “What is your name?” I ask.

“Hyun-sook.”

“You are Korean.”

“Yes, Miss.”

“My name is Liling.”

“Yes, Miss.”

Another rap on the door. Hyun-sook runs to answer it. She opens the door slowly bowing all the while. It is the Purser. Get dressed, bathe, and smell sweet. The Navigator will see you just after dusk,” he barks. It is a time we call Hun.

The Purser departs and Hyun-sook closes the door. She rushes to me. “We must make you more ravishing than the rising moon,” she tells me. She lifts the coarse chemise over my head. “Oh my, your black rose is most beautiful. The Navigator will be much pleased,” Hyun-sook bubbles.

Now I know why the Procurer’s baton was so curious, I say to myself.

Still another rap on the door. It is the Navigator’s steward. He brings rice, bean curds, tea, and a package wrapped in red silk. Hyun-sook takes the tray and places it on a small table in the center of the room. A bamboo chair stands nearby. She beckons me to sit and I do. My nakedness does not seem to bother her. She takes a napkin from the tray and wets it in the bowl of fresh water on top of the highboy. Diligently she washes my hands. When she is satisfied that I am properly sanitized, she hands me a pair of chopsticks.

“I am sorry there is only one set of chopsticks,” I tell her. “We can share mine.” She appears to have been shot in the heart with an arrow.

“Oh no, Miss. I will eat later.” She rushes to a far corner and crouches down, her hands covering her face in embarrassment. I have a lot to learn. I have never before had a servant.

Although I am weak with hunger, I eat very little. I must leave sufficient food on my plate, so the Navigator sees that I am not a glutton and I wish to keep my figure. I push my chair back. “Hyun-sook, take it away. I am sated.”

Hyun-sook stands bolt upright and rushes to retrieve the tray, which she places in the hallway. When she returns, we begin the ritual cleansing of my body, so the Navigator will not be repelled by any blemishes or unwanted odors. I am soaped, oiled, and perfumed. I have my hair brushed with one hundred strokes. My nails are painted the brightest crimson as are my lips. I am powdered all over, so I am the whitest white I can be. Then Hyun-sook opens the Navigator’s gift. She pulls out a pair of red silk pantaloons, a red camisole, a red robe embroidered with plum blossom branches, and a pair of red slippers embroidered with peonies. When I am dressed, I lie on the divan and wait for my lover. Hyun-sook is curled on the floor at my feet. It is still many hours to Hun, so I lay on the couch and fill my mind with happy thoughts.

No sooner had my daydreams turned to sleep, when the sky is filled with the sound and fury of fireworks and the fierce clanging of gongs. I awake with a start. I can hear the clatter of the stone anchors being hoisted to the deck as the Captain of the Sails yells at the crew. The drums beat and the ship moves almost imperceptibly. Surely the Navigator is the most important man in the fleet, for he must guide Zheng He’s flagship safely out of the harbor and into the Yellow Sea. The fleet will follow and my adventure will begin. How lucky am I to be consort to such a high-ranking man. The date is January 16, 1431.

 CHAPTER

Two

 It is Hun, and the Navigator enters my room without knocking. He is shorter than I imagined, but he is barrel chested with muscled arms and lantern jaw. Hyun-sook races out of the room with eyes averted. The Navigator is wearing a simple dressing gown. I would have expected him to be more elegantly attired or in uniform. He sits in one of the bamboo chairs and sighs. “Those fools,” he spits out. I do not know what to say. I go to him and put my hand on his shoulder. He shrugs it off then stares at me. “Take off your robe,” he orders. I comply. “You have no meat on your bones. Do you not eat?”

“I have not had time,” my Lord,” I tell him. He rises and goes to the door. He sees Hyun-sook lying on the hallway floor.

“Go to my steward,” he orders her. “Tell him to bring us poultry and sweet potatoes.” Hyun-sook hurries off. He closes the door and approaches me with strident steps. Should I cover myself or just stand there? I choose the latter. “What is your name?” he asks.

“Liling.”

“Liling, do not ever lie to me again,” he snarls. I am afraid and without words. “Your plate of rice and bean curds I sent to you for your sustenance was only partially eaten. On board ship, one must eat all that is served, for it may be your only meal of the day.”

I bow my head in deference to the great man. “Yes, my Lord.” There is a knock on the door.

“Answer it,” he tells me.

I go to the door. It is the steward and Hyun-sook. She rushes in with a starched white table cloth and new chopsticks. She then goes back to the hallway and returns with a porcelain vase filled with fragrant lilies, which she places in the center of the table. The steward sets out a sumptuous feast of roast duck, sweet potatoes, and rice. Saliva forms in my mouth, and I discreetly swallow it. Hyun-sook and the steward walk out of the room backwards.

“Cover yourself,” he says gently. I put my robe back on and he pulls out my chair. “Pour the tea.” I do so with the exaggerated motions I was trained to perform. He seems pleased. “Liling,” he says softly. “That is a pretty name.”

“It means…”

“I know what it means,” he snaps.

I learn to never insult his intelligence. “Yes, my Lord.”

“You think I am your lord?” I nod.

“No. Zhu Zhanji is Lord. We are his servants. I am but a lowly navigator. Those fools,” he snorts again. “The eunuchs who advise Zheng He want to sail to Mecca and then through the Red Sea/Nile Canal to the Sea between Two Lands thence to Veneto. We are supposed to be on a voyage of discovery, seeking out new lands to spread the word of Heaven, to find ways to gain greater profits, and to receive tribute. Zheng He has commanded five prior voyages to the west for Zhu Di, Zhu Zhanji’s grandfather. I have been his navigator on four of them. This is his sixth and maybe his last voyage. We should sail further south than Sofala in Mozambique, go around the Windy Cape, and sail north to Garbin, thence through the Pillars of Hercules to the Sea between Two Lands. Think of all the gold and salt that comes from that side of Africa traveling up through the deserts and then to Morocco. We could fill our ships at Garbin thereby avoiding the Moroccan tariffs. But, no. They go to Mecca for the Hajj. It is too late then to take the southern route.”

I have no idea what he is talking about. I let him continue his tirade. The food grows cold. I hunger for just one morsel, but I must wait for my Lord to taste it first.

“Oh Beautiful and Talented Lady, you must think I am as an old woman prattling on and on about my petty troubles. Let us enjoy this meal.” He tastes the duck and begins to relax. He points his chopsticks toward me, and I try to eat daintily although I could wolf it all down in one bite. “I am Song Cai,” he says as he stuffs his mouth with sweet potato. “You are most beautiful.” I blush. I put my hand to my mouth and manage a slight giggle. He laughs heartily. “Where are you from?” he asks.

“The countryside.”

“I know that. Where in the countryside?”

“Gansu.”

“Gansu? Yes, that would be the countryside.”

“Yes, it is very far away, but it is beautiful there.”

“I would not know. All I have known since I was a little boy is the sea.”

He speaks as if he is still a little boy. I am sure he acts differently when he is on duty. I am flattered that he confides in me and tells me his name. “The sea has its charms too,” I tell him.

“Yes, yes, but it can turn on you in an instant. One must be constantly vigilant.”

“The land too can at once be your friend, yielding many vegetables and much rice. But some years it refuses to produce and must be left fallow,” I tell him.

“Yes, yes,” he says and picks at his food.

“Where is Africa?” I ask, trying stir him from his melancholy.

“Far, far away.”

“Further away than Gansu?”

Song Cai takes a mouthful of rice then abruptly stands up. He goes to the hallway and says something to Hyun-sook. He comes back to the table, and I stop shoveling food into my mouth.

“More duck?” he asks.

“No, I am sated.”

“The cook will be much insulted if our platters are not cleaned.”

“Then I will force myself to eat,” I tell him.

There is a knock on the door. “Enter,” he calls out. Hyun-sook hands him a piece of rolled up parchment, ink, and a quill pen. “Take this away,” he tells her. She starts clearing the table, and I take one last stab at a juicy piece of duck. When the table is cleared, Song Cai spreads out the parchment and begins to draw. “Come over here,” he orders me. I go to his side and peer over his shoulder as he works. “This is China,” he says expertly drawing the coast of the homeland. “Here is Annam and the southern peninsula.” He draws many islands. “This is the treacherous strait between Sumatra and Malacca. We will turn here and sail many weeks for Calicut.” He sketches in a broad sea and a large triangular shape he calls India. “This is the Arab Sea and the land of the two gulfs. We will sail through here, the Red Sea, thence into the Sea between Two Lands.”

“Then to Africa?” I ask.

“No, no. Africa is down here,” He draws a huge landmass that bulges into an unknown sea to the west. “We could sail around the Windy Cape and find the current that would take us to Europe, but we will not be taking that route this time,” he laments.

“What is on the other side of the unknown sea?” I ask.

“I have not been there myself, but the navigator for Hong Bao tells me there are great lands well to the west. He says there may be a Chinese colony on an island there called Antillia.” Song Cai draws vague outlines of these new lands. “I am told that one may sail ever west and reach home without turning back east.”

“How can that be?” I ask.

“Because the world is a globe.”

“Of course,” I agree, although to me, the world seems flat enough.

“If you are finished dining. I suggest we ‘rest’.” Song Cai says suddenly.

“Oh yes, I am quite satisfied.” Hyun-sook lingers, anointing the air with perfume which she shakes from a whisk. She leaves and I retire to the divan. Song Cai takes the parchment on which he has drawn the world and rolls it up.

“This is for you,” he says. “Study it well, and you will know what is real.  You will cast out superstition and ignorance.” I take it and pat the divan. I let my robe slip off my shoulders. Song Cai nods his head in appreciation. “I must leave by Mei [before dawn] to take the last of my star readings,” he tells me.

“We have plenty of time then. Come,” I say patting the couch once more.

 ***

The rolling of the ship wakes me. I search the room. The dimmed lanterns sway leisurely from the ceiling. I reach for Song Cai but realize he has gone back on duty without waking me. I vow to sleep more lightly in the future, so I can kiss him good-bye. Hyun-sook is asleep on the floor. A hard rap on the door and she jumps up. “It is the night soil men,” she tells me. I roll out of bed and realize I am naked. Quickly, I put on my robe. Hyun-sook lets the men in. They hurriedly replace the chamber pot with a clean one. One man pours fresh water into the washbasin. Then they are gone. Hyun-sook picks up my camisole and pantaloons. “I will have these laundered for tonight.”

“Yes, thank you,” I say, but she casts down her eyes, and I remember to never thank a servant.

“What is this?” she asks reaching for the parchment that somehow during the night had gotten knocked to the floor.

“It is a gift from the Navigator.”

“Then I shall put it here with all your other treasures.” She puts the map on a shelf over the divan. There is nothing else there. I suppose she knows better than I what future treasures might find a home there. “Now let me help you bathe.”

When I am bathed, powdered, and dressed, Hyun-sook brings me tea. I sip it slowly, for I know that this is the only sustenance I will have until Jih [midday] when I shall be served a small rice cake and more tea. I am sure the men who work the ship eat more heartily than I, but then, they do not need to maintain their figures. I tell Hyun-sook that I am going to go up on deck. She cautions me not to breathe in too much salt air, for it will corrode my lungs and make my voice harsh. Heaven forbid I should croak during passion. Even the voice of a concubine must be made soft and sweet so as not to annoy her lord.

The only shaping of my mind and body that I have not had to endure was the binding of my feet. Being from the countryside, I needed normal feet to tend to my chores, otherwise I would have been crippled and of no use to my family. My feet are big and flat. Hyun-sook has put on my slippers and has placed many jeweled bracelets on my ankles to take notice away from the ugly brutes they are.

Topside is a maze of mast and sail, and men scurry back and forth sweating and cursing at the lines and rigging. I walk to the rail and watch as lush jungle floats by. Then bright flashes followed by loud booms assault my eyes and ears. I bring my arms around my head to protect them, but the bombs fall far short of the ship and splash harmlessly into the sea.

“The barrage is from Annam,” a voice behind me says. It is Tong Lishi, the ship’s Purser. “They are trying to scare us off,” he says. I turn and he leers at me.

“Why would they want to scare us off? We mean them no harm.”

“They think we come to cut down their forests and take the timber for our ships.”

“Why do they think that? Have we been there before?”

“Many times.” A warship returns fire half-heartedly, and the skirmish is soon over. “May I walk with you?” the Purser asks. I nod. “The Navigator tells me you should be accorded unlimited respect and your every whim fulfilled.”

“He told you that?”

He leers at me once again. “You must be very good.”

“He is a great man. He reads the stars and keeps us safe.”

“Yes, yes, a great man.” His eyes sneer, and I make a note to be wary of this man. “Are your quarters satisfactory?”

“Oh yes.”

“Do you want for anything?”

“Yes, books and maps.”

“Books and maps? Why would you want such things?”

“Song Cai is a celebrated navigator and very worldly. I must know learned things to be able to talk with him.”

“Humph,” he grunts. “I shall have them brought to your room.” he says grudgingly.

“Oh, may I also have parchment and pen and ink?” He nods, puts his hands in his sleeves, and walks away. It is good to be very good, I think as I let out a slight giggle. I put my hand to my mouth to stifle my rudeness.

Some of the sailors take furtive glances at me as I walk the planks, but others are too busy to notice. Up ahead I see something that gladdens my heart. It is another woman. As I move nearer, I recognize her. She is number 17, consort to the Captain of the Sails. She sees me now and takes steps my way. We embrace. “I am Liling, given to the Navigator,” I say. She bows ever so slightly.

“I am Min, consort to the Captain of the Sails.”

“You are very beautiful,” I tell her.

“Not nearly as beautiful as you,” she responds. We embrace once more, laughing at the silliness of the ritual greeting. She touches my wrist. “What is your lover like?” she whispers.

“He is gentle yet manly,” I tell her.

“Mine is forceful and smells like hemp. He calls me second wife, and makes me rub his feet with oil.”

“Second wife?”

“Yes, he has a wife and ten children back in Nanjing. What of the Navigator’s family?”

I am thoughtful. “I really do not know.”

“Better you do not.”

I change the subject. “Where are you from?”

“Hunan. My father was a fisherman.”

“Was?”

“He and my mother drowned in the Great Flood, and I was sent to the coast for resettlement. I was eight. It is better you do not know the rest of my story.”

“I am so sorry. I did not mean to pry.”

“Do not fret. I am happy with my life.” She smiles at me and there is an awkward silence. “How old are you?” she finally says.

“Sixteen, I think.”

“Me too. You do not know the date of your birth?”

“No, but I am told it was during harvest in the Year of the Goat, 1415.”

“Your people are farmers?”

“Yes.”

She grimaces “Dirt under one’s fingernails, ugh.” I am hurt by her words, and she is at once sorry. “Forgive me, Liling. I am as a bitter old woman.” She hugs me.

“It is okay, Min. I have not been on the farm since…” I cannot prevent a tear from rolling down my cheek.

“Oh Liling, now it is my turn to be sorry for prying.”

“That is alright. Many girls are sold by their parents during hard times. I have had the good fortune to be trained in a craft that brings me a measure of prestige. Do you not agree?”

She hesitates. “Prestige. Yes, prestige,” she says unconvincingly.

“Look at it this way,” I press my argument. “We could be grubbing for sweet potatoes in the manure soaked earth or rubbing scales off golden carp and making soup of their heads while the meat goes to market.”

“You are right. We are swaddled in the finest silks, perfumed and powdered. We can read and write, and we travel to exotic lands. All we have to do is use the three holes the gods have given us.” She sneers her contempt at my reasoning.

Why is she so bitter? I think. “I had better head back to my cabin,” I say. “The Purser will be looking for me.”

“We should meet tomorrow and compare notes again,” she suggests.

“I would like that.”

 Back in my cabin, I see that the Purser has been true to his word. Books of all kinds are stacked neatly by my bedside. I thumb through the mini-library. Many are select volumes of immense works. I pick up a book entitled, Treatise on Astrology of the Kaiyuan Era. This appeals to me. Another is the Nine Chapters of Mathematical Art. This one not so much. And another, Miscellaneous Morsels from Youyang. This should be juicy. And another, Great Tang Records on the Western Regions. This is the one I will read fist.

I curl up on the divan. I would love a cup of tea. “Hyun-sook,” I say softly not expecting any response. The door swings open, and Hyun-sook appears out of nowhere. “Tea,” I say with abruptness. I devour the list of volumes and chapters at the front of the Great Tang Records on the Western Regions. There will be stories of places I have never heard of: Persia, Tajikistan, Uzbekistan, Pakistan, Bengal, and Sinhala. Most of all, there will be much information about India. Song Cai has whet my appetite by his telling of this boundless land. I will learn the geography, climate, and landforms to be found in these places. I will know of the languages, religions, and cultures of the people who inhabit them.

Hyun-sook brings me a cup of steaming green tea, and I begin to read, slowly at first and then with gusto. I am so engrossed in the tales that I do not hear the drums.

CHAPTER

Three

 Hyun-sook enters my room without knocking. “The Navigator’s steward says the drums say there is trouble ahead.”

“What trouble?” I ask as I put down my book.

“Big Storm.”

“The ship is built for storms at sea,” I calmly tell her.

“Yes, Miss.”

My Lord rushes into to the room, and Hyun-sook falls to her knees. “Secure everything you can. We are in for a rough ride,” he cautions.

“What is going on? The sea is as placid as I have ever seen it.”

“Not for long. We have word from a scout ship that a typhoon is bearing down on the Sultanate of Sulu and will be crossing our path just as we round the Annam Peninsula. Zheng He has ordered Admiral Bao to take the warships and head out to deeper water then come up behind the storm. The merchant ships and escorts will anchor here and wait until the storm passes to our south. Zheng He thinks that the treasure ships can outrun it to the west. That is us. We hope to rendezvous all ships at Majapahit, make repairs, and form up again when the weather clears.

“Make sure the shutters to the balcony are closed and bolted. My steward will bring you food and water for the duration. I will join you when I am able. Oh, and dowse the lanterns when the ship starts to yaw and roll. The worst thing that can happen at sea is fire.”

I rush to him. “Song Cai, take good care of yourself. I will be waiting impatiently for your embrace.” I kiss him gently on the lips.

“I will,” he says simply and leaves the room.

Hyun-sook runs around securing whatever she can. This is my first time in a storm at sea, but I am unafraid. I walk out onto the balcony and survey the scene. The smaller merchant ships and escort vessels huddle together and set anchor. The warships are already far in the distance. The drums beat out Zheng He’s orders, and gongs and bells add emphasis. Flagmen choreograph their signals with energetic efficiency. Our sails are twisted and turned at odd angles. I am sure the Captain of the Sails knows what he is doing. Suddenly the ship lurches and its speed picks up. Pretty soon we are racing away from the anchored ships and towards what dangers only the gods know.

“Come in, Miss and close the doors and shutters,” Hyun-sook pleads. I step down into the room, and Hyun-sook pulls the shutters across, bolts the double doors, and pulls over the drapes. The bright sunshine is no more. We are locked into the room, lit only by flickering lanterns. “We must put these books somewhere safe,” Hyun-sook suggests gathering up the fragile parchment volumes as if they were vegetable scraps.

“Careful with those,” I shriek.

Hyun-sook drops to the floor. “You are unhappy with me,” she whines.

“No, no,” I soothe. “It is just that the books are very valuable, and I am entrusted with their care.”

“Yes, Miss. I shall be more mindful.” She stands up cradling the books as if they were her children. “What do they say that makes them so valuable?”

“Someday I will read them to you and you will understand.”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Now lie with me on the divan.”

“Yes, Miss.”

Hyun-sook stows the books in the armoire and joins me. Soon we are in each other’s arms waiting for the storm’s wrath. We can feel the forward motion of the speeding ship, but it is another hour before the behemoth starts to pitch and roll. The sea becomes angrier and angrier, and the wind’s shrill voice through the shutters threatens us with catastrophe.

“Dowse the lanterns,” I order Hyun-sook. She jumps up but is thrown to the floor as the great ship bucks to one side then the other. She staggers to her knees but pitches forward as the ship dives into what must be a colossal trough between giant waves. I get up to help. We cling to each other and stagger about trying to shut down the oil lamps before they crash to the floor and start the dreaded fire Song Cai warned us about. We cannot help but laugh as we dance together and finally accomplish our chore. We return to bed fumbling for it in the blackness. Still laughing, Hyun-sook kisses my face. So this is what it is like to have a sister, I think.

The ship is rolling violently now, and the wind through the sails makes a witch’s noise. Why does the Captain of the Sails not lower them? The food and drink the Navigator’s steward brought to us earlier has long ago crashed to the floor. We can hear the remnants of the teapot, cups, and plates careening back and forth in time with the gyrations of the ship. After one particularly violent spasm, the chamber pot tips over and rolls crazily around the room. The odor of human waste fills the room. Hyun-sook holds me in an iron grip, fear tensing every muscle. Once again I must be the strong one. “It is all right, little one,” I tell her evenly. She relaxes a bit. We endure the torment for what seems like hours. Then little by little the storm subsides.

Hyun-sook slides the drapes over, unbolts the doors, and throws open the shutters. The heavenly scent of fresh and salted air washes over us. I step onto the balcony and breathe in deeply. It is good to be alive. Hyun-sook busies herself with the onerous task of cleaning up the mess. I would dearly love to help my sister, but I remember that she is still a servant and I am her mistress.

It has been a masterful display of seamanship. Zheng He, the Navigator, and the Captain of the Sails have seen us through the tempest. We sail on westward, injured but proud.

Men skitter about below. The decks are filled with the debris of tattered sails and frayed ropes. Cargo stored on deck has shifted and rests at crazy angles like children’s blocks thrown in a fit of peevishness. I can see that the armada is in disarray with many ships in need of repair. The drums are beating now, and the gongs roar. Flagmen signal with great passion, and colored pennants are raised on the foremast. I crane my neck and look aft. Dark clouds and roiling sea are well behind us. We have indeed outrun the worst of the typhoon.

I step into the room and see that Hyun-sook is overwhelmed by the disarray and slop. As I debate in my mind whether or not to help her, there is knock on the door. Hyun-sook is on her knees and opens it without standing up. It is the night soil men with mops and buckets. Hyun-sook straightens up. I beckon her to me. “Let us stand out of the way,” I tell her.

“Oh no, I must help them,” she protests.

“Let them do their work. Ladies need to be unsoiled,” I insist. She is aghast that she should be included as a lady. “Come, we should wash ourselves.” I take her hand and escort her to the where the water basin should be but is no more, having succumbed to the flailing of the ship. A night soil man sees us standing there and, without any command, fetches a new bowl and fills it with clean water. I undress completely and indicate that my handmaiden should do the same. Hyun-sook grudgingly follows my lead and disrobes. The men stare at us and I glare at them. They go back to their work. I pour a little liquid soap made of castor bean oil, spices, and coarse wood ash into her hand, then some in mine. I add a little water from the basin and work up a lather. She imitates me perfectly. I wash; she washes. A put a bubble of soap on her nose and she laughs. It is good to have a friend. She splashes me with water from the basin and I splash her back. We giggle and laugh as the water falls to the floor. The uncomplaining night soil men sop it up. I dry her back; she dries mine. Hyun-sook begins to put on her soiled gown and I stop her. “Have this laundered,” I tell one of the night soil men. Hyun-sook’s eyes are big as saucers. I hand her my red, robe and she haltingly puts it on. Her eyes are downcast and her cheeks flushed. “Get me dressed,” I order her. She brightens. The men refill the basin, and after one more glance at me, they are at the door. It swings open before they can leave. One of the men is almost struck by the wildly swinging door.

“What goes on here,” the Navigator growls. The night soil men slide behind him dragging their gear out into the hall. “What is this?” he thunders grabbing at the red robe Hyun-Sook wears. We are silent before his bluster. “I give you this robe for our intimacy. Why does this garlic-eater wear it?” I cower as he practically tears it off Hyun-sook. She crouches trying to hide her nakedness. He throws the robe at her. “Have this washed. I want no odor of garlic on it ever again.” A terrified Hyun-sook rushes out of the room with the offending garment. Song Cai throws himself on the divan. “Pour me some tea.” There is none. He rises and stomps to the door. He opens it and screams down the hallway. “Tea!” He returns to the divan, and I sit next to him.

“What is wrong, Song Cai?”

“Have you no eyes? Have you no ears?” he snarls. “We have been through a terrible storm. There were no stars to guide us, no sun to measure. Hourglasses would not stand up straight, and our compasses spun like dancing girls. And yet it was up me to see the ship safely through. As the ship goes so goes the fleet. Have you no sense?”

I take the brunt of his tirade in stride. “But you did see us through. It is a miracle,” I tell him.

“You are foolish beyond words,” he scolds. “It was not Heaven who saw us through; it was I, Song Cai, Navigator to Zheng He.”

“But, but how?”

“My wits, my experience. The wind speaks to me. The waves tell me their story. I smell the direction in which to go. I know how many li we have travelled since the last reading. It is called dead reckoning, silly woman.”

“You must be tired. Lay with me awhile, and we will have tea.” I try to forgive him his disparaging words. The steward brings us tea and sets the tray on the floor in front of us.

“Will there be anything else, my Lord?” he asks.

“Send in the players of the kong shu.”

“Yes, my lord.”

In my ignorance I ask, “What is the kong shu?”

He softens. “You shall see, my dear. Please pour the tea.”

I exaggerate my motions and he is pleased. From outside the door, we hear the beautiful notes of the guzheng, a Chinese zither. Then a soft knock on the door. “Enter,” Song Cai calls out. A troop of four entertainers come bouncing into the room. One plays the lilting strains that only the guzheng can produce. The others spin and do tricks with their kong shu, a kind of yoyo. The Navigator is much pleased. He applauds their wondrous tricks and delights in nudging me in the ribs when an especially difficult move is made. I squeeze his arm and laugh at the antics. The one in the green robe brings the toy to me and urges me to try, but I am clumsy, and the yoyo falls from my hands. Song Cai picks it up and tries his hand at it. He is much better than I, but he is ham-fisted and awkward at best. The entertainers approve of his efforts, and he laughs at his own ineptness. The jugglers have saved their best tricks for last and pass the kong shu back and forth between themselves with great skill. All the while the musician makes his instrument sing faster and faster as the troop winds up its act. Song Cai reaches into his gown and pulls out some coins which he tosses on the floor. The men greedily scoop them up and bow out of the room. “Stay,” Song Cai orders the musician. “Turn away and play softly,” he instructs the man. The guzheng master plays a melody like that of a sparrow softly warbling to its mate. The gruff and brash navigator, the one who smells directions and counts the li in his mind, gently undresses me, puts his lips to my rose, and we are lost in love.

 “It is almost Mei, Liling. I must report for duty,” Song Cai says as he lightly strokes my hair.

“If you must,” I tell him sadly. He rises and begins to dress in the darkness. “Light a lamp. I do not mind,” I whisper. He lights the oil lamp nearest the divan. He is muscular in his under garments, and I long for him to stay. “Song Cai, you know what I wish?”

“What?”

“I wish we lived in Antillia and there was no duty, no work, and no obligation to our lords.”

“That is silly. What would be our mission in life? How would we obtain satisfaction for a job well done?”

“Forgive me. I do not know why I prattle on about such nonsense.”

“If all goes well this day, I shall be back this evening. We will talk then.”

“My monthly visitor will be here in a day or two, so please come to me tonight.”

“I will.”

***

The treasure ships sail slowly ever westward. I guess Zheng He does not want to make the storm damage any worse. It will be many days until we reach Java and Majapahit for repairs. The day wears on. Hyun-sook is in and out tending to my needs. The Navigator must be very busy, for he does not come to me at Hun. The next day my visitor arrives, and I sulk in my room. Hyun-sook soon has the same problem as I, and we are quarantined in my cabin together. We are not even allowed on the balcony. My lungs long for fresh air. Our food trays are left in the hallway, but the stewards make enough noise, so we know they are there. Only the night soil men come into the room. Nothing seems to faze them. I read to keep my mind busy. Sometimes I tell Hyun-sook interesting facts, and she gobbles them up. She asks many astute questions. I am sure if she were Chinese and a man, she would be a scholar. But she is the lowest of the low and, although I am treated much better than she, I am not much higher in station. I think that if we did not have breasts and roses, we would be lower than dogs. We have been taught to be timid and subservient as if we cannot think for ourselves or do as men do. It must be my condition that makes me rant so.

It has been six days and we are finally deemed clean and fit for social contact. I go onto the balcony. I let the breeze cleanse me further. The gongs are busy now and men dash about the decks. Then the pigeons are let loose. Something is afoot. Far in the distance I can make out the tall masts of the warships. We are sure to make rendezvous with them this very day. The merchant and support ships have already caught up with us. Majapahit cannot be far away.

It is almost Hun. I have not seen Song Cai for so long. I hope he does not consort with another woman during our time away from each other, but that, of course, is none of my business. He enters, shabby and tired looking. This is not the man I was hoping for.

“Tea,” he says sharply. I have it ready. He slumps on the divan, and I pour the tea with all the grace my body can muster. He takes a sip and spits it out. “Cold,” he snaps. Horrified, I rush to the door with the teapot and have Hyun-sook bring me another. He is satisfied this time and softens. “Are you uncontaminated?” he asks. I nod and let the robe slip from my shoulders. But Song Cai is not interested. He stands up still sipping the tea. “We will reach Majapahit tomorrow. We anchor at Tu-pan before midday. Repairs will take days, and Zheng He wants to meet with King Wikramawardhana and pay our respects. Zheng He has commanded Hong Bao and his navigator to accompany him. I will be Zheng He’s second. We are to have women on our arms so the king will see that we are civilized. You will accompany me.” I am stunned. I never thought I would be allowed to leave the ship. I am very happy but afraid as well.

“What is Majapahit like?” I ask hoping he will not think me stupid and unlearned.

He puts forward his cup, and I pour him more tea. “It is an empire of many islands. The king lives in the north of Java in the capital, Trowulan. He rules over seven other, but lesser kings. He is the incarnation of the Creator. The land is much like India and boasts many of the same ways, including similar architecture and grand buildings. The king’s palace is most beautiful being covered in gold and silver.” Song Cai does not belittle me. He seems to enjoy the role of teacher.

“If the King of Majapahit is the incarnation of the Creator, what of Zhu Zhanji. Is he not descended from Zhu Di and Heaven?” I ask.

“Heaven must be as the earth – divided into many lands each with its own god or gods, which is why we must be tolerant of others beliefs and they of ours,” he replies thoughtfully.

“How do you know so much? Have you been to Majapahit before?”

“Yes, on Zheng He’s fourth voyage.”

“You know so much of the world. I envy you.”

“If everyone were as well-travelled as I, ignorance and false notions would not exist,” he boasts.

I say to him, “I have had many books brought to me, and I now know so much more than when I lived on the family farm. It is amazing to me how ignorant my parents and the villagers were and probably still are.”

“Do not be so haughty. You know nothing compared to me, and I know nothing compared to Zheng He, and Zheng He knows nothing compared to Zhu Zhanji, and Zhu Zhanji knows nothing compared to Heaven’s knowledge. All we can do is seek learning and wisdom in the hope that we will be able to talk to the gods intelligently when the time comes.”

“I am humbled,” I admit sorrowfully. “Forgive me. I have much to learn. I wish I had ten lifetimes in which to study.”

“You could not know all in a thousand lifetimes or a thousand, thousand lifetimes. That is what makes the quest for knowledge so exhilarating – when one question is answered, two more appear.”

I am so in love with this man. “Sit by me,” I tell him. He sets down his cup and sits. I cuddle next to him.

“What books have you been reading?” he asks.

“Treatise on Astrology of the Kaiyuan Era,” I tell him.

“Pseudoscientific garbage,” he says.

I am stunned. “Um, also Miscellaneous Morsels from Youyang.”

“Tripe.”

I try again. “I have just started Great Tang Records on the Western Regions.”

“Now that is worthwhile. Study it well. We will discuss it when you are finished.” I blush at the thought of conversing on the same level as my Lord. “I am weary,” he admits. “We will lay together until I regain my strength.” He puts his head on my lap. I stroke his hair which is curly from being damp with sweat. I am in heaven. His eyes flutter open. “Study also Confucius,” he murmurs and is soon asleep.

 CHAPTER

Four

 We have been at anchor in the harbor at Tu-pan for six hours now, and evening approaches. I long to know what is going on, but I must be patient, for patience is a virtue. I can stand it no longer. I go to the balcony. The land I see is populated by tall and pointed buildings. How strange. A fire in the tallest of them brightens as the sky darkens. Lanterns blink on and foreign voices skim across the water to my ears. In the fading light my eyes deceive me. I think I see an animal as large as a stone house. It has a small tail and giant pillars for legs. And what is that? It has a huge snake-like nose. My heart races. What wonders will I see when we go ashore? Song Cai wakes me from my thoughts. I step off the balcony to greet him.

“I have news,” he says gravely. I want to be giddy, but I hold myself in check.

“Sit and have tea. Then we can talk,” I say as I put my arms around him. He smells of the sea and perspiration. He shrugs me off.

“Liling,” he says gently. “This is the most important thing that has ever happened to me in my life. Being part of Zheng He’s delegation is a great honor. I must not disappoint him.”

I can feel his frailty and apprehension. “You are the strongest person I know. How could you disappoint anyone?” My encouragement seems to bolster him and his mood improves.

“The king’s navy is to take us to Trowulan at dawn tomorrow. We must be dressed appropriately and have no hair nor thread awry. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my Lord. Come lie with me and we will savor the night.”

“No, I must be well-rested. I must save my energy for the task ahead.”

“I understand.”

“Liling, you must be perfectly attired and coifed. You must smell of flowers and spice. Your lips and nails must be the brightest red. No imperfection shall mar your face or hands, no wrinkle betray a lack of attention to your wardrobe.”

“Yes my Lord.”

Song Cai continues. “I must return to my quarters. Heed me well. I will send for you at Mei.”

I nod and bow and Song Cai leaves the room. Hyun-sook comes rushing in. “We must prepare you now as never before,” she exclaims. She must have the ears of a bat to hear through the thick teak door.

 It is Mei, and Hyun-sook and I wait patiently for my Lord. I will my skin to radiate only dry confidence. I stand so as not to crease my clothing. Where is he? Patience, patience, I tell myself over and over again. Finally my prince arrives. “You take my breath away,” he gasps. I look to the floor to show modesty. He is dressed more as a warrior than a sailor. He has a long sword sheathed in a jeweled scabbard. He wears his hair in a knot at the back. I feel like taking him to my bed, but I keep my eyes cast downward until he speaks again. “Hyun-sook, you have done a wonderful job,” he says to my handmaiden. She is weak with pride and almost slumps to the floor. “We must go,” he says and I take his arm. I can tell he is pleased with me. I am confident his stature among the other men will be assured.

When we reach the deck, I am horrified. It is so much steamier up here. My pores literally scream at me to let them loose, but I soldier on and maintain my tranquility. Song Cai leads me to an outside stairway to the uppermost deck. There, he says, we will meet Zheng He and Hong Bao. My heart sings; my pores shriek. Song Cai ascends first. I follow. I can see far and wide from this high perch. I can see our vast collection of ships spread out across the harbor. However, it is the sight of two large men that that makes my pulse quicken. I am sure they are Zheng He and Hong Bao, but which is which? I am so in awe of being in their presence.

“Ah, Navigator,” one of them says as we approach. You know Admiral Bao?” he asks.

“I know of him, Admiral Zheng,” Song Cai replies. The two men bow to each other, Song Cai much lower than Admiral Hong. I keep my eyes and thoughts focused on the planks beneath my feet.

“And this is Admiral Bao’s navigator,” Zheng He says. Song Cai puts his hands on his hips and nods his head slightly. Hong Bao’s navigator does the same. I thought Song Cai said he knew the man. They act as strangers, but I suppose that it is all for show. Men. Hong Bao’s navigator has a beautiful woman on his arm. She is in blue and I envy her gown. She too has her eyes downcast, but somehow our gazes meet. This is the only introduction we get. We are window dressing, nothing more.

“You know Liang Ru, our interpreter,” Zheng He adds.

“Yes, I know Ru, Admiral.”

“Then let us be off,” a jovial Zheng He says.

Zheng He is a giant of a man, but he is gentler and warmer than I had imagined. Hong Bao, on the other hand, seems dour and has a hard face with much weather on it. The two eunuchs lead us to the ladder. Each man nimbly descends in spite of their bulk. The Navigators are next, followed by the interpreter. The woman in blue gracefully descends with no help. I am last and try desperately to match the other woman’s poise. Then I am down safely. Suddenly the woman in blue takes my hand. I look into her face. She is so beautiful. In our silence we have become friends.

The group gathers on the weather deck. Together with the great admirals, their navigators, and interpreter are bodyguards, men carrying gifts for the King of Majapahit, and other minions. It is a surprisingly large party that is going ashore.

We are told that the king resides up the coast in the capital, and we are in for a four hour sail to Trowulan. A dhow is sent from the port and nestles against our junk. It is a lateen-rigged vessel capable of sailing before or against the wind. It is tiny compared to Zheng He’s flagship. With excruciating caution, first Zheng He then the rest of the contingent is lowered into the dhow. My new friend and I are last. Brown men naked to the waist scamper about making ready for departure. A stiff breeze fills the sails. We slowly pull away and snake our way through the gauntlet of ships at anchor. Tu-pan fades quickly into the distance as we race northward being careful to keep the shoreline always in view. We settle in for the journey to the exotic land of King Wikramawardhana.

Zheng He and Hong Bao sit stiffly and silently at the front of the boat. The navigators and interpreter chat amicably amidships. The others find seats wherever they can. Some stand. We are relegated to the back. “I am Liling,” I say to my counterpart.

“I am Ai,” she replies in a squeaky voice. “You are ‘sound of white jasmine’.”

“Yes, and you are ‘lovable’.”

She titters. “Yes, but my lover calls me, Zhuzhu.”

“He calls you ‘Little Pig’? How charming.” We laugh together. “Where are you from?” I ask.

“Yunnan, but my man says I am from Venus.”

Again we laugh. “He sounds nice.”

“At times,” she says cryptically.

We talk so softly that we have to strain to hear one another. It would be rude to talk loudly. I speak of her beauty. She says I am more beautiful. I compliment her gown. She says it is an old rag compared to mine. We prattle on and the time flies by. Soon the crew prepares for landfall. They do not bother to lower the sails. The crew just tilts and bends them so the ship glides effortlessly against a timbered wharf. Many men come to the fore to help the passengers off. A crowd has gathered at the far end of the wharf, and a man sits atop one of those huge snake-nosed beasts. Gongs and flutes, drums and cymbals herald our arrival.

Zheng He, Hong Bao and their bodyguards lead the procession. Song Cai waves to me furiously, and I rush to take his arm. Ai does the same with her man. We follow closely behind the great men whose imperious gate we imitate. The interpreter and another man are next and then the gift bearers. Women with tiny cymbals on their fingers line the wharf and sway and clap the metal disks together until they sing. Little girls run up and down tossing flower petals at our feet.

The crowd parts as we come off the wharf. The man on the gray and wrinkled beast has turned it around and leads the way. Men bustle behind the animal to scoop up its waste before we can be offended. The women with the finger cymbals follow behind singing in the highest pitched tones I have ever heard. The flower girls never seem to run out of petals. Two little boys, half naked, lift Zheng He’s and Hong Bao’s skirts so they do not drag in the dust. Finally, we reach a great red-brick tower that is the entrance into what can only be the king’s compound. The beast stops at the entrance and, at its rider’s command, trumpets our arrival. Many men with bare chests and wearing silk pajamas with daggers stuck into their waistbands rush out from around the gate. They surround us. The beast backs away and we are escorted in. The compound is like a city. Many huts made of fragile materials crowd the perimeter. Sturdier wooden homes come next. Then red brick houses spill to the center where a magnificent palace looms.

The huge structure is also made of red brick. Its façade is sculpted with fantastic gargoyles and its roof is gilded with the finest gold. Two outsized bare-breasted females with many arms, also gilded, guard the entrance to the inner sanctuary. There is no door, but two giant men with bare and muscled chests grimly block the way. Am I dreaming?

As I ponder the wonderment, a commotion ensues behind us. A man is being dragged through the streets, his hands bound in front of him. He is led as if a horse. Our interpreter talks to one if the King’s Guard.

“What is happening?” Song Cai asks Ru.

“The guard tells me the man is a criminal. He has been convicted of murder, and the king has pronounced sentence. The victim’s relatives parade him through the streets to prolong his anguish.”

“What happens next?” Song Cai asks.

Suddenly the spectacle ends as the precession stops and the man falls to his knees. A man in the uniform of the King’s Guard comes up behind the condemned man and puts a long knife into his back. We are told the blade is placed just above the floating rib. It pierces the heart and the man dies instantly. To add to the dead man’s shame, he is rolled in the dust (or in the rainy season, the mud) until he is fully coated. Then and only then can the dead man’s family retrieve the body.

Ru continues. “The corpse is brought to the beach where a wooden scaffold is erected. The body is placed on top and a fire lit. When the flames are at the body, his wife commits suttee. She throws herself onto the pyre and joins her husband in death. Thenceforth, his children, his brothers and sisters, his mother and father, and even his grandmother and grandfather are tainted with his crime. They, in their lifetimes, will never be free of it.” We are stunned. “The guard wants us to hurry. The king awaits,” Ru tells us.

The two scowling men guarding the entrance stand aside. Zheng He is the first to enter. Hong Bao is next, and the rest of go in single file. I am last and take one final look behind me. The two clans are shouting at each other, and I am afraid there will be more violence. The gift bearers remain outside.

The interior of the palace is as cool as a spring morning. It is lit with many lamps. They must be filled with the finest oils, for they do not smoke. The walls and ceiling are covered in gold and silver, and the floor is covered with intricately patterned carpets. There is a short flight of steps leading up to a platform on which a golden throne sits. Jewel-encrusted standards flank it and two turbaned and robed retainers stand by with plumed fans. We wait patiently for the king to make his entrance, which he takes his own good time in doing. Finally, he comes from behind a curtain and walks slowly to his seat of power. He must have been behind the curtain all the while sizing us up.

He wears a crown of gold leaves interspersed with fresh flowers. Leather belts in a cross pattern girdle his bare chest. He has on richly embroidered silk trousers which are cinched at the waist with a twisted silk rope. In this band are three daggers. His feet are bare. On each arm hangs a buxom, brown-skinned woman in an ornately trimmed silk gown bound so tightly at the waist that I fear the women have no internal organs. He stands before us with arms across his chest. He puts his nose in the air and sticks out his lower lip, King Wikramawardhana is obviously trying to impress his guests with his imperiousness, but he just seems pompous and silly to me. He motions to his guards. They come over to us and have us prostate ourselves on the musty carpeting. Zheng He and Hong Bao remain standing. The king, with deliberate motions, sits down and we are allowed to rise. The women, who I assume are his wives, curl at his feet.

“We meet again, Admiral,” he says in a deep and resonating voice. Ru Liang interprets.

“You are looking fit,” Zheng He counters.

“My wives will attest to that.” The buxom women titter.

“We appreciate you accommodating us at Tu-pan.”

“You have paid my exchequer well.”

“I have, Your Majesty.”

“But not well enough,” the king spits out. Zheng He says nothing. “Your repairs will take many days and cost much. I think that I shall ask for 4000 kepengs [Chinese copper coins with a square hole in the middle] in addition to the money already paid.” Zheng He knows we cannot sail on without repairs and supplies, but he remains inscrutable. After a long silence, a frustrated King Wikramawardhana says, “3000 kepengs is my final offer.”

Zheng He throws the king a bone. “I have many gifts for you. They wait outside.”

“What of my money?” the king insists.

“The gifts I have for you are worth more than a few kepengs.”

“If your gifts are satisfactory, then I can manage the repairs for an additional…” He pauses for effect. “…2000 kepengs.”

“1000 kepengs and 100 maidens,” Zheng He offers.

“I will agree to that if you include one more gift.”

“What is it, Your Majesty?”

The king points to Ai and me. “Those two,” he says emphatically.

Zheng He is silent once more. I look over to Ai. She is as appalled as I am. “Done,” Zheng He says. I close my eyes and pray for salvation.

“Good,” the king beams. “You shall have your repairs,”

I open my eyes and see Zheng He approach the monarch. His guards take one step forward. Zheng He stops. “To be fair, I have a request of Your Majesty.” The king leans forward. “I want the two lovely ladies at your feet.”

The king is horrified. “This I cannot do,” he says, his voice quaking a bit.

“Well then, I shall keep my ladies and you can keep yours.” Zheng He offers.

The king chortles heartily. “You drive a hard bargain, Admiral. Let us be friends and break bread together.”

The tension is lifted and I can breathe again. Zheng He claps his hands, and the gift bearers come flooding in along with the native women who are singing and clapping their finger cymbals in joyous celebration.

One by one the bearers place the gifts at the king’s feet. First and foremost is a large porcelain bowl filled to the brim with 1000 copper kepengs. Next come ceramic flasks, ewers, cups, and teapots. Bolts of silk cloth, bottles of perfume, silver candlesticks, and elaborately carved wooden pen boxes. The king is much pleased. Zheng He claps his hands again, and two maidens come into the palace each bearing a gaily wrapped paper box. They kneel down in front of Hong Bao, and he takes the boxes from them. Zheng He smiles and nods to Hong Bao. The Admiral approaches the throne and King Wikramawardhana reaches for them, but Hong Bao pulls them back. He hands one box to the king’s wife on his right hand and then one to the wife on his left. They are surprised. “What is this?” the king asks.

“It is a small token of appreciation for Your Majesty’s judgement of beautiful women,” Hong Bao tells him. The king puffs out his chest.

“You may open them,” he tells his wives. They carefully remove the delicate paper and simultaneously open the boxes. Inside are magnificent silk gowns embroidered with scenes of forest and field, waterfalls, and fanciful animals. One is emerald green and the other cobalt blue. The women are stunned for a moment then cover their lord with kisses. It seems as if Hong Bao has given His Majesty the best gift of all. The king stands bolt upright. “Let the merriment begin,” he booms.

We are hustled into a large dining hall where all manner of food and drink is served. Zheng He sits on the king’s right hand and Hong Bao on his left. The rest of the men in our party and the king’s ministers string out alongside them. Ai, the two favorite wives, and I sit together at a separate table. We have not benefit of an interpreter, but get along famously anyway. We laugh together somehow communicating about all things including our men’s foibles and Zheng He’s and Hong Bao’s lack of appendages. The wives new dresses garner much attention from Ai and me, and the women are beyond ecstasy.

The men make many toasts to one another and are soon feeling no pain. The king constantly claps his hands, and all kinds of entertainers perform for us. There are jugglers, sword swallowers, fire eaters, tumblers, and the ever-present dancing girls. The party continues long into the night. We women grow weary, and one of the king’s wives invites us to share their lodgings.

We are escorted laughing and giggling to the ladies’ sumptuous apartments. We are handed off to servants who wash and perfume us. We are given soft cotton chemises and are shown to our quarters. We enter a large room crammed with feather beds with fresh linens atop them. Many women are already in their beds, but they do not sleep. There is the constant babble of the Majapahit language and the trill of female laughter. What a happy place this is. Our hosts join us prepared for slumber and smelling of spices. One of the women joins me in my bed, and the other cuddles with Ai. My new friend slides her hand under my nightgown and caresses my breasts. The other hand finds my rose, and I am a slave to forbidden delights.

 Morning light floods the room and servants prowl around waking those who do not rise by themselves. My companion is awake but embraces me yet. “You stay here,” she whispers. I am surprised she says these words in my language, but apparently this is the only phrase she knows. I sit up and survey the room. In the light, I can see clearly that not all the women here are natives. Some are definitely Asian and two are quite black. One young girl has the whitest skin I have ever seen. Her hair is as yellow as the yolk of an egg. I say to myself, so this is how the king obtains his harem. If he cannot buy or trade for them, he entices them with earthly pleasures and lavish living conditions. Then all at once, I am filled with alarm.

“Ai,” I call out. “We must be going. The Admirals must be anxious to get back to Tu-pan.” The favorite wife takes my wrist, but I struggle free. “Ai, get up!” I shout. Ai sits up rubbing her eyes.

“What is going on?” she asks.

“We must leave and quickly,” I tell her. I try not to show panic in my voice.

“But why?”

“Get your clothes. Our men call for us,” I lie. Ai tries to rise, but the other favorite wife holds her back. I leap to the floor and help Ai free herself. One of the women shouts out a command, and two eunuchs rush in and restrain us. We struggle. A girl comes over and parts the two men.

“It is no use,” she tells us in Chinese.

“You are from Guangdong,” I say, recognizing her accent.

“Yes. I came here with the fleet some years ago and have been consort to the house of Wilwatikta ever since. You cannot escape. But do not worry. It is very nice here and you will be treated well.”

I struggle against the ape that holds me, but he is too strong. They parade Ai and me back and forth throughout the room. The women we pass reach under our chemises and touch our private parts. There is much laughter. Ai starts to cry, but I refuse to join her. There must be some way out of here. Where is Song Cai?