It's around 100 B.C., on the far western frontier of the Han Empire, China.
A small royal convoy of camels and horses moves through the desert night, bound for the kingdom of Hotan in modern-day western China.
At the heart of the group, riding in a covered carriage, is a young woman.
Her silk robes hidden beneath a travel cloak, her veil drawn tight against the wind.
The daughter of the Han emperor.
She's leaving her home forever, sent west to marry the king of Hotan in a union arranged to ensure peace between the two powers.
The caravan slows to a halt at the frontier gate, a rough timber barrier set between two squat watchtowers linked by low earthen walls that trail off into the desert.
Beyond them lies foreign soil.
The border guards, clad in heavy armor, step aside as the princess approaches.
No one dares stop or search a royal envoy.
And yet Her heart still drums against her ribs as her horse picks its way forward, hooves sinking into the pale sand.
Because as soon as she crosses that border, she will have committed an unprecedented act of betrayal.
Concealed beneath her heavy headdress, pressed close to her scalp, lies a hidden treasure that could cost her her life.
Silkworm eggs, wrapped in silk, and a handful of mulberry seeds.
The essence and source of China's greatest export and most closely guarded secret.
Silk is already the most coveted luxury in Asia, yet no one beyond the land of her birth knows how it's made.
To take the eggs beyond the frontier is treason punishable by death by order of her own father, the Emperor.
Now the officer in charge bows low, motioning her onward.
She forces her hands steady and her voice calm as she gives the order to proceed.
She does not look back for fear that her expression will give her away.
The arch behind her The sound of the guards' calls fade, while ahead lie mountains sharp as teeth.
The passes that lead to Hotan and a self-imposed exile that will last a lifetime.
When those silkworm eggs hatch, they will unravel an empire's monopoly.
The secret of making the precious fabric has slipped across the border.
Adding one more chapter to the complex web of stories that make up the history of the Silk Roads.
From the deserts of Central Asia to the gates of ancient China, from the bazaars of Persia to the harbors of the Mediterranean.
The Silk Roads were never just one route living network of paths, mountain passes and caravan trails.
They carried not only silks and spices, but stories beliefs, technologies and ideas that would reshape entire civilizations.
For more than a thousand years, they connected worlds that might otherwise never have met and, in doing so, transformed them.
The Silk Roads have witnessed empires rise and crumble, faiths spread and evolve, and cultures meet, merge and create anew.
But what drove people to risk their lives traveling them?
How did they impact the disparate worlds they joined together?
And why, even today, do the Silk Roads still matter?
I'm John Hopkins.
From the Noisa Podcast Network, this is a short history of the Silk Roads.
The term Silk Road often conjures an image of a single trade artery linking East and West, with a line of caravans trekking from China all the way to the Mediterranean.
In reality, there was never one road.
From the start, these routes formed a latticework stretching across deserts, mountains and empires.
Peter Frankopan is professor of global history at Oxford University and author of The Silk Roads.
The word silk roads is used by Roman authors in the fourth century to talk about a long, big road along which silk comes that connects to China.
It's been used since the early 1800s by German geographers to think specifically about connections between China, Central Asia and India.
That was the kind of the nexus of what the Silk Roads were all about.
When we talk about the Silk Roads today, we mean this wider network of 4000 to 5000 miles of overlapping routes.
They run north to the vast unforested grasslands called the Steppe, south through the mountains of Afghanistan and west across Persia and beyond.
It's been used for the last hundred years or so as a shorthand for scholars about connectivities between different regions and different peoples, particularly in Asia.
So there isn't one road.
There isn't one particular point that is or isn't included.
The networks are east, west, north, south.
They're local.
Regional is very important.
And then, you know, the long distance stuff.
Like all labels, it's a little bit clumsy.
Behind the modern label lies a far older reality.
Centuries before it receives its name, merchants and envoys are already tracing paths between the great civilizations of Eurasia.
From around the 9th century BC, Greek and Persian traders exchange metals, fine woolen cloth, spices and dyes across ever-changing imperial frontiers.
In the 4th century BC, Alexander the Great's armies used the same pathways to push deep into Central Asia, leaving behind cities where Mediterranean and Asian traditions meet and mingle.
Its more formal beginnings however, are often traced to the 2nd century BC, within the court of China's Han dynasty, and to a single envoy whose mission westward opens the first sustained thread of connection between East and West.
In the early 2nd century BC.
The Han Empire is already about the same size as modern India and is expanding its frontiers and consolidating power across East Asia.
Yet to the North and West, it faces a formidable threat from the Xiongnu, a confederation of nomadic horsemen and raiders who dominate the steppe.
To counter them, the Han Emperor Wu seeks allies beyond the mountains and chooses a young court official, Jiang Qian, to lead a diplomatic mission west.
The journey takes him further than any Chinese envoy has been before him, but he never reaches the allies he was sent to find.
Yet, even though his mission is deemed a failure in military terms, when he finally returns to China in 126 BC, his report transforms the Han court's view of the world.
He speaks of fertile kingdoms beyond the deserts and of the tall, powerful horses of Dayuan, the great oasis basin, later known as the Fagana Valley in Central Asia.
He brings tales of markets filled with goods unseen in China, like bright glassware, woolen textiles, pomegranates and walnuts, even grapevines for making wine.
Importantly, his accounts reveal that the Han world is not a self-contained realm, but one corner of a far larger continent ripe to be explored.
My kind of stop point or start point often is because that's a point where there's an expansion westwards into the so-called Western regions under the Han Dynasty.
And that brings China into closer connections with Central Asia and then India as well.
The routes Jiang Qian maps through oases and over high passes will generations later become the arteries linking China with India, Persia and eventually, the Mediterranean world.
And on these paths, originally mapped for diplomatic purposes, the opportunity for profit soon presents itself.
Though it's only exploited when the rewards outweigh the dangers of freezing mountain passes, sandstorms that swallow caravans, raiders lying in wait, the ever-present risk of running out of food or water.
Traders are not just going in pursuit of profit.
They're calibrating what their risks are.
They're recalibrating what their returns are.
You don't have to go away from home for six months to go make your money, but certainly one of the kind of connectors that drive ways in which regions join up together are where are the profits?
And so things that are rare and high value dominate those kinds of long distance trade.
Travelers carry textiles lacquerware, porcelain and paper west, while jade glass, vivid dyes and fine metalwork move east.
But among the rare high-value goods that could justify such distances, none is more prized than silk.
Spun from the cocoons of mulberry-feeding silkworms, silk is light, strong, and impossibly lustrous.
A fabric, unlike anything found elsewhere.
Its production is a closely guarded secret within China, protected for centuries on pain of death.
To rulers from Persia to Rome, silk becomes a marker of prestige and power.
A precious cloth, carried west across deserts and mountains by Central Asian traders, since no foreign court can yet reach China itself.
And while everyone else wants silk from China, China wants something altogether different.
The horse is what unites all these cultures really together, because the steppe lands are where the giant herds of horses are reared.
The Central Asian horse is like a tank, actually.
They're incredibly resilient, they're fast, they're sturdy, they're low maintenance and they're in enormous demand in China India Persia, Egypt and beyond.
The domestication of the horse about 4000 years ago transforms militaries, it transforms transport, it transforms productivity.
These heavenly horses, as the Han call them, revolutionized Chinese warfare and alter the balance of power across the steppe.
Their size, strength and endurance allows Han armies to field a faster, more mobile cavalry than ever before, giving them a decisive advantage against nomadic powers like the Xiongnu.
With this new mobility, the Han pushed deeper into Central Asia, securing their frontiers and expanding along the Silk Roads.
Yet, while footfall increases, the journeys remain perilous, taking travelers through some of the harshest landscapes on Earth.
From deserts to forests to mountainous passes, traders face extreme heat, bitter cold and vast stretches of terrain.
Out here, a single mistake can prove fatal, and distances between the great oasis towns are measured in months, not days.
To survive such ordeals, travelers organize themselves into large overland convoys, known as caravans.
Anywhere between a few dozen to hundreds of Bactrian camels carry the loads across otherwise impassable deserts, while guides, interpreters and local escorts negotiate safe passage.
Cooks, craftsmen and camp assistants keep the convoys moving, and whole families often travel together.
It's down to the caravan leaders to judge the weather, the route and the perils ahead.
Even in caravans.
These journeys are slow, costly and dangerous, yet they are the lifeline of the long-distance travel which can be undertaken for many reasons.
When people have moved.
Sometimes it's about exploration, sometimes it's about exile, trying to run away from pressures.
Sometimes there's obligation.
You know, lots of movements of people are under duress, some to do with new opportunities that open up.
And when the size of your population reaches a certain point, when you start building cities, when you have a bureaucracy that comes with that, then you can find the sinews of connections starting to get wider and bigger.
At the fortified inns that mark each stage of the journey, known as caravanserais, traders from Persia India, Sogdia and China meet and rest.
They share food and news, pooling knowledge and warning each other of dangers.
These waste stations are often the most cosmopolitan places in their regions and become hubs where languages mix and alliances are formed.
Lots of the societies that sit across the Silk Roads are highly pluralistic, so they will have space and capacity for multiple different ethnicities religions, groupings.
And you know, obviously there are moments of confrontation and conflict and conquest, but the histories of them are very different to the histories in Europe, which are dominated by incessant warfare.
Such pluralism grows not despite the hardships of the road, but because of them.
Survival on the Silk Roads demands cooperation and trust.
Yet the reliability of these connections is never guaranteed.
It rests on the fortunes of the great empires that dominate Eurasia, whose shifting borders could close the routes without warning.
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By the second century AD, the Silk Roads enter a rare period of stability.
Across Eurasia, four powerful empires all have reasons to keep them open.
The Roman Empire and the West, the Parthian Empire in Persia, the Kushan Empire in Central Asia and the Han Empire in China.
Each gains from the movement of goods, envoys and information, creating a vast zone in which long-distance travel becomes safer than ever before.
Having security is in the interests of rulers and states.
The idea of stability goes quite hand in hand with where things are on the move, but it's always about supply and demand.
Even now though, the routes never settle into a permanent road.
Anything from the unexpected withdrawal of a garrison to a change in taxation, to a minor frontier skirmish, can push travelers far off their usual course.
When obstacles arise, the caravans simply adjust their path as leaders learn to read political winds as carefully as the weather.
But with every consignment of precious goods comes another form of exchange.
Something less tangible, but at least as valuable.
What truly transforms the world along these routes is not silk or spice, but ideas.
Religions, philosophies and systems of knowledge move as steadily as commodities for trade, reshaping cultures and blending beliefs.
When people travel, they bring ideas with them.
And when you sit around the fireplace having dinner or you rock up and you want to practice your own religious rituals, people watch you.
And so there's a constant discussion between religions and lots of borrowing, lots of ideas that jostle and compete and sometimes refine.
Buddhism, founded centuries earlier in India, begins spreading north into Central Asia and China, adapting with each new culture it meets.
Christianity follows later, moving eastwards from the Mediterranean world in the centuries to come.
We tend to think Christianity is a very European religion because there's a pope in Rome and priests speak Latin.
But Christianity is an Asian religion and it goes eastwards much more quickly than it goes westwards.
You find huge amounts of Indian material in the Bible because of connections between Indian subcontinent and the Middle East and the Holy Lands.
And as these religions move, their images and motifs develop.
In the earliest centuries of Buddhism, there was no image of the Buddha at all.
He was represented only through symbols, like an empty throne, a footprint or a tree.
But eventually sculptors in Central Asia and the Hellenistic-influenced kingdoms of what is now Afghanistan and Pakistan begin depicting him in human form.
To do so, they draw on the artistic languages they know, the flowing robes, balanced poses and idealized features of Greek and Central Asian art.
These new images travel east along the Silk Roads, gradually forming how the Buddha is imagined from one region to the next.
Buddhism.
Well originally, the image of the Buddha.
If you study your Buddhist texts, it's about self-denial.
Nothing is real.
Nothing lasts forever.
Everything turns to dust.
It's quite a bleak origin religion.
That turns out it's not particularly exciting.
It's not easy to sell that one.
So Buddha's image starts to change, like Apollo, to become quite tubby.
Because if you're healthy and you have access to food, why wouldn't you be tubby?
And that contrasts with what the teachings are.
But the visualizations start to change too.
There's a constant need for answers, and religions are offering a different set of explanations, and often they're quite similar to each other.
It's not only religion that travels the Silk Roads.
Mathematics astronomy medicine cartography, agricultural knowledge stories, scripts and artistic styles all pass along the route.
At oasis towns like Samarkand in modern Uzbekistan and Dunhuang in northwest China.
Travelers leave behind traces of their own cultures.
From murals painted in Greek styles, medical recipes copied from Indian texts to star charts that blend Chinese and Central Asian astronomy.
This interchange of learning and creativity is evidenced everywhere.
Indian numerals and mathematical methods move west into the Islamic world and then into Europe, revolutionizing numeracy.
It's a transformation shaped by mathematicians such as al-Khwaismi in Baghdad, whose treatise on al-Jabba, which loosely translates to the reunion of broken parts, will eventually give algebra its name.
But as ideas travel, so too to new opportunities.
For the first few centuries, most travelers worked in short segments, passing goods hand to hand at frontier posts or oasis towns, each covering only the stretch they knew well.
By late antiquity.
The great empires that once stabilized these routes have splintered into a mosaic of rival kingdoms, and the Silk Roads enter a new phase of uncertainty.
In times like these, the greatest prophets often fall to those who can move fastest and adapt most quickly.
And no group embodies this better than the Sogdians, the merchant communities of Central Asia whose influence reaches from China to Persia.
The Sogdians, along with Jewish traders and Armenian families, operate across vast distances.
As stewing guides and translators.
They use private networks of credit and kinship to move goods through a far less stable world.
They are also true polyglots, able to read and write in multiple scripts and speak the language of the courts and caravan towns they pass through, giving them a huge advantage in a world where borders and alliances constantly shift.
People traveling are multilingual.
Sogdians, for example, Jews, Armenians, people who have different alphabets.
It means they can write letters that no one else can read if you don't know the language script or don't speak the language, and also allow for high levels of trust.
The Sogdians use that trust to knit together markets and cultures separated by deserts, mountains and rival empires.
Their merchant houses operate like far-flung family firms, with cousins stationed in hubs sitting hundreds, sometimes thousands of miles apart, linked by routes that can take weeks or months to cross.
Through letters, credit notes and shared languages, they keep goods and information flowing across these vast distances.
Then, in the 7th century, a new force begins to reshape the map of Eurasia.
Islam emerges in the Arabian Peninsula in 610 AD.
A faith built around the idea of one God, moral responsibility, social justice and the promise of an afterlife open to all believers.
It takes little more than a generation to spread across Arabia.
Community by community, people take to their hearts the values that surpass tribal rivalries and offer a powerful sense of belonging.
The rituals of prayer, charity and fasting bring disparate societies together and leaders redirect wealth towards building mosques, schools and public works, rather than private fortresses or courtly luxuries.
As the new caliphates expand across the Middle East, North Africa and into Central Asia, a vast new religious and political world takes shape, bringing together regions that had rarely been connected so directly before.
The Grand Mosque in Damascus has inscriptions outside that talk about the virgin birth, that talk about the resurrection of Jesus Christ.
And early Muslims didn't have a problem.
That was absolutely central to early Islamic faith.
That then gets changed over time.
So I think there are lots of ways in which religion is a really important part of our ways of global connection.
And they go alongside travel.
Arabic becomes a lingua franca across much of the region.
And as the Islamic world expands, different routes begin to overlap.
As well as the long-established trading corridors, pilgrimage roads like the Hajj from Damascus to Mecca become incorporated.
By the 9th century, the great centers of learning form a constellation across Eurasia, with scholars, dealers and diplomats moving between them, supercharging global knowledge.
Chinese papermaking flows westward, revolutionizing scholarship in the Islamic world and later in medieval Europe.
Greek astronomy and medicine, preserved and expanded in Baghdad's libraries.
Travel east into Central Asia and China.
Buddhist art and philosophy continues to affect the cultures of China, Korea, and Japan.
Without these interactions, Eurasia would look very different.
The world's major religions would have developed in isolation, and its sciences, arts and technologies might have grown along separate paths.
Instead, the Silk Roads become the engine of intellectual transformation, from the Mediterranean to the Pacific.
But periods of openness never last forever and rivalry and conflict can carry just as quickly as merchandise.
By the 11th century, the Silk Roads are drawn into a new age where faith becomes the fuel for war.
In the Middle East, the routes are turned into battlegrounds by the Crusades, a series of religious wars launched by European powers to seize control of Jerusalem and other holy sites.
As European armies push east along roads once used by pilgrims and merchants.
The movement of soldiers, siege engines and supply trains places huge pressure on long-established networks.
Yet conflict does not block the Silk Roads so much as remould them.
Caravans, ports and cities adapt to the new realities of crusader and Islamic power, as markets diversify and alliances change.
Traders sell supplies to crusader armies and for a time the old caravan roads echo with a very different kind of traffic.
Columns of soldiers march from France, England and the German lands.
Knights on horseback clatter south through Constantinople.
Supply wagons grind across modern-day Turkey towards Jerusalem.
And as these armies move, New routes emerge to connect European markets with the wealth of the Islamic world.
Then, in the 13th century, a force emerges that will revolutionize the Silk Roads.
The Mongols.
Their leader, Genghis Khan, begins life on the fringes of power.
Yet within a few decades, he has forged the fractious steppe tribes into a single fighting force with one goal to bring the whole world under unified rule.
As Mongol armies sweep across Central Asia Persia, the Middle East and deep into Europe and China, cities burn, dynasties fall and political maps are redrawn.
But the conquest is not simply destruction.
Everywhere they go, the Mongols leave behind their own officials, folding new territories into something designed to function as a coordinated whole rather than a patchwork of conquered states.
Soon, they have created the largest contiguous land empire in history.
To make it work, they build and expand a vast infrastructure, most famously the Yam.
A relay system of stations, fresh horses and supply posts stretching thousands of miles, from the Pacific to the Black Sea.
It becomes the backbone of a reorganized Silk Road map, allowing its users to cross Eurasia with unprecedented speed and safety.
Under Mongol rule, banditry is punished and safe passage guaranteed.
The Silk Roads now operate as part of a single continent-spanning structure, with a degree of security and efficiency unmatched before or since.
Across Eurasia kingdoms realize they are facing a power unlike anything they have seen before, with news and rumors reaching them faster than ever.
From the 1180s over the course of the next 50 years.
Basically, Mongols are able to get from the Pacific right the way into Central Europe.
And suddenly these threats that no one's ever heard of before, these people who are going to potentially come back and destroy everything, are suddenly something you need to learn a little bit more about.
It is within this spirit of curiosity and anxiety that Venetian explorer, Marco Polo, travels to the court of Kubla Khan in the 1270s, on a journey made possible by Mongol control, from the Mediterranean to China.
It's the summer of 1275 in the imperial city of Shangdu, inner Mongolia.
A great bronze gong sounds across the marble courtyard. rolling beneath the colonnades.
Footsteps echo on stone.
As soldiers in layered armor usher Marco Polo, young Venetian explorer, forward alongside his father, Niccolo and his uncle Matteo.
Bearing letters and gifts from Pope Gregory X.
They walk past incense braziers that spit and hiss their smoke curling into the hot still air.
Ahead, the palace doors yawn open.
In the vast hall beyond, torchlight flickers against gold-painted beams, and banners embroidered with the emblem of the great Khan hang like sails above a gathering of nobles generals, astrologers and ministers.
A line of courtiers kneels in perfect silent rows as Marco passes, and caged snow leopards growl in the shadows.
The drums fall silent and the murmuring dies down as the three Venetians stop before a raised platform edged with carved dragons.
Here sits Kubla Khan, master of the Yuan Empire, ruler of lands stretching from the Pacific to the Black Sea.
The Khan's eyes sharpen beneath the weight of his fur-lined crown.
He leans forward and, at a small signal, a translator steps up his voice, carrying the ruler's questions across the hall.
He asks about their journey, about the lands beyond Persia.
He wants to know more about the Franks and their faith, and of the city these explorers call home.
Young Marco swallows dry air, aware of the heat of the brazes on his face, the faint creak of armor behind him.
But he steadies himself.
When he speaks, his voice is calm and measured.
He is no longer the boy who left Venice, but a man who has crossed deserts, mountains and kingdoms to stand here.
He tells of markets so crowded the streets seem to move like a river and kings who rule islands in distant seas.
He describes animals and birds the Khan has never even dreamed of, and ships with sails as wide as fields.
There are marble cathedrals, he says, glowing in candlelight, and cities that ring with the bells of church towers, clocking the passage of time.
The court listens utterly still, except for the soft rustle of silk as ministers lean closer, captivated.
The Khan concentrates on every word, unreadable.
When Marco finishes speaking, there is silence.
A moment hangs, long enough for Marco to feel the weight of every eye.
Travelers across Asia speak of this man as a ruler whose favor is generous but whose displeasure can be fatal.
Then Kublai Khan's expression shifts to a flicker of amusement.
He gives a nod and an attendant steps forward.
Cups are brought. and wine is poured.
When the Khan raises his cup and Marco mirrors him, the tension breaks.
In that instant the young Venetian wins the ear and perhaps the trust of the most powerful ruler alive.
Marco Polo's audience with Kublai Khan becomes one of the defining moments in the history of the Silk Roads.
His travels through the Mongol Empire, recorded decades later, shape how much of the medieval world imagines Asia.
But with his writings of China Mongolia, Persia and the kingdoms of Southeast Asia stitched together from observation, rumor and memory, it's not all entirely trustworthy.
What it's telling us is what people are thinking is going on in Asia.
And some of the material that we find in his travels seems to be completely reliable and is obviously seen by eyewitnesses.
Some of it is a bit more sketchy.
Among other marvels, he famously claims to have discovered unicorns on the island of Sumatra.
Many readers are sceptical, despite the detailed descriptions he offers of the beast's elephant-like feet and enthusiasm for rolling in mud.
Modern readers of course recognized that he had actually encountered the impressive but much less majestic rhinoceros.
Even with its exaggerations and uncertainties, the book he entitles the travels of marco polo remains one of the most influential documents of the middle ages.
It offers a rare glimpse into the Mongol world, with its strange cities, its courts, its roads and the extraordinary reach of an empire that stretches from the Pacific to Central Europe.
Mark O'Brien.
I think it's terrific to see how it tells us about people in Venice or in the Adriatic recognizing that there are lots of pieces of the jigsaw in different parts of the world and that they're in an age of globalization.
They need to understand better.
The Silk Roads now stand at their greatest extent.
But while the freedom of movement they offer is crucial to the carriage of people, goods and ideas across Eurasia, it also allows the transit of another catastrophic cargo.
In the mid-14th century, the Black Death spreads along the unsuspecting arteries of the Silk Roads.
From Central Asia to the Middle East and Europe, plague travels by caravan and ship, killing tens of millions.
Suddenly, workshops fall silent for want of labor.
Wagons and carriages stand idle as handlers and merchants succumb.
And once busy, market squares empty overnight.
In cities like Tabriz, Aleppo and Constantinople, officials struggle to bury the dead fast enough.
As markets falter and established powers weaken, the great trading cities and nations of the Silk Roads enter a period of crisis.
In Persia, whole stretches of the empire built by Genghis Khan and his Mongol successors splinter as provincial governors break away to rule for themselves.
In China, the Yuan dynasty struggles to contain famine and rebellion, and local armies seize power as central authority weakens.
Further west.
Italian trading houses collapse as partners and creditors vanish and families that once financed caravans and fleets fall into bankruptcy.
Scenes like this unfold across the continent, shifting the geography of global commerce.
What I think globalization really we're talking about is how elite goods are moving around, but also how connections are becoming more intensive.
And the key bit where that really changes is the development of ocean-going ships.
In the 15th century, that transformation gathers pace.
The rise of the Ottoman Empire redraws the map of the Eastern Mediterranean, bringing key land routes under new control.
Cities like Constantinople, once crucial staging posts for caravans traveling between Europe and Asia, now fall within the orbit of a rapidly expanding imperial state.
Unlike the Mongols, the Ottomans consolidate their rule by absorbing local elites, allowing diverse religious communities to continue their practices.
As well as building a professional bureaucracy and army to bind their territories together.
They tax and regulate trade and redirect wealth towards the ports.
So the Ottomans create an empire spanning three continents, so Europe, Asia and Africa.
So it's not surprising that produces a massive intensification of connections from the Indian Ocean through the Gulf, from Central Asia into Europe.
So it's an incredibly thriving world.
The development of deep-hulled ocean-going ships allows Europeans to bypass unstable overland corridors entirely.
Better understanding of winds and currents and new navigational techniques create a maritime network that links East Africa Arabia, India and Southeast Asia.
Across the Indian Ocean.
Long-established ports grow in importance as ships take mere weeks to carry pepper cotton, porcelain and precious metals across distances that once took caravans months.
The silk roads do not disappear, but their dominance begins to fade as sea travel offers a faster, cheaper and more reliable alternative.
In china, The early Ming dynasty launches vast naval expeditions under Admiral Zheng He.
His treasure fleets, with some of the largest wooden ships ever built, cross the Indian Ocean, reaching as far as East Africa, forging diplomatic and commercial links across a thriving maritime world.
Meanwhile, European kingdoms driven by competition and curiosity seek their own access to the riches of Asia.
The bit that's in the mix that changes is that Europeans start to get in on the act.
When Europe and Western Europe starts to develop its own extractive colonies in the Americas and then in Africa and in Asia, then the patterns of global trade start to change.
Portuguese navigators round Africa's southern tip, establishing a new route to the Indian Ocean by sea.
In 1498, Vasco da Gama reaches the Indian coast, opening a direct sea corridor to connect Europe to the markets of the East for the first time.
For a European veteran of the roads, the contrast is staggering.
Not long ago, a merchant from say, Normandy might have had to sail to Venice, cross the Alps into the German lands, reach Constantinople and then join the western fringe of an overland silk road.
He'd also need to pay taxes at every border, hire guards, feed horses and men and pray to avoid raiders or winter snows.
Now he can load his cargo onto a single ship, catch the Atlantic winds round the Cape of Good Hope and sail straight to an Indian Ocean port in a single voyage.
As European ships push further into the Indian Ocean, the Mediterranean and Central Asian powers, who once played host to the Silk Roads, find themselves increasingly bypassed.
The wealth that once flowed through their lands now moves across the world's oceans, carried by fleets whose reach outstrips anything caravans can offer.
When eventually Columbus and Vasco da Gama in the same decade actually reaches India, Columbus reaches what we then know as the Americas, that suddenly that opens up a proper globalized world where you get long distance trade and travel networks that start to really bring the whole world together.
As the 15th century gives way to the 16th and the world becomes better connected than ever before, the old caravan roads diminish in global significance.
Cities that once thrived on overland trade decline, and the silk roads slowly fall into disuse, slipping from the forefront of world affairs.
But they never vanish.
Their memory endures in architecture, manuscripts and in the imagination of the regions they once bound together.
That concept of the Silk Roads is absolutely front and central.
I think it's just that it gets lost in the noise of how we want to break things down into smaller topics.
It stops you looking at trans-regional, bigger picture stuff sometimes.
In the 19th century, the Silk Roads re-emerge from obscurity, with European explorers and archaeologists beginning to uncover their remains.
Buddhist cave temples sealed for a thousand years, desiccated towns swallowed by the Taklamakan Desert and long-lost manuscripts preserved in sand reveal the scale and diversity of the worlds.
The Silk Roads once brought together the great library cave at Dunhuang in western China, which produced about 50000 documents.
You know, they're written in every kind of language under the sun and it speaks not just of people coming from long ways away from each other, but wanting to listen and to learn.
Among those uncovering the ancient paths is the Swedish adventurer Sven Hedin, whose expeditions through the Kunlun Mountains and the Tarim Basin bring global attention to these forgotten landscapes.
His maps, sketches and dramatic accounts help revive the idea of a once vast network stretching from china to the mediterranean.
By now, silk road has become the convenient modern label for these much older overlapping paths.
A single name to act as shorthand for centuries of fluctuating roots and ever-changing power structures.
The idea of a single road takes on new political weight in the late 20th and early 21st centuries.
As China's global influence grows, the concept of East-West connectivity returns to the center of world affairs.
It is dawn on a winter morning in 2015 at Yiwu West Railway Station in eastern China.
The first sounds of the day ring out across the freight yard beyond, with forklifts whining and cranes groaning overhead as they swing containers into position.
Vapor clouds rise from a long diesel locomotive idling on the track, its steel sides trembling with pent-up force.
A businessman stands alone on the platform edge, Collar turned up against the bite of cold air.
Suitcase balanced beside him.
The ground reverberates beneath his feet as another crane drops a container into place with a heavy metallic thud.
Logos and stenciled names glare back at the commuter from the corrugated steel.
Samarkand, Tehran, Warsaw, Madrid.
Cities scattered across the map of Eurasia.
Names that once meant deserts, horses and caravans today are signifiers of freight schedules, custom seals and high-speed logistics.
Behind the man, workers shout orders in sharp bursts.
A guard signals with a whistle and soon the train moves alongside the platforms.
The businessman steps forward and climbs aboard, boots thudding on metal, and enters a carriage sparsely fitted with seats, wires, and a humming bank of monitors.
Freight may be king here, but a handful of passengers still ride west, tracing a route that echoes journeys made centuries before.
As the train departs.
The man watches through the window as Iwu falls away, its warehouses, billboards and highways dissolving in the pale morning haze.
The city's edges blur into fields and factories, then into the rolling sweep of open plains as the steel wheels gather pace beneath them.
Gathering speed, the train slices across the land like a drawn line on a map.
Kilometre after kilometre passes in a blur of winter colours.
The muted browns of riverbanks fade up to the grey run of distant hills and the flat silver of frosted farmland.
He opens his laptop, but before he gets sucked into its charts and emails, he closes his eyes for a moment, feeling the vibration through the floor.
Hundreds of years ago, merchants followed a similar path on foot or horseback, traversing deserts and mountains to cross the continent.
Now, in this modern caravan powered by diesel and electricity, the same journey will take a fraction of the time.
As the train surges westward, carried along rails that span thousands of miles.
The old Silk Roads live again.
Not in sand and hoof prints, but in steel tracks, sealed containers and the quiet determination of those who still cross continents in search of opportunity.
When the train from Iwo reaches Madrid, it will have covered more than 8000 miles and passed through eight countries.
It is the longest single rail link in the world.
These modern railways are more than infrastructure.
They are part of a strategic effort to reshape global commerce and revive old connections, marking a new chapter in the long afterlife of the Silk Roads.
In the 21st century, governments across Eurasia draw on the language and symbolism of the Silk Roads to frame new corridors and political identities.
China's Belt and Road Initiative, a vast program of infrastructure, trade and investment, is the most prominent example.
But it is far from the only one.
From India to Russia, states evoke the memory of once crucial networks to describe new ambitions.
Apart from the fact we've got China calling it the Belt and Road Initiative, which is literally explicitly about how you have the reconnections of the Silk Roads of the past.
You've got multiple Indian policies that don't want to call it the Silk Road, but call things like the cotton route.
For example, the India-Middle East Economic Corridor that links India through Iran, through the Gulf, through Israel and into Europe.
Those legacies are hugely important.
The Russian Federation, It says.
Russia is a Eurasian state that instinctively wants to look at.
Its future, lies in the east, along its connections with the Gulf, with Iran, with Central Asia, with South Asia and with China, which is the Silk Road's all-but-name.
Today, these ancient routes are no longer just a subject of history.
They're a living metaphor for global interconnection and a reminder that the movement of people, goods and ideas has always shaped the world.
The Silk Roads endure as a reminder that the desire to connect is as old as civilization itself.
Everywhere is about how you rebuild the silk roads and those connections, partly because it speaks of past glories.
But there is something also more real about how do people cooperate and that language of religion, of different ethnicities, of commonalities, of trade.
So I think there's lots of ways in which that history is alive and well and really important to tap into today, to understand it today.
Next time on Short History Of, we'll bring you part one of a special two-part short history of the European Middle Ages.
From about the year 700 onwards, we see increasing unity, sophistication and kingdom building in a wide range of these successor states that had risen out of the wreckage of the Western Roman Empire.
Charlemagne, Charles the Great, unified much of Western Europe.
Charlemagne ruled from 768 to 814.
He expanded his empire over what we'd now call modern France, areas of Germany, the Low Countries, northern Italy and beyond.
But it was a revival of something of Roman-ness, of imperial connectivity in the West.
And so Charlemagne was effectively emperor of the new Roman Western Empire, as it were.
That's next time.
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