The grand schemes of Dom João and his fellow fidalgos – the audacious captures, the grand anoblissement, the audacious "redemption" of Polish serfs – all pulsed through the veins of one man in Lisbon: Gaspar.
He was no swashbuckler, no cunning corsair.
Gaspar was a man of ledgers, of discreet whispers in dimly lit backrooms, of an almost inhuman patience in the face of Portuguese bureaucracy.
His family, once minor gentry, had fallen on hard times, and his sharp mind had languished in obscurity until the "Horizon Brazil" company, in its audacious rise, had plucked him from near-destitution.
His salary of 5,000 cruzados per year was a king's ransom for a man of his standing, a sum that bought not just loyalty, but an almost sacred devotion to the company's prosperity.
As long as the annual profits hit that million-cruzado mark, Gaspar knew his position, and his newfound dignity, was secure.
His office was a discreet townhouse near the docks, outwardly modest but within, a beehive of activity.
Coded messages arrived from Brazil via swift, inconspicuous vessels. Instructions came from the new fidalgos in the Algarve.
And the weight of it all rested squarely on Gaspar's shoulders.
The year 1656 stretched before him, a tapestry of ceaseless tribulation.
The arrival of the ships was a constant source of anxiety.
Each Horizon Brazil vessel, sleek and unusually silent, was a minor event. After the grand capture off Angola, the Crown's eye was on them, a mix of admiration and suspicion.
One crisp autumn morning, a new fleet docked.
Not the prizes of war this time, but the precious rubber from the Brazilian plantations.
Gaspar was at the quay before dawn, his breath misting in the cool air.
The smell of raw latex, earthy and pungent, filled the air.
His men, loyal and well-paid, moved with an efficiency that made the official dockhands grumble.
The raw rubber, still sticky and viscous, was quickly offloaded, weighed under his vigilant eye, and transported to the company's warehouses – old, fortified buildings acquired through very known channels.
His first tribulation of the day began with the Customs Officials.
João's "work with" philosophy, honed in pirate negotiations, translated into meticulously prepared manifests and a generous, but never excessive, distribution of gratifications.
"Senhor Gaspar," droned Official Barros, a man whose face was as grey as his ledger, "another shipment of… this." He gestured vaguely at a pile of rubber sheets, his nose wrinkled.
"Most unusual. The Crown expects its due, and more, for such exotic wares."
Gaspar smiled, a thin, polite smile that never reached his eyes.
"Indeed, Senhor Barros. The Crown's coffers prosper from our endeavors, do they not? And ours. Herein lies the precise accounting, as always."
A purse, heavier than usual, passed subtly into Barros's hand.
The official's eyes widened imperceptibly, and his pen scratched a swift approval. Another hurdle cleared.
The next challenge was the constant demands from the Crown.
Since the glory of the VOC capture, the Royal Council, though impressed, became insatiably curious.
Dom Pedro, the King's right hand, or so to say, now constantly pressed for details about the Horizon Brazil fleet.
"Tell me, Gaspar, these new sails of yours… they truly do not rot? And the hulls… is it this 'caoutchouc' that makes them so swift?" Gaspar would nod, smile, offer vague technical explanations that sounded plausible but revealed nothing of substance.
He was a master of the evasiveness that placated without informing, a diplomat of the commonplace.
"And the Polonians," a voice whispered at a fidalgo's soirée, the words laced with a mix of awe and disdain.
Gaspar had to manage the logistics of thousands of souls.
Commissioned ships, carefully chosen to be large enough for the journey but nondescript enough to avoid undue attention, sailed perilous routes.
They had to bypass the heavily patrolled English Channel (given the ongoing war with Holland, and England's own rising naval power), taking a longer, more southerly route around the British Isles, or even venturing far west into the Atlantic before turning south to Lisbon.
His most agonizing task was coordinating the incoming human tide. Reports would arrive from northern European ports:
"Group of 300 souls ready for embarkation, awaiting payment for redemption."
Gaspar had to ensure the funds were transferred discreetly, the contracts with the ship captains watertight, and, most crucially, that the ships actually arrived in Portugal.
He knew the perils: storms, Dutch privateers, unscrupulous captains abandoning their human cargo.
Each safe arrival was a silent prayer answered.
His evenings were spent poring over ledgers, calculating the flow of rubber to European markets, the costs of the Algarve project, the investments in the Brazilian plantations.
He was the silent fulcrum, balancing the vast, audacious plans of the ....the .... - Gasar pondered how to call them - Fidalgos de arma ?, The associates ? The 11 Captains ? well nevermind "the bosses", ha no!... "work wiith" ... well go with "The Fidalgos de Arma"- and the mundane that ius is still to be done, relentless realities of commerce and logistics.
He knew that for every dramatic stroke of genius by João and crew, there was a thousand painstaking details managed by him personnaly, Gaspar, invaluable heartbeat of "Horizon Brazil."
And as long as the numbers on his ledger swelled, the tribulation, though constant, was a burden he bore with quiet pride.
__________
The salty air of Portimão, thick with the scent of tar and fresh timber, felt like a cage to Dom Diogo.
The very ground beneath his feet, now officially "his" through royal decree, seemed to tether him.
Lisbon had been worse – a suffocating embrace of silks, perfumes, and veiled expectations.
The King's smiles, the whispered hints of politically advantageous marriages, the endless, intricate dance of courtly etiquette… it was all a gilded cage for a spirit forged in the brutal freedom of the high seas.
Diogo's frustration was a familiar companion, a sharp counterpoint to the logical, calculating mind that had made him such a formidable naval tactician.
He understood the necessity of João's long game, the work with philosophy that was slowly, inexorably, making them obtain the influence they needed to achieve the "work with" philosophy, making their dream possible to become a common truth to everyone.
He knew that the limit of their current state of affairs ( the ways poeple use to shpae their activities ) demanded this careful navigation of noble pretensions, this slow, arduous cultivation of land and lineage.
But his very nature recoiled from it.
Where João found intricate systems and long-term gains, Diogo felt the chafing of restraint.
His solution, as always when faced with an insurmountable internal friction, was action.
"Strike first, think later" was not a philosophy born of impulsivity, but a visceral need to not have that feeling of being trapped, a desperate attempt to regain control in the messy simplicity of battles.
His fleet, gathering silently in the Portimão roads, was his true domain. The names of the ships – Rubber Dream, Rubber Waves, Rubber Adventurer, Rubber Explorer, and the others – were not just company branding; they were silent taunts to the old world, a declaration of their unique, unconventional power.
These were vessels subtly enhanced by the valuable rubber by treating the cordage with a fine layer of rubber, not universally clad in it, but precise applications rendering them faster, more resilient, and eerily quiet – just enough to give them the decisive edge, like not rotting, at least not easily.
Eighteen hundred and fifty men, seasoned by a year of training and a conclusive bording,some more, some only that, but all ready to any audacious grabs, filled their decks.
Crucially, they had reconducted their contracts for two more years, a testament not just to profit, but to a loyalty forged in the crucible of shared danger and an understanding of the company's peculiar code.
These men, like Diogo, found a kind of freedom in the disciplined mess of "Horizon Brazil" that the structured world denied them.
Their target: Angola.
The choice was no random act of frustrated piracy.
It was a calculated thrust at the very arteries of Dutch colonial wealth, a continuation of the economic warfare that underpinned "Horizon Brazil"'s advancement toward brazil, and the competition that portugal need not to lose.
Diogo's goal was two-fold: to inflict crippling damage on VOC trade and to establish, through force, the Portuguese (and thus, their company's) adavantages over these vital African routes.
As the sails unfurled, catching the morning breeze, Rubber Explorer led the way, its black hull disappearing swiftly towards the horizon.
Diogo stood at the helm, a spyglass already in hand, scanning the vast expanse of the ocean.
He left the land and its frustrating demands to João and his builders.
His was the unforgiving, boundless sea, where the complex calculus of power could be distilled into the sharp, exhilarating logic of an attack.
Here, amidst the salt spray and the cries of battle, he would find his pleasure, his freedom, and his uncomfortable purpose – the very limits of his soul pushing against the limits of the known world, always seeking the next confrontation to pass his frustrations.
_________
While Gaspar managed the anxious heartbeat of "Horizon Brazil" in Lisbon, and Diogo unleashed the Rubber Dream on Dutch shipping lanes, it was Dom Luís who embodied the company's long-term goals in Brazil.
Not a man of noble title by birth, but turned to Fidalgo de Arma, Luís carried the weight of this new prestige with a quiet determination.
His was the goal of anchoring their vast, liquid wealth in the very earth of the new world, to transform speculative gains into tangible, generational power.
Luís was in Salvador da Bahia, the vibrant, sprawling colonial capital, a city whose wealth was literally built on sugar, and now even latex.
His work was meticulous, requiring a blend of astute negotiation, keen agricultural insight, and a nuanced understanding of colonial law.
The sesmaria system, the Portuguese method of granting vast tracts of undeveloped land, was his primary tool.
These grants, ostensibly given to encourage settlement and cultivation, often lay dormant or were underutilized by less ambitious landowners, or simply short of capital.
Luís's goal was twofold: to expand their rubber production inland, founding another sesmaria for rubber, securing the strategic resource that underpinned their unique advantage, and to diversify into the immensely profitable sugar trade, positioning "Horizon Brazil" at the core of Brazil's economic engine.
His first move was a meticulous survey of existing sesmarias in the fertile Recôncavo Baiano, the rich, dark clay soil around the Bay of All Saints that was ideal for sugarcane.
He didn't simply claim virgin land; that often led to disputes with indigenous populations or existing, albeit inefficient, claimants. Instead, Luís targeted, underutilized Grants.
He identified sesmarias that had been granted years, even decades, ago but remained largely uncultivated, their owners lacking the capital, labor, or ambition to develop them.
Through discreet, or openly known negotiations, often leveraging the company's immense financial liquidity, he bought out these dormant claims, or offered highly favorable partnerships that traditional planters couldn't refuse.
He meticulously pieced together smaller, disparate grants, creating contiguous tracts large enough for the scale of engenhos (sugar mills) and plantations "Horizon Brazil" envisioned.
This separation and re-assembly of existing sesmarias was a complex legal and administrative dance, requiring influence within the colonial administration and impeccable paperwork, all managed by his hands and that of the local adminsitrator.
The Crown, eager to have productive land and increased tax revenue, was generally amenable to such consolidation, especially when backed by the clear intent and capital of a company with "Fidalgos de Arma" at its helm and a reputation for boosting Portuguese prestige.
The New Sugar Sesmaria near Salvador:
The flagship project was the establishment of a new, massive sugar sesmaria just south of Salvador.
This was no ordinary plantation.
Luís envisioned an engenho of unprecedented efficiency and scale, leveraging not just the fertile massapé soil, but also the company's innovative approaches:
Advanced Irrigation, while not on the scale of the Algarve terraces, the knowledge of irrigation gained from their Asian contacts and the application of rubber linings for water channels and small dams ensured a more consistent water supply, even during drier periods, pushing yields beyond traditional limits.
Optimized Layout: The plantation was designed with an emphasis on logistical efficiency, from the layout of the cane fields to the proximity of the mill, reducing the arduous labor of transporting harvested cane.
Skilled Management: Luís brought in experienced senhores de engenho and master sugar boilers, not just Portuguese, but also drawing on knowledge from the company's diverse network, even quietly integrating techniques gleaned from former Dutch prisoners or experts from other sugar-producing regions.
But the most critical component was labor.
The success of a sugar engenho hinged entirely on a massive, disciplined workforce.
Luís, with the cold efficiency required for such an enterprise, managed the acquisition of thousands of enslaved African people through the established Portuguese trade networks.
These individuals were subjected to the brutal realities of the transatlantic slave trade and the arduous labor of the sugar fields.
However, in a policy that was revolutionary and deeply unsettling to other planters, "Horizon Brazil" operated under a unique internal contract: every enslaved person acquired by the company was to be set free after twenty years of service as mong as they fluently talk portuguese and become christians.
This was a binding company policy, a clause carefully (and discreetly) recorded in their internal ledgers, and communicated to the enslaved population upon arrival. It was a calculated risk by the company, driven by a pragmatic understanding that a future promise of freedom could incentivize greater cooperation, reduce the risk of revolt, and potentially even attract healthier, more resilient individuals to their ships on the African coast, subtly differentiating "Horizon Brazil" from the more barbaric practices of other traders.
It also, in its own twisted way, aligned with their narrative of "liberation" and "new beginnings" offered to the Polish serfs.
This unique approach ensured a steady, if harsh, influx of labor while simultaneously building a future pool of freed, experienced individuals who might choose to remain within the company's orbit.
Other "members of the company"—trusted agents, engineers —were installed as administrators or partners in these new ventures, their loyalty secured by shares in the immense profits expected from this "green gold."
Under Dom Luís's meticulous oversight, the Horizon Brazil company was not just skimming wealth from the seas; it was expanding, and planting permanent roots into the most lucrative soil of the Portuguese Empire, building an economic empire as formidable as their naval one.
The expansion near Salvador was more than just a new sugar plantation; it was a physical manifestation of their ambition, a new pillar in the foundation of their burgeoning global enterprise, operating under a set of rules unique to their audacious vision.
Beyond the sugar fields, Luís was obsessed with the long-term rubber supply, for even overproduction, contrary to dutch that burned entitire culture of canellle and other spices in india to avoid the fall of prices, ig that happened, they would simply not use them.
While they had sources in specific, controlled areas, the company's future depended on a more robust and expanded base for Hevea brasiliensis.
He knew the true, wild source lay deep in the vast, untamed interior, far to the north and west of Bahia's developed coast.
To this end, Luís made discreet contact with various Bandeirantes and experienced sertanistas (backwoodsmen/explorers), men known for their resilience, their knowledge of indigenous trails, and their relentless pursuit of riches in the wilderness.
These were not the typical gold-hunting bandeirantes from São Paulo, but hardy individuals already operating closer to the Amazonian frontier or willing to venture into the vast, uncharted forests extending from the northern reaches of Bahia and beyond.
He commissioned them, not to find gold or slaves (though they might stumble upon the latter), but specifically to research and locate significant concentrations of wild Hevea brasiliensis trees.
The mission was perilous.
These explorers would face hostile indigenous tribes, deadly diseases, and the overwhelming vastness of the rainforest.
But the rewards promised by Luís, far exceeding the usual finds of gold or enslaved people, were enough to tempt even the most jaded adventurer.
These expeditions were vital intelligence-gathering operations, mapping the distribution of the valuable "crying trees" and assessing the feasibility of establishing future, with better collection points or even plantations in the Amazonian basin – a far more logical (and historically accurate) source for their prized latex.
________
The relentless downpour of the Algarve's early rainy season, typical for late 1656, turned the red earth into a slick, stubborn mud.
The very air was thick with the scent of damp soil and the ceaseless drumming of water on temporary shelters.
This wasn't the sun-baked, parched landscape João and Rui had assessed in their drier surveys; this was the true, challenging face of the Barrocal.
Yet, it was precisely during these rainy months that the preliminary work on the future "granary" had to begin, well before the arrival of the Polish and Lithuanian "redeemed" colons.
The first waves of labor were not the bewildered Eastern Europeans, but seasoned local Portuguese workers, hired en masse by Dom João's agents.
These were hardy men and women, accustomed to the vagaries of the Algarvian climate, skilled in working with its recalcitrant earth and stone.
They were paid well, far above the typical seasonal wages, and the sight of coin, rather than promises, quickly secured their loyalty and hard labor.
Dom João and Dom Rui, cloaked against the driving rain, their boots caked in mud, were omnipresent figures on the sites.
They moved between the various work zones: the primary dam site on the Odelouca, the nascent quarrying operations, and the initial demarcation lines for future terraces.
Their discussions, often shouted over the drumming rain, revolved around immediate, practical problems.
"The ground here is too saturated for the deep cuts we planned, João," Rui observed, gesturing at a trench that was rapidly filling with rainwater. "The foundations for the main dam are becoming a bog. "
João wiped rain from his face, his expression grim but determined.
"Then we change plans, Rui. The original evoluted, we strengthen the temporary drainage. We pump the water out as quickly as it falls. This rain is preciusely what we are gere for : so that : we don't make plan in summer that cannot work in winter; it shows us where the water will find its weakness. Better to discover it now than with a full reservoir and a thousand lives depending on it. We must dig through this. The long-term stability of the structure depends on hitting bedrock."
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To explain "bedrock": Imagine you're building a very tall, heavy wall on soft sand. It will eventually sink or fall over.
But if you dig down through the sand until you hit solid, immovable rock – the "bedrock" – then your wall will stand firm.
For a dam, which holds back immense amounts of water pressure, hitting that completely stable, unyielding layer of rock deep underground is absolutely essential.
It's the natural anchor, the solid base that prevents the dam from shifting, cracking, or collapsing under the weight of the water.
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"And the quarrying," Rui continued, his voice strained. "The rock is slick, dangerous. Accidents are increasing. Our local stonecutters are good, but this pace is brutal, even for them."
"The Polish are coming. We need a core structure in place, the basic channels dug, the main dam's skeleton ready, before their arrival. They will have to work hard, and they'll need guidance, and a framework to build upon, not a raw, flooded wilderness. We need to expose the veins of the land for them, show them the potential."
Their conversations often turned to the delicate balance of resources.
The limited rubber, the company's open secret weapon, was used with extreme parsimony: meticulously applied in unseen layers within the dam's core foundations, ensuring the vital waterproofing for when the structure was complete.
It wasn't about massive application, but precise, strategic placement where it would provide the greatest, most invisible advantage.
The local workers, though weary, were impressed by the sheer organization and the relentless drive of these new fidalgos.
They were driven harder than any landlord had ever dared, but they saw the purpose: not just a small field for a single family, but immense projects designed to transform the very nature of the land.
They were laying the groundwork, digging the trenches, and hewing the first great stones that would eventually harness the power of the Algarvian rains, preparing a foundation for the thousands of foreign hands soon to arrive.
This arduous, rain-soaked preliminary phase was a stark contrast to the courtly life of Lisbon or the buccaneering thrills of Angola.
It was the unglamorous, foundational "work with" – raw effort against the elements, driven by the plans of two men who understood that true power was built from the ground up, even if that ground was temporarily a quagmire.