The chill of early spring 1664, clung to the air as Dom João de Carrasca's carriage rumbled heavily over the cobblestones. Inside, the dim light unveiled the thoughtful face of Infante Pedro, weary about his mother's regency for his brother, King Afonso VI.
Pedro, barely 16, radiated a quiet earnestness.
They were on their way to another Royal Regency Council meeting, a weekly battleground where Portugal's future, and Afonso's faltering reign, hung in the balance.
"Your Grace," Dom João began, his voice measured, almost conversational, yet carrying the weight of careful consideration. "I've been giving much thought to the Crown's finances, especially with the opportunities still demanding so much from our treasury."
Pedro nodded, running a hand through his dark hair. "Indeed, Dom João. Every council meeting brings fresh pleas for funds, fresh reports of empty coffers."
"Precisely," Dom João affirmed. "And it makes me question the very foundation of our financial structure. Historically, the strength of the ruling house was the strength of the nation. House Braganza assets, have been intertwined with the very making of Portugal, funding wars, building fortresses, settling colonies. At times, House Braganza coffers were the national coffers."
Pedro listened intently, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. "That much is undeniable, Dom João. But you speak of questioning the foundation...?"
"Yes, Your Grace," Dom João continued, leaning slightly forward. "For centuries, the lines between private family property and national property have been blurred. The Duke's personal revenues, gathered from lands and ventures, often seamlessly flow into what we consider the Crown's purse. It was usefull in the past, but I think, the demands of a modern state, especially one fighting to recover a part of the indian trades or to develop brazil, suggest a need for disctinciton."
Pedro's brow furrowed, beginning to grasp the implications. "You mean... how can we accurately gauge the nation's wealth, or plan its expenditures, if we cannot definitively say what belongs to Portugal, and what belongs to the House of Braganza ? Every royal decree, every national investment, is clouded by this conflation."
Dom João turned his head toward infante Pedro : "Exactly, Your Grace. It creates ambiguity, complicates accounting, and can even sow discontentment as to where the authority lies in financial matters. Therefore, I believe a formal separation would be better, for House Braganza, and Portugal."
Pedro straightened in his seat. "A separation?"
"Yes," Dom João confirmed. "A delineation of the Braganza family assets – the private estates inherited from before the restoration, The King, as monarch, would oversee the national assets, while the Duke of Braganza would manage the family's private holdings. Well, it's only a basic idea to develop further, Your Grace, I think."
Pedro pondered this, a slow nod forming.
The seed was planted. It would probably flourish.
The Council meeting, and the battles within it, awaited for another struggle.
________
The Crucible of Change: Royal Regency Council, early 1664
The chill of early spring 1664, was still clunging to the air in the Council Chamber at Ribeira Palace even with the small braziers offering some warmth, the tension radiating from the polished table was far more biting.
Portugal had achieved what seemed impossible: the peace with Spain, signed just months ago in November 1663, had finally secured its independence.
This triumph was, in the eyes of many, the ultimate vindication of the steadfast regency of the Queen Mother, D. Luísa de Gusmão, and her formidable circle of advisors, particularly the ascendant Count of Castelo Melhor, whose "strategic mind" had been instrumental in the war's conclusion.
They stood, in this moment, at the zenith of their influence, having delivered the kingdom from decades of conflict.
Portugal's coffers, robust from their "diligent stewardship", the burgeoning Brazilian trade, and the india trade resurgence were stable, a testament to their prudent management.
Around the large table sat the most influential nobles and ministers, their gazes often deferring to the formidable Queen Mother, whose presence commanded the room.
At the head of the table sat Infante Pedro, barely 16, his youthful face etched with a weariness that stemmed from chafing under his mother's long and now undeniably successful regency.
He yearned for direct authority, for his own ambition to shape Portugal's destiny.
It's in that tense atmosphere that João de Carrasca, with carefully weighed opening words, knowing he walked a fine line: proposing a remodeling for a prosperous, modern Portugal that, by its very nature, would begin to untangle the Queen Mother's long-held reins of power.
"Your Graces, esteemed Councilors, Your Majesty, Queen Mother," Dom João began, his voice measured, almost conversational, yet carrying the undeniable weight of careful consideration. "The Almighty has blessed us. The peace with Spain while new is secure, a triumph for which we owe immense gratitude to the diligent efforts of Her Majesty and her wise Council.
Our treasury, by divine providence and diligent stewardship, stands strong. Poerugal is no longer a kingdom defined by conflict, but poised for an era of unprecedented prosperity. However, for Portugal to truly seize this moment, to compete with the rising economic powers of Europe, we must examine our structures, however glorious their past, with theperspective of boarding a new era."
He then laid out his proposals: the transformation of the Casa da Índia into a "Companhia Real da Índia" open to private Portuguese capital, and the innovative concept of a Viceroy in India supported by a Board of Directors. He spoke of unlocking national potential, achieving strategic competitiveness against Dutch and English rivals, and fostering shared prosperity.
A heavy silence descended as Dom João finished, pregnant with the unspoken implications of his words. Then, the Queen Mother, D. Luísa de Gusmão, regal and unyielding, leaned slightly forward. Her voice, though soft, cut through the air with the precision of a seasoned commander.
"Dom João," she began, a hint of frost in her tone. "We appreciate your vision. Indeed, it is a vision of change. But Portugal has just achieved a monumental peace, after decades of struggle. This peace, and the very stability of our coffers—a stability you yourself commend—are the fruit of proven methods, of direct royal control, and of the unwavering authority of the Crown. To propose such a radical restructuring now, when our system has just delivered such a triumph, seems... unnecessary. The King's dignity, and indeed, the very strength that secured our independence, demands direct control over the vital arteries of our wealth. To surrender this to a 'company,' however 'royal' its name, risks undermining the Crown itself, and implicitly, the very regency that has guided Portugal to this glorious moment."
Her gaze, sharp and direct, briefly flickered to her son, Pedro.
Next, a voice steeped in the practicalities of trade and finance rose. It was Manuel Correia da Silva, a respected financial governor with deep ties to the merchant class and often tasked with overseeing Crown revenues from overseas trade. He spoke with a mix of genuine concern and a touch of professional resentment.
Manuel Correia da Silva (Financial Governor/Trade Specialist): "With all due respect, Dom João, your proposals, while grand, carry significant, perhaps unforeseen, risks for the nation's direct income. You speak of 'unlocking capital,' but what of the direct, reliable revenues the Casa da Índia currently provides to the Crown? It may be cumbersome, as you say, but it is a known quantity. These 'private merchant capitals' and 'shareholders' will inevitably seek to maximize their profits, not necessarily the Crown's direct revenues. We risk losing control over the very streams of wealth that have sustained us. Who truly benefits if the King's share diminishes while others grow rich? And as for this 'Board of Directors,' efficiency, yes, but what of accountability? Will a committee of merchants be as swift or as loyal in executing the King's will as a single, empowered Viceroy? This is not a time for economic experiments, especially when our existing system, under Her Majesty's prudent guidance, has brought us solvency."
Before Dom João could respond, the Count of Castelo Melhor, a figure of immense political skill who had consolidated vast influence during the final years of the war, interjected. He wasn't just a loyal advisor; he was often considered the true strategic mind behind the Queen Mother's later regency. He now spoke with the weight of undisputed authority, his arguments aiming to dismantle the proposal not just on practical grounds, but on grounds of fundamental state power.
Count of Castelo Melhor (The "Super-Counselor"): "Dom João, you speak eloquently of a new era and competition, and these are indeed worthy goals. But let us be clear about the implications of such a radical change. The Crown's monopoly over the Casa da Índia is not merely an economic instrument; it is a pillar of royal authority. To invite private individuals, however wealthy, however noble, to share in its direct management, is to diminish the King's prerogative. This 'Companhia Real' would inevitably become a powerful entity in its own right, a potential rival to the Crown's will, especially in distant lands. We have seen such companies in other nations grow so powerful they dictated terms to their monarchs!"
Castelo Melhor's gaze sharpened, directly addressing Pedro.
"And this 'Board of Directors' in India? This implies a diffusion of power, a weakening of the Viceroy's direct, unquestioned command, which is essential for maintaining order and projecting force in a volatile region. Are we to introduce internal squabbles and delays, when our rivals act with swift unity? This is not about efficiency, Dom João; it is about the concentration of power. And for Portugal to remain strong, for the Crown to be truly supreme, that power must reside, undivided, with the King, and by extension, with His Majesty's chosen Regent and Council."
His implication was clear: the proposal threatened the very power base that had just brought Portugal its great victory.
The chamber buzzed with the weight of these objections.
João had opened a profound debate, one that went far beyond mere finances, striking at the core of the current royal authority, national identity, and the distribution of power in the newly independent Portugal.
Infante Pedro listened, his young face a mask of careful neutrality, but the ideas planted by Dom João, now so vehemently opposed by his mother's most powerful allies, resonated deeply with his own burgeoning ambition. The battle for Portugal's future had just truly begun.
For Joao, who expected them to refuse, the only surpise was the vehemence in the opposition. Now the future of Portgal and by extension Brazil, will rely on Pedro's decisions, considering Alphonzo 6 "dispositions".
________
The Triumphant Return: Lisbon, April 22, 1664
A thrill of excitement pulsed through the docks of Lisbon, long before the first hint of dawn painted the Tagus. The rumor had spread all night, carried by signals from the lookouts at Cape Espichel: a convoy was in sight. Not just any convoy. It was the ceylon's guard fleet of the "Horizon Brazil" Company, and with it, the long-awaited return of the Carreira da Índia ships from the previous year.
Hundreds of eyes were glued to the river mouth as the morning mist slowly lifted. And then, the first silhouette appeared, stark against the pearly grey horizon. Massive, imposing.
A Portuguese ship-of-the-line, armed to the teeth, its stern adorned with royal colors, leading the way. Behind it, emerging one by one from the fog, came the others.
Twenty ships in total.
Ten of them, robust East Indiamen "acquired" from the VOC by João and his crew, were the veterans of the Carreira da Índia. Their sails, patched by months at sea, their decks laden with the inestimable cargo of the Orient: exotic spices whose pepper hinted at immense fortunes, shimmering silks, delicate porcelains, precious woods. Their silhouettes, weary but glorious, spoke of distant Goa and Malacca.
But the other ten... They were a mix of brand-new vessels, built with the zeal and daring of the "Horizon Brazil" Company, and generous "donations" from the VOC – João's official propaganda. Smaller, faster, their hulls gleaming with fresh tar, their rigging impeccable. They returned from Ceylon, their holds overflowing with precious metals, cinnamon, and other products of… well, "generous gifts" from the VOC, if people were to believe the official story.
As the fleet entered the Tagus, greeted by the ringing of church bells and the raucous cries of gulls, the air was a heady mix of cinnamon and clove from India, blended with a sweetness that spoke of rich cargo.
The return of the India fleet meant that the Crown's coffers, already strengthened by peace and consistent returns from Brazil, would receive their share of the royal monopolies on spices.
But the real buzz, the palpable excitement on the quays, came from those "Horizon Brazil" ships. Their resounding success, their unprecedented cargo, testified to the kingdom's newfound economic vitality.
It proved that private investments, bold initiatives, were already bearing extraordinary fruits.
This was not the return of a last resort, of a nation on the brink of bankruptcy.
It was the return of rediscovered abundance, a tangible demonstration that Portugal, freed from the burden of war and invigorated by its new enterprises, was in the process of redefining its prosperity.
And it was a further demonstration, a proof of success, Of João'eleven,.
________
Somewhere .... 1664
The air in the dimly lit tavern was thick with the smell of stale ale and ambition. Old Silas, his face a roadmap of scars and sun-baked wrinkles, leaned back, a half-empty tankard of cider in his gnarled hand. He wasn't like the other pirates who swaggered in, boasting of taken merchantmen and pillaged towns. Silas had a glint in his eye that spoke of a different kind of plunder.
"Boys," he rasped, his voice cutting through the drunken din, "you talk of taking gold, taking silks, taking ships. And that's all well and good for a quick fortune. But what happens when the gold runs out? When the silk rots? When the King's navy finally corners your prize?" He paused, letting the silence hang heavy, broken only by the crackle of the hearth fire.
"I once knew a man," Silas continued, his gaze drifting to the shadows, "a commoner, like most of you. But he had a mind like no other. He'd built a contraption, a loom, they called it, that could weave cloth faster and finer than ten men. A true treasure, that."
A young, tattooed pirate scoffed. "So, you attack the place, take the loom, take the cloth. Simple."
Silas chuckled, a dry, rattling sound. "Ah, but that's where you miss the point, lad. You can take the loom, yes. You can even drag it onto your ship. But can you use it? Can you repair it when it breaks? Can you train your crew to coax the intricate patterns from its workings? That weaver, he had knowledge in his head, in his hands, that you couldn't bind with rope or lock in a chest. That, my friends, is a treasure you cannot plunder."
He took a slow sip of his cider. "And what about the men who knew how to sell that cloth? The merchants with their connections across oceans? The nobles with their decrees from the King, their word that opened any port, closed any rival? You can raid their ships, burn their warehouses, but you can't plunder their relationships. You can't take their authority easily. Try to put a King's crown on your own head, and you'll find it weighs heavier than lead, and earns you a noose."
"This inventor," Silas went on, " He considered the limits of the cutlass. He understood that some treasures, the truly valuable ones, could not be ripped away. So, what did he do? He offered the weavers a share of his company. A piece of the profit. Not just wages, mind you, but ownership. He said, 'Your hands, your knowledge – that's the real gold here. Come, join my crew, and we'll all get rich together, beyond the reach of any hangman.' And so he pirated them. The weavers, they didn't just work for him; they fought with him to achieve success, because it was their own."
"And the nobles?" another voice chimed in. "He just let them be?"
"No, no," Silas smiled. "He did something far cleverer. He invited them to invest. To become partners. He showed them how their gold could build more looms, how their connections could open new markets across the empire. He told them, 'Why levy a tax on every yard of cloth in your domain, when you can own a piece of every yard produced by those looms, no matter where it's sold?' He turned their traditional 'taxes' into dividends. He made it more profitable for them to help him than to hinder him. He didn't plunder their influence; he pirated it, and paid them handsomely for the privilege."
Silas leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "And then, the most astounding trick of all. He, initially a commoner, had obtain noble titles. One by one, he bought them, earned them.
Now, that was a suffocating game. All the scraping, the endless rules, the courtly whispers, the fine clothes that felt like a cage.
Most of us, pirates, we live for the open sea, the freedom. We'd rather swing from a gibbet than spend a day in a nobleman's finery. That part, the suffocating part, most pirates would refuse. They couldn't stomach it."
"But this inventor," Silas concluded, his eyes twinkling, "he understood the extent of piratery ! He knew that the King's flag, no matter how heavy to wear was indispensable for some... endaevors.
He slammed his tankard down, making the table jump.
"The trouble with plunder, lads, is that it only lasts as long as there's something left to plunder. And eventually, you run out. You strip the land bare, you empty the coffers, you scare off the merchants. What's left? Nothing but hungry bellies and angry men. A pirate's feast is always followed by a famine."
"And ... it give us more works !"
" You are talking about the marquis of carrasca old sillas? He has the reputation to have been a pirate too, so it's true ?"
" Ha... who knows ? " said old sillas,sighing.
____
Author 's toughts : philosophy.
The Scales of Destiny: Measurable and Unmeasurable Records in the Saga of Joao and crew
History, in its relentless march, often attempts to quantify the deeds of great individuals: the coffers filled, the ships seized, the battles won.
Yet, achievements frequently resides in contributions that defy the neat columns of ledgers or the stark lines of battle maps.
The saga of João and crew, figures from an alternative Portuguese 17th century, vividly illustrates this duality, unvealing how a relentless pursuit of measurable glory can paradoxically culminate in an immeasurable impact on the very fabric of national destiny.
Initially, the Marquis de Carrasca's ambition was sharply defined by a singular, quantifiable challenge: to surpass Sir Francis Drake's legendary capture of the Spanish galleon Nuestra Señora de la Concepción, the fabled Cacafuego.
Drake's feat represented the pinnacle of privateering and piratery success – a single, spectacular act of plunder whose immense value in gold, silver, and jewels could be meticulously counted and forever etched into the annals of naval triumph.
João and crew, masters of cunning and "innovatives approaches", acquired their formidable fleet of forty ships not through conventional means, but largely through "saisies" – ironic "voluntary donations"-that's the officials arguments of joao- wrested from his victims and swiftly repurposed, a testament to their ruthless efficiency in accumulating tangible assets.
Their coffers, swelled by a ceaseless flow of loot,and "rubber dream"- two pieces ?- and Portugal's share of his spoils, became so immense that they almost single-handedly replenished the royal treasury, a measurable financial miracle for a nation in dire need of funds.
This demonstrable financial prowess, coupled with the "strategic donation"-the official argument of the crown - of ten captured VOC Indiamen – heavy, vital merchant warships – indisputably proved his loyalty and military value in concrete terms.
Even their foray into landed gentry in Algarve, a massive investment of seven million cruzados into irrigation dams, was a quantifiable effort to overcome nature's limitations and establish a new, measurable source of wealth.
This venture, though it notably alleviated local water problems and demonstrably added 12,000 much-needed people to Portugal's population (a vital demographic contribution for a kingdom desperate for human capital), ultimately failed to yield the sustained agricultural profitability he sought.
It became, in measurable terms, a colossal financial disappointment, a costly blemish on an otherwise perfect record of material success.
Yet, it was in the shadow of this measurable failure that the Marquis de Carrasca and crew's real, unmeasurable legacy began.
Their most notorious achievement, the "defeat of the VOC in India", the freeing of ceylon—a phrase signifying a series of devastating blows that crippled the Dutch fleet and disrupted their Asian dominance—was an impact that defied simple calculation.
Unlike the Cacafuego's gold, people cannot assign a fixed monetary value to the strategic disarray it sowed within the Dutch East India Company, the psychological blow it inflicted on Portugal's primary colonial rival, or the renewed sense of hope and defiance it inspired across the Portuguese empire. This was a victory of strategic disruption, a shift in the balance of power that transcended mere numbers.
Furthermore, their direct contribution to the Restoration War ( also called the ovation war ) against Spain stands as an unparalleled unmeasurable record.
By funding 3,000 crucial mercenaries who fought alongside Portugal's veterans at key battles like Ameixial, João's actions were instrumental in the capture of the Spanish Prince Juan José de Austria.
The intricate consequences of this, in their alternative reality, was the ending of the Restoration War five years earlier.
For an external historian, this is a staggering "what if"— tens of thousands of lives, immeasurable resources preserved, and national sovereignty secured with unprecedented swiftness.
But for those living within that history, it was simply "how things unfolded".
They didn't calculate "five years saved"; they lived a reality where the war ended when it did, a reality subtly yet decisively shaped by Joao and crew intervention.
Like the unquantifiable impact of the Armada's defeat on English national spirit, the crew's contributions to their swift independence became an intrinsic, unmeasurable part of Portugal's triumphant "new history".
In conclusion, João, the Marquis de Carrasca, a figure born of seizing, opportunism, pragmatism, and "will to live free", initially chased the quantifiable glory embodied by Drake's Cacafuego.
His career,until now, was marked by immense measurable successes in accumulating wealth, bolstering the Crown's treasury, and enhancing its naval might, alongside a very public, measurable failure in the Algarve ( soon to be explained).
Yet, it was through these very pursuits that he inadvertently etched his name into the annals of Portugal's destiny through unmeasurable records: crippling a rival's global dominance, fundamentally altering the course and cost of a crucial national war, and strengthening the very demographic foundations of his nation.
His continued quest for a viable agricultural future for Santa Catarina's captaincy, and the crew Brazilin dream, fueled by the complex legacy of his Algarve experience, ensures this part of the saga remains a testament to the fact that while some records can be counted, real historical impact often resides in the intracacies, unquantifiable shifts that reshape the world for generations to come.
The intervention of a little team of "work with" in a world where the "work for " are far more numerous, can reshape the "topology" of geopolitics.