The Loom's Gambit: Forging a Textile Empire, Thread by Thread
From the Warp of Anguish (1658-1664)
The genesis of the Marquis's burgeoning Brazilian preparations, like a finely spun thread, ran parallel to a deeper, more personal weave of resolve.
A royal decree, harsh and unwelcome, regarding his marriage, had tangled the Marquis's spirit. But where others might have simply broken, he merely re-spooled his frustration.
A potent mix of rage and depression became the raw fiber of his genius, driving him not to lethargy, but into fervent invention.
He gathered about him master carpenters, men whose hands shaped wood as if it were soft clay, and skilled weavers, whose fingers understood the very soul of the thread.
Together, in hushed workshops, they birthed the Mice Loom. This mechanical marvel, unparalleled for its era, didn't just operate; it hummed with the intricate precision of its unique Mice and Cat mechanism at its core.
In the early testing sheds, where the scent of fresh-cut timber mingled with the subtle, earthy aroma of hemp, a young carpenter, eyes wide as saucers, once gasped,
"It's like magic, Master! See how the Cat, quick as thought, makes the Mice dance through the warp? It's not a throw, it's a glide! Twice the work, at least, with the same effort, if not less!"
This singular innovation, born of his genius and their collaborative craftsmanship, wasn't just a machine; it was the vibrant, swiftly unrolling bolt of a new concept, a textile company unlike any the world had known, destined to re-pattern Portugal's very economy.
Workshops of the New Age: Where Thread Meets the Horizon
From the quiet, purposeful hum of that first prototype, a sprawling enterprise began to unfurl, like a great tapestry stretching across the kingdom.
By 1664, just five years after its inception, the company had become a titan.
Its workshops, where the very air vibrated with industry, were capable of churning out 12 new looms each month—each meticulously crafted at a cost of 130 Cruzados.
Now, 500 active Mice Looms filled their halls across Portugal, their rhythmic beat the new pulse of the nation.
In Oporto, the sprawling complexes stood like silent sentinels near the bustling docks.
Through their large, arched windows, the salty tang of the sea mingled with the shouts of stevedores, but inside, a different symphony reigned.
The relentless, powerful thrum of the Mice and Cat mechanism filled the vast halls, a steady, driving rhythm that often drowned out the distant cries of gulls.
Sunlight, filtered through the high glass, painted shifting patterns on the workshop floors, illuminating motes of airborne fiber that danced in the light, settling like fine dust on stacks of raw, earthy hemp awaiting their transformation.
"Look, Gonçalo," an older weaver, his hands like gnarled oak from decades at the loom, instructed a new apprentice, his calloused fingers nimbly guiding the threads through the heddles.
"See how that Cat launches the Mice across? No arm-ache, no strained back from throwing. It just… flies!
Old Man Manuel would've taken a week for this bolt alone! This Cat and Mice... they are tireless, a marvel woven into wood and steel!"
Further inland, nestled amidst the rolling, verdant hills near Coimbra, the workshops possessed a quieter, more enduring character.
Their thick stone walls, aged by seasons, exuded a sense of rooted permanence. Here, the whir of the looms, though no less fervent, mingled with the softer sounds of the countryside—a distant cowbell, the rustle of leaves in the breeze—a stark contrast to the port's clamor, yet equally alive with purposeful activity.
"My wife bought a proper bed last month, João, a proper feather mattress, not just straw," a weaver might confide during a brief respite, wiping sweat from his brow.
"All thanks to the Marquis and his little Cat.
My children are even learning to read now, learning letters from real books!" The threads of their prosperity were no longer just on the loom, but stitched into their very lives.
A Groundbreaking Partnership: The Threads of Ownership; Luis's Reasonned merchantilism put in motion:
The very fabric of the company's ownership reflected the Marquis's radical foresight, a pattern woven with audacity and strategic brilliance.
Guided by a professional director, whose ledgers glowed with burgeoning figures and who remained strictly accountable to its diverse, groundbreaking set of shareholders, the structure was meticulously crafted to ensure both essential capital and unparalleled expertise:
"Horizon Brazil" retained a 20% share of the textile company.
This segment, though not the grandest jewel part of the company, was a powerful testament to his inventive spark and the audacity of his initial gamble.
"This is another venture, yes, a robust thread in our tapestry," the Marquis stated to few of his confidants during a quiet dinner in Lisbon, lifting a glass of robust Portuguese wine,
"but one that proves stable as a well-spun warp, unlike the wild patterns of piracy."
But the true innovation, the very core of the enterprise, lay in his relationship with labor.
Recognizing the invaluable skills and craftsmanship of his artisans—men whose hands knew the intimate language of fiber and dye—the Marquis granted professional weavers and master tailors a remarkable 30% of the company's capital.
This was no mere benevolence; it was genuine recognition.
While these skilled men still received essential daily wages (a necessary provision for daily living, allowing them to tend their families and secure their homes), their share in the annual profits, a substantial 39,000 Cruzados distributed amongst them, made them unprecedentedly wealthy and boosted their loyalty to the venture, spurring their continuous innovation to weave ever faster, ever better.
"Never thought I'd own a piece of the very loom I work,"
a grizzled weaver chuckled in the Oporto workshop, inspecting a newly finished bolt of flawless linen.
"My hands still ache at the end of the day, aye, but my purse feels lighter each year! We're not just workers, lad, we're owners! Every thread we lay, every pattern we perfect, lines our own pockets!"
This unique model, powered by the sheer, tireless speed of the Mice and Cat mechanism, drew the finest dyers and weavers from across Portugal and beyond to their ranks, knowing that here, their talent truly garnered wealth beyond compare, drastically reducing the true cost per unit of output.
"The Marquis ensures our children eat well, and then some comfort," a tailor confided to a colleague over new bolts of rich fabric, admiring their perfect drape.
"His cloth, woven by that marvelous Mice and Cat system, is a joy to cut, strong yet supple, and our dividends grow heavier each year, allowing us to dream of our own shops!"
The remaining 50% of the company was shrewdly offered to a select, limited number of noble families.
These powerful peers, whose initial skepticism of a "newly titled Marquis" might have prompted whispers in the drawing rooms like,
"Another one of his wild ventures? Let's hope it doesn't unravel like cheap lace!" soon found themselves singing a different tune.
They furnished essential lands and existing "manufactures," providing the crucial infrastructure for the new enterprise.
By 1664, a satisfied Duke, his waistcoat perhaps woven from the very looms he invested in, had been heard boasting to a Count during a court gathering,
"My estate flourishes, with Marquis's Mice Loom spinning gold, not just thread, on my very lands! The dividends are as regular as the tides, and far more enriching!"
This mutually beneficial arrangement ensured the company's protection and integration within local power structures, while offering the aristocracy a direct, unassailable stake in the new, profitable economy.
Economic Might and Strategic Vision: Weaving the Future
The output was staggering, a torrent of fabric pouring from the looms, shaping the very landscape of commerce.
With its 500 looms and a dedicated workforce of some 600 to 700 individuals, including dyers and support staff, the company annually produced an astonishing 3,750,000 square meters of fabric.
"The demand is endless, a pattern without end!" the company's director reported to the shareholders in a special, gilt-edged report, gesturing at ledgers brimming with orders that stretched across the continent and beyond.
"Our primary focus remains linen and hemp, threads spun for the very sinews of Portugal's global maritime empire—sails for the mighty caravels that ply the trade winds, ropes that bind ships to safety and commerce."
A significant portion of their production was also expertly tailored into conventional clothing, diversifying their reach into everyday markets, dressing the population in the fine, durable weaves.
Raw materials, like the robust hemp fiber, were efficiently imported from the rich fields of France, ensuring a constant, reliable supply.
In a testament to the Marquis's political acumen, the company deliberately steered clear of the lucrative but fiercely contested wool trade.
"Let the English squabble over wool, and weave their complex patterns of diplomacy around it," the Marquis stated with a dismissive wave, observing a map of Europe laid out on his study table.
"Our wealth shall come from the vastness of the seas, not from entangled political threads."
Financially, this textile company was a marvel, a loom of solid gold.
Its immense production translated into more than 500,000 Cruzados in gross revenue each year.
The crosn asked to take part in the ventures,and Horizon brazil oblidged, by ceding 10 %
"The King smiles upon our enterprise, as a patron on his favorite tapestry," the Director assured the shareholders, passing around the latest accounts with a flourish.
"His coffers are deeper, and so is our protection. A truly symbiotic relationship, where the threads of Crown and commerce are inextricably woven!" After this royal tribute and all other operational expenses—from the high costs of imported raw materials and the wages of its large, skilled workforce, to the maintenance of 500 complex looms and its widespread network of workshops—the company consistently yielded a net profit of between 200,000 and 250,000 Cruzados per year.
While this net profit figure was distinct from the multi-million Cruzado profits generated by "Horizon Brazil" truly unprecedented rubber monopoly, it was a prodigious sum for a manufacturing enterprise in that era.
It ensured generous dividends for the noble investors, transformed the lives of its skilled artisans, and provided a strong, stable pillar of wealth within the Marquis's and his crew's burgeoning empire.
This was more than just a company; it was a testament to the power of innovation, strategic pragmatism, and progressive labor practices, solidifying Portugal's might and even hinting at a future where its high-quality fabrics, woven with such ingenuity, might challenge established titans, perhaps even entering the competitive Italian market itself.
The future of Portuguese textile, it seems, was being woven one thread at a time.
________
A Diamond Adventure: From Discovery to First Auction
The King's Secret: A Shadowed Fortune (1658-1664)
October, 1658, Palácio da Ribeira, Lisbon.
The royal chamber was heavy with the scent of lilies and the oppressive weight of impending loss. King João IV, his voice a ragged whisper, laid out his final, most audacious gamble. João, along with Rui, stood stiffly amidst the hushed reverence of the Regency Council. They, the fidalgos of "Horizon Brazil," the architects of this bewildering discovery, were about to be relegated to the shadows of their own triumph, but not without their due.
The King's words, though weak, were absolute. Diamonds. Not just pebbles, but a potential wellspring of wealth that would salvage Portugal.
But a secret, the King emphasized, that must remain buried deeper than the stones themselves.
"Your 'pebbles,' gentlemen," the Count of Soure intoned, glancing at the roughly cut pouch João still clutched,
"are now... a secret. And a Royal Reserve." He then clarified the financial arrangement, a pragmatic compromise for a Crown desperate for immediate funds and future loyalty:
"From the sale of these, and all subsequent diamonds, twenty percent will be remitted to the Horizon Brazil association, thirty percent to the other noble investors known to His Majesty, and the remaining fifty percent shall go directly to the Crown."
João thought it a bit stupid, but he wasn't well versed in the diamond market, so he let them arrange it as they wished.
He'd thought of a similar financial split, but without the suffocating secrecy, especially when the Crown seemed to be seizing more than its fair share, like the loot from the VOC convoy theyseized with the crew.
And so, he and Rui listened as the dying monarch, with a chilling clarity, outlined the importance of "Veiled Origin" for these diamonds, for as long as possible.
The financial terms, while significant, came with immense strings attached, tying their fortune to the Crown's obsessive need for secrecy.
Absolute Secrecy about the Diamond's Source.
Rui spoke, his voice tight, as the Marquis of Nisa detailed the grim reality. "Pires and his men are to be handsomely rewarded," he'd stated, "then sworn to absolute, lifelong secrecy, under pain of death. Their discovery will be officially attributed to... 'unknown, distant sources.'"
João's jaw tightened. That bandeirante leader, the man who had faced jaguars and starvation for this, reduced to a ghost in the official reports.
It was a brutal, pragmatic stroke. João and Rui knew they now bore the burden of keeping this discovery under wrap.
They would manage the "controlled extraction," a polite term for a military-backed operation that would bleed the land dry, using forced labor under the guise of "gold prospecting."
Every ounce of ingenuity his men had used to find the stones now turned against them, ensuring their silence, and the Crown's gain.
Transport, too, would become a nightmare of small, disguised shipments, hidden among sugar barrels and bundles of rubber, the very goods Horizon Brazil had initially sought.
The "Indian Reserve" Narrative for Europe: A Lisbon Façade
João, ever the strategist, understood the necessity, if not the bitter irony, of this next directive.
"The diamonds will be presented as a 'long-held Royal Reserve from our centuries-old dominion in India, particularly Goa.'"
He imagined the glint in the eyes of the Amsterdam merchants, hungry for tales of fabled Indian mines.
This was a narrative crafted for their gains, designed to prevent the market panic that a new source would inevitably unleash: a devaluation of those diamond prices – a devaluation he, too, wanted to avoid.
The Crown would orchestrate "special auctions" in Lisbon in a few years, turning the raw bounty of Brazil into legendary "Indian" treasures, all to fund the ceaseless war. The logic for market stability made sense, but the Crown's possessiveness rankled.
For João, the most galling point was the ultimate stripping away of their agency, even with the promised share.
"All diamonds," the King had rasped, "without exception, discovered in Brazil, are the exclusive property of the Portuguese Crown."
This wasn't just about revenue; it was about absolute control, a preciousness that reminded João of a kraken showing its teeth for more fishes, despite being completely unnecessary.
João felt a dangerous spark—he'd been ready to take up arms, conquer Brazil if necessary, to secure their venture-.
But the King was dying, and the VOC remained his primary target.
The initial investment, the risky expeditions, the grinding five years (which would eventually stretch to six, by late 1664) of secret toil – all dissolved into a royal control over the sales.
Their company, "Horizon Brazil," would, in essence, become a highly secretive prospecting arm for the Crown.
They would receive their twenty percent, a substantial sum given the scale of the discovery.
João imagined the carefully chosen royal agents, the "trusted gem merchants" with "strong ties to the Crown," quietly managing the sales, while the crew, only had to wait for the return from a new, unexpected wealth.
It was quite the interesting deal, if only the Crown didn't act like it possessed some "precious," like a Gollum...
November, 1658. João IV breathed his last.
The relief was palpable in the palace, but for João and Rui, the air remained heavy with the weight of the secret.
They were important to Portugal's fortune, and now, even more important to the Crown's financial survival.
The Regency Council, now burdened by João IV's chilling foresight, understood the immense challenge and opportunity before them.
They had an unknown quantity of these diamonds to come – the first years of their secret Brazilian enterprise, initiated by "Horizon Brazil." Now, six years later, in late 1664, with the first substantial consignment of "Indian" diamonds ready for auction, the true test of the King's dying gamble – and João as a marquis and Rui as a viscount have the ability to maintain the elaborate charade while asserting their own influence against the Crown's insatiable grip – was about to begin.
The First Harvest: Lisbon's Veiled Auction (September 1664)
Lisbon, September 1664.
The crisp autumn air carried a new tension to the Grand Hall of the Casa da Índia.
Not the usual mercantile bustle, but a hushed, almost conspiratorial anticipation. Outside, the news of the epic naval battle fought on June 13th between the English and Dutch fleets still echoed across Europe, a stark and violent reminder of the escalating commercial wars.
This auction, however, was designed to transcend the public squabbles of empires, a secret, desperate gamble for Portugal.
Invitations, meticulously crafted and sent out months prior, had reached only a select few.
This was not a general sale. Access was strictly limited to individuals of immense wealth and influence, or, more often, their most trusted agents. João, Luis and some others, observing from their position against a gilded column, noted the subtle movements of these "dissimulated people"—representatives from powerful houses in Amsterdam, their faces inscrutable after their fleet's recent defeat; sharp-eyed London jewelers, no doubt flush with the pride of their victory; and impeccably dressed French envoys, all vying for strategic advantage.
The 12 kilograms of diamonds, the carefully accumulated "first harvest" from Brazil, lay not in open display, but within heavily guarded, velvet-lined strongboxes.
For the past two weeks, these precious lots had been available for private, supervised viewing.
Each potential buyer, under the watchful eyes of royal guards and gem experts, had been granted a limited time to meticulously inspect the rough stones, assessing their clarity, cut potential, and overall quality.
This extended observation period was crucial; the buyers had to feel they knew what they were bidding on, even as the true origin remained shrouded.
The royal auctioneer, a stern-faced fidalgo, took to the raised dais.
He was a man steeped in the old ways, but tutored by the Sephardic gem experts on the market's subtle currents and the nuances of the "Indian Reserve" narrative.
"Gentlemen," his voice boomed, cutting through the murmurs. "We commence the sale of the first lots from His Majesty's venerable Royal Reserve. Stones accumulated over centuries from our most esteemed dominions in the East." The narrative, so carefully woven, was clearly taking hold.
The method was an ascending auction, modified for such high-value, distinct parcels.
Each lot was brought forward, typically small, manageable quantities of rough diamonds carefully pre-sorted by rough weight and perceived quality.
The auctioneer began with a conservative opening bid, deliberately low to encourage participation.
"For Lot 1, a parcel of stones weighing 250 carats, of exceptional clarity, suitable for cutting… we begin at 10,000 cruzados."
Hands began to rise, slowly at first, then with increasing speed. Bids were called out in measured tones, each increment a testament to the surging demand.
"10,500!"
"11,000!"
"12,000!"
João watched, a thrill mixing with his irritation. The prices climbed, far exceeding what any of them had anticipated.
The foreign agents, usually so aloof, were engaged in fierce, silent battles of wills, their eyes fixed on the auctioneer, their faces betraying little except for their determination to obtain the stones.
"They're buying it. Every last glittering lie," Rui murmured. "And not just for gems. Look at the Swedish envoy's man – he's bidding hard on the larger lots. I wager they're hoping to sweeten a deal for access to their iron mines for Lisbon."
João nodded, Portugal and brazil, almost desperatly needed access to that iron.
"And the French agent, too. No doubt eager to demonstrate loyalty, or perhaps leverage a trade agreement for textiles. The Crown sells its diamonds, and in return, secures its strategic needs."
Their share would be significant. Enough to fund new expeditions, perhaps even enough to launch their "Santa Catarina Captaincy" project.
Some lots, larger parcels of mixed quality, saw less frenzied bidding but still achieved robust prices. The key was the perceived rarity.
Each stone was handled with extreme care by gloved assistants, never quite within easy reach, amplifying their allure.
By the end of the day, the 12 kilograms, divided into dozens of lots, had been entirely sold.
The final tally was whispered among the King's men: an astronomical sum, enough to provide a crucial, immediate injection into the Portuguese treasury.
As the foreign merchants departed, some exultant, some clearly frustrated but still respectful. But for Joao and crew, the Crown's iron grip remained.
The first stage of the scheme was complete,only the "gollum attitude"- but there was no comparison in that era- left Joao feel ... annoyed,depsite the 60 millions cruzados of sales, and their share of 20 % letting them with 12 millions.