The implacable July sun on the Algarve coast was but a distant memory as the bandeirantes of Horizon Brazil delved deep into the verdant heart of Brazil. Having departed from Salvador de Bahia months earlier, they had traded the ocean's roll for the stifling silence of the Mata Atlântica.
It was a world of greens and browns where daylight filtered sparingly.
The humid heat embraced every body, and the incessant hum of insects and the distant cries of monkeys formed the soundtrack of a nature both magnificent and merciless.
As they pressed on, the forests resonated with life.
Often, above their heads, the powerful guttural howls of the howler monkeys (Alouatta) pierced the canopy, a territorial warning carrying for kilometers, emphasizing the wild immensity of the place.
Closer by, they sometimes observed the agile capuchin monkeys (Cebus), their masked faces peering, using their notable intelligence to crack nuts or manipulate twigs, their curious eyes following the men's every move.
More rarely, a swift shadow darted through the heights: a spider monkey (Ateles), swinging with disconcerting grace from branch to branch with its long limbs and prehensile tail, like an acrobat of the animal kingdom.
Their progress was a constant struggle.
Machetes sliced through the curtain of vines and dense vegetation, carving a path no Portuguese had trodden before them.
The waterways, winding and heavy with ochre sediment, were their vital arteries.
They navigated in carved canoes or on rudimentary rafts, paddling or poling upriver, their keen eyes scanning every bank, every sandbar, every change in the current. It was like an ancient dance, that of men and rivers, the only passable route into the heart of this immensity.
Their observation methods were a blend of instinct, conquistador experience, and the new ideals imposed by "Horizon Brazil."
For the rubber trees (hévéas), they sought dense areas of these particular trees, recognizable by their grayish bark, specific leaves, and especially, by the milky sap that oozed from a simple cut.
They sometimes followed animal trails, or more subtle traces of sap-bearing trees known to the indigenous people.
For minerals, every stop by a river was an occasion for methodical "garimpo" (gold panning).
Wooden pans spun and swayed, washing the riverbed gravel, the bandeirantes' attentive eyes searching for the slightest heavy particle, the most unusual gleam.
They also examined rock outcrops, changing soil colors, and the dry beds of ancient streams—clues for those who knew how to read them.
_________
Weeks had passed when the first major discovery presented itself.
The air was heavy, saturated with the jungle's humidity, when one of the scouts returned, his face beaming, guiding the group to an unexpected clearing.
There, along a small valley, stretched entire groves of trees with singular bark. A cautious machete blow to a trunk brought forth milky, sticky droplets. Rubber trees! Not just a few isolated trees, but concentrations sufficient to envision a new sesmaria, perhaps even larger than the one already owned by Horizon Brazil and its eleven fidalgos de arma.
This was confirmation of the potential that Dom Luís had foreseen, the promise of a new source for the precious rubber.
As days turned into weeks, their explorations continued in the rivers, this time searching for minerals, another request from Dom Luís.
In a bend of a winding stream, the bottom of a pan revealed, amidst the heavy sands, a few yellowish glints.
Not large nuggets, but flakes and small shining grains: the first traces of gold.
Excitement swelled, discreet but palpable.
It proved the land was abundant in minerals.
Further on, as they traversed older geological formations, they also identified outcrops of heavy, reddish rocks, unmistakable signs of iron. Promising veins that, once exploited, would guarantee supplies for the company and the Capitaincy of Bahia.
Then came the most enigmatic discovery, one whose full value was not yet understood, but whose beauty was undeniable.
In the gravels of a crystal-clear river, amidst dull pebbles, the keen eyes of a bandeirante settled on a small, transparent, unexpectedly brilliant shard. Rubbing it did not diminish its luster.
Others followed.
Small stones of incredible hardness, reflecting light with a unique sparkle. This was the bandeirantes' first encounter with the diamonds of Chapada Diamantina.
They didn't yet grasp the scale of the "fever" they would later unleash, but they knew they held something very valuable.
The stones were meticulously collected and sealed, destined for further examination by the "Dirtectors" in Salvador.
The return to the coast began as a discreet triumph.
A jovial troupe, despite the hardships: their explorations had been fruitful. Their bags were weighted with mineral samples, dried rubber sap, and the precious little sparkling stones.
The information they brought back was invaluable: Chapada Diamantina was a land of alluring wealth for any man of that era, harboring diverse riches that would introduce the expansion of the Capitaincy of Bahia into the interior, with iron, rubber, gold, and these mysterious jewels.
_________
September stretched over Lisbon, and with it, the heavy shadow of the arranged marriages dictated by the Royal Council extended over the heads of Horizon Brazil's "Directors."
For Dom João and Dom Diogo, these mariages were not celebrations, but clever political maneuvers, golden chains designed to bind them more tightly to the aristocratic fold, and to counterbalance their growing influence.
João Faces Tradition: The Castelo Branco Trap
For Dom João, with his special "work for" and "work with" philosophy, mistakenly perceived by the Crown as Horizon Brazil's leader, the Council had chosen the hand of Dona Beatriz de Castelo Branco.
She was the very embodiment of Portugal's oldest and most conservative aristocracy, a woman whose dignity and rigor barely concealed an unshakeable distrust of any innovation deemed "excessive."
João, a man of bold solutions and rapid changes, found himself facing a wife who would undoubtedly be like a ball and chain, a galley slave's burden.
The Castelo Branco family, powerful and wealthy, sought not to seize part of Horizon Brazil's fortune, but rather influence and control over this new, undeniable force in Portugal, through the discreet but omnipresent surveillance of their daughter.
Diogo and the Night's Treasure: A Dowry for Curiosity
Dom Diogo, the corsair with deep pockets and a soul hungry for discovery, was offered the hand of Dona Isabel de Sousa e Castro.
A marriage, seemingly less constraining than João's, yet not without its own stakes.
Dona Isabel, from a noble lineage whose past grandeur painfully contrasted with empty coffers, possessed a keen intelligence and an insatiable curiosity, a thirst for knowledge that transcended the conventions of her milieu.
She was like the "Pandora of legend": curious enough to open seemingly empty boxes.
The true challenge of this marriage lay in the obligation of the dowry, that ho so noble custom.
The Sousa e Castro family was unable to raise the sums required for such a marriage's pomp.
This burden, of course, fell on Diogo's shoulders and, by extension, on Horizon Brazil's prodigious fortune.
The solution, easily conceived by Diogo, had been proposed to Rui as the same method he would employ for that case.
And so, a few nights before the ceremony, under a star-strewn Lisbon sky, a discreet caravan set out from the docks.
Diogo, his face shaded by the brim of his traditional hat, personally led a small delegation from the Sousa e Castro family, their faces marked by astonishment and a touch of embarrassment.
They headed towards a discreet port warehouse, one of Horizon Brazil's many hideaways in the capital.
Inside, in the flickering lantern light, the nobles' eyes widened.
This wasn't ready cash, not conventional gold ingots—that would be too easy to trace.
No, it was an overflowing chest, a true kaleidoscope of Horizon Brazil's wealth.
Piles of Italian ducats and French écus lay alongside unmounted jewels, rough and faceted stones that glittered, plucked from the depths of the Americas.
Rolls of shimmering silk fabrics, finer than anything the Crown could procure.
Bags of rare cinnamon and black pepper exuded exotic scents, treasures more valuable than gold for certain palates.
The dowry problem was not only solved, but it was done with discreet ostentation and a clear message: Horizon Brazil's wealth surpassed imagination, and it was not limited to precious metals.
For the Sousa e Castro family, it was an unexpected boon.
For Diogo, it was another step in the grand game, an exchange where he gave off part og his fortune to assert a place at the table of nobility, with a disinterest laced with the necessity of discovering what this noble mystery, Dona Isabel, held in store for him.
_________
The day of the forced marriages hadn't yet arrived, but its heavy, though for some, festive shadow already hung over Lisbon.
It was in the ostentatious luxury of their collective mansion – a dwelling with thick, ochre stone walls that barely concealed the ghosts of past glory, but whose landscaped and flowered gardens majestically spread out – that the eight "Directors" of Horizon Brazil gathered that evening.
Far from the curious eyes of the Court, they sought solace in libations before the golden chains were truly fastened.
The drawing rooms were bathed in soft light, hunting-themed tapestries absorbing the murmur as liveried servants, in the company's colors, busily arranged sumptuous dishes on long, solid oak tables.
Roasted legs of lamb exuded the scents of thyme and rosemary, platters of exotic fruits from the colonies, warm, crusty breads. And, of course, the bottles: amber Port wines, robust Madeiras, and even stronger eaux-de-vie, of all "calibers," promising to smooth the edges of an inevitably thorny conversation.
Dom João, his face usually sharpened by reflection and observation, was deep in an expressive introspection.
His imposed marriage to Dona Beatriz de Castelo Branco, that... guardian of rigid traditions, felt like a ball and chain, a hindrance, an individual who would endlessly find problems where there were only solutions, and solutions where there were only problems.
A noose around his neck? Out of the question!
As his companions generously helped themselves, their laughter growing louder, João began to seethe, quietly at first, then with increasing intensity.
"The Captain's flair, eh?" he grumbled, swirling a glass of Madeira as if gazing into his own destiny. "Ha... where did I mess up with my 'flair'?! My flair! This flair that led us to this. Damn it, what was the point of noble titles, huh? Huh? (Provocatively)!"
The others, already well-lubricated by the drinks, laughed and nodded, too drunk to fully grasp their comrade's distress.
For them, the idea of nobility for the company was "the Captain's flair," João's flair, something they'd obtained, despite the difficulty, and whose utility the "Captain" evidently hadn't yet discovered.
"But João, you wanted this!" Dom Gaspar, his voice thick, slurred. "You wanted noble titles for each of us, and it's done, we'll figure out the rest later!"
Another, Dom Jorge, slammed his glass on the table. "We did it, my friend! We did it! You've been nagging us about this for years, now we just have to find a use for it!"
"And eleven ennoblements at once!" added Dom Vasco, splashing his neighbor as he raised his glass. "No one has ever done that before! We're...We're legends!"
João looked at them, his eyes glazed, and a feeling of disgust overwhelmed him. It's not like a seemingly useless bag here... he thought, referring to the rubber.
"We did it, huh? Nobility! We have titles! And what kind of damn nobility, I ask you?!" João thundered, his voice broken by alcohol and bitterness.
He leaned across the table, fists clenched. "I'm shackled! Shackled, lads! What the hell is this dead-end alley I've driven us into? This... this Wall Street!" He spat out the last word with revulsion, his gaze empty.
Meanwhile, Dom Diogo, sitting apart, a enigmatic smile on his lips, sipped his brandy.
His mind, safe from João's outbursts, was already turning to the more immediate pleasures of the night.
His future marriage to Dona Isabel, the curious one from the seemingly empty coffers, didn't weigh on him as much.
He had fulfilled his part of the bargain.
His thoughts drifted towards Lisbon's dark alleys, wondering which goddess of the night he would encounter at the brothel, far from all these constraints and titles.
The discussions grew heated, and tongues loosened as bottles emptied.
The subject of future wives and first impressions soon animated the debate.
"As for my part, my dear..." began Dom Gaspar, his voice growing nasal, "...it seems she'll spend more time in church than in bed! And when I first spoke to her, she was arranging marriages for her nieces! Ah, devotion... a rather cumbersome virtue when it comes to offspring!" He let out a greasy laugh, his glass overflowing.
"You're talking nonsense!" retorted Dom Jorge. "Mine's a fortress! It's like Cupido forgot to aim his arrow. It's as if everything has to be negotiated; I can find women like her at the market!"
Dom Vasco raised his glass. "Well, gentlemen, I hope mine will at least be fertile! And a good lineage—of pirates, that is—starts with a good progeni-tress—ahem—trix, doesn't it?"
He gave a pointed wink, and laughter erupted, louder still.
It was their crude way of attempting to board a potentially enemy ship, but not truly enemy vessel.
"That's right, keep talking about fertility and devotion!" João roared, his face crimson. "Me, they've saddled me with a Castelo Branco! A sentinel of good morals! Every word, every gesture, every sigh will be evaluated, labeled, and weighed! I'll have to convert her to 'work with me, woman! Or perish!'" He slammed his fist on the table, making the glasses clink.
"At least you won't go bankrupt for her dowry, João!" someone else quipped, trying to joke, oblivious to the "Captain's"'s depression and rage mix.
It was then that Dom Rui, the most pragmatic and least affected by alcohol (or at least the one who hid it best), placed his hand on João's shoulder, jolting him back to reality.
"Hey, no, João. Not a 'dead-end alley.' We still have the next part of the plan. The greatest challenge. The Capitaincy of Santa Catarina..."
The name of the distant island, the goal for their own captaincy, floated in the air, a thin thread of hope in the general inebriation.
The conversation, far from subsiding, resumed with even greater tumult, mingling the complaints of some with the challenges of others, certainties fraying in the alcohol and the uncertainty of their new noble condition.
The feast continued, but Horizon Brazil's freedom seemed more compromised than ever.
______
November 1657: The Rainy Season in Algarve
November arrived, and the rains fell in grey curtains over the Algarve, transforming the dirt roads into muddy rivers and making outdoor construction of the Odelouca Dam nearly impossible.
But in each of the eleven baronies under construction, the activities of the approximately 12,000 colonists from Northern Europe and Italy, who continued to practice their Portuguese, knew no respite.
Under the meticulous guidance of the administrator, appointed by the eleven directors to oversee the project, and his foremen, the work rhythm simply shifted: moving from the sunny outdoors work to covered shelters work, transforming the area into vast, bustling workshops.
In immense wooden hangars, the air was thick with stone dust.
Stonecutters, dark silhouettes illuminated by the glow of oil lamps, tirelessly struck their chisels against limestone blocks.
Each precise blow resonated, shaping the future foundations of the dam and the walls of dwellings.
Piles of perfectly cut stones accumulated, giant puzzle pieces ready to assemble as soon as the sun returned.
Elsewhere, the whirring of bellows and the hammering of mallets resonated.
Blacksmiths, shirtless despite the humidity, plunged incandescent iron into sizzling water, ceaselessly forging new tools, sturdy hinges for doors, horseshoes for oxen, and countless nails.
Every forged piece was another step towards the project's completion.
The brick kilns belched dark smoke into the low sky, operating day and night.
Inside adjacent workshops, lines of men and women busied themselves molding the drenched clay, creating thousands of almost identical, standardized bricks.
They were then carefully stacked under vast awnings, awaiting their turn to be fired, the rain only accentuating their damp earthenware before the intense heat of the kilns.
These bricks were not only destined for the dam; they would be the heart of future homes and infrastructures, a tangible symbol of the permanence the new fidalgos undertook in their vast works on their new lands.
Outside, where the rain could not impede the work, entire teams busied themselves with earthworks.
The soil softened by the water facilitated the digging of vast trenches for future secondary irrigation canals, winding through fields that would soon be green.
Others leveled plots of land, preparing for the expansion of villages or the foundations of new warehouses.
Mud clung to boots and tools, but the work advanced, methodical and resolute.
Meanwhile, in larger halls, new waves of Polish-Lithuanian colonists and others from various horizons, having arrived en masse, received their instructions.
Basic language courses, demonstrations on the use of agricultural tools, explanations of upcoming crops, and Portuguese lessons.
It was a time of assimilation and learning, transforming uprooted souls into future inhabitants of the country, or perhaps they would go on to the dream project in Brazil.
Carpenters prepared beams under cover, maintenance teams repaired equipment worn by months of hard work.
And in a discreet corner of each saltpeter works, the operation of collecting the crucial saltpeter continued, impervious to the weather. Specialized ox-carts, their sealed containers, meticulously collected organic matter from public latrines.
The rain, far from being an obstacle, even facilitated certain aspects of the leaching necessary for the production of this vital component of gunpowder, guaranteeing Horizon Brazil's military autonomy.
The rainy season, far from being a halt, was a period of silent transformation.
Beneath the downpours, the foundations of the new fidalgos' nobility were not only laid but also strengthened, brick by brick, stone by stone, awaiting the sun's return for the full blossoming of the development.