The gray, pre-dawn light of April 12, 1669, did little to soften the sight. What should have been a triumphant return was instead a testament to sheer, desperate endurance. From the mouth of the Tagus, a shadow fleet emerged: 15 towering Indiamen and their escort of ten frigates. It was an armada that looked less like vessels and more like specters, ravaged by an unknown war.
Their "favorable winds since Luanda" had, in the sailors' grim humor, been storms after storms—a relentless, driving gale that had pushed them forward with terrifying speed, but at the cost of every ounce of the fleet's integrity. Masts were splintered, rigging hung in chaotic tangles, sails were no more than tattered ghosts of canvas.
Though miraculously not a single ship had been lost, it was a miracle of survival, not ease. Every vessel was in truly bad shape, bearing the scars of their ordeal across hundreds of leagues of savage ocean.
As the first, lead frigate, the Vigilante, slowly maneuvered towards the Lisbon docks, its foremast visibly sprung, a veteran bosun, his face a roadmap of salt and fatigue, barked orders in a voice raw from screaming against the winds. Below deck, men moved like automatons, their eyes hollow.
"By God's beard, we're here," a young sailor, no more than sixteen, muttered to a grizzled quartermaster, leaning heavily against a rope coiled on deck.
The quartermaster spat over the side. "Aye, lad. Here we are. Two months early. And two years older, I reckon." He gestured with a thumb at the mangled rigging. "Favorable winds, they said. Like a blacksmith's hammer on an anvil, they were. Took the masts right out of us, bit by bit. We strapped 'em, we prayed, we held on. Think the Marquis built these hulls from solid granite, or we'd be fish food."
On the deck of the Lusitânia, the largest of the Indiamen, the Captain, a man usually immaculate, surveyed his ruined ship, his uniform torn, his hair matted. "It's laden, praise be," he rasped to his First Mate, gesturing to the holds packed with cinnamon, pepper, and the new robusta coffee from Luanda, and the precious silver from India and Cathay that they had traded the rubber for. "But the price... the price was nearly its bones. And ours."
The First Mate nodded grimly. "Aye, Captain. It'll need to be stripped to the ribs, by the look of it. Every stick of standing timber, every line of rope. A full refit, top to bottom. It's a godsend we didn't shed a plank, but 'lucky' feels like a poor word for what we endured."
This was not the triumphant arrival of a pristine fleet. This was the limping return of exhausted warriors. The Indiamen were barely floating warehouses, their structural integrity pushed to its absolute limits. The frigates, designed for speed and maneuverability, looked like they'd been through a grinder.
For Horizon Brazil, it was not much of a hassle, one year without trade with India, but, for the "Sith company," the challenge was immediate and immense: Put all those ships ready for sail the quickest possible.
(Estimated description of the Royal Arsenal from historical narratives about it before the earthquake of 1755 that razed it along with the Ribeira Palace and most of Lisbon)
The pervasive tang of salt and ancient timber, sharpened by the acrid bite of pine tar, was the first thing to greet João as his carriage rumbled down towards the Lisbon waterfront. The very air seemed to vibrate with the meticulous precision of the Royal Arsenal. Here, the Tagus, glinting like hammered silver under the morning sun, churned with ceaseless activity. Fishing smacks, their lateen sails patched and weathered, vied for space with heavier merchantmen, their hulls plump with cargo from distant lands, and the sleek, purposeful lines of royal naus—the colossal carracks that were the pride of the Portuguese fleet.
João (bowing slightly but with resolute voice): "Master Félix, you see the state of our fleet. Lisbon's yard overflows and our repairs remain but scribbles on parchment. What recourse have we, for room and for hands? My company holds a modest yard upriver—it services our merchant fleet, yes—but this task is no routine refit."
Master Félix (adjusting his leather apron, charcoal smudged on his sleeves): "Excellency, the King's naus and Brazil-bound carracks already choke our slips. I may find room for two—perhaps three—by the week's end. Beyond that, your hulls must linger. Unless…" (his gaze sharpens) "…you bring your own strength to bear?"
João (stepping forward, voice firm): "My lands can muster shipwrights—one hundred, even more should the crown require it. Some studied from the Arsenal masters. Timber we have in abundance, as well as iron and flax. Should you lend your expertise and oversight, I shall convert our granaries into ropewalks, and our warehouses into sail lofts. The worst-damaged frigates will see new life by our hands."
Master Félix (nodding slowly, tapping a quill against his ledger): "If you provide men and material, I'll dispatch foremen to maintain naval standards. But let me be clear—every timber, every seam, must pass Crown inspection. This isn't repair by whim. It's war-readiness."
João's First Officer (stepping forward, hand resting on a ledger): "We hold debts from the Flanders Company and the Genoese iron merchants. Swedish pitch, fine quality, sits in bonded warehouse awaiting customs clearance. With your mark, Master, we can have it in barrels by nightfall."
Master Félix (arching an eyebrow, ink-stained hand pausing mid-note): "Then it's settled. But mark me—these ships shall not go to sea half-mended. Their hulls must bear storm and shot alike. We build for endurance, not haste."
A ripple of assent stirred through the gathering. The merchants nodded, the officers exchanged glances laced with solemn resolve.
João (drawing himself to full height): "Agreed. Our ships and men depend on this. My company's yards are yours to direct—we seek the quickest and most reliable repairs that can be done ."
Master Félix (snapping his ledger shut): "Then let every loyal hand in Lisbon hear this call. By sundown, the streets shall know of your pledge. By first light, my inspectors shall stand at your gates. Let us waste not another breath."
Even from a distance, the battered Indiamen João spoke of loomed like wounded giants at their moorings, their tattered rigging a mournful testament to fierce Atlantic storms and profitable, if violent, privateering runs.
As João's boots, fine though they were, echoed against the uneven, tar-stained cobblestones, the sheer scale of the Arsenal unfolded. Overhead, immense vaulted timbers, darkened by centuries of smoke and sea spray, formed a labyrinthine canopy, guiding the eye through a forest of shipbuilding. The rhythmic thwack-thwack of hand saws, a constant, industrious heartbeat, carried from the timber sheds, where massive logs, felled from deep Portuguese forests, were being hewn and shaped. Sawdust, thick and golden, coated every surface.
Further on, the air thrummed with the low, steady hum of the ropewalks—incredibly long, narrow, covered passages where men, their muscles straining, twisted hemp and flax into thick cables and lines. The scent of raw fibers mingled with the ever-present pitch. Adjacent to these, perhaps on upper floors of airy, timber-framed buildings, were the sail lofts. Here, vast swathes of canvas, unrolled like newly fallen snow, awaited the meticulous stitching of sailmakers, their needles flashing in the shafts of light that pierced through high windows.
The clang of hammers on anvils resounded from the sturdy, stone-built forges, where blacksmiths, their faces grimmed with soot, wrestled red-hot iron into bolts, anchors, and fittings. The smell of burning coal was a distinct counterpoint to the maritime scents. All around, men moved with purposeful energy: burly shipwrights, their leather aprons stiff with tar and sweat, wielding adzes with practiced ease; slender riggers, agile as monkeys, scaling masts with astonishing speed; and laborers, their faces tanned and weathered, hauling heavy planks on their shoulders or pushing creaking handcarts laden with supplies.
Beyond the immediate hubbub of the main yard, the Royal Arsenal's true presence extended. It wasn't merely a place of industry; it was a testament to Portugal's ambition. Though pragmatic and functional, elements of Lisbon's characteristic Manueline and Baroque styles subtly graced the more formal administrative buildings—a richly carved stone archway leading to an office, an ornate coping along a sturdy, practical wall. The sheer number of structures—storehouses crammed with Swedish pitch, iron, and flax; carpenters' workshops overflowing with wood shavings; sheds for the curing of new timbers—spoke of an enterprise of national importance.
Outside the Arsenal walls, yet intrinsically linked, lay the vibrant chaos of Lisbon's waterfront. The nearby Ribeira das Naus, the ancient "River of Ships," alive with the cries of street vendors, the chatter of diverse tongues, and the distant chiming of church bells. The scent of fish from the bustling markets nearby wafted on the breeze, a reminder that Lisbon was like an industrious entity, constantly feeding and sustaining this colossal maritime machine.
It was into this purposeful, aromatic, and bustling world that João had come, seeking to use every means possible to achieve the best and quickest repairs for the new fleet of the "Sith company" and that of "Horizon Brazil." "Haaaaa! Rage and despair! My Brazilian dream!"
_______
Lisbon, Saint Office at Ribeira — Midnight, 18 June 1669
The stone mass of the Saint Office glows faintly in the flicker of lanterns, estranged from the moon by layers of soot and centuries of dread. The streets of the lower city whisper with the tread of two hundred hardened sailors, accompanied by eleven nobles—marquis, counts, viscounts—faces grim under shadowed plumes. They do not come for the public ledgers, nor the grand halls of trial, but for something subtler, and more damning.
Beyond the iron-studded gate, the Royal Guard—all fifty—watches from the side, their axes grounded, faces unreadable. The nobles pass with scarce a glance.
Viscount de Brites, crisp and cold: "Captain, our business finds no quarrel with the King's tonight."
The Captain tips his hat, eyes absently counting his men. "Nor with mine, senhor. Go swiftly."
Inside (João was a little surprised by the Royal Guards' decision; they had prepared for many scenarios, but the first one happened, which was, to the advice of the majority, the least likely to happen, the sailors especially got the surpriseof their lives to some of them ) :
Silent except for the echo of boot-leather on ancient stone, the company sweeps through unfamiliar corridors, swordless but bristling with pistols and daggers. They pass the grand chamber of trials—the archives of accusations, names and fates, untouched, doors left unopened.
Instead, they burst into a far wing—the private apartments and officinas of the inquisitors themselves. Here, where the scent shifts from old candles to ink and perfume, a thin clerk leaps up with a startled gasp, clutching a folder.
João de Carracsa: "Fine night for letter-writing, senhor. Hand that over!" he blurted before adding: "Ah, true: you love polishing people... I mean: please," and booming again: "Hand that over!"
Trembling, the clerk surrenders his satchel; already shipmen are ripping drawers from elaborate desks, prying open lacquered chests studded with foreign coins and wax seals. Each chest, marked "Coimbra," "Bahia," "Cadiz," "Madrid," "Firenze," and many others, bears bundles of letters, some folded with elaborate intaglios.
Viscount Afonso (to his lieutenants, scanning a hundred letters): "Look for the English marks, or any mention of Rio or Pernambuco. The Inquisitors trade in more than souls…"
A box cracks open: pages titled "Regarding the Planter António Marques: Concerns for the Soul and the Sugar Trade." The countess skims it, eyebrows arching.
Viscount Brites: "So. A sugar trust pays the Holy Office to kneecap their rivals in the name of salvation. How like them."
Another finds! A bundle—personal correspondence with cryptic notes, payments linked to foreign names.
Marquis João (reading another letter): "Payments received 'for spiritual diligence.' Hah. This is more proof than the king's councillors ever dared hope."
Along the wall stand cabinets with dozens of pigeonholes, stuffed with private messages from Porto, Rome, London, even Amsterdam—full of rumors, bribes, whispered plots. Several sailors, unversed in official Portuguese, hand bundles to the viscounts for translation.
João, more depressed and enraged than he imagined he would be: "Take only the correspondence. With what we've done tonight... we are good for exile, as I told you, but I never imagined they were that... despicable. Here, a military treason correspondence from 1645. They are quite the real spies... And the auto secured one at that."
An old Inquisitor rushes in, nightcap askew, face livid. "Blasphemy! You... you breach the boundary of trust!"
Marquis João: "No, you traitor of Christendom, I should kill you on the spot. And those dumb Protestants who look at the purse, no wonder I was so attracted to kick the VOC..."
(A rumor started circulating among the crew who heard that: is he somewhat?? acting by God's will, or... guided by...? But they would never tell him.)
A quick gesture: João and crew, clutching bundles of private documents, vault the stairs and disappear into the Ribeira mist. None of the precious dossiers concerning economic, military sabotages, nor foreign bullion were lacking; they emptied those thousands upon thousands of confessions of treachery, abuses, etc., none was missing.
Out in the square, the Royal Guard quietly looks at the group:
João gave two of those letters to the guard captain: For the King or his representative in the government:
First letter:
Economic Sabotage in the Mediterranean (Messina & Venice Trade):
"Action Corrective au Port de Messine: Pour la Morale Sicilienne" (Corrective Action at the Port of Messina: For Sicilian Morality)
Letter from a Florentine Inquisitor to his "brother in Christ" in Lisbon or Seville, dated ca. 1665.
Content (Excerpt - Direct Translation):
"In Messina, we recently addressed a troubling case. A merchant, a certain Giuseppe Rossi, dared to prepare a shipment of precious silks and oils destined for Venice, a city whose mercantile practices, as we know, border on the overly liberal. His desire for profit outstripped his concern for the pious livelihood of our Sicilian brethren, who rely on a more controlled flow of goods. After a judicious interrogation (which revealed only minor doctrinal ambiguities, yet a profound attachment to Mammon), we ordered his ship retained at port for 'further spiritual cleansing' of its cargo. During this necessary delay, we took contact with our Barbary brethren (through the usual discreet channels) and communicated the exact timing of his eventual, 'blessed' departure. God saw fit that his ship was intercepted by the corsairs shortly after clearing the straits. His goods were repurposed for more virtuous ends, and his crew, now in slavery, will find ample time for penitence. This serves as a powerful lesson for those who prioritize trade with dubious partners over the true morality of our Sicilian faithful."
Second letter:
Intelligence Sharing for Privateer Interception (Spain - French War):
"Surveillance des Convoyeurs d'Argent: Nécessité Spirituelle" (Surveillance of Silver Convoys: Spiritual Necessity)
Source: Report from an Inquisitor in Cadiz to the Spanish Suprema, dated during the Franco-Spanish War (e.g., 1668 - Devolution War).
"The silver convoy from New Spain, particularly the galleon Concepción laden with the Royal Fifth, is preparing to sail from Cadiz around [specific date/tide]. Its captain, Don Esteban, shows an alarming lack of faith in the Holy Office's blessings, preferring reliance on mere naval escorts. Such reliance on worldly protection over divine providence is a grave concern. We have, therefore, ensured that its precise departure window, and its intended rendezvous with the escort squadron, has been conveyed to those who might offer a 'stricter spiritual lesson' on the open seas. The French, though heretical, sometimes serve as an instrument of divine chastisement for our own hubris. Should the silver fall into their hands, it is a clear sign that God sought to humble our overly confident Crown and its unblessed investments."
"Going as far as selling Christians as slaves for the Muslims, what good protection of the Muslim faith they do, I hate them at the same level now; as if their own stupidity was not enough! Tell the king that: I decided: I will release those documents in two or three years, in the Protestant countries. They may be 'different' and somewhat no less oppressive, but I am sure they would not sell Christians for their own ablutions, you know, at least not for now. The second is more sensitive, but the corruption and disruption of Spain's war effort during the Devolution War is obvious... You can tell the king that Don Juan José in Spain seems quite formidable to me; we got lucky to capture him in 1663 and ending the Restoration War."
"I will convey your words."
"Hum... I have an even better idea: take one of the carriages full of those from... Coimbra and Porto, some from Brazil. You will give the king ample leeway to disrupt the Inquisition in Portugal, even the Pope could not refute any of the demands with those proofs."
The Royal Guards in front of them were listening, incredulous, horrified; their captain advanced towards the group to take some of the "letters from those inquisitors"... with blood pressure visibly augmenting.
______
Later, near early morning, the port was fully open, no chain to protect it...
"João, look at the sky: did you anticipate all that, Dom Pedro?"
Now families, sailors who always strove with Horizon Brazil, with their families when there were any, all sailed to the far and almost unknown Sweden, around 4,000 people and more "moneyable articles" than necessary.
On board, João and some others looked at the letters from the inquisitors, confirming their choice; not like that institution would wait for its demise: to make their little exodus, during that little cold era as they call it....
_______
The Raw Truth: Direct Confessions of Inquisitorial Treason
Military Sabotage (Portugal - Angola & Brazil, as early as 1645):
Document Title: "Rapport sur la Probité des Navires et l'Âme des Colonies" (Report on the Probity of Ships and the Soul of the Colonies)
Source: Internal memorandum from a senior Inquisitor in Lisbon to a trusted colleague, dated 1645 (confirming long-term systemic action).
Content (Excerpt - Direct Translation from Latin/Portuguese):
"Concerning the fleet destined for the reconquest of Angola and Brazil, we observed a dangerous proliferation of merchants whose loyalty to the Crown was, perhaps, too earthly, and whose cargo contained elements unblessed by Holy Writ. Their haste to deliver armaments and provisions threatened to imbue the expedition with a spirit of mere worldly conquest. To ensure the purity of the mission, and by divine guidance, we enacted several 'spiritual interventions.' Namely, by a timely accusation of hidden Jewish heresy within the crew of the São Tomé (the primary transport for powder), its departure was delayed by three weeks. Concurrently, a minor 'discrepancy' in the manifest of the Nossa Senhora da Glória (carrying vital provisions for Pernambuco) necessitated its temporary seizure. God, in His infinite wisdom, allowed these delays to permit the Dutch heretics to achieve their own ends in those distant lands. This served to punish the unholy haste of our own and reminded all of the perils of earthly ambition over divine timing. Their subsequent capture by the enemy was, in fact, a judgment, not a misfortune."
"Fuck," said João! "And they dare to say it was God's will!!!! Haaaaaaaaaaaa I want the dismantling of those traitors to all Christendom...."
Rui pondered: Protestants may not realize that all Christians are in the same boat there... treating with Muslim pirates....
Systemic Pattern & Boasted Success (General):
Document Title: "Réflexions sur l'Efficacité de Notre Zèle Économique" (Reflections on the Efficacy of Our Economic Zeal)
Source: A circular letter from a high-ranking member of the Portuguese Suprema (the corrupt faction leader) to select inquisitors across Iberia, detailing their "achievements."
Content (Excerpt - Direct Translation):
"Brothers, our methods in safeguarding the faith through economic discipline continue to yield divine fruit. Since 1645, our interventions in the Angolan and Brazilian trade routes have repeatedly thwarted attempts to circumvent our holy authority, often resulting in the timely 're-routing' of goods and, regrettably, vessels, to channels more aligned with God's mysterious plan for the true humbling of the overly ambitious. The successes in the Mediterranean, where trade with infidel lands was 'purified' by divine intervention [i.e., pirate attacks arranged by them], stand as a testament to our tireless vigilance. These instances are too numerous to list exhaustively, but they demonstrate that our true purpose extends far beyond mere doctrinal purity; it encompasses the very economic and military fortitude of the Crown, ensuring it remains humble before God and dependent on His instruments, such as ourselves. Let no one claim that we merely chase shadows; our hand is firm, and its effects are tangible, even when our methods must remain shrouded in the sacred secrecy of our Office."
The Damning Impact: This memo serves as a summary, explicitly boasting about years of military and economic sabotage ("since 1645"), confirming it as a deliberate, widespread, and "successful" policy across multiple theaters, and proudly proclaiming its "tangible effects." It reveals their profound self-delusion and their belief that their actions, no matter how treacherous, were divinely sanctioned.
There are some others, but they need further study, but that one is in the same dossier, said Pietro:
Direct Military Sabotage (Portugal - Restoration War in Brazil):
Document Title: "Instruction Regardant l'Expédition Brésilienne: Avis Confidentiel" (Instruction Regarding the Brazilian Expedition: Confidential Notice)
Source: A coded internal memorandum from the Lisbon Suprema (or its corrupt faction leader, perhaps named "Brother Custódio" or "Dom Gaspar") to a regional inquisitor or a specific "agent" within the mercantile community.
Content:
"Concerning the recent consignment of armaments and powder intended for the Pernambuco Expedition (for the 'reconquest of the Dutch possessions'), our Brother Tomás reports that the designated carrier, the merchant João da Costa, remains stubbornly attached to his 'unblessed' practices of usury and uncanonical trade routes. Despite our persistent admonishments, his vessel, the Santa Bárbara, is set to depart with crucial supplies. It is deemed necessary that the purity of such a vital mission not be compromised by such a soul. A 'thorough inspection' of his manifest should precede his departure, and any 'irregularities' must necessitate a prolonged detainment. Brother Duarte in Bahia has been informed to expect delays."
The Damning Detail: The addendum, cross-referenced note from a Dutch spy's intercepted correspondence (also in the archives): "The information regarding the Santa Bárbara's cargo and departure schedule was relayed, as agreed. Our agents in Lisbon will ensure its 'inspection' creates sufficient delay for the privateers from Flushing to position themselves optimally along the Atlantic shipping lanes. Compensation has been remitted to 'Brother Silence' as per our understanding."
Economic Sabotage (Portugal - Brazil & Sugar Plantations):
Document Title: "Regarding the Planter António Marques: Concerns for the Soul and the Sugar Trade"
Source: Correspondence between a high-ranking Lisbon inquisitor and a representative in Brazil (e.g., in Bahia or Pernambuco).
Content:
"António Marques's ambition to expand his sugar plantation in the Recôncavo, leveraging his 'new methods' for cultivation and and refining, presents a spiritual challenge. His sudden prosperity, unaccompanied by proper tithes to the Holy Office, suggests methods unblessed by divine grace. Furthermore, his plans to acquire new lands and invest significantly threaten the established order and the revenues of certain 'traditional' planters more aligned with pious ways. Initiate a discreet inquiry into his lineage, his laborers' 'moral conduct,' and any 'suspect' books in his possession. Delay his acquisition of land and access to credit until his 'spiritual state' is clarified. We have received 'suggestions' from foreign interests concerning the optimal market flow of Brazilian sugar, which his unbridled expansion would disrupt."
The Damning Detail: Attached log of payments from a "Sugar Trust" that coincides with the disruption of Marques's ventures, allowing foreign sugar producers to gain market share. "Payment received from the 'London Sugar Consortium' for 'facilitating spiritual diligence' in Bahia, which has slowed Marques's 'unholy expansion' and maintained favourable market prices for our European refineries."
"Right, we aren't only exposing corruption; we are preparing to expose treasonous economic and military sabotage orchestrated from within the Inquisition, directly benefiting enemy states, right captain?"
"It's been long you didn't call me that, you know?"
"Hahaha, well... Sweden! Here we go!"