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Description
PROLOGUE:
Narrator: "The conquistadors were a group of soldiers, explorers, and adventurers in use by Spain and Portugal in the 15th, 16th and 17th centuries. Their goal was often to conquer new lands and find new resources to push their respective countries ahead in the European political scene.

This particular performance portrays a fictional account of a group of Conquistadors being employed by the Kingdom of Castile, looking to further the interests of Spain within the southwest of North America; in an area that might be equivalent to what would one day become the Arizona territory; baked by the hot sun and tormented by the raids against them of small parties of a people that the Spaniards had not even learned the name of; an unfortunate case which might not be the fault of a single party.

Even worse, the country that was supposedly holding the riches of Cíbola -the Seven Cites of Gold- held no more material riches than relatively small deposits of copper and silver; a disappointment to a people who were expecting to find roads paved in gold ingots; massive amounts of gilded, shimmering riches just out for the taking. The men, angry and tired, began looking for someone to blame; and they convinced themselves that a native settlement of the Indians which they had attacked previously -or, arguably, been attacked by; no one could quite tell- was hoarding the gold; that the seemingly innocent women and children were actually stashing pendants and coins under their clothes and in their beds.

Looking to their Capitán, most men believe that attacking the settlement is the logical thing; any other action would be idiocy on his part. But others thought otherwise; notably, an inferior but close personal friend of the Capitán; a man which had got close to his superior on the long nights of guard duty, sharing their similar interests and a bottle of wine. This man was a musketeer named Abarca, and he couldn't see the attack as anything but an act of immoral genocide. He didn't think himself a man of exceptional ideals; indeed, he was a very flawed man; but this was one attack that he quite simply couldn't approve of"

SCENE
Abarca: "Capitán De La Fuente"

De La Fuente: "Ah. Señor Abarca"

Abarca: "So I hear you're going to move forward and attack the settlement? What's the status on this; are we going slaughter innocents; women and children?"

De La Fuente: "You're such an idealistic man, Abarca"

Abarca: "Don't get me wrong; I will be at your side if you move to attack; I am but a humble musketman; by defintion, your inferior. You're my commander; fighting for the glory of my country"

De La Fuente: "I'd like to think that"

Abarca: "But is this really what we have to do? Is this truly, by all means, necessary?"

De La Fuente: "The men doubt me as their commander. Morale is low; and everyone thinks I'd be a fool if I didn't attack the village whose innocent women and children are apparently hoarding huge stashes of gold; whole cities worth of material riches, as my men seem to believe. And said men need some kind of reward; some kind of light of hope that will keep us together. We won't get back to Spain if we split up; create schisms, begin fighting amongst ourselves. A battle -and the pillages of battle- will bring us together; it will, at the very least, make me look like a stronger commander than I truly am; than I have, so far, proved myself to be. We need to stay in unison. Not to mention, our mission is to fight for our country; and, certainly, these people are not very "friendly" towards us. They're in the way of our country's expansion"

Abarca: "They only hate us because we attacked them in our selfish quest for riches"

De La Fuente: "We need gold. Spain needs to keep expanding; we can't stop. "

Abarca: "Why ever not? Why can't we just leave these people be? I mean, I respect you, commander, but I do not, by any means, understand your logic"

De La Fuente: "If we stop growing, if we stop trying to get ahead or even keep up with the other countries of Europe, it'll only be a second until Portugal or England or some other power rolls in and crushes us. It'll be the end of our country; it'll be the end of the Spanish people. Even our allies; if we were weak, do you truly think they'd have mercy? Do you think they'd stop to think about our people as they burnt down Madrid or plundered the riches of Barcelona?"

Abarca: "No. I suppose not. But how does that make us any better than them; the people that want to defile Spain?"

De La Fuente: "It doesn't. I don't want to do this. But what am I to do? My men will kill me if I don't condone the attack; and then they'll just go forward, and cause more damage without my guidamce; not just to the native peoples, but to themselves."

Abarca: "So you're going to say "yes" to the attack, then?"

De La Fuente: "Yes"

Abarca: "I wish you the best of luck. I guess I'll get my musket ready then; sharpen my blades."

De La Fuente: "Wait; Señor Abarca. I know, as the commander, I don't have to justify myself to my inferior, but I just wanted to say, I'm not doing this because I'm a cynical or pessimistic man; it is not out of hatred. It's just, as the commander, it is my duty to take care of my men and portray the interests of my country. And even more than that-"

[pause]

Abarca: "Capitán? What is it? What's the purpose of the long pause?"

De La Fuente: "-before I left for the New World, my little girl, Eloíse; she asked why I had to leave; she asked why her father had to vanish on a frigate to some far-away land; a foreign place where he could, very well, never come back; she wanted to hear what I had to say about myself. She wanted to know what I would say in that point in time; what, very well, could be my last words. And she had all the right to; although I'm not sure if I'd be so principled to tote this argument, some would certainly argue that anything but her knowing the truth would be entirely unfair. And what did I say? I, of course, as a good Christian man, told her what I wholly believed in my heart; I was leaving to find riches and glory for my country. And that, to prove my victory, when I got back I'd bring her a little leather bag of gold; maybe just a few coins or bits of jewelry, if I could find no more. But something to prove to her that I fought; that I did my duty for my country, and brought riches, gold and my men back to her country"

EPILOGUE:
Narrator: "The Spanish explorers fought hard and, in their eyes, for glory; with their rapiers in hand -even as they fell to the ground with arrows gouging deep into their flesh- against the surprise Indian attack. It appeared that the raiders and warriors had been hiding within the encampment the whole time; they knew the Spaniards would reach for -at least what appeared to be- the weakest target first, and so amassed an army of archers, horsemen and spearmen; so many men that even the Conquistadors, with their technologically advanced weaponry, stood no chance. Every time a volley of musketballs killed an Indian, a Conquistador would be met with twice as many arrows. In the end, the Spaniards did win; but only one man, surveying the bloodied, scorched remnants of the vilage, survived; one Eberardo Abarca; a lone warrior, standing in his steel armor, over the battlefield; at his feet, the man that had lead them into the bloodshed; De La Fuente.

The commander said nothing, as he looked up at his inferior. His mouth was agape; a small trickle of blood flowed out. Arrows had struck him in multiple places; through his armor, piercing in-between the places where the metal plates came together. He was dying; there was no doubt about it, and he seemed to stand no chance of surviving; more raiders were surely on their way, to ruthlessly pursue the Spaniards; to defend their homeland, just as, in a way, De La Fuente attempted to. There wasn't just the threat of enemy attack, though; arguably even more importantly, there were no allies on this continent; except for Abarca; that one musketeer.

Wordlessly, De La Fuente reached out to his inferior; clasped in his hands was what little he was able to pillage from the village, put inside a small hide bag. Reaching out and taking it in his hand, Abarca opened it; inside, there were a few little gold trinkets. Not much; just a few coins and bits of jewelry."

Description
PROLOGUE:
Narrator: "The conquistadors were a group of soldiers, explorers, and adventurers in use by Spain and Portugal in the 15th, 16th and 17th centuries. Their goal was often to conquer new lands and find new resources to push their respective countries ahead in the European political scene.

This particular performance portrays a fictional account of a group of Conquistadors being employed by the Kingdom of Castile, looking to further the interests of Spain within the southwest of North America; in an area that might be equivalent to what would one day become the Arizona territory; baked by the hot sun and tormented by the raids against them of small parties of a people that the Spaniards had not even learned the name of; an unfortunate case which might not be the fault of a single party.

Even worse, the country that was supposedly holding the riches of Cíbola -the Seven Cites of Gold- held no more material riches than relatively small deposits of copper and silver; a disappointment to a people who were expecting to find roads paved in gold ingots; massive amounts of gilded, shimmering riches just out for the taking. The men, angry and tired, began looking for someone to blame; and they convinced themselves that a native settlement of the Indians which they had attacked previously -or, arguably, been attacked by; no one could quite tell- was hoarding the gold; that the seemingly innocent women and children were actually stashing pendants and coins under their clothes and in their beds.

Looking to their Capitán, most men believe that attacking the settlement is the logical thing; any other action would be idiocy on his part. But others thought otherwise; notably, an inferior but close personal friend of the Capitán; a man which had got close to his superior on the long nights of guard duty, sharing their similar interests and a bottle of wine. This man was a musketeer named Abarca, and he couldn't see the attack as anything but an act of immoral genocide. He didn't think himself a man of exceptional ideals; indeed, he was a very flawed man; but this was one attack that he quite simply couldn't approve of"

SCENE
Abarca: "Capitán De La Fuente"

De La Fuente: "Ah. Señor Abarca"

Abarca: "So I hear you're going to move forward and attack the settlement? What's the status on this; are we going slaughter innocents; women and children?"

De La Fuente: "You're such an idealistic man, Abarca"

Abarca: "Don't get me wrong; I will be at your side if you move to attack; I am but a humble musketman; by defintion, your inferior. You're my commander; fighting for the glory of my country"

De La Fuente: "I'd like to think that"

Abarca: "But is this really what we have to do? Is this truly, by all means, necessary?"

De La Fuente: "The men doubt me as their commander. Morale is low; and everyone thinks I'd be a fool if I didn't attack the village whose innocent women and children are apparently hoarding huge stashes of gold; whole cities worth of material riches, as my men seem to believe. And said men need some kind of reward; some kind of light of hope that will keep us together. We won't get back to Spain if we split up; create schisms, begin fighting amongst ourselves. A battle -and the pillages of battle- will bring us together; it will, at the very least, make me look like a stronger commander than I truly am; than I have, so far, proved myself to be. We need to stay in unison. Not to mention, our mission is to fight for our country; and, certainly, these people are not very "friendly" towards us. They're in the way of our country's expansion"

Abarca: "They only hate us because we attacked them in our selfish quest for riches"

De La Fuente: "We need gold. Spain needs to keep expanding; we can't stop. "

Abarca: "Why ever not? Why can't we just leave these people be? I mean, I respect you, commander, but I do not, by any means, understand your logic"

De La Fuente: "If we stop growing, if we stop trying to get ahead or even keep up with the other countries of Europe, it'll only be a second until Portugal or England or some other power rolls in and crushes us. It'll be the end of our country; it'll be the end of the Spanish people. Even our allies; if we were weak, do you truly think they'd have mercy? Do you think they'd stop to think about our people as they burnt down Madrid or plundered the riches of Barcelona?"

Abarca: "No. I suppose not. But how does that make us any better than them; the people that want to defile Spain?"

De La Fuente: "It doesn't. I don't want to do this. But what am I to do? My men will kill me if I don't condone the attack; and then they'll just go forward, and cause more damage without my guidamce; not just to the native peoples, but to themselves."

Abarca: "So you're going to say "yes" to the attack, then?"

De La Fuente: "Yes"

Abarca: "I wish you the best of luck. I guess I'll get my musket ready then; sharpen my blades."

De La Fuente: "Wait; Señor Abarca. I know, as the commander, I don't have to justify myself to my inferior, but I just wanted to say, I'm not doing this because I'm a cynical or pessimistic man; it is not out of hatred. It's just, as the commander, it is my duty to take care of my men and portray the interests of my country. And even more than that-"

[pause]

Abarca: "Capitán? What is it? What's the purpose of the long pause?"

De La Fuente: "-before I left for the New World, my little girl, Eloíse; she asked why I had to leave; she asked why her father had to vanish on a frigate to some far-away land; a foreign place where he could, very well, never come back; she wanted to hear what I had to say about myself. She wanted to know what I would say in that point in time; what, very well, could be my last words. And she had all the right to; although I'm not sure if I'd be so principled to tote this argument, some would certainly argue that anything but her knowing the truth would be entirely unfair. And what did I say? I, of course, as a good Christian man, told her what I wholly believed in my heart; I was leaving to find riches and glory for my country. And that, to prove my victory, when I got back I'd bring her a little leather bag of gold; maybe just a few coins or bits of jewelry, if I could find no more. But something to prove to her that I fought; that I did my duty for my country, and brought riches, gold and my men back to her country"

EPILOGUE:
Narrator: "The Spanish explorers fought hard and, in their eyes, for glory; with their rapiers in hand -even as they fell to the ground with arrows gouging deep into their flesh- against the surprise Indian attack. It appeared that the raiders and warriors had been hiding within the encampment the whole time; they knew the Spaniards would reach for -at least what appeared to be- the weakest target first, and so amassed an army of archers, horsemen and spearmen; so many men that even the Conquistadors, with their technologically advanced weaponry, stood no chance. Every time a volley of musketballs killed an Indian, a Conquistador would be met with twice as many arrows. In the end, the Spaniards did win; but only one man, surveying the bloodied, scorched remnants of the vilage, survived; one Eberardo Abarca; a lone warrior, standing in his steel armor, over the battlefield; at his feet, the man that had lead them into the bloodshed; De La Fuente.

The commander said nothing, as he looked up at his inferior. His mouth was agape; a small trickle of blood flowed out. Arrows had struck him in multiple places; through his armor, piercing in-between the places where the metal plates came together. He was dying; there was no doubt about it, and he seemed to stand no chance of surviving; more raiders were surely on their way, to ruthlessly pursue the Spaniards; to defend their homeland, just as, in a way, De La Fuente attempted to. There wasn't just the threat of enemy attack, though; arguably even more importantly, there were no allies on this continent; except for Abarca; that one musketeer.

Wordlessly, De La Fuente reached out to his inferior; clasped in his hands was what little he was able to pillage from the village, put inside a small hide bag. Reaching out and taking it in his hand, Abarca opened it; inside, there were a few little gold trinkets. Not much; just a few coins and bits of jewelry."