There was blood on the parched tongue of Antonio de Carriedo*, but he didn't notice, nor did he care.
He wouldn't have noticed the taste, that rusty tinge with a hint of flat sweetness. He always had a lingering taste of the blood of many on his taste buds- such was his delicacy. He didn't see the sticky red fluid dripping from his cracked lips, onto the ground below; the world he lived in was already a blinding hue of reds and wounds and bruises. And he didn't smell it, either. Yes, the man from Burgos would tell you, he could smell the rusting iron scent that wafted from exposed life-lines. Such was the way of a true Spanish man- a conquistador. A little blood was nothing- it was to be praised, relished, in fact. How many beautiful droplets of blood had he spilt for his mother country, as well as the Creator? Not enough, that was for sure. One could always do a little more, push a little harder, plunge the sword in a little deeper for España.
And that was exactly what Antonio planned to do now, as the blood from his cracking lips did little to quench a beastly thirst. The men of San Pedro neared the river banks, canoes on the ready. Food. That was all he needed now for his fellow conquistadors. They needed to do what they did best- pillage the Arripuna town. They had yet to lose one of their 50 men, despite the hardships, starvation and deadly clutches of the Amazon. The men crept into position, ready to strike these savage peoples at Orellana's** command.
Antonio was bloodthirsty. How long had it been since they had started this dishonorable hit-and-run campaign? How long had they been the cowards?
The captain's order came too slowly, in Carriedo's opinion. But the men took off screaming, guns and swords and fists at the ready. Some of the women and children fled their homes screaming in terror as the warrior men armed themselves. Their skin was a deep brown tint, lips full and smooth, and their eyes... oh, their eyes were wide and bulging with horror. One woman hid in her home -the very home Antonio barged into- throwing pots and plates towards the man. She screamed at him in her alien tongue, grabbing at his thick brown locks, tied back in a shredded red ribbon. In a fit of rage Carriedo swung his arm, knocking the woman to the side. He grabbed a fistful of unknown foods, maize and meats and yuca***. Relentlessly, he shoved it in his mouth, not caring about any sort of contaminated refreshment to wash it down. That was what the blood was for. The blood of his parched lips and the native woman's nose, as his fist met her face once more after another failed attack. She crumpled, a heaps of wails and prayers to some hellish cannibalistic deity.
Normally Carriedo would pay no mind to this woman's antics. He would take the food and run, or take her, or even better, go in for the glorious kill. But no, today on some unknown date in the year 1542 of his Lord, Antonio de Carriedo stopped. He spared her life. He had hesitated, distracted by the curious nature of her actions. Distracted by the arrow she had plunged into his shredded boot, piercing his swollen, moldy feet.
At first he laughed; what was this woman thinking? His foot was nothing vital, what harm could be done? He laughed and laughed, food spewing from rotted, yellowing teeth. But then it hit him. The tingle. That sizzle. A mounting burn. Antonio felt the sting of a thousand and one souls slain by his own hand, all focused in on one tiny flesh wound.
Now it was the fallen woman's turn to be hysterical. It was her chance to laugh at the foreign man with the bulging eyes and the sun-kissed skin and the insane crew of rabid Spaniards. She could laugh at his beliefs, his lack of vision, lack of truth. She would be the victor this time.
Thus began the final hours of Antonio de Carriedo.
*Antonio is being placed in the position of a real conquistador who sailed with Orellana along the Amazon. His name was Antonio de Carranza. No matter how hard I look, there seems to be no record of this man's actions besides those of his death.
**Francisco Orellana was a Spanish conquistador who had teamed up with Gonzalo Pizzaro to find their own El Dorado. However, they were split up, and Orellana took 50 men on the first European voyage down the extent of the Amazon river.
***Yuca is a South American potato like plant. When raw it is poisonous. There are two types of yuca plant 'sweet' and 'bitter'. The sweet yuca can be eaten after cooked and prepared correctly. You're not guaranteed to die if eaten raw, but you'll still feel horrid. Bitter yuca is very deadly. The other half of Orellana's crew -who stayed behind with Gonzalo Pizzaro- ate an entire field of yuca after weeks of starvation. Needless to say, a good number of them died.
Hnnn, this is my opener for a project for school. Of course I change Carriedo to Carranza and all that jazz, but everything else stays the same. All my information comes from Buddy Levy's River of Darkness. C: Any critiques and such would be wonderful, since this is a grade. And there will be more to come, very soon! We'll go back to the very beginning of this deadly journey along the Amazon River!