“See you the huge bum Dagger at his backe,To which no Hilt nor Iron he doth lacke?” ~ Samuel Rowland (1600)
Based on accounts from the 16th and 17th centuries, our alehouse dagger features a 17" long blade and a large, heavy basket hilt.
Created for use as both a main-gauche dagger and a fighting dagger in its own right, it has an ambidextrous basket, developed to protect the little finger on either side. Please see our pricing structure for an idea of what a similar sword would cost.
∴ Specs ∴
Weight: 820g
Total length: 58cm
Blade length: 43cm
Total hilt length: 15cm
Grip length: 12cm
Quillon span: 26cm
2mm edges
Swollen tip
∴ Notes ∴
The hardwood grip is wrapped in twisted steel wire, and the hilt furniture is oil blackened with a matte finish. The closed port features a circular piercing pattern, and the deeply downturned quillons assist in catching blades.
∴ Gallery ∴
∴ A Brawler's Friend∴
After two days on the rainy road with only hard bread to cheer you, the russet firelight glimmer of the tavern is a welcome sight. As you slip through the woodworm-pocked door, you grin at the sign above it: "The Fighting Cock".
A pleasant half hour later, feet thawing and belly full, you're startled by the sudden clatter of stools. Turning, you see a slight figure surrounded by bristling locals. Whatever the young man had said, it hadn't won him any friends.
A heavyset man with a walrus moustache is the first to throw a drunken punch, but the younger man deftly sidesteps. As he does so, the red-faced fellow behind him raises a pewter tankard and swings it down toward his skull.
Despite yourself, you cry out, raising the young challenger's attention. With a lightning glint, a dagger is in his hand. Its heavy blackened hilt neatly deflects the vessel before the blade rebounds to press against the attacker's throat.
A viscous silence fills the room, broken by the clatter of pewter on floorboards as the ruddy man raises both hands and steps back slowly. Without a word, the dagger is secreted amidst folds of roughspun. All eyes are on its owner as he strides - no, saunters - toward the door, pausing only to flash you a lopsided grin.