This arming sword is designed to be light and fast, with a slender, tapering blade and broad central fuller. Based on historical research, the pommel is canted for comfort and control when used by a right-handed wielder. Combined with an adaptive 9cm grip this allows for a full range of historical grip styles, all under the protection of straight, square-section quillons. Ideal for fast cuts and thrusts, this sword is the perfect tool for pairing with a buckler - yet it also shines in its own right as a single-handed weapon. The balance heavily emphasises the forward pivot point through distal taper and the hollow pommel, so it shines when the point is used offensively as we see in certain sword and buckler treatises. It is named for the Green Knight himself, who is referred to as Bertilak in the 14th Century poem Sir Gawain and The Green Knight, and features a striking deep green grip as well as an engraved rosette at the point of balance. Please see our pricing structure for an idea of what a similar sword would cost.
∴ Specs ∴
Total length: 96cm
Blade length: 80cm
Blade width at shoulder: 3.5cm
Blade stock: 6mm
Quillon span: 17cm
Grip length: 9cm
Grip and pommel: 14cm
Point of balance: 15cm
Weight: 760g
Right-handed
2mm blunt edges
Swollen tip
Fencing flex
∴ Notes ∴
The hand-forged and heat-treated guard and pommel are polished to an antique grey finish. The crossguard features straight, square-section quillons and a subtle ecusson. The wheel pommel is canted is a historical fashion for comfortable right-handed use. The oak grip is wrapped first in linen thread, and then in deep green kidskin. The blade features a wide central fuller and an engraved rosette at the point of balance. The construction is finished with a faceted steel peening block.
∴ Gallery ∴
∴ A Game of Consequences∴
A dire wind howls around the great hall, but it finds no quarter here. Sequestered inside, you can almost forget the winter’s rage as you drink in the warmth of the fire and the thick amber mead.
You drain your cup in a silent toast to the providence that brought you here, and within what seems like a second your attentive host is at your side with an earthenware jug in his hand.
You laugh and surrender your cup for a second measure - or is it a third? - yet at the same time, you are struggling to place the mighty man who serves you. You can’t shake the feeling that you know him from somewhere.
He claps you on the back with a strength that almost starts you spluttering, then moves through the crowd with a booming laugh. Something is unsettling about him, though he is the very definition of hospitality.
He wears his hair and beard long, and the eyes that peer from behind that unruly curtain are a deep and glittering green. The same green, in fact, as the leather of his armour, which he wears even to the table. He smells of black earth and pine needles, and the hunting hounds rise from beneath the benches to walk in his wake as he passes.
You feel like you would remember such a distinctive character more clearly, but the strong drink and the stupor of a full stomach keep pushing the memory to the edge of your mind until you come to bid the man goodnight.
He takes your proffered hand in both of his, and his grip is icy cold and earthly strong. As you stare up at him, startled, you spy a strange scar around his neck. With a jolt, a piece falls into place. Alarmed, you look to his hip for confirmation - and sure enough, the sword is there: slight and slender, green of grip and grey of steel.
Like a punch to the gut, the sight of it transports you to another feast, a year ago. To that same bright blade raised high in the hand of a man who was not a man - green of skin and mighty of build, his head hidden by a helm crowned with holly.
That head was hewn clean from its body - you saw it with your own eyes. A Christmas game that went too far. Green blood spilled on grey hearthstones.
“I know you,” you whisper, looking up at the man with your heart in your mouth.
The green knight only winks.