Following in the footsteps of our family of Warding Swords, this appealing arming sword features a wide Type XIV blade. This offers excellent protection when correctly angled, in conjunction with the gently downturned quillons. The pommel has a 10º cant for a right-handed wielder, offering superior control and comfort in cutting and casting actions.
The quillon block is covered with a decorative rainguard in the style of 14th Century originals, emphasising the lines of the blade and adding to the restrained simplicity of the sword as a whole. The pommel and crossguard have been gently patinated for a mottled antique effect, which contrasts beautifully with the polished steel of the blade.
Please see our pricing structure for an idea of what a similar sword would cost.
∴ Specs ∴
Weight: 1170g
Total length: 97.5cm
Blade length: 80cm
Blade width: 5.5cm
Blade stock: 6mm
Grip length: 10cm
Grip and pommel length: 16.5cm
Quillon span: 21cm
Point of Balance: 9cm
Right-handed
2mm edges
Swollen tip
Fencing flex
∴ Notes ∴
The hand-forged and heat-treated guard and pommel are patinated to an antique finish. The square-sectioned crossguard has a slight downturn, while the disc pommel features a left-handed cant. The guard is covered with a tooled leather rainguard, bearing a Saxon cross motif.
The oak grip is wrapped first in linen thread and then in brown leather, with cord risers to the top, bottom and waist.
∴ Gallery ∴
∴ A Sacred Awakening ∴
The steel is cold in your hands as you climb. Though it is dark you do not stumble, for you know this way by heart.
Behind you the village processes in pregnant silence. The able helping the old, children lagging at their heels. Last year you walked with the maidens, wide-eyed children in white. But this year you were chosen. This year you carry the sword of the saint.
The sword is the island's truest treasure, broad-bladed and smoky-grey with age. The leather that folds around the guard bears half of a cross. The sign of the goddess. The sign of the saint. It's all the same to the island folk.
As you reach the barrow's crest, the chant begins. “Tha i beò. Tha i beò. She is alive.” For a moment the whole island opens around you in dusky lilac hue. You can see from the twinkling lights of the village, across the fields and the moors to the harbour. For a moment, it is yours.
Then the onlookers file in around you, a circle of white-clad watchers, keeping vigil over this rite. Uncertain, you look to the horizon, and then to your father. He gives a barely perceptible nod. As the voices rise to a clamor, you lift the sword to the sky, and with a cry, plunge it into the earth.
Then there is silence.
Over the sea the sun is rising, with springtime in its wake.