∴ A Regal Reflection∴
Brass and blue. The evening sun, brazen against the deepening Mediterranean. The treasures of ancient kings, their knowledge forever lost. An unforgiving flame rushing to meet shaded streets.
You stare for a long time at the sword in your hand, its seed-pod pommel glimmering golden in the dusk. When you stepped off the ship into this city of legend, the sword spoke of potential. Of promise. Now, mere days later as would-be knights flee burning streets with arms full of plunder, its beauty is a hollow reminder and its weight one burden too many.
You hear a shout and recognise your name. Your ship is departing. It’s over, then. With a roar of betrayal and bewilderment, you hurl the once-treasured weapon into indigo waters and turn to leave Alexandria.
You pray the next soul who finds it might put it to nobler use.
∴ An experiment in extremities ∴
When a customer requested a matched pair of rapier blades, designed for both single-handed and double-handed use, we couldn’t resist the chance to experiment.
While the blades and tangs needed to be elongated for two-handed use, the client also required that we keep the weight as low as possible for comfortable single-handed use.
Chris hollow-ground each blade from 8mm stock and added deep, pierced fullers.
The result? Two 48″ rapier blades weighing 600g each.
∴ A Scholar’s Defense∴
You place the sword before the altar of Walpurga, wincing at the clatter of steel on stone. The Saint’s painted eyes look on serenely, with no hint of her namesake’s challenging smile.
For months you pored over the texts by half-light, characters becoming companions as you sliced the still air of your cell. You found skill in the Lady’s lessons, yes, but Truth as well. Perception. Judgment. Balance. Truths you will need to carry close on a journey such as this.
Smiling you retrieve your sword, fingers finding their familiar place between curved quillons and twisted pommel. You make the sign of the cross and then, on impulse, bring the broad blade to your shoulder, point up, in an unmistakable Walpurgis Ward.
As you turn to leave, you think you see the Saint’s eyes sparkle.
∴ A trusty companion ∴
The cobbles are harsh and unfamiliar beneath your travel-worn feet as you pace the empty square. The spectre of last night’s wine sits heavy in your stomach.
You brush your hand over the pommel of your sword. Its slight yet certain presence heartens you.
You shouldn’t be awake this early. Only six hours ago you were sitting down to a hot meal and a glass of harsh tavern wine to toast your travels. The beginning of what you thought would be a quiet few days in Tuscany. But then some lousy local had to go and slight you…
Your head is pounding. Your hands are sweaty. You are in no state to fight the duel your hot temper demanded. But honour is honour.
You hear footsteps behind you. Swallowing hard, you reach for your faithful sword.
∴ A battlefield weapon ∴
You peel back the age-stained linen lining the cracked wooden chest, and there it is. Your grandfather’s sword. As strong and as strange as the man ever was.
Awe-struck, you run your fingers over the ridged leather grip, momentarily transported to childhood as the wine-drenched old war stories come flooding back.
Your grandfather said he was a a great war hero. He said this sword had won him battles. He said he’d been rewarded by kings and princes alike. If you thought it strange that most of these rewards were dented helmets, snipped rings and gold teeth, you didn’t like to say so.
You practice a cut to the air, the wide blade flashing brief and brilliant in a singular shaft of stale light. Oh yes, this sword may have its secrets – but it’s in your hands now.