By the Sword

by Richard Cohen

  IN 378 TWO THIRDS OF AN ENTIRE ROMAN ARMY WAS DESTROYED AT Adrianople (now Edirne in European Turkey). It was a stunning defeat: the emperor, all his senior officers, and some forty thousand men were killed in the space of one afternoon. “No battle in our history,” declared the contemporary historian Ammianus Marcellinus, himself a Roman officer, “except Cannae [Hannibal’s great victory in 216 B.C.] was such a massacre.” Oakeshott argues that after Adrianople “the old days of the legions’ supremacy had gone forever, and the armoured cavalryman fighting with lance and sword on a heavy horse became for the next 1100 years the arbiter of war.”10

  The imperial army of the Roman Emperor in the East, Valens, found some ten thousand Visigoths encamped in a vast enclosure of wagons and set siege. In their usual fashion, the legions massed in the center, their squadrons of auxiliary horse on the wings. The bulk of the Gothic cavalry, away foraging when the attack began, was quickly recalled. They rode down on their enemy “like a thunderbolt,” and the Roman infantry was crushed together in hopeless confusion. When the Gothic footmen realized the success of their cavalry charge, they broke out from their encampment and attacked head-on, slashing and stabbing with their long swords. Dust arose in such clouds that the Romans could not see the enemy’s missiles in flight or dodge them; and the ground was so drenched in blood that they slipped and fell. The Roman cavalry fled, abandoning the foot soldiers, who had to stand wedged together until they were cut down. “They were so tightly packed,” Oakeshott explains, “that they could not raise their arms to strike a blow; the dead and wounded could not fall, but stayed upright in the weltering mass; many were simply crushed to death or stifled.”11 Most of the army died before the pressure eased enough for stragglers to escape. Valens himself, wounded by an arrow, made his way to a nearby farmhouse, where the Goths, discovering him there, laid up brushwood and straw and burned the emperor alive.

  Some historians have argued that the simple but revolutionary invention behind this terrible rout was the stirrup, a device until that moment unknown to the Romans, which gave horsemen the power to maneuver quickly and the leverage to strike with greater force, a formidable advantage. More likely, the stirrup was an invention of far later times; but at any rate the result of the massacre was clear: for the first time in history the sword was no longer secondary to the lance or spear.

  After Adrianople the thrusting sword lost ground to the slashing swords and pointed lances of Rome’s enemies from the great plains. Over the succeeding centuries these weapons would be joined by an armory of others: the lance (for use on horseback), the glaive (a form of half-pike), the lancegay (a light throwing spear), the battle-ax, the gisarme (cousin of the ax), the mace, the halberd, the bardiche, the langedebere (a spear with a large, broad blade), the hammer, the “holy-water sprinkler” (euphemism for a spiked club), the flail, the poleax (used to split the “poll,” or head), the couseque (from the French, “winged spear”), the war hammer, the Morgenstern (a spiked club), the Ahlspiess (a fearful eighteen-foot-long spear), the plancon à Picot (a five-foot-long wooden truncheon), the Panzerstecher (a mail-piercing sword, with a sturdy point but no cutting edge), the rawcon or ronka (with a three-pronged head), the spontoon (a form of pike), and the voulge (a farmer’s plowshare, its blade straightened to make a glaive). And there were more. That the sword would outlast nearly all these weapons was due to a combination of factors, not least its efficacy and versatility.

  After the fall of the Roman Empire, the sword gained a new importance and was taken as a token of power and majesty, endowed with mystical qualities that evolved in some instances to reflect a man’s true worth. This symbolism was underlined by the conduct of kings and emperors. (Charlemagne, for example, was never without a sword; he had his three sons instructed in swordplay and left them his three best weapons.*)

  Initially, with copper and tin so scarce, only chieftains (“Schwert Adel”—“sword nobles”) could carry swords. Over time, freemen and freeborn women of “sword age” were also given the right to such arms. The Teutonic tribes, with their preference for using the edge, set back the advance of swordsmanship as a thrusting weapon; but they also gave birth to medieval chivalry, and in their tribal codes lay many of the notions that would make up the chivalric ideal.

  Literature also had its part to play. The Old English poem Beowulf describes adventures closely woven into the mythic past of Germanic Europe. Composed in the eighth century, it is set in southern Scandinavia during the migrations of a quarter millennium before. Beowulf’s regard for his sword, Hrunting, runs throughout the tale: “The great-hearted hero / Spoke no word in blame of the blade … Never in fight had it failed the hand / That drew it.” Hrunting is an “ancient treasure,” a “costly heirloom,” “a stately sword … The work of giants, a warrior’s joy.” “No sharper steel / No lovelier treasure” can be found. Crucially, when Hrunting is wielded in hatred it will not perform for its master; it must be used with responsibility, and its powers cannot be tapped by an evil source. Beowulf makes a crucial distinction between a soldier (the “paid retainer of a chieftain”—one who receives solidi—coins) and a warrior. The latter is self-motivated and has his own agenda and a self-image of restraint; he is there not just to kill but to choose a fit form of victory. The warrior distinguishes himself from the hired killer by what he will not stoop to.

  About the same time, the Chanson de Roland, France’s great medieval epic poem, almost a blueprint for that culture’s code of chivalry (from the French word chevallerie, “skill on horseback”), began to be sung by bards and troubadours. A dramatic account of the heroically doomed rearguard action of one of Charlemagne’s captains in Spain in 778, it incorporates, like Beowulf, several centuries of story. In a typical moment, as Roland sees the Saracen army approaching, he says to his friend Oliver, “The Emperor gave us this host of Frenchmen, 20,000 picked men amongst whom he knows there is not one coward.… Strike with your lance and I will smite with Durendal, my good sword that Charlemagne gave me. If I die, he who inherits it will say, ‘It was the sword of a noble vassal.’ ” Roland embodies all the ideals and aspirations of the age of chivalry and has become its emblem for ages to come, helping to lay the foundations for the romantic wish fulfillment on which swordplay has thrived.

  The sword lay at the heart of the medieval code of honor. To it was ascribed an inner power and a true nobility; it was not to be drawn without reason. Its point could never touch the ground. Before a fight the knight kissed the cross of his sword, which often contained relics, so that the chivalrous salute passed into a religious act. Swords were associated with intelligence, unlike lances, arrows, and axes, which were the weapons of the foot soldier.

  Alongside the literature of the times, there was the technological struggle. Since early armor gave only limited protection, its weaknesses led to further development of weapons and, in turn, its own improvement. Swords might still be used to crush, but to pierce through the vulnerable areas of an opponent’s body armor took new skills. Armorers responded with still more efficient creations—circular discs that slid into place to guard the armpit when the arm was raised, visors with breathing vents, convex chest pieces to deflect a blade or lance, neck supports to limit tournament “whiplash”; but then they also developed the “estoc,” a long, sharp, narrow-bladed sword for thrusting through an opponent’s weakest areas. As in all military history, technology both responded to situations of conflict and dictated what forms future conflict would take.

  After the Germanic tribes settled in the former Roman Empire, civilization fragmented. From the ninth to the eleventh centuries, tribes, city-states, and even landed magnates engaged in constant small wars. To protect themselves, they banded together in (strictly hierarchical) feudal contracts: land was divided into fiefs, and each fief had to support at least one armored mounted knight. Under the laws of chivalry, knights swore an oath of loyalty to their liege. As time went on and standards of behavior rose, knights also vowed to be honest, to defend th
e existing order, to protect the weak, and to show compassion to a wounded enemy. Good armor was costly† and, in light of the subsistence economy and poor communications, its use contributed to the difficulty of raising large armies, with the result that fighting became a way of life for the upper classes. The exact origins of knighthood (from the German Knecht, meaning “servant”) are unknown, but by the twelfth century it was a phenomenon well established in France, Spain, and England.

  A knight, fully armored, his leather undergarments smeared with grease, would be carrying a load of about sixty pounds, roughly the equivalent of a modern army backpack but distributed over his whole body. Everything was carefully tailored: each knight would be measured and fitted by a master armorer, and if the knight could not be there in person he would send over wax models of his limbs. The helmet would have heavy padding beneath the metal, though no armor could offer complete protection from a blow to the head or a direct strike by a mace. The well-equipped aristocratic horseman was generally regarded as the single most powerful combatant on the battlefield; yet ventilation remained a potentially deadly problem. A day’s battle would leave a knight bathing in his own sweat: in Henry IV, Part 2, Prince Hal says of kingship that it is “Like a rich armour worn in heat of day / That scalds with safety.” An armored knight was like a tank, with almost no hearing and limited vision. Hollywood films have depicted knights in armor needing the help of cranes to mount their horses, but the Metropolitan Museum in New York has conducted trials with men in armor to show how a knight could run, leap in the air, lie down on his front or back and get up again without help, and climb onto and off of his horse (always a stallion). It was exhausting but perfectly possible.13 The total weight that a horse might carry could reach 450 pounds; in the sixteenth century bells were attached to the horse to distract its wearer from the dread sound of onrushing hooves.

  The sword was used primarily to bludgeon one’s opponent. (The Scots have a word for the sound a sword makes as it cuts through the air: “sough.”) As late as the reign of Elizabeth I one bellicose knight, Sir John Perrot, taking part in her coronation tournament, “hit the challenger four times in the face of the helmet with the pommel of his sword,” scoring more blows of this sort than any other contestant.14 Parries with the blade were avoided, and knights either evaded blows or used their shields for defense. Swords, which could weigh well in excess of three pounds, were heavy affairs requiring strength to wield as much as skill.

  Tournaments were introduced into England during the anarchic reign of King Stephen, in 1135, and continued till the end of the sixteenth century. Their heyday was 1150 to 1300, although they were still popular during the early years of Henry VIII’s reign. Henry was an expert jouster who enjoyed showing off his skills, and from 1509 till 1524 he fought as chief challenger in every major English tournament. In 1524, he was nearly killed when, after he had brazenly left his visor open, the lance of his opponent splintered inside his helmet. A few months later he fought again, at the tiltyard at Greenwich and against the same opponent, his brother-in-law the Duke of Suffolk, after which he decided to call it a day.

  The origin of the tournament may have been the Roman Ludus Troiae (Game of Troy), a warlike exercise played by two mounted teams. The game was revived in France and made its way into England and Germany, where it was dubbed “French combat.” In 1056 a reference can be found to the tournament death of Sieur Godefroi de Preuilly, a Breton baron who is said to have invented the sport, although it is more likely that he simply drew up a set of rules. Such regulations came to be extremely strict, and their breach could jeopardize an offender’s claim to knighthood and even cost him his life. Most of the time, however, noblemen enjoyed what they did. Their reputation rested almost entirely on their skill at arms. Initially tournaments were bloody free-for-alls, in which two miniature armies would do battle. It was considered an honor to take part, even though scores of men died or were crippled in these chaotic melees; among the notable tournaments in Italy was one in the Colosseum in Rome in 1332 that resulted in the deaths of eighteen knights.‡

  One of the most celebrated participants in the twelfth century was an English knight, William Marshal, who in fifteen years of competition fought successfully more than five hundred times. He had “arrangements” with other knights—partners, in effect—who would help one another, later sharing the profits. They would keep a keen eye on who was winning, who losing, and plan their fights accordingly, like somebody working a room at a cocktail party. Marshal ended up a rich man and eventually died, in his early seventies, “with his boots on”—still fighting.

  During the thirteenth century tournaments showed signs of evolving from warlike exercises fought with real weapons to the comparatively harmless pageants they would become. Sometime before 1200 a concession to safety was made with the introduction of a rebated lance point—often in the shape of a crown and known as a “lance of courtesy”—sufficient to unhorse an opponent without penetrating his armor and injuring him directly. It was still a high-risk way of proving one’s valor, far more dangerous than climbing Mount Everest. Over time, a system evolved by which points were awarded for each lance broken (it was easy to miss), for blows to the helmet, if the lance tips met “coronell to coronell,” or for unseating a rival.

  In the 1420s, a further safety device was introduced, a long wooden barrier some six feet high and covered with cloth (toil in French) or canvas, set up along the length of the course to divide the two knights and prevent their horses from colliding. This barrier became known as the “tilt,” and soon “tilting” was the name given to the sport itself. The Germans called jousting “über die Planken.”

  The great French writer of chivalric romances, Chrétien de Troyes, gives a vivid description of a tournament in Erec et Enide, written around 1170:

  A month after Pentecost the tournament assembles and opens in the plain below Tenebroc. Many a pennant flew there, vermilion, blue and white, and many a wimple and sleeve that had been given as tokens of love.… The field is completely covered with arms. The ranks shudder on both sides, and from the clash there rises a loud din, with a great cracking of lances. Lances break and shields are holed, the hauberks are torn and rent, saddles are emptied and riders tumble, while the horses sweat and lather. All draw their swords on those who clatter to the ground. Some rush up and accept their surrender, others hasten in their defence …15

  These meetings became important social events, providing a necessary outlet for martial ardor and a vital means of military training. “They kept alive the spirit of international brotherhood in arms,” writes Oakeshott, “which was such an essential part of the chivalric ideal.”16 A more skeptical view is that they preserved the flavor of Christian chivalry in the face of the realities of power politics. The Church tried on numerous occasions to have them banned, but in addition to their social and military value they were a significant source of revenue. A successful knight could take away rich prizes of arms and horses: among the special armor worn for jousting was a small sword for the right hand called a gaynepain, or “breadwinner” (but then “lord” means “loaf giver”).

  Tournaments throughout Europe became the most absorbing occupation of the knightly classes outside hunting and hawking—and war. No doubt the drinking and gambling that went on at these fairs were one reason for the Church’s opposition, but so too was the death toll. One contest, in 1180, attracted more than three thousand armed and mounted knights. Crazed with blood lust, they galloped mercilessly over the men on foot, swinging wildly at anything that moved. Bodies littered the ground. The fighting at a tournament ended when a signal to halt was given or when a knight, near suffocation in armor so badly dented it could be removed only by a blacksmith, was unable to remain standing.

  Gradually the number of participants at these meetings was pared down to small teams. Formal challenges to “joust” evolved, issued in decorous language by knights acting on their own initiative. These jousts were still condemned by the Church
for their high casualty rates. In Germany a strict code of honor developed, so that one could not participate without first presenting proof of noble descent. When one knight met another he was expected to raise his visor and reveal his identity; the military salute is a legacy of this. Even today in competitive fencing one is forbidden to come on to the strip with one’s mask already in place or to begin a bout without first saluting one’s opponent.

  Knights fought each other both à outrance (“unflaggingly”; thus “to the point of submission”) or à plaisance (for fun) in three kinds of encounter: the tilt, or joust on horseback; the general melee, as already described; and the single combat on foot, with sword, poleax, ax, or dagger. In the last, the use of heavy armor and heavy weapons favored simple movements, forcing contestants to concentrate on one blow at a time, so that complicated phrases were impossible.

  At the beginning of each swordfight, one combatant would strike at the other: in the case of a duel, this first blow was the privilege of the man who had been challenged; otherwise either man could strike first. As in modern martial arts, there was much preliminary maneuvering and feinting before a significant move was made. Once attacked, a knight would seek to defend himself either by taking the blow on his shield or by evasive action. Then it would be his turn to strike, while the first man was recovering from his stroke and preparing for his next; and so on. It became important to be able to change direction in midstroke as soon as you realized you were going to miss, even when this meant turning a downward blow into an upward one or a forehand into a backhand. Lighter and stronger swords were thus highly prized. Only when a shield was so cut up as to be useless were the swords themselves used for parrying, as edge-to-edge clashes were mutually damaging. Further, in fights to the death, since swords could not cut through plate metal, knights would look for weak points in their opponent’s armor—pushing their sword through a man’s visor or at his armpit, thus encouraging a style of fighting that used the point. This was not swordplay as we know it but was a highly skillful affair and is recognizably fencing’s cousin.§