How Sharp Were Medieval Swords?

One of the issues that always causes confusion when people attempt to understand medieval combat is how sharp were the swords that were used. Some argue that they were laser-edged razors, others that they were dull, still others have a vague sense that the truth must lie between those two extremes but are not sure where.

The short answer is that we do not know. There is no “universal sharpness scale” in the Middle Ages, and, in truth, swords probably varied in sharpness based both upon their intended use and the preferences and abilities of the user (or his armorer). That is not a very satisfying answer, however, so we should dig a little deeper to see if we can apply the evidence that has been left to us in order to come up with an estimate of the norm.

The first and most common-sense approach to this question that would occur to most people is to look at medieval swords to see how sharp they are. In fact, however, this is meaningless: I shudder to think how dull my favorite chef’s knife would become if it were handled for a few hundred years, and swords are no different; a sword that was once extremely sharp might be nothing but a slab of dull metal by now because of all the handling it received over the centuries. Likewise, just because a sword is extremely sharp today means nothing. I was given an antique saber when I was a teenager, and since it was quite dull I sharpened it myself; so may it have been with any extant swords that are sharp today.

The Fechtbücher, however, give us some excellent insights into this question if only we read between the lines. There are three attacks in the Kunst des Fechtens (not counting pommel strikes): The cut, the thrust and the slice. Cuts are chopping actions and thrusts are self explanatory. The slice is effected by placing your edge against a target (usually the wrists or neck) and pushing or pulling it along the flesh as if you were carving a Thanksgiving turkey; the longer the stroke, the deeper the slice.

Experiments have shown that a dull sword will not perform an effective slice, so we know that medieval swords must have been nearly as sharp as a modern kitchen knife, at a minimum.

The farther we go along the sharpness scale, the more delicate the edge becomes, and the more maintenance it requires in order to function properly. Even minor handling, such as sliding it in and out of a scabbard, etc., will dull a razor edge quickly, and in use a very fine edge will cause severe chips to be knocked out of the blade, chips that will be problematic to repair (and yes, swords were *commonly* used for edge-on-edge displacements—read my blog entry on the subject if you still do not understand this—but why create a bigger problem if you do not need to?).

Since a sword need only be a little less sharp than a kitchen knife, and since the sharper it becomes the more problems you are likely to have, why do more? Thus, it seems very likely that, allowing for personal preferences and sharpening skill, most medieval swords intended for Bloßfechten were probably about as sharp as a modern kitchen knife or a little less. My personal sword is sharpened to that level for this reason.

What then of swords intended for halfswording in Harnischfechten? Many people who have not really worked with sharp swords using halfsword techniques imagine that swords must be very dull in order to allow one to grip the blade in a gauntlet, let alone a bare hand. They have an almost supernatural dread of how dangerous swords must be, no doubt from watching bad samurai shows on television, and believe that you will be cut badly if you grab a sharp sword in your bare hand.

The facts, however, do not support this belief. We have techniques in the Fechtbücher in which you go from a slice to a halfsword grip with your bare hand in one technique:
“If you bind with him and he changes through and changes to Halbschwert, counter it with a slice from above. And as you slice you can switch to Halbschwert and thrust.” Ringeck ff. 53v-54r.
The gist of this technique is that you and your opponent bind, and he moves his sword around into a halfsword grip in order to hook your blade with his pommel. You respond with an Abschneiden, or slicing technique from above down onto his wrist, and then, after slicing him, you grab your blade in a halfsword grip in order to thrust it into him. So this technique clearly tells us to first use a slice—a technique requiring a fairly sharp sword—and then move into a halfsword technique wherein you grab your sharp blade in your bare hand.

This is possible because swords (and knives, for that matter) cut with a sliding motion. As long as you hold the blade firmly and do not allow it to slide in your grip, you will not be cut.

It should be obvious, then, that it is possible to perform halfsword thrusts while holding a sharp blade in your bare hand. In fact, all students of die Schlachtschule are required to actually perform a hard thrust with a sharp sword held in a halfsword grip into a solid target so that they can instantly refute some ARMA type when he says it cannot be done.

There is at least one source that suggests not all swords intended for Harnischfechten were sharp, however. In De Arte Gladiatoria Dimicandi, a late-fifteenth-century Italian fighting manual, Phillippo di Vadi wrote that swords for armored combat should be dull up to a few inches from the point (the point needs to be sharp or it will not penetrate flesh well). Unfortunately, we cannot be sure how common this practice was, or even if it was actually done at all. Vadi shows a strange and very specialized sword with a flaring tip for armored combat, and we have no indication that such swords ever existed outside of his book. Moreover, it is strange that no other Fechtbuch author would mention such a detail if it were common. My personal belief, or perhaps “suspicion” is a better word given the paucity of evidence, is that this practice was not common, but we cannot be sure. We can be sure that halfswording with a fully sharp sword was possible (easy, in fact) and that it was performed with sharp swords at least some of the time. Farther than that we cannot go.

In conclusion, then, it is my belief that most medieval swords intended for actual combat, whether in or out of armor, were probably sharpened a little less than a modern kitchen knife.

(Incidentally, I recently read a comment by someone who had read my blog who wrote that I was “pedantic.” Whomever that was, I would like to thank him for the compliment, even though I know he did not intend it as such. When people hold firmly onto mistaken beliefs it is necessary to use great detail and careful documentation in arguments intended to refute their cherished misconceptions, because otherwise they will take everything you left out as a weakness in your argument. I take this anonymous individual’s comment as an indicator that I am being sufficiently detailed in both my arguments and my evidence.)

EDIT:  I was contacted offline by a professional chef who informed me that in a professional kitchen the knives are much sharper than I suggest in this essay, and that different knives have different levels of sharpness.  Let me clarify by saying that by "chef's knife" I meant a type of knife--eight-inch blade, wider at the base than the tip--not a knife owned by a professional chef, and that I was referring the the chef's knives in the home kitchens I have visited, not those in a professional kitchen.

Also, edge geometry varied considerably on swords, just as it does on many knives.  I purposefully didn't get into this issue because it's one that's not terribly well understood.  This essay paints the issue with a very broad brush because that's all the precision that is warranted by the subject; after all, as I point out in the essay, different swords surely had different levels of sharpness.  We're only able to speak in broad norms here, and for that, edge geometry isn't really terribly important:  If you place the edge on someone's wrists and perform an Abschneiden, how much force is requires to slice through?  That's our real question.

Christian Tobler's "Captain of the Guild"

I just received my copy of Christian Henry Tobler’s new book, Captain of the Guild: Master Peter Falkner’s Art of Knightly Defense, Freelance Academy Press, 2011.

The book is excellently prepared and looks well produced and serviceable. The binding is properly and cleanly executed, and the cover seems quite durable. The coloration and printing of the front and back covers is clear and vibrant, with no smudges or print misalignments. The book was produced in a 6”x9” Casewrap Hardcover format, and is 336 pages in length with full-color interior plates.

In this work, Tobler returns to his great strength: Studying and translating the Fechtbücher themselves. The book begins with a brief discussion of Fechtbücher in general, biographical information about Peter Falkner, and some brief notes about the manuscript in question. He then goes on to discuss each section of Falkner’s book in detail, from longsword to messer to dagger, staff, poll weapon (mostly halberds), dueling shields, and a very little Roßfechten and Harnischfechten (only one plate of the latter, although it shows a fascinating and unique technique). This discussion is comparable to the analysis in his book about the Paulus Kal Fechtbuch in In Service to the Duke (Chivalry Bookshelf, 2006), if not quite as extensive.

The main body of the book is a full-color facsimile presentation of Falkner’s Fechtbuch. Each page is shown in the proper position, and on the facing page there is a transcription and a translation of the text for that page. The facsimile even includes all blank pages and the cover of the book, details that are sometimes left out, and which are probably not, strictly speaking, necessary, but still nice to see.

The book concludes with a nice glossary and pronunciation guide for German martial terms, and a detailed bibliography of primary and secondary sources.

The great strength of Tobler’s work is his translation. The pictures are beautiful and vividly presented (and it stands well as a work of art), but, in the final analysis, this book is primarily a scholarly resource for those who study the German school of historical martial arts. To that end, I find Tobler’s translations to be the best renderings of anyone working in the field. While not always absolutely literal (e.g., Tobler often modifies word order to make it less confusing to the modern mind), he none the less manages to capture the precise meaning of the text better than most others working in this field. I had previously translated the poll weapon section of Falkner’s book for my own use, and while I got the wording right for the most part, Tobler’s word choices and order actually convey the meaning of the text better.

Overall, this is a superb book, and well worth the price charged. The book is somewhat less elaborately fancy than Tobler’s Kal facsimile, but that book seemed a bit more overdone than the actual quality of the book deserved; for example, it does not seem to be quite as durable as the current work, for all that it has gold edging on the pages.

One issue that Tobler discussed in his introduction could, I believe, use some expansion: Several of the plates in Falkner’s book do not seem to show the exact technique being described in the text. For example, folio 7r (Tobler pp. 58-9) is about the Schielhau, which is normally used to displace an Oberhau. The text supports that interpretation, but the picture shows something different: The figure on the left is, indeed, performing a Schielhau, but the figure on the right has his sword hanging point down on the inside of the Schielhau—not at all what we would normally see.

Tobler discusses this in his Introduction, saying: “The illustration of the Schielhau, or “Squinting Stroke” on folio 7r has drawn considerable interest… It seems to imply a very powerful deflection has occurred prior to the wielder hitting his opponent…” Tobler, p. 8. He does mention that we see similar positions in Jörg Wilhalm, but may not understand what he is seeing because he does not describe the complete play. This is not a “powerful deflection” prior to the blow (if I correctly understand what he means by that—he may mean the same thing), but rather a counter to the Schielhau using a Schnappen, as Wilhalm tells us himself.

Here are the two plates in this series from Wilhalm and their associated text:
http://www.thearma.org/Manuals/JWH1/jw19a.jpg
"This is also a piece of the Schielhau and a break against when the sword is at the neck. This is the break against the other piece, and mark that you see how it is painted.

http://www.thearma.org/Manuals/JWH1/jw19b.jpg
This is from the break of the Schielhau with Uberlauffen, that will break the Schielhau. With a strong cut or slice go over his flats and go immediately [to him]. This is therefore a strong break to make against the Gloss." Jörg Wilhalm CGM 3711 ff. 19r-v, tr. David Clarke.

Here is a video demonstrating an interpretation of this technique in slow motion: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H7nI7z80jRU

This suggests that a number (but certainly not all, nor even most) of the plates in Falkner actually show the counter to the play being described in the text for that plate. Another example can be seen in the dagger play on folio 49v (Tobler pp. 226-227). Here the text describes a fairly typical arm bar counter to a stab from above with a dagger, but what the picture actually shows is the original attacker, the person upon whom the arm bar is being applied, countering the arm bar by picking up the defender’s leg to throw him. This is a fascinating insight into this book, and certainly supports Tobler’s contention that Falkner intended his work for a very knowledgeable audience.

I have not had time to go through every single play in the book, but I did look carefully through the longsword material (and I have been working with the poll arm material for quite a while). Some of the longsword plays are quite confusing because they don’t seem to be illustrating anything, really—there seems little connection at all between the text and the picture. Perhaps with more study insights such as the one above will be gained by comparing this Fechtbuch with others.

Of all the plays I did understand, however, the one that most surprised me was the Schnitt counter to Kron. Kron is a defensive move in which you lift your sword vertically to catch a descending strike, often the Scheitelhau in other sources, on the cross. Most sources say to counter Kron by dropping your blade under his and using an Abschneiden (a kind of Schnitt or slice) to cut his wrists. In Falkner, however, the Schnitt is performed at the halfsword; that is, you slice his wrists while holding your blade in your left hand and slicing the sharp edge across his wrists; see folio 11v; Tobler pp. 76-77 (NB: So much for those who think halfswording could not be performed with a sharp blade!). The text supports the picture in this, because the text says that if he hooks your blade with his cross to pull, you can turn your point or pommel to him for a strike or thrust, so this is not a mistake of the artist.

© Hugh T. Knight, Jr. 2011. All rights reserved.

Intellectual Honesty

Folks, without intellectual honesty we cannot have meaningful discussions. Without meaningful discussions, we cannot explore important areas of our art that are unclear. As one example, admit when you are wrong! Everyone makes mistakes, everyone spouts off comments “from the cuff” in informal discussions, and everyone of us is misinformed about certain areas of our art. None of these things marks you as an idiot or a failure, so admit to them when they are pointed out. Case in point, here is a conversation I just had on a discussion list:

He: “Unlike Fiore, [the Germans] NEVER [emphasis his—HTK] wait to counterstrike/exchange thrusts.”

Me: Yes, sometimes they do. I provided specific examples of the Sprechfenster, plays of the 3rd guard of the halfsword and others, along with a link to my blog entry giving a detailed analysis of this issue.

He: Your analysis is flawed. You do not know what you are talking about (no evidence, no citations, just the blanket statements).

Me: Direct quote from von Danzig telling us to assume Long Point *before* the combat starts and wait to see what the enemy will do. I cited the exact page where the quote could be checked for accuracy.

He: Claimed that was a threatening guard so it did not apply. What he *really* meant was that the Germans never do it the way *Fiore* does it, but he did not specify how that was different. (To make it worse, he confused Döbringer with Liechtenauer, thus demonstrating his lack of familiarity with the material, but I let that pass with only a polite correction after he had made the same mistake several times.)

Me: Deep sigh—here we go. First, showed him Fiore’s Long Guard which is exactly analogous to our Long Point, so it was clear Fiore *did* do it that way. Second, gave him a link to a video clip of a technique from the 3rd guard of the halfsword in which you do not threaten, you merely wait, and documented this with a clear citation for the technique. Next, showed a very similar technique in Fiore, thus clearly proving that, while I do not believe the German and Italian systems to be at all similar, the Germans *do* do some things that the Italians do, too.

He: Well, I am not going to take your undocumented video of a technique as evidence. Besides, I do not agree with your Sprechfenster argument. Besides, your video was poorly done (but no statement as to why).

Me: Well, I *did* provide a citation for the technique, but here is the text for you to examine so you do not have to look it up. And the Sprechfenster *does*deny your original argument, but I gave you a different example so as to deny your ability to twist the argument around. And the video is well done, but even if it were not well done it still proves the point because it matches the text exactly. None of this is open to interpretation: I have shown you an almost exact match of ideas proving that, at least in a limited number of cases, the Germans use the same approach of waiting that Fiore does.

He: Well, you are just an egotistical jerk.

Me: Let us leave personality out of this and avoid ad-hominem attacks. What is your response to the example from the 3rd guard I provided?

He: I will retreat into lofty silence to prove you are a jerk for being so insistent because I am a *real* scholar while you are not. What you should have done was to simply agree to disagree. That you did not proves you to be a jerk.

Me: When an issue is debatable or open to question then we can agree to disagree. When someone is patently wrong he should admit it; you have not supplied any evidence or documentation to contradict what I have written, nor even addressed most of it.

The funny thing is his signature line on his e-mails is from Mark Twain: “Far better to remain silent, and let others wonder at the extent of one's ignorance, than to open one's mouth and remove all doubt.” If only he had thought about that!

So folks, when you are wrong, admit it. Do not try to turn things into an ad-hominem slugfest; all that does is to prove that you have no more arguments to make and cannot respond to the ones on the table. And if you do, and your opponent responds in kind, that does not prove him to be a bigger jerk than you—he probably sees no reason to keep providing you with evidence when, clearly, you have no interest in it nor in reasoned debate. I have to admit that when I am attacked personally I often respond in kind merely because it is so much fun, but I acknowledge that it is unprofessional. Fortunately, in this case, I avoided the temptation.

This was a clear case of a guy who spouted off about a subject about which he was un- or misinformed. No harm, no foul—that applies to all of us in at least some areas, including me, and besides, this issue (Germans waiting to be attacked) is one about which very few people know the facts. In fact, as regular readers of this blog know, I actually *post* my mistakes here for all to see because I would rather admit to an error than to continue to be wrong because while ignorance is both inevitable and forgivable, blind obstinacy is not.

Active Fühlen

Fühlen is the German word for “feeling;” in the context of HEMA, it refers to feeling whether your opponent is hard or soft in the bind which, in turn, tells you how to act next. And when you act, you are to do so Indes, another German word which means something like “just as” or “instantly.” Master Sigmund Ringeck told us:

“You shall learn and understand both the word Fühlen and the word Indes because these two belong together and together they account for the greatest art and skill in fighting. Therefore remember, if one binds against the others’ sword, you shall notice—right in the moment when the blades make contact—whether he has bound hard or soft. And as soon as you have noticed this, remember the word Indes: this means that you should attack the next opening immediately and nimbly, hard or soft so he will be defeated before he knows it himself.” (Ringeck ff. 38r-v)

In other words, Ringeck is saying that when a bind occurs you should feel (Fühlen) it to determine whether the enemy is hard or soft in the bind and then instantly (Indes) use the best play for whichever kind of bind it is. Here is an example: The attacker strikes a Zwerchhau, to which the defender responds by striking into the cut to displace it. The attacker must then feel the bind to determine whether his opponent is hard or soft in the bind. If the attacker is soft in the bind, the attacker should lift his sword up and over the defender’s head to apply a slicing cut to his neck. If, however, the defender is hard in the bind, then the attacker should use either a Duplieren or a cross-knock from the bind. In either case, whichever response the attacker uses from the bind must be performed Indes—in other words, it must happen the instant the swords clash together.

Unfortunately, these two goals—the process of Fühlen and the requirement to act Indes—seem to be mutually exclusive. It takes a moment, albeit a brief one, to determine whether your opponent is hard or soft in the bind, a moment in which you cannot be acting, thus the response is delayed. It would therefore appear you can use Fühlen or you can act Indes, but not both. And yet, it is likely Ringeck understood the principle about which he wrote; after all, he was not the only one to write about this, and it seems to be a central principle of the art.

In order to reconcile this apparent discrepancy it is necessary to look at Fühlen in a different way, a way which I have chosen to call “Active Fühlen.” The core idea of Active Fühlen is quite simple: When a bind occurs, the swordsman instantly responds with the correct technique to use if the enemy is soft in the bind—no stopping to feel the bind, you simply acts Indes. If the technique works, all is well: The enemy was, in fact, soft in the bind, and he should now be dead.

If, however, the enemy was hard in the bind then it is very likely the technique intended for someone soft in the bind will fail; in the case of the example given above the attacker will be unable to lift his sword up and over his opponent’s head for the slice without actively fighting his strength—which would violate another core principle of our art. In that case, the attacker instantly (Indes!) knows that his opponent is hard in the bind, and can go on to do the appropriate technique.

Thus, Active Fühlen refers to testing the bind without pause or hesitation. There is no moment of consideration in which the enemy can take the initiative of the fight because you are never still once the bind occurs (which we know to do from Hs 3227a). Most techniques intended for use in a soft bind will not work in a hard bind, so this is a very good test of the bind. Another advantage is that it makes the decision about which technique to use more automatic; there is no hesitation as you think about the correct technique to use in that situation which, again, helps to maintain the initiative of the fight.

The reason for automatically using the technique appropriate to a soft bind is that if it fails then nothing is likely to happen—you simply will not be able to do the technique, but will remain safely in the bind. If anything, it will probably cause your opponent to put even more force into the bind when he feels you moving against him. If, however, you tried to use a technique intended for a hard bind and your opponent was soft in the bind there is a good chance he would be able to hit you while you are acting; a soft bind is often indicative of someone pulling out of the bind to do something, for example. Thus, it is essential to test the bind with a technique intended for use in a soft bind.

We examined one example of Active Fühlen above with the Zwerchhau, now let us look at two more. If the attacker strikes with a Zornhau, then the defender can respond with the Zornhau Ort. The defender strikes down into the attacker’s sword with his own Zornhau, then thrusts Indes into the attacker from the bind. This is Active Fühlen because the Zornhau Ort will only work when the attacker is soft in the bind. Recognizing this fact is what first indicated this might be the solution to the Fühlen/Indes problem. If the attacker is hard in the bind the defender has a variety of choices about what to do depending upon whether the attacker pushes his sword out, down, or holds fast (the Zucken, Durchwechseln and Winden respectively), but in each case the attacker will make a specific motion which instantly tells the defender what he should do.

For the final example, let us turn to the pollaxe: In Le Jeu de La Hache we are told that when a bind of the queues (the tails of the axes) occurs we are to either push around and down, ripping the enemy’s queue away, then strike, or we are to leave the bind, dipping under the enemy’s queue and then knocking it away on the other side before striking as before (Le Jeu paragraphs 35-41). It is clear that to push your opponent’s queue around and down he must be soft in the bind, thus it is obvious which technique to use Indes in the bind. If that does not work, then the enemy is clearly hard in the bind and you should drop under his axe to backhand it away from below.

Not all techniques specify a hard or soft bind; in those cases Active Fühlen has no place. For example, in the queue displacement against an overhand blow in Le Jeu de La Hache (paragraphs 3-5) we are given only one type of response. This is because the displacement itself sets the nature of the bind, thus obviating any need to test it.

While no Fechtbuch discusses Active Fühlen in plain terms, this appears to be the only way to reconcile the instructions to both wait to feel the bind and also to act instantly without hesitation, and careful full-speed experimentation demonstrates that the principle works very well. Moreover, the play of the Zornhau Ort discussed above seems to suggest exactly this process; perhaps there is a very good reason this is the first technique in most longsword texts. Thus, Active Fühlen should not be seen as an addition or a change to Liechtenauer’s canon, but rather an attempt to explain what was meant all along.

Controlling Measure

Most techniques can be characterized as either first attacks or counterattacks. Most counterattacks can be broken into two parts, the defensive and the offensive. The simplest version of this is a block followed by an attack. This applies even to single-time techniques, although with such techniques the defensive and offensive parts are combined so that they are performed simultaneously. Even if the defender avoids an attack (with no block) and strikes, the avoiding action still counts as the defensive part of the play, because something has to be done to negate the incoming attack.

In armored combat, choosing what action to use for the offensive part of the counterattack is a complex process. The primary decision factors include the nature of the combat, the nature and protection of the target area, and the actions of the attacker during the counterattack. One factor, however, that has very little bearing on the decision of which offensive action to use is the distance between the attacker and defender: Contrary to the misguided notions expressed in a recent pollaxe video, the defender does not make his choice of defensive action based on his distance from the attacker, because a skilled fighter sets that distance himself during the defensive phase of the counterattack. More on this below.

Medieval armored combat came in several flavors, but in the broadest sense it can be broken into just two: Sportive and lethal. Sport combat refers to friendly (a relative term, of course) deeds of arms in which the primary intent was to avoid killing or seriously wounding one’s opponent, even when sharp weapons of war were used. A variety of methods were used to make such fights safer, including limiting thrusting attacks and having the presiding noble stop the fight when especially dangerous situations arose. Lethal combats, contrariwise, were intended to end in death, and the techniques used favored those which would kill quickly, such as thrusts to unarmored targets.

In a friendly deed of arms fought with pollaxes, a strike to the head might be displaced with the shaft of the axe followed by a hook with the fluke on the back of the axe to pull the attacker to the ground (often grounds for the presiding noble to stop the fight). While that same technique might be used in a lethal fight (followed by falling on the attacker and going after gaps in his harness with a dagger), a better option might be to simply thrust into a gap in the attacker’s harness with the spike of the axe. This is an example of how the nature of the combat could effect the choice of which offensive action the defender might use during a counterattack.

The nature of the target was another factor to be considered. Although it might seem counterintuitive, in most friendly deeds of arms the combatants fought with their visors closed for maximum protection (Jacques de Lalaing being a notable exception that proved the rule), while in many lethal combats they fought with their visors open for better vision. Thus, in a lethal combat the defender might choose to thrust to the face against an attacker whose visor was open, or he might choose to strike his head or grapple if the visor was closed. (NB: These are simplified examples; in a real life encounter the choices were more complex.)

Finally, the choice of offensive action might be influenced by the actions of the attacker. For example, if the defender attempts to thrust at the attacker’s face with the queue of his axe and the attacker steps back to avoid the thrust, the defender can simply follow after him with a strike to the head. Or, if the attacker makes as if to displace the counterattack, the defender can shift the target somewhere else, such as the attacker’s hand. This, however, is something that defender cannot know about in advance (although it must be planned for), and so has little bearing on this discussion.

In order to keep all of these options open, the defender must take control of the measure of the fight. This means that during the defensive phase of the counterattack, the defender must move in such a way as to place himself where he needs to be to do the offensive choice that best suits the situation. He can step into the displacement with a longer or a shorter step, or he can stand fast, or he can step backwards, again with steps of varying lengths.

This idea is expressed brilliantly in the first three plays of Le Jeu de La Hache (an anonymous fifteenth-century pollaxe book): In each case, the attacker steps forward to strike the defender’s head with his mail (the hammer head of his axe), to which the defender responds by displacing the attack with the tail of his axe and then either thrusting into the attacker’s face with his queue (the spike on the bottom of the shaft) or striking the attacker’s head with his mail (which requires an extra step). So essentially the same technique is shown three times, but in different circumstances: In the first and third techniques, the defender is standing with the head of his axe forward, while in the second he is standing with the tail of his axe forward. In the first technique the defender steps forward to effect the displacement, in the second he steps not at all, and in the third he steps backward. Clearly, then, the defender is controlling the measure of the fight during the defensive phase of the counterattack. He is not stepping to some random spot and then using an offensive action that works best at whatever distance he happens to be from his attacker, he is stepping so as to be at the right distance to use the technique he wants to use.

Therefore, in conclusion, it should be clear that the defender should control the distance of the fight during the defensive phase of his counterattack, and the nature of the offensive phase of the counterattack should be determined not by the distance from the attacker, but according to the nature of the fight and the target to be attacked. The notion that the offensive phase of a counterattack is determined by the distance to the enemy reflects a lack of understanding of the basic principles of armored combat. Of course, one must be flexible: It is easy to make a mistake in the judgment of measure, making it necessary to switch to a different technique based on the distance to the attacker, but this should be considered an emergency choice based on error.

Roles in Formal Exercises

Frequent readers of this blog will note that I often turn to traditional Japanese martial arts training processes for training students of HEMA. I do not use their techniques, interpretations or customs because I believe those to be contrary to the cultural aspects inherent in studying medieval German martial arts, but I recognize that these traditional methods of training and practice are vastly superior to the disgraceful nature of what is seen in most martial arts classes in these sorry days.

Like traditional Japanese martial artists, I recognize that free play is completely useless and meaningless when it comes to learning unarmored forms of combat, and that repetitive drills and formal exercises (called kata in Japan) are vastly superior and far more realistic when it comes to learning a true martial art.

When I first started teaching the Kunst des Fechtens, we simply called the attacker in these drills or formal exercises the “bad guy” and the defender the “good guy.” This nomenclature emerged as a joke, really, but as I thought about it I came to realize that this joke cost me a training opportunity, namely, being able to reinforce their real roles to the partners. Now, we refer to the attacker as the “teacher” and the defender as the “student,” regardless of their actual relative ranks, and emphasis is placed upon having the teacher lead the student through the exercise through correct use of measure, timing, etc. Again and again we emphasize that the student cannot learn properly unless the teacher teaches him the correct lesson—that is, does his attack correctly in all respects.

In his book on the ten kata of modern kendo, Paul Budden expresses this idea precisely, and also gives us some vital insights into the nature of formal exercises. Kata are often thought of derisively by poorly-trained modern martial artists because they never have the discipline necessary to advance far enough in training to fully understand them. Done properly, however, formal exercises, like kata, become living things that teach the reality of combat far better than two partially-trained students who just want to fight will ever learn in their clumsy attempts at free play.

“The idea that kata is practice for killing is a misconception. True representation is the high level training method as performed by two noble beings, correct in posture, dress and attitude, preparing to exact the practice of swordsmanship with true dignity and although both totally committed to the technique, they work within the dedicated guidelines to the utmost of their ability and control. It is a confrontation, with the resolve to carry it through to its conclusion. This conclusion is not stylized death with cuts that kill or pretend to. The feeling is of uchidachi [the attacker—HTK] as the teacher because he must lead shidachi [the defender—HTK] through the kata. His sole purpose is to teach to the student the responses and techniques offered through his attack. Timing is created by uchidachi’s lead, thereby establishing the correct distance, the necessary responses and zanshin (awareness, unbroken concentration). To this end, it is necessary for uchidachi in each kata to strike or thrust at specific areas for shidachi to learn and practice the correct responses. Each response... clearly demonstrates the complete control and the technique… The most important part of kata must be the ‘feeling,’ practicing with true sentiment but in very simple terms…

This almost electric feeling is sometimes apparent in the highest level demonstration by true exponents of the art. Keep your body strong by the correct use of breathing, kiai and awareness, and observe your opponent as a whole being rather than just watching his sword, feet or eyes…

This is the essence of the Kata, making it a living, vital and realistic form. It is not the clockwork motion that unfortunately is often the nature of kata today.”

(Budden, P., Looking At A Far Mountain, Tuttle, 2000, pp. 21-23)

Correcting An Interpretation From Christian Tobler's Pollaxe DVD

In a review of Christian Tobler’s recent pollaxe DVD I noted that Tobler failed to document the techniques in his DVD, making it very difficult for scholars of the art to know the sources of the techniques being demonstrated, which, in turn, made it difficult to analyze Tobler’s interpretations.

Last week I posted a video demonstrating that one of the techniques shown in Tobler’s pollaxe DVD was executed poorly. Replying in the comments section to my video, Tobler demonstrated the validity of my allegation about his failure to cite his sources. He claimed that my video, even though it matched the one shown in his DVD precisely, was not the technique he was trying to show; he also claimed that because of this, my complaint was invalid (see 28:07 on the DVD in the chapter on the Durchwechseln). The video clip and Tobler’s comments can be seen here.

According to Tobler, the technique he meant to show is one taken from the Paulus Kal Fechtbuch in Vienna’s KHM, manuscript KK 5126, specifically the fourth technique. In his recent book In Saint George’s Name (Freelance Academy Press 2010), Tobler gives this translation for the technique:
“Item: If binds to you such that both hammers stand above and strikes with brute force (lit. “peasant’s strike”), then sense this and pretend as if you intend to parry and let his blow pass before you so that you have the hook at the neck or a free stroke to the head, shoulder or arm.” (Tobler 2010 p. 68)

The technique shown in his DVD, however, represents an inaccurate interpretation of the fourth technique, and lacking any citation, this made it very difficult to identify the technique he was trying to show.

The version of the fourth technique shown on the DVD went like this: The attacker winds up for a powerful “peasant stroke,” and the defender started to move to displace the attack. The attacker never tried to hit the defender, instead, he swung his attack in front of the defender to bind with the defender’s displacement. Thus, the attacker’s axe is well out to the defender’s right side in the bind. From there, the defender simply pulls his axe back out of the bind, then strikes the attacker on the other side of the attacker’s axe.

The problem with this interpretation is that it does not reflect a plausible combat action. Had the defender started to counterattack it would be plausible for the attacker to change the angle of his attack to bind with the defender’s attack (but unlikely since we are told it is a “peasant’s stroke” or huge, powerful swing—not something easy to redirect in mid swing), but that is not what the text says: It specifically says that the defender feigns a Versetzen or displacement (Tobler prefers the word “parry,” however, that word should be used for deflections, not hard stops as shown here), not an attack. There would be no reason whatsoever for the attacker to change the angle of his attack, even supposing he could, to bind with a displacement; it makes no sense. The entire reason for using a huge, over-powered swing is to blast through any possible defense, so it is unreasonable to assume someone doing so would give up his attack for an unnecessary bind (since the defender's displacement does the attacker no harm) with no possibility of causing damage.

Also, note that the text says nothing about a bind actually occurring as is shown in Tobler’s DVD, it says to pretend as if you were going to do so.

Thus, Tobler’s interpretation clearly does not match the intent of the text. It is simply not reasonable to assume that a wild, overdone blow can be redirected in mid swing, and it is unreasonable to assume the user would want to even if he could.

A more reasonable interpretation of the fourth play focuses on getting the attacker’s axe to pass in front of the defender in a way that might actually happen in a realistic fight, and the author gives us the clue to understand that by specifying a “peasant’s strike.” Assuming the attacker has any sense of measure, he is striking at the correct range to hit the defender. Therefore, in order to cause the attacker’s axe to pass harmlessly to his front, the defender must slip back as the attack comes in. Then, since the attacker used a “peasant’s strike”—that is, one that is hard to stop or redirect—the attacker’s axe will swing harmlessly by, and the defender can step in at his leisure to hook or strike his opponent. This is the entire reason the anonymous author specified the “peasant’s strike,” to make it clear this is a case where a strike actually aimed at a real target (i.e., the defender’s head, not his axe) could be made to swing past harmlessly. This one clue makes the entire play make sense.

My students and I have prepared a new video demonstrating both Tobler’s flawed interpretation of the fourth play and a more reasonable interpretation as described above. That video can be seen here.