Swords & Scabbards
By Andrew Yamato
Although primarily armed as spearmen, most hoplites carried a sidearm for last-ditch close combat.
Greek hoplites were generally armed with one of two types of iron swords as a secondary weapon. Descended from bronze Mycenaean styles, the leaf-shaped, double-edged xiphos is by far the most commonly depicted style in vase art, with a short version (optimized for close phalanx combat) being closely associated with Spartans (and later emulated by the Thebans). The best off-the-shelf replicas for both sizes (further distinguished by having usable scabbards) are made by Deepeeka, and are widely carried by vendors. Artisanally made custom-swords are much nicer, of course, but priced accordingly.
In the late 6th century, we start seeing depictions of a heavy, single-edged sword that often (not always) feature a recurved blade. Known to the Greeks as a kopis (“chopper”) or makhaira, this weapon may have been adapted from knives used for butchery or sacrificial purposes (also seen in vase art), or it may have been adopted from the east, where the Persian Empire and Greece civilization were just coming into contact in this period. Around the same time, a similar recurved sword was being developed in the western Mediterranean; the Iberian falcata, which would go on to in Carthaginian hands to terrorize Roman legions. What exactly differentiated a kopis or makhaira from a falcata is a matter of some debate, but it’s generally accepted that heavily recurved swords with enclosed or semi-enclosed handles are falcatas, while the Greek swords tended to be straighter, with cross guards and carved pommels.
By this definition, my own sword is probably best classified as a falcata. I’ve made my peace with this. It was a gift (my first piece of kit, in fact), it’s very well made, it lacks many of the features which make certain falcatas especially Iberian, and the fact of Mediterranean trade in the 5th century renders it plausible for a wealthy Athenian hoplite such as I portray to have owned one. Having said that, I would encourage others to purchase the more unmistakably Greek kopis that’s available off the shelf from Deepeeka and carried by vendors like Kult of Athena. As with most replica blades, the scabbard is unusable.
Making a Scabbard
Making a scabbard isn’t especially difficult. Start with two 1/4” thick poplar boards (I used 1/2” and wish I hadn’t). Trace the outline of your blade and make allowance for its widest part needing to clear the scabbard. Use a router or hand chisel to carefully carve out the channel for the blade in each half of the scabbard. Before gluing the halves together, dry assemble with clamps and test frequently to ensure the blade is held securely while still being easy to draw.
Greek scabbards were wrapped in linen or leather. My previous leather-wrapped scabbard had been quite chewed up by the sharp edges on the turned-back lip of my bronze shield rim, so I was looking for something extremely tough. In light of my half-Japanese heritage I figured stingray skin (frequently used on katana swords and scabbards) would be perfect; stingray skin is covered with a natural armor of boney nodules, but these can be sanded down to produced a smooth but very durable surface. After determining that stingrays are indeed found in the Mediterranean and that my speculation was therefore historically plausible, I ordered a polished and dyed stingray hide.
Unlike xiphos scabbards, for which we have extensive artistic documentation, the shape of kopis scabbards is a bit more speculative. Many vases show them curved or pointed, but often in a physically impossible manner. Other vases show straight xiphos scabbards being used — also physically impossible. At least one vase shows a blunt rectangular shape, so that’s what I went with. I forged an iron chape and throat to cap the ends (neither based on any archaeological finds — just minimal metal to get the job done) and dressed the open end with a piece of blood red leather.
My baldric is also speculative. Simple leather cord doubled and bound by a series of leather bands, it is both simple and adjustable, and is my practical hypothesis about what the “ladder” shaped baldrics we so often see in art might be representing.