This week, we’re going to take a look at a different aspect of ancient infantry tactics: how heavy infantry shield formations work. While I’ve framed this around ‘shield walls,’ not every kind of shielded heavy infantry fought that way and in practice the line between what is a ‘shield wall’ and what isn’t comes down to formation structure and can be quite fuzzy. For the sake of this post, we’re going to frame the topic rather more broadly: how do infantry formations of heavy infantry with shields who are mutually-supporting function? That can mean overlapped shields, but as we’ll see, it usually doesn’t.
This is an element of ancient and medieval fighting that popular culture almost invariably gets wrong, with formations that are typically both too dense, too complex and trying too hard to be clever. We’ve critiqued a few of these before: the preposterous tactics of Game of Thrones come to mind, but fit into a broader trend of pop-culture writers trying to overcomplicate and outsmart classic battle tactics. So lets instead talk about some of our best-attested close-order infantry formations: how dense were they? How did they function? And what role did the shield play?
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Shields on the Screen
As I implied above, the depiction on screen of how a shield wall functions is usually quite bad. There are two common problems. The first is are shield walls that are much too much like walls. Often the shields are vertically stacked to make a rather literal wall, as with this example from The Last Kingdom:
Both armies are kind of mobs until the vikings here suddenly assume a rigid formation, evidently something they’ve practiced quite a bit.
That in turn may be taken up to eleven by having some kind of complete shield coverage, sometimes as a stationary dome of shields (as in 300) or in some kind of take on the Roman testudo, as in Troy (2004), pictured below. In this case, the formation is presumably meant to provide safety from arrows.
You can probably already see the immediate problem: these shield walls often cannot move and you can’t actually fight in them (indeed, in the example from Troy, they have to break the shieldwall to actually come into close combat). They also, perhaps somewhat paradoxically, trade that mobility for a lot more protection than they need. As we’ll see, you just don’t need this much shield coverage in order to render your infantry formation tolerably safe from arrows, while on the other hand giving up the ability to move is an enormous disadvantage because of course it means an opponent can simply keep shooting you.
The other problem is one I’ve seen more of lately which is a formation that has dedicated two-handed shield-bearers supported by dedicated two-handed pikemen. This is, to my knowledge, not a formation ever used in history. It would be absurdly vulnerable, given that the moment either the pikeman or the shieldman is killed, that entire file stops functioning. Some armies did have units which were composites of different troop types (this is common in Han-dynasty Chinese armies, for instance, and a standard feature of warfare in the Near East in the early iron age), but never in a way that makes each totally reliant on the other providing either all of the offense or all of the defense. ‘Shieldbearers’ of various types were effectively always spear-and-shield infantry who could defend themselves in close combat. That said, there is a historical pike-and-shield formation, the Macedonian sarissa-phalanx, and we’ll talk about how that actually works (it does not include dedicated shield-bearers).
In all cases, these formations are extremely dense, with men typically both shoulder-to-shoulder with no lateral space but also with very tight rows (that is, very close front-to-back). This is a more complex issue, but as we’re going to see, shield walls don’t need to be this tight and I think on balance generally weren’t.
I actually suspect the increasing appearance of this nonsense formation has to do with people thinking about pre-modern combat in terms of game mechanics. A lot of turn-based tactics games (Battle Brothers comes to mind) make placing a long-reach weapon trooper (like a pikeman) behind a shield-and-sword trooper a strong tactic (whereas in practice, unless your formation is entirely designed for this as a pure pike formation, the fellow in the front is in the way of the fellow in the back).
None of these formations work particularly well, displaying a poor grasp of what is possible in a chaotic, swirling battlefield. So we’re going to look at what heavy infantry formations were actually like, with a focus on some of the best attested examples from the ancient Mediterranean (some of which are shield walls and some of which are not).
Now as I look back on this post, before hitting ‘publish,’ I see that it comes in essentially two parts: a quite long and rather technical discussion (with diagrams that I spent far too much time making!) of shield coverage and formation spacing, followed by some rather briefer conclusions at the end about how these formations actually worked. I’ll not cut the technical stuff – we are here for pedantry, after all – but if you want to skip through it, the ‘how to actually shieldwall’ part of the essay is at the end, under the section heading, “How to Actually Shieldwall.”
A Boy and His Shield
Let’s start by talking about the basic dimensions of these shields. The Greek aspis, the classic shield of the hoplite, was about 90cm in diameter; some later Macedonian shields (used by pike-wielding phalangites by means of a shoulder-strap) were a little bit smaller, but only a little. The Roman scutum during the republic was about 120cm (tall) by 60-65cm (wide), curved so that the soldier could put his body into it.1 The later rectangular imperial-period version of this shield was a touch smaller; the shield recovered from Dura Europos measures 105.5cm by 41cm. The oval La Tène shield clearly could vary quite a bit, but was in the same basic size range, with the most intact example from the site of La Tène itself (where deposition in water resulted in the wood being preserved) looks to have been roughly 110cm by 51cm. Moving into the Middle Ages, the ubiquitous center-grip early medieval roundshield used by Franks, Angles, Saxons, and Scandanvians (read: Vikings) of various kinds varies a lot in size but tends to fit in the range of around 75-90cm in diameter, which you may note is the same rough size as the aspis.
The point I am trying to make is that large, battlefield shields tend to vary within a relatively narrow range of sizes and basically two major shape categories, either round or oblong (a category which fits both ancient oval shields but also later kite shields, which have broadly similar dimensions, being around 90-100cm tall). Oddly, one repeat feature in popular depictions are square – not rectangular, but square – shields wielded in the manner of round shields; these, as far as I can tell, did not exist (it would have been a fairly silly shape to have a flat, square shield). Of course those categories are reductive and there are all sorts of variations within them – the degree to which the shield is dished or curved, the grip-type, the presence of metal bosses or rims, other reinforcements, and so on. Those variations are meaningful and often point to how a shield was intended to be used in its context.
But as noted, the shield wall is a very widely used combat tactic, almost certainly the most widely used agrarian infantry formation and so it is going to depend on the features that are common to these shields, which is the basic size, being in the neighborhood of 75-90cm tall and either round (and thus 90cm wide) or oblong and around 50-60cm wide.
And the first thing we ought to note is that this is actually quite a lot of protection. These shields are big, indeed often bigger than the props used to represent them in films or video games. To get a sense of how big, let’s try a convenient little diagram here of various shields sized against a person. Note that my little person-diagrams are meant to show width-at-shoulders (a bit more than 45cm (1.5′); the standard way to measure width-at-shoulders is from the top right above the joint, but of course the arm does not have zero-thickness, so a person’s shoulders, arms held down, are a bit wider than this). An actual soldier occupies more space than this, usually around three feet, accounting for both his limbs and weapons – however when thinking about protection, it is the trunk of the body we care about, thus the width-at-shoulder diagram. But of course in a fight, each soldier is going to turn his body away, advancing the shield and refusing the rest of his body; turned like this, these shields cover basically the whole body.
And of course these shields also have different shapes. The aspis and the medieval round shield are, well, round meaning, which means when held defensively, they’re going to be wider and offer more coverage around the central torso and narrow around the shoulders and the hips. This isn’t as big of a disadvantage as it seems at first – one thing to always keep in mind is that, biomechanically, all close-combat strikes must originate from shoulder-height. The further they stray from that height, the more power and reach are lost. Meanwhile, as we’ve discussed before, the chest and head are the key parts of the body that have to be most protected and this even a rounded shield does well.
The other thing to note in terms of what kind of coverage is going to be required is that no one stands in combat with their chest pointed straight at the enemy. Instead, a fighting stance places the legs apart and their body nearly perpendicular to the line of battle, presenting a narrow target (with their shield arm turned out towards the enemy). The right side of the body might be brought forward for a strike, but the ‘neutral’ position when actually in close combat is as shown in the lower set of diagrams up there.
That in turn has implications for the angles a shield protects from. Even held close to the body, a good shield doesn’t just protect from dead ahead, but offers a pretty wide arc of protection because the body is turned narrow-face towards the enemy. But shields don’t need to be held passively this way: even ‘strap-gripped’ shields like the aspis (with its porpax and antelabe grip) have a pretty wide range of movement in an arc in front of the body. Center-grip shields (like the La Tène shield, the Roman scutum or the early medieval roundshield) can be potentially even more mobile in front of the body, as they can be advanced much further out. Efforts to reconstruct medieval shield fighting – necessarily speculative as most of our fighting manuals come from the later Middle Ages when shields were less central to combat – tends, reasonably in my view, to extrapolate from buckler-fighting treatises and from period artwork that on the offensive shields were often extended out to open attack routes. But even then, because they’re big, a shield used offensively in this manner could simultaneously close off huge regions to attack, as seen in these diagrams here:
As an aside, someone just looking at those diagrams might wonder why you would ever advance your shield like the figure on the right. And the answer is, if you can keep your opponent in the ‘blocked’ zone (the darker blue), you can use the shield to intercept and turn aside their weapon, move into their fighting space (‘into measure’ in fencing terminology – into range to land your own blow) and use your shield to move their shield out of position to apply a strike. Its an aggressive stance, but also an effective one and it appears not infrequently in artwork. You could also, of course, strike with the rim of your shield or the central metal boss (the grey nub in the middle) with great effect, and we know that was done too.
But the point I want to make with these diagrams is that a soldier alone with that shield can use it both offensively and defensively and also create a fairly wide arc of relative safety against a single opponent. The single opponent is important, because notice how crucial moving the shield is to achieving that comprehensive protection – a second opponent might either time their attack to catch the shield out of position or else they might be unnoticed entirely as our shield-bearing infantryman focuses on the first. But so long as someone else is occupying that potential second enemy, our shielded fellow has a wide lateral arc of protection from just the shield! That in turn has an implication for these formations: the fellows covering your flanks do not need to be right next to you, and as we’ll see in most fighting formations, they weren’t.
And of course from there we also need to consider vertical protection. And here, period artwork actually does us a lot of favors because they frequently show shields at scale with the figure in profile or straight on to give us a good sense of how much of the body they covered. And the answer was by far most of it. The Roman scutum is surely the most protective – at c. 120cm and with an oblong shape (and a curved shape) it can cover basically the entire body from ankle to shoulder, while its center grip makes it easy to pivot around the body or lift up to cover the face. We’ll get to, in a moment, why I think the Romans went for this rather extreme form of shield in a moment. But it is not so different from the others. With a 90cm diameter, a hoplite aspis is going to cover a hoplite from just above the knee to the shoulder; a medieval roundshield has a similar level of coverage (though again let me stress that these shield types vary a fair bit in size and these are rough average sizes; some are bigger, some are smaller!).
And because, as mentioned any close-combat attack originates, mechanically, from shoulder-height, that’s quite good coverage. Striking feet or the lower-legs with a sword or a spear is doable, but tricky and the long extension to hit those targets means the attacker is going to be vulnerable themselves (especially as spears are often used overhand in such close combat and so are striking down from above shoulder height and so would have to pass through the shield to get to the legs). Making matters worse, feet and legs move a lot in combat, making them harder to hit and worse yet, strikes to the limbs may not be lethal or even debilitating and it is a poor trade if, to score a glancing blow on someone’s shin, you open yourself up for a lethal blow to the neck or face. The one situation where you might be really worried about hits to the legs not protected by the shield would be in the case of incoming ranged fire, like arrows, shot at close range (because at long range, the missiles will be plunging downward) – put a pin in that for a moment, we’ll come back to it.
However this system does neatly explain why you do not need dedicated, pure-shield-bearers (with no spear or sword) as one often sees in TV or video games: one-handed shields are perfectly capable of protecting the whole body fairly well. There’s simply no need for some super-jumbo shield that requires both hands or the whole of a soldier’s attention.
But with that all laid down we can now turn to the shield wall as a formation and how multiple shield-carrying infantry interact with it. And let’s start with:
Phalanxes
When thinking about how a shield wall functions in battle, we have to think of it as a formation. Now this is a narrow path to walk with pitfalls on either side: on the one hand, these were more-or-less regular formations; these are not mobs. The men in these kinds of infantry formations formed up roughly in square grids, they had somewhat standard spacing within those grids, they could move together in at least very basic maneuvers (like ‘march forward’) while more or less keeping formation and so on. On the other hand, these men are not robots and are often not extensively drilled or trained in maneuvers, so everything about these formations is approximate. As we’ll see, spacing is often determined by rough body-part measurements (like the length of an arm or forearm) rather than someone coming out with a measuring stick and in actual formations there’s a fair bit of space for jostling and movement, because of course there is. So the first trap is assuming too little organization, like these armies are little more than an unruly school class on a field-trip, while the second trap is instead imposing upon them the ultra-regimented values – rarely achieved in practice – of early modern European gunpowder armies with their ideal of the ‘mechanical soldier.’2
There are a few key ‘variables’ for any given formation within this framework. First, there is the basic question of depth: how many men does each file (that is, each line from the front to the rear of the formation; files are vertical, rows are horizontal) have? Even within military systems, there’s a lot of variance. For instance, as Roel Konijnendijk has noted,3 even among Greek hoplite armies – an identifiable if politically fragmented military system – there is a wide range of reported army depths, though clean multiples or divisions of 6 and 8 are very common and 8 is the most common, suggesting those might have been typical depths. Historically speaking, one does see greater depths than this (the standard Macedonian sarissa(read: pike)-phalanx depth was 16), but rarely shallower ones. Depths of 2 or 3 – very common in Hollywood – are very rare on actual battlefields. Depth provides both strength by having men who can replace someone who falls in front but also by providing a morale-strengthening effect, building confidence from a deep formation.4
Formation width is often more variable, with a lot of formations having a set depth and then simply being as many men wide as could be managed, but we do see formations that have ‘standard’ widths as well. The Roman maniple (manipulus, ‘handful’) was the basic building block of a legion’s fighting line in the Middle Republic and was 120 men standard, typically arrayed six-deep for battle, so it had a formation width of 20 and a depth of 6 (though as we’ll see, it could probably also shift to a tighter file with a depth of 3 and a width of 40). Likewise, the syntagma, the 16-by-16 pike-square of the Macedonian and later Hellenistic armies, which was the standard building block of their battle line. That said, we’re less concerned with width here for now.
The other two measurements that matter are what we might term file width and row depth. ‘File width’ is the amount of horizontal space each person in the file takes up, while row depth is the amount of vertical space each person in a row takes up. Put another way, file width is how we figure out how closely soldiers were to the soldiers to their right and left, while row depth is how close they were to the ones in front and behind.
Those questions are tricky to figure out, however, both because they are much less often reported in our sources (many cultures, including that of Greek polis armies, have no attested figured) and because even when they are it can be really tricky to figure out what exactly is being counted and there are a few ways to express the idea. To take file width, you could count ‘tactical space’ (the space from the edge of the next person on the left to the next person on the right, the total zone in which the person in the middle can move), or perhaps the space from one right shoulder to the next left shoulder (the ‘interval’ or open space). I am going to focus on what we may properly call ‘file width’ which instead measures from one right shoulder to the next right shoulder here so that we have a standard measurement. That’s useful because this is a measure which counts every centimeter of frontage just once, without missing any. But that’s often not how file width is described in our sources, so often some conversion is necessary. Row depth has all of the same problems in counting and is even less commonly described in our sources.
The curious may be wondering, “why not just use artwork?” The answer here is fairly simple: ancient and medieval artwork is not typically realistic in its positioning of figures in a scene nor is it intended to be realistic (the artists are not bad, they are trying to do something other than represent realistic file width): figures instead tend to cluster together, overlapping often in unrealistic ways for the sake of artistic convention or composition or simply to fit all of the figures in the ‘frame.’ When we do have attested file widths, as we’ll see, artwork very much does not reflect them as we’ll see really clearly when we get to Roman file widths in a second.
That leaves us with literary sources: we do not have attested file widths or row depths for the hoplite phalanx or for formations like the Gallic shield wall, but we do for the Roman legion and the Macedonian phalanx. Polybius treats both formations (Polyb. 18.29 and 18.30) while a pack of what we might term military philosophers, most notably Asclepiodotus, offer discussions of the Macedonian formation. Difficulties assail us immediately: Polybius is the only eye-witness to these formations (the later military writers are writing about Macedonian warfare as an intellectual exercise and by their time, no one has fought that way in a century or more) and the interpretation of his passage is tricky, for Polybius seems to say that their spacing is the same and then immediately that it is very different. Neither formation is strictly speaking a shield wall (though the Macedonian one does create a wall of shields!), as we’ll see, but the spacing guidelines will get us somewhere, so let’s discuss them.
We can start with the Macedonians. Polybius gives the file width – for the soldier and his arms and the empty space together – as three feet (c. 90cm). Peter Connolly5 argues, persuasively in my view that Polybius is using all of his measurements a bit roughly. No one, after all, is pulling out a ruler in order to get the spacing right when forming up for battle. Instead, Connolly notes that Polybius provides a slew of measurements in the passage all of which are fairly clean multiples of a ‘double cubit,’ which is the length of one’s arm (the length of your forearm is a cubit, add your upper arm and make a fist and you now have about two cubits). Connolly supposes – and I think this is right – that Macedonian troops lined up by holding one arm level with the ground (with a balled fist) and placing it on the shoulder of the next man, creating a very rough two-cubit interval (technically a bit more).6 That leaves just one more interpretive question – are these men holding their arm out to the right or left (and thus we’d need to add the width of their shoulders) or are they instead lining up by putting their arm to the back of the man in front of them when marching and turn left- or right-facing into combat formation.
If the latter seems silly, it shouldn’t. We can be pretty sure, from Roman roads, among other things, that armies tended to march in column (roads are narrow) using their combat-files as marching rows (so that to shift into fighting formation, everyone just had to face right or left). That made deploying armies easier too and that ‘trick’ for getting quickly from column into a fighting line gets used a lot in history. In this case, I think the Macedonians form up with that two-cubit interval as a vertical spacing in column (with men shoulder-to-shoulder marching to use up the road) and then simply pivoted (which also conveniently creates the closely spaced rows in the combat formation which Polybius describes in the same passage); for reasons that will become clear, I think the 90cm file width (remember: right shoulder to right shoulder) is both correct and an inherited trait of the Macedonian phalanx that it owes to the earlier hoplite phalanx. That means that we’re not adding the shoulder-to-shoulder length but just the chest-to-back to get our file width, which comes out neatly to about 90cm, a figure I want you to put in your pocket for a second.
And what do you know, but our later military writers also record this file width. In particular Ascleopiodotus records three standard file widths: an open order width of c. 180cm (6 feet), a standard ‘compacted’ (πύκνωσις) width of 90cm (3 feet, keep in your pocket) and then a super-compact ‘shields together’ width of 45cm (1.5 feet) called συνασπισμός (lit, “shields together”). The other writers echo these standards and you may immediately notice the same neat multiples of cubits: this is a one cubit, two cubit or four cubit setup. Which is to say, again using the quick form-up trick, it is half-an-arm (hold your elbow to your side, extend your forearm, that’s your spacing), one arm or two arm (have your mate also extend his arm, move to when your arms meet).
Now we can diagram the tighter two of these formations (I think open order is, for now, pretty self-explanatory) and see some things.
Note that, compared to the aspis in the early diagrams, which was the hoplite aspis, the Macedonian aspis is a bit smaller, usually around 75cm. On the top of the diagram, we can see the relative position of the standard ‘compacted’ width marching forward with sarissa raised as they would while maneuvering (once you lower the sarissa points, you can’t readily turn the formation). At a casual glance, the interval makes perfect sense: with the shield and the pikes, this is as about close as you can get together without being in each other’s way. If you lower pikes in this formation, you get the middle diagram, with the dark line indicating where the front man’s sarissa is. But the whole point of this formation is that the front five sarissai can get in on the action and clearly they can project through that open space in the intervals, angled with each row so that no one’s sarissa-butt (which is going to be a few feet behind the fellow holding it for balance reasons, and these are held at waist-height) is poking into anyone (which would be the problem if you angled them or tried to have everyone’s sarissa placed vertically over the next).
Then you have the ultra-close synaspismos formation. And just based on the size of the shield, the normal size of a person and the need to have space for the sarissa, we can see that this is basically as tight as the formation can possibly be. Because it is exactly twice as tight as the ‘compacted’ formation, shifting between the two would be easy: just have the back half of every file move into the interval between the front half of every file. The Macedonian phalanx even has junior officers at this exact spot in the line to make the process work. At the same time, this formation is so tight that you can see how hard it is going to be to make it work. and it almost immediately makes sense why this ultra-tight formation is not the standard fighting formation (that is, according to our sources, the c. 90cm ‘compacted’ formation!). The shields have to be about about their maximum usable forward arc simply to fit everything; with all five sarissai leveled through the tiny space left, you aren’t going to be able to move them very freely. And remember, these weapons are supposed to be moving, jabbing at approaching enemies, trying to find gaps in shields and armor. That said, in this synaspismos, the level of shield coverage is very high from basically all directions, which would make this formation very resistant to attack (particularly by ranged weapons, since melee attack will be discouraged by the hedge of sarissai). You could see it as a closed formation to resist ranged fire, but you’d want to loosen it again to actually fight.
It is thus worth noting even here – we’ll see it even more clearly in a moment – that the most dense formation was not, in actual battle conditions, generally the best, because soldiers even using pikes (much less swords or spears) need space to move both themselves and their weapons in order to fight effectively. This is one of those cases where the video-game logic (pack as many men as close together so they can all deal their 1d10 piercing damage) doesn’t actually work on real battlefields where the physics are every bit as complex as real physics.
But of course the sarissa-phalanx was an unusual creature, a pike-and-shield formation. What it does demonstrate is the pointlessness of Hollywood formations where pikemen (without shields) are protected by men who carry nothing but shields, but what about shield walls? Here, I actually think the evidence we’ve run through is useful because of how the sarissa-phalanx developed: it was an innovation on the hoplite phalanx, which was a traditional shield wall. In particular, what I suspect is going on here is that the Macedonians when developing their arms started with a standard file-width of 90cm (and thus a natural double-width of 180 and half-width of 45cm) they inherited from the hoplite phalanx (which has a roughly 90cm shield!) and then, shifting to a pike formation had to make a smaller shield to make a tight formation work with the shields and the pikes. Remember, no one is measuring the synaspismos out: you simply form a normal 90cm file width file and then have the back half of the file advance forward into the open interval.
No source attests the width of the hoplite phalanx, but if we work from this assumption, the results broadly speaking make sense.7 Measuring out a 90cm file width for a hoplite is easy: the file width is roughly the diameter of the shield. Line up so your shield is just about touching the shield of the hoplite to your right and the formation is set. Assuming a normal interval around 90cm (because again, the diameter of the hoplite aspis is not perfectly fixed and these formations are not perfectly regular) also makes sense of Thucydides’ famous remark that hoplites in the advance tended to drift rightward to seek more protection from the shield of the man to their right (Thuc. 5.71). For that drift to happen, there needs to be open space for each hoplite to drift into.
Still at this interval, each hoplite is still supporting his neighbor, even though the shields do not overlap, because he is still closing off that route of attack by occupying it and forcing the attention of any enemy attempting to move into it. And Greek writing resounds with the importance of holding a position in the line. Thus Agesilaus supposedly quipped to a physically lame Spartan going to war and thought he needed a horse, “war has need, not of those who run away, but of those who stand their ground?” (Plut. Mor. 210f) and of course the famous Spartan aphorism of Demaratus that a soldier carries their shield for the entire line (Plut. Mor. 220a). Likewise Tyrtaeus’ praise that, “It benefits the whole community and state, when with a firm stance in the foremost rank a man bides steadfast, with no thought of shameful flight, laying his life and stout heart on the line, and standing by the next man speaks encouragement. This is the man of worth in time of war.”8
The aspis, like all of these shields is big and can cover pretty much the whole body in fighting stance; Tyrtaeus actually says this too, calling “Let every man, then, feet set firm apart, bite on his lip and stand against the foe, his thighs and shins, his shoulders and his chest all hidden by the broad bulge of his shield.”9 So it isn’t necessarily the needed overlap of shields that matters here, but the presence of the hoplite on each side who both physically occupies the space that makes up your vulnerable flanks but also by their own threat forces the opponents diagonal from you to face them and not you. In short, the support being offered is as much psychological – both for you and the enemy – as it is physical.
At the same time, denser formations were clearly employed. We do get a few scattered references to synaspismos dealing with the older hoplite phalanx (e.g. Xen. Hell. 3.5.11, 7.4.23, though only the latter is used literally of a formation), so the clearly could form up tightly as well. And if you look at the diagram above, the spacing barely works out; because hoplites held their spears overhand, it is fine if there is no space for them amidst the men. It’s possible the hoplite synaspismos was a bit looser than this. Still, again, it can be little wonder that this seems not to have been the common fighting formation.
Now lets jump over to shield formations in the western Mediterranean.
The Tortoise and the Hispaniensis
And this brings us to the various multi-level shield walls or shield domes or variations on the testudo-formation. Now the testudo, a Roman formation which used the large Roman scutum to create a moving ‘box’ of shields (on the top, front and sides) for a very high degree of coverage was a real thing. You can see an example from the Column of Trajan below. But while this was a Roman formation, it was hardly the normal Roman formation and in fact one thing we hear quite a lot in the sources was that the testudo was bad for fighting in. Instead, the main purpose of it was in situations where the Romans would have to endure sustained ranged attack. That was quite rare in field battles, so the normal use-case for the testudo was in sieges, allowing infantry to approach walls and gates with minimal losses.
Even without the testudo, the popular vision of Roman fighting is the use of really dense shield walls. Note for instance the really densely packed formations in Gladiator (2000):
Likewise, the opening scene of HBO’s Rome, which I actually like a few things about, but these guys are really densely packed. Here’s an overhead shot while they’re changing out the front rank (a thing the Romans did, although how they did it is going to become a lot more obvious in a second):
The Romans did not fight this way, at least, not in the late Republic and early Imperial periods.
And to see how, we can go back to our question about spacing and back to that same difficult passage of Polybius. Fortunately, I think Michael Taylor has largely succeeded10 in getting what Polybius is trying to say. Polybius comments of the Romans that “Each Roman with his equipment also occupies three feet” but that their style of fighting means they also “clearly require a space and flexibility between each other, so that each soldier must have three feet from the man to their flank and rear, if they are to be effective.”11 What confused scholars in that passage is that Polybius seems first to say Roman spacing is the same, and then that it is more spaced out. What Taylor correctly recognizes is that what he’s actually saying is that a Roman soldier physically occupies as much space as a Macedonian soldier, but requires more open air to move in.
On the other hand, the easy reading here would be to assume that Polybius is imagining three foot open intervals between each soldier, a file width of six feet (three ‘double cubits,’ or c. 1.8m), which is way too wide. Instead, Taylor argues that Polybius is expressing tactical space, but that measure – as noted above – double counts some space. If we account for that, a tactical space of six feet (the space from the right shoulder of one soldier, through a middle soldier to the left shoulder of the next, so interval + body + interval again) produces a file width of 4.5 feet (right shoulder to right shoulder, so interval + body). That’s a wider interval than the Hellenistic phalanx (or indeed, the hoplite phalanx), c. 135cm to their c. 90cm (remember, these measurements don’t need to be exact, they’re not lining up by ruler), but it is a natural enough spacing to achieve quickly, because you can just line up holding out your right arm at touch distance to the left shoulder of the next fellow and get the spacing roughly right.12
That produces a spacing system that looks like this:
And it produces exactly the sort of effect Polybius then goes on to describe: a single Roman soldier might have to deal with ten sarissai (Polyb. 18.30.9) in order to close with a Hellenistic phalanx (though of course readers of our previous post may note the Roman has weapons with a reach advantage: his two pila, which could be a real deadly threat even out of reach of those points). Consequently, I feel fairly confident this reconstruction is basically right. Polybius is, of course, fudging the details a bit; the Roman interval is not twice the Macedonian one, so while some Romans may face two files of Macedonians, others will face just one (though in practice in that looser fighting order, the Macedonians may aim their sarissai and so focus their ‘pokes’ on an advancing Roman).
But what I want to note here, coming back to the Hollywood tactics, is how wide these intervals are. Once the Romans turn into their fighting stance, shield forward and body turned at an angle, the shield both completely covers their body from a fairly wide angle (because they can put a good portion of their body into the dish of the shield) but it also leaves a LOT of open space.13
Now the immediate response is to assume this is a terrible vulnerability – couldn’t an enemy rush into the gap and flank these men? But of course an enemy who tried to do this would immediately be flanking himself, with both Romans on his right and left, and two more (the next row) in front able to move forward and engage him. Small intervals like this are not generally fatal to these sorts of formations – you only need to avoid such intervals if you rely either on overlapping shields or on pike coverage. Meanwhile, the wide intervals give the Roman soldiers a lot of space (remember: I have not included arms in these drawings, but they’re kind of long!) to work their swords, which can both cut and thrust effectively, as Polybius notes (2.30.8, 3.114).
But what I think is really instructive is how the Romans use tighter formations. As Taylor notes,14 we see repeatedly in the sources that the Romans will pull into a tight formation, typically to resist missile fire, before having to loosen up again to actually fight. Perhaps the most famous instance of this is at the Battle of Carrhae (53) where Cassius Dio reports (40.22) that the Parthians were able to put Crassus’ legions in a bind: if they closed ranks to resist arrows, the Parthian shock cavalry charged, taking advantage of the fact that the Romans couldn’t fight well in close combat formed up that close. But if they spread out to fight, the cavalry withdrew and peppered them with arrows. But that’s hardly the only example, with Romans closing up against missile fire and then widening out to actually fight in Spain (Livy 28.2), and against Macedonian skirmishers (Livy 42.65) and during siege operations in Sparta (Livy 34.39). And given the spacing it seems to me that you’d achieve this shift the same way the Hellenistic phalanx does: the back half of each file advances into the open interval between the front halves of each file, creating a twice-dense but half-deep formation. To stretch out again, you simply need enough space for the ‘front’ half of each file to advance again while the rear halves hold position.
Strikingly, to me at least, the Roman scutum seems almost perfectly sized to almost but not quite overlap in this formation. I think that in turn connects with its design: the strong curve means overlapping shields are not required to get good protection against missiles, just close-set shields. By contrast, Gallic shields were flat and we know they sometimes overlapped them because Caesar tells us it happened (Caes. BGall. 1.25). Notably, Caesar describes this overlapped-shields formation of the Gauls as a phalanx (he uses the Greek word, transliterated into Latin). La Tène shields are a bit narrower than Roman ones generally (though the physical evidence for this is limited, but our literary and artistic sources support the assumption too), around 50-55cm wide, so an overlapping formation would have to be quite tight – in fact, it would probably have been right around the 45cm file width of a synaspismos formation. At the same time, we know they didn’t always form up this close as our sources note (Polyb. 2.30.3; Livy 38.21.4) that the lack of a curve to the La Tène shield could be a vulnerability given its narrowness when faced by missile weapons; that only makes sense if the shields were not overlapping as these unfortunate Gauls were being showered with Roman javelins.
How to Actually Shield Wall
I think the problem a lot of popular depictions face is that they know this was an effective tactic and so they go looking for ‘clever’ ways to make it work. This is actually one my recurring gripes with depictions of battle in fiction: the desire for clever, counter-intuitive or unexpected solutions to battles. Like most tactics, shield walls are effective, but not particularly clever: it is simply a basic principle (infantry with shields offering mutual support) extrapolated out into a large formation. So how do you actually make a shield wall work?
Well first you start with one kind of soldier, because part of the reason these formations come with depth is so that the death of one soldier in the line doesn’t rob all of the others of the protection their neighbors bring: you do not want a cascade collapse the moment the first fellow catches an arrow and no one around him can do his job.
Next, you need to get these infantry into formation, which is going to be a line wider than it is thick. The classic way this was done was to line up men, in their spacing for the march and then march them out, taking a 90-degree right (or left) turn when you reach the intended deployment area, thus turning your front into your flank and your rows into files. Once in position, every soldier makes a 90-degree pivot and you now have a fighting line. There are quicker and more complex ways to form from column into line, but that turn is the easiest way and as you can see above, when you assume that’s how the thing is being done a lot of things start to make sense. These armies move slowly (foot pace) and aren’t hard to see, so it is rare – unless that is a lot of cavalry involved – that one army is going to surprise another before they can form a basic line in this manner.
The spacing of your heavy infantry formation is going to be approximate, not mechanical, but it will be at least somewhat regular. These fellows aren’t machines, but this army also isn’t a mob, even if it isn’t composed of professional soldiers. Spacing out at arm’s length or shield’s width is not hard to do; likewise having the back half file fill the interval to make a closed formation is also not that hard.
But how much spacing? It probably won’t be shoulder to shoulder. The preference for these sorts of ultra-dense formations in fiction is itself, I suspect, a product of early modern gunpowder tactics, which eventually did become that tight in order to maximize fire over frontage (but also in a style of fighting where no one needed to move laterally!) – but it should not be imported back into primarily melee formations. Instead, as noted above, standard fighting intervals tend to be upwards of 80cm or more, which is to say there tends to be about as much open air along a single row as human body (since shoulder width (around 45cm) occupies about half of a 90cm file width). For formations using axes and swords over spears, you might expect a bit more width to give space for those weapons.
If the danger is attack by missiles – arrows, javelins, etc. – the formation may close up to meet it, forming a dense shield wall with adjacent or overlapping shields. But here it is worth noting the danger generally has to be sustained missile fire over some period of time, both because that dense formation is bad for fighting in, but also because large shields already provide a lot of protection. These shields are big enough that a soldier can generally be safe simply hunkering behind their own. Moreover, arrows are not machine guns; from Alexander to The Lord of the Rings, all sorts of films love arrow volleys with devastating lethality, but in practice infantry regularly marched through heavy arrow fire or stood under it for extended periods. Shields – and for that matter, armor – work. Infantry advancing in fighting order in the open against arrow-shooting enemies may close up briefly, but they may also stay in fighting order and simply push through the arrows, relying on their armor and big shields to protect them. What they will not generally do is assume an immobile or nearly-immobile shield-dome or box, because that just means spending more time under fire.
The other thing worth noting here is that when actually fighting, these formations are not designed for a rugby scrum, which is in turn suggestive of the tactics used. The Romans felt free to fight with a standard file width and row depth of around 135cm, which should tell you that they didn’t expect most battles to come down to physical shoving. I should note this is also why modern riot police tactics (and some modern sport reenactments) can be an imperfect guide to the function of these formations: billy clubs and HEMA blunts are not sharp swords and spears and so the behavior of the formation can be quite different. Now you might charge and try to knock an opponent around with an initial impact and the mass movement of bodies doubtless could produce a ‘press’ or ‘crush’ (especially, I imagine, on initial impact), but in order to fight effectively, these fellows are going to space out a bit, often far enough apart that their shields are only barely touching or not even touching at all.
Instead, the communal protection of the shield wall is about the ability first of each soldier to threaten the space on the flanks of their neighbors (so that enemies cannot blindside them from the flanks) and then also to be above to move their shield or weapon secondarily to intercept blows to that neighbor. That protection is likely to be more about movement, than a static wall of unmoving, interlocked shields and the support has as much to do with presence as it does with physically blocking attacks.
Because in the end as the Romans show, a looser formation can be made to be savagely effective. But what is crucial is the psychological impact of the shield wall, not its mechanical impact: it encourages confidence, it reminds men that they stand next to their family, friends and neighbors, that they will be shamed to throw down their shield and run away. It is ironic to me that Hollywood writers love trying to outsmart the physics of the battlefield because the victors in these kinds of battles often had more to do with motivations, emotions and character – the sort of things good writers should actually be concerned about.
The battle is always as much in the head as in the hand. Even when – perhaps especially when – the thing you have in your hand is a big damn shield.
- The width measurement is end-to-end, not the length of the arc, so it is comparable to the aspis measurement. We have one surviving shield of this type, the Kasr el-Harit shield, but Polybius also describes its shape and size, Polyb. 6.23.2.
- On this latter trap, see especially R. Konijnendijk, Classical Greek Tactics (2017), which had an extended discussion of how the assumptions of early Prussian writers – who assumed a regimentation similar to or even exceeding their own, famously regimented armies and in so doing erred substantially.
- op. cit.
- Consequently, within a military system, commanders willing to stretch a line thin are often expressing some confidence in their troops’ training or commitment to the cause.
- “Experiments with the Sarisa” JRMES 11 (2000)
- The greater significance of this realization is that it clarifies about how big the cubit is that Polybius is working with – around 80cm or so, which then lets us interpret the measurements he gives subsequently for the length of the sarisa – the Macedonian pike.
- The most sustained discussion of hoplite phalanx file width I have to hand is Schwartz, Reinstating the Hoplite (2013), 157-167, though the overall thesis of that book has not found wide adoption among scholars currently studying hoplites.
- Trans. M.L. West
- Trans. M.L. West again
- M.J. Taylor, “Roman INfantry Tactics in the Mid-Republic: A Reassessment” Historia 63.3 (2014)
- Taylor’s translation, op. cit..
- Just to clarify, the difference is that the Romans are probably lining up with their arm held out horizontally to the right, so that the file width is (shoulder width + arm length) which comes to roughly 45cm + 90cm (c. 135cm), whereas the Greek system, I suspect, is doing this holding the arm forward touching the back of the shoulder of the fellow to your front, thus removing nearly all of the person’s width and getting an interval of just the arm length, which is that 90cm double-cubit, plus or minus a few centimeters.
- Interestingly, on that fighting stance point, Michael Taylor has also been talking recently about how the fighting stance for the Republic – with the larger gladius Hispaniensis – differs modestly from the fighting stance in the imperial period with shorter imperial-era gladii, mostly in terms of the angle of the sword blade.
- op. cit.
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When you say “the victors in these kinds of battles often had more to do with motivations, emotions and character – the sort of things good writers should actually be concerned about.” – your examples are from Tolkein, which I can’t help but relate to this hilarious “vs. Debate”:
https://forums.sufficientvelocity.com/threads/union-troops-defend-minas-tirith-against-saurons-army.7754/post-1802244
The debaters in that forum thread very quickly start to argue on the basis of morale and the supernatural dread that the Witch King can produce… resulting in a surprising conclusion.
Thank you for sharing that, a rare gem from the usually tendentious and tedious vs mines.
The ideal conclusion: necessary, natural, fitting – and unexpected.
To explain to people, they suggested that the supernatural dread was essentially due to an original sin analogue…except the Union troops would have mostly been baptised, which in Catholic doctrine washes away the Original Sin. Meaning the supernatural dread not only wouldn’t work, but Catholic doctrine is that your faith *alone* is scary to evil. Meaning which side is suffering the crippling fear could well be unexpected to everybody involved.M
Though the muskets – which I think were powerful enough to punch clean through Orc armour- wouldn’t do any harm either. That goes triple if they have Civil War artillery with them.
The vast majority of Civil War soldiers were Protestant, and while the evidence is murky, it seems that Antebellum churches (excepting Anglican and Catholic) often didn’t worry overmuch about baptism. From personal accounts, it appears that many men either weren’t baptized or simply didn’t know.
I won’t attempt speculation on whether or not a dodgy frontier baptism would meet Tolkein’s standard for rendering one immune to the despair aura exuded by the Lord of the Nazgul.
As a Catholic, he would hold that as long as the person baptizing you
1. used water
2. did in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,
3. intended to perform the baptism that Christ instituted,
you’re fine.
My God
I don’t think I’ve ever seen a debate change so drastically as in that thread. For the first few dozen posts it is clear that one side is getting the better of the debate, and then this one gigachad comes in and unleashes a response so overwhelming that their opposition doesn’t even bother trying to dispute it.
Legend
That’s great!
Of note regarding increasing and decreasing depth: the medieval Roman military manuals discuss how to do this for varying circumstances and target depths. The example that immediately comes to mind preferred a standard depth of 10 men (the same as a tent group, with four officers and two light-armed soldiers integrated into the formation) [light armed here meaning bows or other ranged weapons, with the same armor and backup kit as the heavy armed soldiers with spears and shields]. The 10 would be led by a dekarch, with his pentarch second leading half the men, a tetrarch leading the four not under the pentarch, and a file closer to bring up the rear and help with maintaining order in the file. A standard arrangement would be 4 heavy armed soldiers, 2 light armed soldiers, and then the last 4 heavy armed soldiers (IIRC the manuals suggest that this is so that the line can fight both to front and rear, which given the highly mobile enemies they were often expecting to face this might be important).
To increase frontage, every other man would step into the interval between files and then the whole formation would close forward. To increase depth, the same thing happens in reverse, the formation opens rearward and then one file would step back and fill in the gaps between the file next to it.
Strange. I’m seeing all the graphics except the one at the top as negative images.
I occasionally get that when using the “Dark Reader” extension, but I’ve got it turned off for this site.
Looks okay today.
Some of the old Greek texts talk about formations where innovative commanders varied the depth of their line, with the implication that the deeper parts were stronger. If that’s not a “rugby scrum” effect, then would you say it’s mostly a morale effect? (Or an effect of the number of spear points, but that shouldn’t matter too much if we’re not dealing with Thebans or Macedonians? My dim recollection is that a depth of 4 was around the shallowest they got?)
I also can’t help but wonder why a longer, shallower line wouldn’t be useful for an envelopment effect, where the part opposite the enemy line is expected to be defensive and retreat slowly, but the extra length on the wings allows “turning the corner” and disrupting the formation. (I’m presuming hoplite phalanxes of different sizes tended to wind up with the smaller phalanx moving right so that they were only outflanked on their safer left side.) The general explanation I saw, way back when, is that morale is fragile, controlled retreats are hard, and it takes an exceptional commander to pull this off, most particularly by training troops that trust the commander and each other to pull it off. Is that the modern consensus?
Also, when reading all this, I keep wondering how difficult it would be to pull off these maneuvers with a pilum hanging out of the front of one’s shield. It seems like the Roman tactic of rotating lines would be well-suited to dealing with that effect (by allowing en-pilumed soldiers to be replaced), which would make sense if the pilum were a common weapon in Italy at the time. Do we know anything about difficulties Roman armies faced when dealing with other Roman armies, or other similarly-kitted armies?
It’s going to be a moral effect, the depth of line. If your moral fails and you flee, everyone is going to see you throw your shield and run. They people behind you will push forward to fill the gap, they may even trample or strike you. While, all the time they’re probably shouting encouragement and provide passive reassurance that if the man beside you falls, another man can step forward to hold the line.
Keep in mind that bending a formation like this in the middle is very difficult because it breaks the logic of the spacing, intuitively conditioned on paces and arms and the body itself. It’s far easier to get an independent, disengaged formation to turn and reform at an angle, but even this movement (called a “wheel” by gunpowder armies) was understood to be substantially difficult even for regular, professional troops.
So you already need an army that’s officered enough to have units that can be directed around the battlefield at the initiative of a subordinate officer and, and this unit has to be held back as a split-out unit, rather than committed to a general line of battle or general reserve. That already explains why, say, a hoplite army or Carolingian levy army would likely not attempt or achieve this envelopment.
But in addition to this, the edges of the line of spear-and-shield infantry tend to be where open-order skirmishing infantry, heavy infantry which fight in a looser order like halberdiers or billmen in a late medieval/early modern army, or light cavalry go. These units are disadvantaged against a heavy formation in close combat, but they can force the enveloping unit to close up from marching order to fighting order, at which point they can’t move as easily and the opposing army can try to bend its line back or put in its reserve. (And your army has its own light troops you need to avoid disrupting on your own flanks!)
So it can be done, but it’s difficult to achieve. Now, pull it off, and you can potentially disintegrate the enemy army like at Cannae. But Hannibal also achieved his double envelopment by withdrawing his center, rather than extending and turning his flanks, letting the Romans present their sides to him. Gunpowder armies tend to become better at achieving this as the early modern period goes on, I believe because they become more professionalized, more heavily officered, and use thinner lines that are somewhat easier to pivot.
Isn’t that what Hannibal does at Cannae though?
Yes, but Hannibal’s army at Cannae was largely made up of mercenaries who’d been serving under him for several years at least, so we can assume that they were better drilled than the average citizen militia.
Regarding the thinner lines: It may not have been common to just charge in like a battering ram, but it absolutely can happen. If you think your enemy is weak in a particular area, you can bull-rush that line, shields in front, and just run the other guys over if you know what you’re doing. And the problem with that is, if you look at the diagrams, shield walls only work in one direction. Yes, they can turn around (and the group I used to fight with trained in how to do this as a unit), but it takes time to react and do that–one or two random guys turning isn’t going to do much except get them killed slightly slower than the rest of the unit.
To be fair, we’re talking a few seconds, maybe a few minutes, before the unit reacts and forms up to face the new direction, depending on how well the unit was drilled. But you’d be amazed at how much damage can be done in under a minute by armed, angry, violent men intent on doing as much damage as possible. It’s entirely plausible that a unit penetrated like that would simply break and run.
I think part of the problem is how we use the term for when these formations are attacked, “shock”. Everything I’ve read describes “shock” as a moral pyschological effect. “The calvalry could do great shock on the attack, for who could stand infront of 100 charging beasts?” Not a physical impact shock. However, like described with the gun powder writers, we imagine shock being the recieving end of cannon fire, which has great moral effect, but is very much a physical experience.
I think there’s a tendency to overstate this too, to imply that it is *only* a morale effect, and not the fact that these cavalrymen are also carrying sharp objects that they can stab you with.
The two are linked. Without the pointy stabby things the other side simply isn’t much of a threat, after all. General Paton put it best: “I beg leave to inform the Board that while few men have died of bayonet or saber wound, the fear of having your guts explored by cold steel in the hands of war-maddened men has won many a battle.” In contrast, modern sport combat lacks that fear (there’s fear, but it’s “Oh, this is going to smart!” not “Okay, so this is how I die”), and the results are dramatically different in, say, a Pensic battle vs a real battle.
The physical threat isn’t the only thing that can cause the morale effect, but it’s definitely one of the key components!
I don’t remember where I got this from, but drill and cohesion matter a lot when resisting cavalry attacks. I think it were Flemish city militias that were the first infantry formation in post-Roman Europe that could effectively resist heavy cavalry charges by standing their ground. Horses have more self-preservation than humans and won’t run straight at pikes.
I don’t know if horses have more self-preservation, but they certainly have less to fight for. Why should they care who wins?
There is also an evolutionary psychology component: predators are normally much more aggressive than prey (because running away will save an herbivore’s life, and it can always get more grass to eat, whereas running away will only result in starvation for a carnivore), and social animals are more aggressive than individualist ones (because even if you die, the pack will continue your genes). So, of the animals we know, dogs are more aggressive than sheep (of course), and also more aggressive than cats. Humans, being social and predatory, are much more aggressive than horses.
@ey81 It’s a common misconception that predators are normally much more aggressive than prey. You have very passive exceptions like sheep (which we’ve selectively bred to be passive), but broadly herbivores (especially big ones) are wildly more aggressive.
It comes down to the probability of survival if wounded. Grass doesn’t run away very vast, so you can still feed yourself even if you’ve sustained horrible wounds as a herbivore. Especially if you’re big enough and social enough to be largely beyond predation. Meanwhile, a predator tends to need to be in tip-top physical condition to have a decent chance of chasing down and subduing prey, meaning even relatively light injuries can prove fatal if it knocks the probability of a successful hunt below what it needs to be to stay fed.
Where you do get aggressive predators, like bears or humans, they tend to be more mesocarnivorous or hypocarnivorous. Meat-eating, but capable of sustaining themselves readily on plant material while healing.
Horses are notoriously easy to spook. And they need to be, if they’re wild, because they are *not* too big for predators to kill. A prey animal with a leg injury is going to get eaten. If you don’t think horses need to run away, why do you think they’re so fast?
@Bullseye Don’t confuse prey animals with domesticated prey animals that we’ve spent countless generations breeding for docility (like horses, sheep and cows). A closer example would be zebras which, while also easy to spook, are much more aggressive than horses.
Being fast helps zebras get away from lions. Being aggressive helps zebras defend themselves from lions when they’re caught. They’re not mutually exclusive as selective pressures.
You are right though, that prey animals with wounds are more likely to get caught and eaten by predators (or just succumb to those wounds). However, they’re less likely to die than a similarly-wounded predator which lives far closer to the knife-edge of survival. That difference allows prey animals (as a whole, not necessarily in every individual case, or even in every species-case) to risk more aggressive action and still survive.
This relative risk of aggressive action plays out within orders of predators too. Bears are some of the most aggressive predators living today, and most of them are mesocarnivores. This means if they’re wounded, they can potentially fall back on other food sources while they recover. The most aggressive bear species alive today, the sloth bear, eats termites. It’s not a hard and fast rule, mind, as polar bears are hypercarnivores and can be quite aggressive, and pandas are herbivores and quite passive, but broadly the pressures of ‘can an individual risk aggressive action and survive’ shapes behaviour.
I’ve never faced a cavalry attack, but I can attest to the efficacy of even a little drill. My unit drilled for 15-20 minutes once a week, and we were able to stop cold units that on paper were much, much stronger than us. Once you do it in practice you know you can do it–and once you know you can do it, you know you can do it again. Success breeds success, because success reduces fear.
Group cohesion matters as well, as you say. We were very much a retainers-of-retainers style organization–I fought under a squire, who fought under a knight, who fought under a baron, who fought under a king. At each level the folks were close with those they fought with. We lived our lives together, eating and drinking together, helping each other with armor, camping together, sometimes living together outside the SCA. At a certain point running away stops being an option; you’re not consciously thinking about glory or shame or whatever, you’re not even consciously thinking of yourself as an individual. You’re a unit. And that’s really hard to break. Not impossible, but really hard.
To be clear, I fully acknowledge that my experience isn’t 1% of what an actual shieldman in an actual battle would experience. I do, however, think that the internal experience is important here.
Horses will push pikes aside and bully there way thru people.
But that needs them to slow down, halberds an musketeers can easily kill if they try to do it.
So I can imagine a surprise cavalry charge or sustained arrow causing the men behind to waver and the wall to fall, but would a shield wall be able to be broken by say a concentrated infantry push on one part of the wall, getting that part to flee, and then flanking the opening? Or would that be too much, and just regular combat would ensue until one side wavers and flees?
That is regular combat.
> Oddly, one repeat feature in popular depictions are square – not rectangular, but square – shields wielded in the manner of round shields; these, as far as I can tell, did not exist (it would have been a fairly silly shape to have a flat, square shield).
Googling this a bit, I see claims that Pictish artwork sometimes depicts square shields, is that true or has it been dubunked?
Those are uniformly rather small, almost buckler size, which for the sake of discussion here about shieldwalls can be ignored.
Not really? The term “shield-wall” incorporates no set-in-stone minimum shield size; at the very least, that aspect of things needs to be interrogated before any statements can be cast.
It might be worth a paragraph, although given how negligible the amount of protection such a small shield affords the user, let alone the people next to them, I stand by saying that they can be ignored.
Mr. Devereaux indicated this in the post above, though perhaps too subtly: the benefit of group combat is not the physical coverage of someone else’s shield. Which is negligible to null in much historical combat. The principle benefit of fighting as a group is that it affords you localized numerical superiority. If the group attacks as one, they can easily defeat any single adversary; if a member of the group is attacked, the attack invites retribution from others — and if a flanking assault is attempted, the attacker will themselves be flanked.
The “shield-wall” does not exist in the modern sense, precisely because the modern concept supposes, as you do, that shields specifically are integral to it, and the cause of its success. They are not. Close order groups and formations outlived widespread shield-use by centuries. Shields are only part of a “shield-wall” when and because shields are what people fight with — for most of history, shield, spear, and sword was the essential fighting equipment for any variety of combat, whether single or massed. Once the combination was no longer optimal, it was replaced, but this had no detriment to the effectivity of mass combat, since the latter was never a direct dependent of shield-use to begin with.
Ancient Greek sources are pretty clear that the shield specifically was in fact integral to the phalanx, and that it did indeed provide coverage to the people next to you — hence the line about how armour was used for the individual and shields for the formation as a whole, and the tendency of the phalanx to drift rightwards as each man sought protection under his neighbour’s shield.
The reason shields dropped out of use was that armour had advanced sufficiently that they were no longer needed. Before that point, however, shields were necessary for close-order infantry combat.
What about “tower shields?” Were those a real thing, or just made up for DnD?
Sometimes it means “really big shields” and sometimes means the pavise “portable cover” used by crossbowmen.
I’m pretty sure the D&D “tower shield” is based, intentionally or unconsciously on the various forms of the scutum, with a little bit of the medieval pavise in there as well.
It’s hard to tell. The described dimensions sort of work for the scutum. The in-game penalties for an untrained character using it are much more like using a pavise would be.
Gygax was a great businessman, but his actual knowledge of the way historical warfare worked was poor. He relied upon other people, tv shows and movies, books, and other less-than-reliable sources. Most of the time, they gave him incorrect information that he incorporated into his famous game and others have copied not realizing how inaccurate they really are.
They were, but they were mostly used in the Bronze Age, not in Antiquity or the Middle Ages. The name comes from a description of such a shield in the Iliad. They were used in the Bronze Age Aegean by the Minoans, Mycenaeans, and possibly others, and came in a variety of shapes, including rectangular, elongated trapezoid, and hourglass or figure-8. I recall reading a description of such shields being constructed out of multiple layers of leather with a thin sheet of bronze on the outside face, but others appear to have been surfaced with animal hide judging by period artwork. These kinds of shields apparently fell out of use sometime during the Greek Dark Age (c.1200 BC – c. 800 BC).
As for “tower shields” in other periods, you could perhaps classify the Roman scutum (and maybe also the Gallic shields they were based on) as a tower shield. However, I can’t recall any examples of similar oblong shields being used in the Middle Ages.
D&D doesn’t usually make up weapon or armour types out of whole cloth, but sometimes they get terminology wrong (e.g. plate mail), and they throw in arms and armour from wildly different periods, such as Roman gladii and renaissance rapiers existing side-by-side.
“Tower shield” has no official definition as far as I know; while people sometimes refer to Mycenaean shields as tower shields, this is, so far as I’ve seen, more a handy coloqiualism, and the term body-shield is also used.
Mycenaean tower/body-shields are certainly unique enough to merit a distinct term, though; no other commonly-used weapon in history really compares with them in bizarrety.
In the Biblical story of David and Goliath there is a description of his arms and armour. One thing he has is a carrier of his “Tsina”, which from other places in the biblical accounts is an equivalent of a shield. There is no size or weight given, but someone else has to carry it for him.
That was probably more like a medieval squire, i.e., someone who’d carry your equipment when you didn’t need it, then give it to you when it was actually time to fight. I doubt Goliath’s tsina-carrier would carry it in battle, any more than a knight’s squire carried his master’s sword into battle.
In Age of Empires 2 DE (released 2019), they added Lithuanians and one of their unique technologies is “Tower Shields”. I believe it just refers to pavises, the uniqueness to Lith is (like most things in AoE series) completely ahistorical, not to mention earlier-added Italians also get a unique technology Pavise with quite different purpose in gameplay. Both these civilisations are set mostly in 14th-17th century since full progression from dark to imperial age is also ahistorical.
Any real “tower shield” will be around the size and shape (and function) of the scutum, it’s not going to get much larger without running into the same mobility+overprotection problems discussed here.
Any real “tower shield” will be around the size and shape (and function) of the scutum, it’s not going to get much larger without running into the same mobility+overprotection problems discussed here.
Size: There are multiple shields larger than Italian and La Tène varieties, but as far as I know early palatial Mycenaean body-shields decisively take the cake; extending from head to heel and wrapping almost fully around the body like a massive leather conch shell, they’re at least two or three times larger than your average Roman scutum.
Shape: The precise morphology of shields is so insanely variable over the breadth of history, and so impenetrable in its causes, that this ground should be trod very cautiously; in this particular case, to name three examples, Mycenaean, Achaemenid, and Zulu shields all exhibit morphology distinct (in some cases steeply) from that of a Roman scutum.
Function: Roman shields were designed for Roman warfare, and thus for a function that, should we apply any significant specificity, is strikingly rare in most martial cultures we have any good information on. Function varies. The standout here is aforementioned Achaemenid gerron, pavises, and a number of other similar designs whose function — that of a portable barricade — is radically dissimilar to that of a Roman scutum.
But moreover, you at no point have really defined what you’re referring to when you say “tower shield”. To state that any real tower shield will look like a Roman scutum is a matter of circular reasoning. To affirm that nothing bigger exists, without addressing the other two factors previously mentioned, is erroneous but also confusingly implies your assumption that a tower shield is defined by being as big as possible, in seeming contradiction of your affirmation that a tower shield is a Roman scutum. My guess would have been that you do not know of other large shield varieties, but seeing as the paragraph before you talked at length about pavises (though cryptically and without any surface-level point — I can only assume that you mean to invalidate pavises as a candidate for being tower shields on account of… them being called tower shields in a historically inaccurate videogame??), so I remain confused.
So far as I can see, the best definition of “tower shield” is something along the lines of “fictional head-height strapped wooden shield invented for the Forgotten Realms, generally portrayed in illustrations as a broadly-rectangular chimera of Achaemenid, Roman, Norman, Mycenaean, etc. visual elements”.
Wait… the movie where they use siege weapons in a forest has “nothing to do with how the Romans fought in any period”?!
…and hurling fireballs. Because whatever the Romans did, they did it because it looked really cool.
Of course they hurled fireballs. Germans take half damage from ice.
Great work!
Synaspismos as used in Classical or earlier Greek contexts does not, as far as I know, seem to have been rigid formation; it was a broad and relatively colloquial term for proximity and mutual support — a lack of synaspismos could, judging from usage in period sources, refer to gaps of dozens or hundreds of meters. Indeed, as you indicate, a model of the Doric phalanx following the measurements of subsequent Hellenistic phalanxes in close order comes out quite cramped and awkward.
Relatedly, I do not support the assumption that overhand spear use was standard in close combat, as much of the evidence I have seen is strongly against it. Take the two period group combat scenes shown above, those on the Chigi vase and Bayeux tapestry.
The Chigi vase blatantly and uncontestably depicts warriors armed with javelins; the artist carefully depicts the ankyle on each, the fighters’ fingers within them, the extra spear each warrior is holding in their off-hand, and is even kind enough to show both spears schematically, apart from the combat, with an ankyle on each, and with a shield for reference.
The Bayeux tapestry shows at least two scenes in which an overhand thrust seems implied (notably, the more certain of these shows a long spear balanced far towards the butt), and is certainly more dynamic, but depicts pretty much the same sort of affair: most spears are shown held at their centre and are shorter than their weilders, indicating that they are effective throwing weapons; no less than two spears and one possible throwing stick are depicted between the infantry and the cavalry opposing them, both validating the aforementioned supposition and indicating that a pure shock confrontation is likely not depicted — indeed, one of the spears seems to originate from the cavalrymen, which is consistent with accounts of mounted missile combat in Anglo-Saxon contexts; and finally, two warriors towards the centre of the group are holding veritable fasces of spears in their shield-hands (but otherwise identical to those around them, with large shields and long hauberks — they cannot be written off as specialized skirmishers or supportive personel, though the latter are present in the form of a lightly-clad archer intermixed with the fighters).
Meanwhile, underhand grips are actually quite abundantly depicted in Ancient Greek combat scenes, particularly where genuine sauroter-equipped thrusting spears are present. The thus evidence points not to the abundance of overhand spear use in close combat, but rather to the rarity of close combat itself.
Overhand thrust for spears (not pikes like the sarissa) is likely due to artwork and biomechanics.
Roman and medieval artists may not have been trying for photorealism, but they weren’t trying to be abstract or surreal either. If spears weren’t used overhand, any artist depicting such would have been laughed at. It would be like a modern advertising poster showing Lionel Messi running while holding a soccer ball instead of kicking it.
Underhand thrusts are possible and can be quite strong, but with a much more limited range of motion. People with axes and swords swing overhand because that develops the most power over a wider range of angles. In a formation underhand thrusts have to fit between the bodies and shields of your mates, but above the shoulder line there’s a lot more room to thrust and change direction.
Short spears are not automatically throwing spears. (Although they are easier to throw if that’s what you want.) The Zulus are a famous example of a short stabbing spear, and contemporary accounts and modern day re-enactors seem to favour – but not exclusively – overhand thrusts.
Roman and medieval artists may not have been trying for photorealism, but they weren’t trying to be abstract or surreal either. If spears weren’t used overhand, any artist depicting such would have been laughed at. It would be like a modern advertising poster showing Lionel Messi running while holding a soccer ball instead of kicking it.
I would be the first to condemn purposeful exclusion of pictorial evidence on the basis of historical artists “not trying to be photorealistic” or “following traditional stylization” or whatnot — almost inevitably it’s a malicious excuse to shove compromising evidence under the rug. But that’s quite the opposite of my point, which is rooted specifically in what said evidence is telling us. You are conditioned (by longstanding popular and scholarly tradition) to see spears only as thrusting weapons, and therefore exclude out of hand the hypothesis that from an unbiased standpoint is best supported by the evidence, in favour of the runner up.
Short spears are not automatically throwing spears. (Although they are easier to throw if that’s what you want.) The Zulus are a famous example of a short stabbing spear, and contemporary accounts and modern day re-enactors seem to favour – but not exclusively – overhand thrusts.
That is correct, but a misinterpretation of my statement above — namely, that short, centre-balanced spears can be effectively thrown. Length is the least important factor in discussion, which is why you can argue effectively against it in isolation, which is why you have, and have not addressed any of the other factors in play; throwing spears can be quite long, and thrusting spears quite short, but only the latter generally derive significant benefit from being long, and thus if the spears I was referencing were especially long it would indicate a greater likelihood of dedicated thrusting use.
The really important point here is not length, but rather balance: a spear with a centre of mass around or above the midpoint of its shaft is an effective throwing weapon (and this does not make it a dedicated javelin — by this phrase I am solely affirming that it can be thrown), but at the cost of rendering half or more of the spear’s length difficult to utilize in close combat; this is in opposition to a spear with a centre of mass intentionally shifted towards its butt, which is not an especially effective throwing weapon in return for a greater usable length in close combat.
Centre-balanced spears are thus strongly correlated with spear throwing; while it could be argued that they are also the better option for individualistic close combat, as it is easier to get within measure of the longer lever provided by aft-balanced spears, that function if alone is strongly contested by swords (which, judging by their ubiquitous distribution and lasting popularity, are supremely competitive in such scenarios) — the ultimate evolution of a short and nimble thrusting spear is, if not a sword, then quite sword-like; indeed, Zulu iklwas are a great example of this (yes, they cannot cut; but many swords — particularly the very early ones — weren’t fantastic at it either, so this does not especially detract from the resemblance) and in being one demonstrate the maladaptation of Greek and Anglo-Saxon counterparts for such a role.
Finally, I would love to see the relevant passages from the contemporary accounts you are referencing; the modern reenactors are… less vital to source, but if you can include them that would be fantastic.
A centre-balanced spear is better for throwing, BUT I don’t see any reason to assume that a spear depicted as being gripped at the centre is balanced there.
I dug a re-enactment spear out of storage. Straight wooden shaft with leaf shaped iron head, close match to the omni-spear described by Bret in an earlier post. Length tip to butt is 2.06 metres. This particular spear doesn’t have a butt cap, so has worse balance than most historical spears, but even so the balance point is just 160 mm in front of the true centre. One and a half hand widths.
Gripping this spear at the centre works fine for me. The slight extra weight in front is not a problem for control, and I’m not particularly strong. This isn’t a fencing foil, I don’t need fingertip control, and my impression is that the extra mass at the front increases the force of a forward stab.
This particular spear doesn’t have a butt cap, so has worse balance than most historical spears,
Most historical spears did not have butt-caps. Yours is probably pretty representative; the balance of a simple spear with a reasonably-shaped iron is going to be a bit skewed towards the tip unless you taper it, which is probably unnecessary labour considering that having the centre a bit farther forward is perfectly fine for throwing — you just don’t want it farther back, otherwise the thing will destabilize in flight.
but even so the balance point is just 160 mm in front of the true centre. One and a half hand widths.
Gripping this spear at the centre works fine for me.
Yes, that checks out — you can hold a spear a little bit off from the point of balance and do fine; since you mentioned foils, this also holds true of many swords, which have the centre of mass a little up from the handle. Now try gripping your spear roughly 520mm, or a quarter of the shaft, from the base. While certainly the leverage isn’t going to break your wrist or anything, I think you will agree that this is a pretty subpar way to hold it in a fight — not least because it’s going to be very easy for your opponent to bat it away and very hard for you to recuperate from such treatment.
A centre-balanced spear is better for throwing, BUT I don’t see any reason to assume that a spear depicted as being gripped at the centre is balanced there.
This actually has a somewhat valid point — while fairly awkward, a spear balanced rearward can be choked up on such as to be held by the middle. However, there are some pretty obvious reasons why this is not a solid argument for all depictions of centre-gripped spears used in a group or in close combat being aft-balanced.
Let’s assume that this is indeed true: in that case, you are suggesting that in all relevant art the artists have uniformly depicted the combatants as using their weapons in a manner that negates the sole advantage of aft-balanced spears and happens to perfectly correspond with how centre- or mildly fore-balanced spears are best used. That is entirely absurd — either the artists are deranged, or they are depicting a reality where warriors go to significant effort and expense (dedicated thrusting spears take significantly more labour — either you’re relying on a very strong taper, which needs to be carved out, or otherwise, like the Ancient Greeks, you’re tripling to quadrupling the amount of metal necessary; that, as Mr. Devereaux has covered in previous posts, is not cheap) to make their weapon worse for the tasks they desire to perform with them.
@Melanoc3tus, I’m not assuming that spears are aft-balanced! Who is, other than in your imagination?
I assume that most spears are like mine, that even with a butt cap they are a little front heavy. As thrusting spears I’d expect them to be drawn / painted / woven with a centre grip. In real life the grip point might be at the balance point, a hands width or so forward of the midpoint, but I doubt that the artists in question, or their audience, cared enough to make precise measurements.
So I see that the artists have uniformly depicted the combatants as using their weapons in a manner that matches how the conventional historians and modern day re-enactment expect them to be used.
@scifihughf
@Melanoc3tus, I’m not assuming that spears are aft-balanced! Who is, other than in your imagination?
I see the misunderstanding. Let me clarify: when I mention centre-balanced spears, I am referring to a spear that is held approximately around the middle. I am not referring only to spears that the ancients carefully measured to the millimeter to balance precisely halfway up the shaft. In fact, the majority of the spears which I seek to reference by using that term had a centre of mass a bit above the middle, on account of the iron.
Thusly, I assumed that you were making a distinction not between your understanding of “centre-balanced” and mine, but rather between centre-balanced and aft-balanced weapons; this occurred particularly because I assumed you were not making a pedantic distinction between two grips a few centimeters off that strengthens my argument and weakens yours.
It will take me a while to track down the contemporary accounts of the Zulu Wars. But typing ‘zulu reenactment’ into Google produced a lot of images showing overhand thrusts.
And the Bayeux Tapestry is online, so I’ll take a look at that.
As for sources, how about providing some yourself? I know this is a blog rather than an academic journal, but other commentators are willing to provide references. For example I’d never heard of Philip Sabine and his views on Roman combat until someone else brought him up a while ago. If you’re going to claim that the conventional and widely accepted narrative is Wrong, does anyone else agree with you?
Christopher Matthew, A Storm of Spears: Understanding the Greek Hoplite at War, did some tests with reproduction hoplite spears. He found that the underarm thrust was significantly better in terms of range, force, and ease.
Underhand thrusts are possible and can be quite strong, but with a much more limited range of motion. People with axes and swords swing overhand because that develops the most power over a wider range of angles. In a formation underhand thrusts have to fit between the bodies and shields of your mates, but above the shoulder line there’s a lot more room to thrust and change direction.
Holding your spear overarm results in about 4ft of wood sticking behind you, which will bash against the heads of the people in the secon row if you move it too far to the side, so I’m not sure the range of movement would be as great as you suggest.
With the overhand grip the most comfortable motion, at least for me, is hand about head height and a slightly downwards stabbing motion. Which means the butt of the spear is slightly higher than my head. There’s still some risk to the person behind me, but that applies to underhand grip too: the backswing preparing for an underhand thrust is about groin height for whoever is behind me. Even with a butt cap rather than spike that wouldn’t be much fun.
Overhand grip also puts my spear above my own shield and the point at about the top of my opponents shield. There’s less wood in the way if I’m trying to change the angle. And if I’m a second ranker an overhand thrust doesn’t get blocked by the body of the front ranker.
No, overhand can’t give perfect freedom of movement. But I think there’s significantly more than with underhand.
There’s still some risk to the person behind me, but that applies to underhand grip too: the backswing preparing for an underhand thrust is about groin height for whoever is behind me. Even with a butt cap rather than spike that wouldn’t be much fun.
That seems like an unusually low thrust. It would be better to hold your spear at about elbow height, so you can rest the shaft against your forearm to make it easier to hold the spear up. Such a grip would also minimise the amount of spear sticking out behind you, and so reduce the risk of hitting any of your comrades.
Overhand grip also puts my spear above my own shield and the point at about the top of my opponents shield.
That is another point to consider. If most soldiers were using overhand thrusts, then most thrusts would be towards the face and neck, and so these areas should be most heavily armoured. And yet the trend in ancient Greek armour was the opposite: enclosing Corinthian helmets increasingly dropped out of use in favour of more open styles during the fourth century.
And if I’m a second ranker an overhand thrust doesn’t get blocked by the body of the front ranker.
Assuming an 8- or 9-ft spear with a point of balance about in the middle, I don’t think you’d have enough reach with an overhand grip to hurt the enemy, unless he was standing pretty much nose-to-nose with the guy in the first rank.
@GJ, first thank you for the A Storm of Spears reference. I now agree that an underhand thrust can be delivered with more force than I’d thought. The being obstructed by bodies and shields at that height doesn’t go away though.
I got my spear out again and tried a grip with the shaft against my forearm. (Very similar to a knight holding a lance.) I can get the point further ahead of me because my grip is further back. but my thrust reach and speed is greatly reduced because now it is just the upper arm moving. That’s a limitation of how human bodies work: a softball pitcher would not be nearly as fast if they had to keep their elbow bent. Ideally I’d step into the thrust with my entire body as well as the arm motion, but a battlefield is not a place where you can expect ideal conditions.
So slightly longer initial reach, but worse for force and range of motion. I doubt many infantry used this elbow on the shaft grip.
As for armour, don’t Roman legionaries wear double layers of mail on the shoulders and not much below the waist?
On helmets, in tabletop and computer RPGs making yourself a tank is always the way to reduce melee risk so full face enclosed helms are common. That’s because these game warriors / soldiers don’t need to hear orders, don’t need peripheral vision for threats from the sides, and don’t need to breathe the vast amounts of air that physical activity under stress demands.
Real armour has to be a compromise between protection, vision, hearing, endurance, mobility, and yes expense.
I got my spear out again and tried a grip with the shaft against my forearm. (Very similar to a knight holding a lance.) I can get the point further ahead of me because my grip is further back. but my thrust reach and speed is greatly reduced because now it is just the upper arm moving. That’s a limitation of how human bodies work: a softball pitcher would not be nearly as fast if they had to keep their elbow bent. Ideally I’d step into the thrust with my entire body as well as the arm motion, but a battlefield is not a place where you can expect ideal conditions.
It’s very easy to extend your arm fully whilst still resting the shaft against your forearm.
On helmets, in tabletop and computer RPGs making yourself a tank is always the way to reduce melee risk so full face enclosed helms are common. That’s because these game warriors / soldiers don’t need to hear orders, don’t need peripheral vision for threats from the sides, and don’t need to breathe the vast amounts of air that physical activity under stress demands.
We know that Corinthian helmets were effective, because they were used for several hundred years. Obviously they involved trade-offs re: hearing, vision, and comfort, but equally obviously they weren’t just a “sounds good in games, but would never work in real life” thing.
@GJ please, if you can, get out of your chair and actually try some of these grips. We’re not talking complex weapon movements here, just basic human anatomy.
You wrote “It’s very easy to extend your arm fully whilst still resting the shaft against your forearm.” No it isn’t!
For anyone else who wants to experiment, no need for an omni-spear to test this, an umbrella will do (furled). Or a couple of metres of plumbing pipe. A tent pole.
Start with upper arm straight down, elbow bent, gripping the shaft with the point horizontally forward and the rear of the shaft resting under your forearm and elbow. What I’m calling the knight and lance position. The shaft will be about waist height. It’s possible to thrust with arm alone, but because you’re just moving the upper arm there isn’t much reach.
Now try straightening your arm, keeping the umbrella or whatever against the forearm/elbow.
If you want to stab the ground in front of your feet, yes it’s easy. But if you want the tip to be anywhere higher you have to raise your upper arm. You’re dramatically pointing with an outstretched arm but now trying to hold a spear at the same time. Because your arm is straight and mostly horizontal you have no ability to thrust at all with just your arm, only to step forward.
If instead you grip the spear at about the halfway point it’s easier. Let your arm straighten vertically and the spear stays horizontal, your arm and the spear forming an upside down T shape. The spear is level somewhere between waist and knee height. Now you can swing your arm back and forth much more freely and with reasonable control, and that gives me more reach even though I’m gripping the spear at the middle.
@GJ please, if you can, get out of your chair and actually try some of these grips. We’re not talking complex weapon movements here, just basic human anatomy.
I already did before I wrote my comment. Honestly I’m not sure why you’re getting confused about this.
Start with upper arm straight down, elbow bent, gripping the shaft with the point horizontally forward and the rear of the shaft resting under your forearm and elbow. What I’m calling the knight and lance position. The shaft will be about waist height.
It can be at waist height, but you can quite easily raise your arm so the spear is at armpit/shoulder height (good if you’re forming a shield wall with aspides touching or overlapping). You can even raise it further, so the spear is at cheek height.
If you want to stab the ground in front of your feet, yes it’s easy. But if you want the tip to be anywhere higher you have to raise your upper arm. You’re dramatically pointing with an outstretched arm but now trying to hold a spear at the same time. Because your arm is straight and mostly horizontal you have no ability to thrust at all with just your arm, only to step forward.
Erm, moving your arm into the outstretched pointing position is *how* you thrust.
As a modern day fellow who has done extensive testing with groups of men in panoply, I advise overhand (thumb back) exclusively when in formation. Underhand (thumb forward) is fine for monomachia, but it has a limited range of motion and targets compared overhand. In overhand with a rear-balanced 7-8 foot dory you can reach any target from toes to nose and can reach over your head to deliver a punto reverso in the manner of Marozzo to your foe’s unshielded side. I will note that Chris Mathew is wrong in thinking that overhand spears were thrown and his tests are not supported by either Connolly’s tests or De Groote’s, both of which showed overhand is substantially stronger, and due to the far greater ability to slide effectively in overhand, I suggest greater reach. The only thing that the couched underhand grip is better at is holding the spear at static extension. The javelin, balance point argument is irrelevant because most historical spears, those of the Norse for example and those of Archaic hoplites, could be thrown or used to strike. This means they had to be balanced near the middle. Once hoplites gave up on throwing that second spear, they were free to move the point of balance back for extra reach. Where there is some common ground in this discussion is that if your goal is to hold a mid-balanced throwing/thrusting spear out extended as far as possible, then bracing it in the couched grip is beneficial. Perhaps this was done in early archaic phalanxes, where men may have been more fluid in battle anyway.
I’m going to be lazy and just copy paste a slab from Kevin Rowan De Groote about this. The short of it is that both methods were depicted and arguing solely for one or the other is foolish.
“In the dominant paradigm, advocated by most scholars, hoplites held their spears in an upright position resting against the right shoulder before battle is joined, after which it was lowered into the underhand position to facilitate the advance into battle (e.g. Xenophon Anabasis 1.8.18; 6.5.25,fig. 13). Once in spear-fighting range, however, the overhead position was adopted, with spears aimed at opponents’ heads. The underhand position was used only if/when ranks had broken, or pursuit was given. This model is largely based on the preponderance of the overhead position in the artistic evidence. But this predominance belies a slight skewing: it is the principal (almost exclusive) position depicted on vase paintings until the advent of the red figure technique in the late 6th century, at which point the underhand position begins to be depicted with equal regularity. Herein also lies a potential quagmire for the model: selection criteria. While the boundary between the archaic and classical periods is an artificial one, usually set at the start of the Greco-Persian Wars, much remains unknown about the operational and compositional side of infantry warfare in the 8th – 6th centuries. The standard linear development model of the hoplite and phalanx is based on an anachronistic review of the evidence that presupposes a permanence that is too simplistic, overlooking typical piecemeal evolutionary processes. Classical hoplites may have wielded their spears differently than their 7th century heavily armed ancestors, who are frequently depicted carrying two spears (or javelins, or one of each).The indiscriminate use of artistic and textual evidence from a period that remains poorly understood to elucidate (Classical) hoplite spear use in combat naturally has implications for any model.”
The short of it is that both over- and underhand spear use occurred, but underhand use is somewhat more common (Classical Greek art depicting it in around 70% of combats with thrusting spears, according to Bardunias); an overhand thrust is more powerful and can lead into a full throw, but an overhand grip is far less stable and responsive than an underhand one, and thus disadvantaged in prolonged spear combat even before the lesser fatigue of maintaining an underhand grip is brought into consideration.
I do suspect that the overhand grip was often more effective in historical contexts than it is shown to be in modern sparring (where, from what I’ve seen, it is often abysmal) not mainly because of the irrelevance of penetration power, but rather because an overhand thrust is biomechanically almost identical to a throw — a sort of human captive-bolt gun; if spear-throwing is a core aspect of the culture and practice of warfare in a historical society (as it certainly was in early Archaic Greek), then you can expect that warriors in that society will develop an accuracy, coordination, and strength in relevant muscle groups that is almost perfectly applicable to overhand thrusting.
Several re-enactor types have suggested that overhand thrusting likely often was just ‘throw, catch it before it leaves your hand.’
But then you need to somehow slide the spear back for a second thrust, whereas with an underhand grip you can just pull your arm back and immediately be ready to thrust again.
And if you fumble it you are now unarmed in the middle of a battlefield. Seems too risky option.
@Simulated Knave, that is the kind of trick a skilled martial artist *might* be able to pull off in a one on one duel. Not practical for battle.
In a duel, there might be an opportunity to stab somebody in a vulnerable spot but you don’t have the reach. Letting go of the shaft could give you a crucial extra cubit of reach. Provided you do hit, and the weaker blow (below) isn’t stopped, and you immediately kill or incapacitate them so they can’t knock the spear out of your loose grip and kill you…
Most human beings are really bad at fine motor control, such as deliberately letting a spear slide through your hand, when under stress and with massive amounts of adrenaline flowing. The English phrase “death grip” is well known for a reason. Ancient warriors / soldiers would be more familiar with violence and battle than I am, but they’re not superhuman.
@GJ and @Mikko have already pointed out two major disadvantages so I’ll add that this would make your thrusts less forceful, less likely to penetrate armour or bone/muscle.
If you had to pound in a large nail, would you just drop the hammer on it? No, even if you get the angle right it will take forever. How about applying a bit of downward force then letting go? A bit better. How about holding on to the hammer shaft and exerting force (and guidance) all the way to impact? Much better.
You can see the same thing in sports that involve bats or rackets. Tennis / cricket / baseball players don’t let go as they hit.
For maximum result, we humans need to firmly grip a spear (or sword) to transmit all the force of our moving arms / entire body through it.
Eh, throwing things can hit really hard. The tradeoff is weight/momentum vs velocity – you can generate far more velocity by hurling something. The other key point is that the connections between weapon, grip, arms and body are all ‘lossy’, you don’t just add your weight directly. The extra momentum is spread out over a much longer impact time, when for a lot of things like armour penetration what really matters is the peak.
Overhand grip permits holding the wrist straight and (almost) locked while developing the thrust from the shoulder, hip, and leg. Underhand requires bending the wrist, which all of my martial arts training and experience (Karate, wrestling, fencing both epee and foil, and various sorts of firearms sports) say is A Very Bad Thing (TM). If nothing else, the forces imparted when the spear impact is transmitted back to the wrist means a bent wrist can turn into a broken wrist very easily, much more so than if the wrist is straight.
The thrust is angled down, meaning that an opponent’s shield has to be held higher to block, that the thrust can more easily hit one of several vulnerable locations even in an armored opponent, that a deflected strike is much less likely to result in an “over target miss” and that it is easier to recover the spear if I lose my grip during the thrust. Even if the overhand thrust is deflected to the side by the shield, the point is still heading “down” and the missed stroke does not require complete reversal of the momentum of the strike to recover from. In an overhand grip, my spear can threaten both my front opponent or my spearside opponent with a rotation of the forearm while the wrist joint is still straight and locked, and if my strike at my opponent to the front is deflected by his shield towards the opponent’s shieldside, the strike can be redirected at the opponent to my spearside with that same forearm rotation only.
From overhand, my elbow is never behind my body even when I am using the full range of motion of my arm, whereas the underhand grip requires starting with my elbow at the length of my forearm behind my body, which means my spear butt is a full cubit further behind me at the start of the thrust than if I was holding my spear overhand.
My overhand strike is, biomechanically, “throwing the spear” even though I do not ever release my grip on the shaft; there is no reason to “throw, catch it before it leaves your hand.” during the thrust and a couple reasons to retain a tight grip. Mostly, so that I can use my entire body to follow through on the thrust.
Overhand grip permits holding the wrist straight and (almost) locked while developing the thrust from the shoulder, hip, and leg. Underhand requires bending the wrist, which all of my martial arts training and experience (Karate, wrestling, fencing both epee and foil, and various sorts of firearms sports) say is A Very Bad Thing (TM). If nothing else, the forces imparted when the spear impact is transmitted back to the wrist means a bent wrist can turn into a broken wrist very easily, much more so than if the wrist is straight.
If cavalrymen could hold their lances underhand whilst charging — which would involve much greater force than just stabbing — without breaking their wrists, I think an infantryman could stab underhand as well.
From overhand, my elbow is never behind my body even when I am using the full range of motion of my arm, whereas the underhand grip requires starting with my elbow at the length of my forearm behind my body, which means my spear butt is a full cubit further behind me at the start of the thrust than if I was holding my spear overhand.
With overhand, you’d have to hold the spear in about the middle due to balance reasons (unless it had a large butt-weight to rebalance it, which most spears didn’t), meaning that the butt would be several cubits behind you.
Pre-stirrups, lances are a lot lighter and used overhand as much as underhand (the Bayeux Tapestry depicts overhand use, though that particular section appears to also show stirrups). The cavalry lancer also can rest his lance on his mount and brace against armor or saddle, and just use their hand to control the lance underhand. But I’m not trying to say underhand use of a spear is impossible due to the risk of wrist damage; just that a bent-wrist grip is weaker and more prone to injury, and all other things being equal not as good as a straight-wrist grip, especially for thrusting. Cavalry vs infantry most definitely is not all other things being equal. (Nor are pikes the same as spears)
Underhand or overhand, if I’m not holding the spear at the balance, particularly if I’m holding it to the rear of the balance, I have less point control, and have to exert more force against gravity to hold the thing straight. I’m assuming I have to hold the spear at or slightly ahead of the balance either way.
Also, consider what parts of the body are behind me when I retract the spear to thrust with an overhand (overhead) grip vs underhand (side of body) grip. In the overhand grip, the spear is at ear height or higher, and and overall angled slightly downwards pointing – the butt starts at or slightly above my head height and moves at a slightly upwards angle backwards, over the head of the spearman behind me. For the underhand grip, the spear is held level, and the spear butt is moving towards the lower torso of the spearman behind me.
If they’ve got their shield in between, the overhand gripped spearbutt easily clears the shield behind, but hits the shield or requires more space between ranks to use.
Likewise, consider the second ranker. With the overhand grip, he’s thrusting over the shoulders and shields of the first rankers and between their heads, much more room to work. Underhand has to go between their torsos and shields. More room to maneuver the spear, and more situational awareness of something at head height than at kidney height…
I’m not saying spears were never used underhand, but there are too many advantages and better biomechanical factors for the primary use to be the overhand grip to be the usual one for fighting in formation with the mediterranean omnispear. Nor am I saying that the “throwing motion” used to thrust with the overhand grip means that the wielder ever let go or even loosened their grip on the spear; just that the same motion used to throw the spear overhand is also the same motion used to thrust with it, only when thrusting, the spear is not released. Why bother to train two separate sequences of motion when the overhand works for both throwing and thrusting?
Pre-stirrups, lances are a lot lighter and used overhand as much as underhand (the Bayeux Tapestry depicts overhand use, though that particular section appears to also show stirrups). The cavalry lancer also can rest his lance on his mount and brace against armor or saddle, and just use their hand to control the lance underhand.
Stirrups are irrelevant, since they’d have no bearing on the amount of force being applied to the wrist. Bracing the lance as you describe was mostly the province of late medieval knights, who needed to generate extreme force to punch through plate armour. Most cavalry simply tucked their lances under the arm, as shown here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5Fcp_4rQPlU Incidentally, the video also shows the cavalry practising making underarm thrusts with their lances, in accordance with 19th-century regulations. Apparently Victorian cavalrymen, who actually had to fight with the weapons in life-or-death situations, didn’t find their wrists too weak to cope with the strain.
Underhand or overhand, if I’m not holding the spear at the balance, particularly if I’m holding it to the rear of the balance, I have less point control, and have to exert more force against gravity to hold the thing straight.
If you hold your spear properly, your forearm does most of the work keeping the spear straight, and you don’t have to give up 50% of your thrust range like you do if you hold the spear in the middle.
If they’ve got their shield in between, the overhand gripped spearbutt easily clears the shield behind, but hits the shield or requires more space between ranks to use.
If you hold your spear towards the back, with the rear portion resting against your forearm, the butt won’t project much, if at all, behind your elbow.
Likewise, consider the second ranker. With the overhand grip, he’s thrusting over the shoulders and shields of the first rankers and between their heads, much more room to work. Underhand has to go between their torsos and shields. More room to maneuver the spear, and more situational awareness of something at head height than at kidney height…
As I said in a comment above, it’s perfectly possible to hold a spear underarm as high as your armpit or even your cheek. That leaves plenty of room, particularly if your men are carrying round shields.
I’m not saying spears were never used underhand, but there are too many advantages and better biomechanical factors for the primary use to be the overhand grip to be the usual one for fighting in formation with the mediterranean omnispear. Nor am I saying that the “throwing motion” used to thrust with the overhand grip means that the wielder ever let go or even loosened their grip on the spear; just that the same motion used to throw the spear overhand is also the same motion used to thrust with it, only when thrusting, the spear is not released. Why bother to train two separate sequences of motion when the overhand works for both throwing and thrusting?
So, Christopher Matthew, A Storm of Spears: Understanding the Greek Hoplite at War (Pen and Sword, 2012), got re-enactors to practice wielding hoplite spears, whilst dressed in hoplite equipment, using a variety of grips. Among other findings:
– All the participants were able to endure 15 minutes simulated combat using their spears in the underarm grip, but none were able to endure more than 4 minutes using the overarm grip, with the average duration being just 2 (pp. 123-4).
– When asked to strike a 10cm x 10cm target, 74% managed to hit it with an overhead thrust, vs. 83% with an underarm thrust. When they tried again after the simulated combat, those figures dropped to 51% and 63%, respectively (p. 126).
– Underarm thrusts had an average velocity of 8.3m/sec, as opposed to 6.5m/sec for overarm (p. 139).
So the answer to your rhetorical question is that the underarm thrust is just plain better: it enables you to deal stronger, more accurate thrusts, at a greater distance, without tiring yourself out so much.
You can perform a sliding thrust with either an over- or under-hand grip; in both cases it’s a matter of extending the effective range of your strike at the cost of greatly diminishing your control of the weapon following the strike, and thus the sort of thing you might riskily attempt to catch your opponent off guard at a distance.
It’s very possible to imagine a scenario where the use of this overhand would be justified, and justify other uses too. In a single combat between two fighters approaching eachother from a distance, the method of attack possible shifts from throws, to sliding thrusts, to normal ones; for the first two of those methods the overhand grip can be argued to be superior — its deficiencies in control are completely irrelevant in a throw and already a factor in a sliding thrust, and its additional power and speed and extremely relevant since longer-reaching strikes afford more time for an opponent to mitigate them. Then, when things come down to close combat, it might prove a fatal mistake to waste time changing one’s grip and give an opponent an opening in which to strike.
In the dominant paradigm, advocated by most scholars, hoplites held their spears in an upright position resting against the right shoulder before battle is joined, after which it was lowered into the underhand position to facilitate the advance into battle (e.g. Xenophon Anabasis 1.8.18; 6.5.25,fig. 13). Once in spear-fighting range, however, the overhead position was adopted, with spears aimed at opponents’ heads.
That sounds unlikely to me, not least because it would be very hard to switch grips with a 9-ft spear, in close formation, whilst already in fighting range. Even if you switched before the final charge, I’d expect there to be a lot of entanglement, breaking the momentum of the advance and potentially disordering the phalanx enough to fall victim to an enemy rush.
I actually find this “overhand-or-underhand” debate quite funny, because there are some Ancient and Medieval pictures, depicting spears used in melee both overhand and underhand *on the same picture*, so arguments about artistic conventions become completely pointless.
(For example: https://www.hellenicaworld.com/Greece/ImagesML/war/Armor/Achilles.jpg and https://manuscriptminiatures.com/image/16207/1000 )
I agree that sometimes spears held overhand are javelins / intended for throwing, but it clearly isn’t always the case.
How exactly did the maneuvering part of a shield work though? IIRC, the weight of something like a Roman style shield is in the 10-12 pound range. That’s awfully heavy. And while I suspect your average Roman legionaire is more active than I am and probably a more fit, I don’t think the difference would be massive. And moving something like that around to cover different angles as threats present themselves is going to get very exhausting, very quickly. How did they manage? Or is that a big part of what all the rotation of units in the Roman system of combat is all about?
I fought with a shield on the larger end, and while it’s tiring at first, your body gets used to it. Leverage comes into play, of course–a heavy center-grip shield will wear you out MUCH faster than an equally-sized strapped shield, because with the center-grip you’re (typically, not always) using it further from your body, and your muscles are constantly trying to overcome that pull. Still, it doesn’t take that long to develop those muscles. And you’re not going to be using them all the time. There are ebbs and flows in battles, and you’ll be able to find time to relax your stance.
Still, you’re more than likely correct. I’d expect a Roman to adopt a much less active shield style than, say, a Pict. This comes up in modern training–it’s often recommended that modern sword-and-board fighters use smaller shields to force them to learn more active fighting styles. It’s super easy to just turtle up behind a big shield.
The utility of these shields derived from the Celtic thureos is that the grip is horizontal, meaning that even if you just let your arm hang straight down you still get most of the protection bar strikes to the head. With (large) centre grip shields, holding the shield continuously at arms reach is unnecessarily tiring and foolish. It makes it heavier on the arm than keeping it closer and if you decide to strike with the shield you have to bring it in the wind up for the strike. Keeping it closer to the body and moving it as necessary is far less tiring. The curvature of the scutum means it covers much of the body as is, making moving it about like a flat shield is less necessary.
IIRC, the weight of something like a Roman style shield is in the 10-12 pound range.
To ground those numbers, a laptop computer weighs around 4-6 pounds. Two to three laptop computers is not really especially much weight, particularly if you’re only waving them around for a few minutes at the maximum.
I remember that the ancient Picts carried smallish square shields; they must be depicted as such in some period carvings, or illustrations based on this wouldn’t have been incuded in the Wargames Research Group book “Armies and Enemies of Imperial Rome” https://wargaming.info/2022/wargaming-tomes-collection-part-three/
> a file width of six feet (three ‘double cubits,’ or c. 1.8m)
I think you mean “two ‘double cubits'”—while definitions of “cubit” obviously varied in the ancient world I’m pretty sure every cubit was more than 30 cm and elsewhere you seem to assume a 45cm cubit.
RE: Macedonian pikemen. I recall years ago reading that they used a very small shield essentially just attached to their arm because they would need BOTH hands to wield the pike.
This talks about a fairly large shield and one-handed pike wielding. How on earth does a man handle a 15 – 20 foot pike one handed?
Simple; it is a very large shield strapped to an arm.
I can’t quite understand how that would work in practice. First because I cant see how a shield that isn’t being gripped by one hand will remain steady in an upright position while attached only to the a forearm (you are strapping something heavy to a cylindrically shaped object); and secondly won’t the shield per force be very difficult to bring round to the other side of the body while holding the spear in two hands? Seems like you are giving up a lot of the “protection space”.
On holding up the shield, there would be a leather strap attached to the other shoulder which would keep it in place.
On the subject of moving the shield to the other side, I’d not see why you’d want to. In a pike formation, most enemies are going to be kept squarely away from you. If you’re close enough to an enemy that you have to maneuver the shield, your pike would be useless and you’d drop it. Arrow fire would pose minimal threat, as you’d be standing in a way that faces your shield towards the enemy, and thus the arrows.
“spacing is often determined by rough body-part measurements (like the length of an arm or forearm) rather than someone coming out with a measuring stick ” — I can easily see how ancient armies would have had a similar command to the modern US military “Squad! Dress Right — Dress!” And everyone uses an arm to space and eyes the person to the right (and person in front) to achieve a basic alignment in a formation. If they’re doing it now in close order drill, they could have done it then, certainly in the professional, trained armies.
Though maybe less so in the average companion bodyguard that was the principal source of warriors for many smaller and less centralized historical polities — where the average army is a hodgepodge of small groups of a dozen or two people whose fighting experience is mostly from raiding and skirmishing with eachother, I’d imagine that people are generally going to be a bit more versed in dueling and small unit tactics than large-scale drills.
There’s something I’ve been wondering – how did these infantry formations deal with being so unfair in terms of risk? If you’re in the first line in a hoplite phalanx, you’ll be the first target of everyone; if you’re in the second, you might see action if the first guy can’t fight anymore (dead, or possibly injured/exhausted/lost his weapon/shield?). But you’re the seventh guy, then aren’t you basically a spectator at that point? As long as your formation isn’t attacked from the rear, the risk to you is as small as it gets.
Did the guys in front rows get first dibs on loot? Was it perhaps normal for younger men to fight in front while older guys were in the back? Or vice versa? If it’s the kind of army where the soldiers get paid, did the soldiers closer to the front get paid more?
If you were in the front of a Phalanx, you generally had better armor, which you could afford because you were richer. Being in the front rank reinforced your status.
> Did the guys in front rows get first dibs on loot?
First rank was the closest to the enemy camp, were all the nice loot was to be found. This might sound like a joke, but I once read that the All Swiss Confederacy had problems to get their first line of their Gewalthaufen to armour up, because the fighters felt, it would lower their chance to get loot.
I can’t speak about hoplites, but in the Early Modern period, the landsknechten included a category of soldiers literally called “the double ones” (doppelsoldner). Among other things they were generally better known for, they formed the front rows. So yeah, in at least one formation those who were in front received double pay.
The warriors at the front were the richest.
What with the Idle Rich of our times it’s pretty easy to forget, but “with great power comes great responsibility” takes on a rather more direct meaning in many historical contexts — you pay it back (notionally to those you have power over, more cynically to those above you who let you have power) by fighting. It’s a running theme in many historical societies; since it’s probably fresh in your memories from recent posting, the Roman system of conscription laid out by Livy is a perfect example: the richer you are, the more you are obliged to spend on combat equipment and, implicitly, the more you are expected to fight.
Yeah, all correct IMO.
It’s also worth mentioning that richer people tend to have more free time to practice martial arts than poorer people. They would thus probably be a bit more skilled with their weapons, which might make them more confident in themselves (especially given their generally better armor).
Assuming they enjoyed practicing martial arts as much as modern people do, simply holding a weapon and wearing armor while surrounded by people they’d trained with would probably bring back positive memories and help keep spirits up.
Pride in one’s skills and a desire to prove one’s worth might come into it as well. Being able to tell others to stay behind you so you can protect them from incoming arrows, and then *actually being able to do that,* would be quite a flex as long as you managed to avoid visibly shitting yourself in fear.
“Assuming they enjoyed practicing martial arts as much as modern people do”
Um, what assumption are you making here? I’m under the impression that people who do a martial art as a hobby are a small fraction of the population. There are order-of-magnitude more e.g. gyms than dojos/etc. (combined for all martial arts), no?
Another question I have: where could I read more about how Roman vs. Macedonian battles worked out, in particular how the Romans dealt with the phalanxes? Preferably in a format that’s not too dry and technical.
I’m also curious why the Romans didn’t try to adopt the Macedonian phalanx, since it seems like a nearly invincible formation in melee. Too slow/inflexible?
I think Osprey has a book about that.
I don’t have great answers but a couple vague ones I’ve picked up from various stuff Bret’s written over the years:
-There isn’t a huge sample size of battles where the Romans faced up against Macedonian phalanxes, but when it did happen the Romans won decisively pretty consistently, so there wouldn’t be much motivation for them to adopt it.
-As to exactly how that happened I’m not super clear on the details, but my impression is that the Macedonians had the advantage in the early stages when the lines and formations were neat and tidy and well organized, but inevitably as the battle went on and they tried to push the advantage their formations got chaotic and opened up weak points the Romans were able to exploit.
Eh, that’s not neccessarily how you wars and military systems are? (I do remember someone going through most legion vs. Phalanx battles and the end result is that while the legion generally comes off better, it’s by no-means completely one-side) there’s a lot more to the roman military system than just the tactical/operational unit, and reformatting to a macedonian style one would be a huge thing even *if* the Phalanx was clearly tactically superior (which of course, it was not)
Legion vs. Phalanx by Myke Cole (Osprey, 2018)
Of the battles where we know the Romans fought Macedonian-style phalanx armies,* they lost two and won one against Pyrrhus, and later won at Cynoscephalae, Magnesia, and Pydna, for a total of 2/3 win rate — a clear advantage, but not an overwhelming one.
* There’s a theory that the Carthaginians retrained their citizen infantry to fight as pikemen during the First Punic War, which if true would change the figures somewhat, although since this is just a theory I think we can discount it for present purposes.
I suspect the shieldman in front of pikeman trope comes from an inaccurate interpretation of the medieval use of large shields to protect archers/crossbowmen. The fact that the shieldbearer also had a spear/pike is forgotten or considered irrelevant.
I seem to recall a chinese type of thing where the soldiers were working in teams of three: One guy with a big shield, one guy with a polearm and one guy with a missile weapon like a bow or crossbow.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jixiao_Xinshu?
Oh the spanish tercios did something similar. Where the swiss and germans put guys with halbereds or two handed swords between their pikemen, the spanish had man with round shields and swords.
But in none of those system the shieldbearer was ever unarmed. I mean how dense would you have to be, to tell the guy who will get closest to the enemy that he should be unarmed.
A shieldman ABSOLUTELY needs to be armed. But not necessarily for attacking. I fought in the style you describe–shieldmen in front, two-handed weapons in the second rank, spears in the third. Small unit, we didn’t have the people to be deep (though usually another unit was behind us), but all of us were armed.
Tactically this creates three “kill zones”. The first is spear-thrust-length, where you get your spear duels. The second is the two-handed weapons–halberds, glaives, that sort of thing. The “Okay, now I’m mad” zone. The third is shieldmen–the “Oh crap, we’re actually being hit” zone. It’s defense in depth at a very small scale. You may hit us, but you’ll pay dearly for it!
The spears and halberds and such were built so that they could hook onto the enemy’s shields. The idea was to pull them out of position so the other spears could thrust at them, causing an opening. Doesn’t take much if you’re prepared to exploit it–you’ve got a second, maybe two before the formation closes again, which is a surprisingly long time (sometimes; time works differently when you’re hopped up on adrenaline and endorphins). The basic idea is to disrupt the #3 kill zone from the #2 kill zone, then rush in and break the unit.
A secondary reason to have the shieldmen armed is that if a spear/halberd/whatever grabs your shield, having something to knock it off with is extremely useful! I was trained to hold my sword (really a club made of rattan) so the tip dipped slightly UNDER my shield for just that purpose. Didn’t affect my combat much–I wasn’t expected to do much combat, and if I did it was going to be a lot of overhead slashes and thrusts, which we were trained to do from that position–but it made knocking off things trying to pull me out of position much easier. This meant that we maintained distance, allowing our spearmen to do their jobs. And if the enemy tried to ram us, we were still in good order, and trained to use their momentum against them.
The other aspect is psychological. You’ve got 20-30 armed, angry men intent on killing you coming at you. Having a weapon doesn’t do much practical good–one vs 20 is no contest, the sane thing is to run away as fast as you can–but if you have a weapon the equation changes. You’re not passively sitting there being bashed on; if they get close enough you can possibly do something about it. It’s YOUR JOB to do something about it. A man with a weapon is going to stand with his shield brothers much longer than a man without a weapon would, because the weapon makes him feel like he can affect the outcome if he holds just a little longer. (Again, training comes into play–drilling for combat at all three kill zones means you know what to do if they get close.)
Another reason for the shieldman to have a weapon is that otherwise the other side will basically treat him as a speed bump.
More likely due to the nepotistic and self cannibilizing nature of Hollywood it’s a trend that some showrunner or writer thought was ‘smart’ and now everyones copying that person.
As mentioned on the blog before, Hollywood prop weapons and shields are often made much too heavy. So an extra might need both hands just to lift their shield.
and as noted before, prop weapons & shields are often too heavy for pretty good reasons – weapons are required to be thicker, heavier and more cumbersome so they don’t slice the extras into little bits (after all, the defining factor of a sharp edge is literally that it is very thin). Shields on the other hand have a representation problem – thin metal/foam looks, essentially, cheap and tacky, all factors that often amount to ‘too much like a police riot shield that hasn’t seen much use’. Except looking like a police riot shield is the opposite of a problem for anyone trying to make a shield, as police riot shields ARE SHIELDS and are effective at their jobs.
On that note, I suppose we can classify a police riot shield as a scutum. They are generally curved and ~120X60cm. It is made of different materials and doesn’t have big words on it, but a Roman shield *is* going to be rather reminiscent of a riot shield.
Fascinating stuff! Is there any video at all showing a plausible formation in action? Surely some reenactment group must have tried.
I don’t know if anyone else has mentioned this yet or not, but seems to me that we see the aspis/round shield in favor during periods when more of the heavy infantry were wearing some lower leg protection (greaves; mail leggings) so those areas did not need as much shield protection; but as soon as lower leg protection disappears or never was (Rome, Celts, Germans, thureophoroi) the longer, larger shield becomes more in vogue — in part perhaps because it offers some lower leg protection while not adding as much extra weight to be carried by the soldier.
I wouldn’t put too much weight on that notion. Greaves were in use in Italy during the period where the scutum was adopted and Livy, Polybius and Dionysius all agree on the use of both by infantry. In late antiquity onwards however when round shields are prevalent greaves are less common, especially among non Romans where they are exceedingly rare.
In the modern day British army they still line up into parade formation by putting the closed fist of the fully extended right arm onto the shoulder of the man to the right, Roman style.
this is probably one of those funny situations where extensive historical research is needed to prove that something that happens in modern times for traditional reasons wasn’t just made up at random on a Sunday afternoon in 1834. Like, parade formation having changed substantially over time is quite unlikely, but it not being impossible means you have to go to great lengths to prove the most obvious answer.
I really wish your last point could somehow been widely spread in the relevant writing community. It would make so much difference.
To take a currently bad example, the whole Rings of Power Southlands arc, rightly battered by Prof Devereaux, would have been so much better if the time spent on tricks had instead been spent on the villlagers practicing a bit, emphasising how well they know each other, and at the crunch time a simpler battle could then have turned on the fact that none of these people could abandon each other, giving them better motivation than the loose band of orcs whose motivations were more theoretical and weak.
To take a currently good example, all the bigger battles in Star Wars Andor turn on tactics and especially motivation, the focus is on the emotions and motivations, rather than the technology or even the result. The firefight in the Aldhani heist is nasty, and realistic, and a key moment occurs when a previously key Rebel fighter shows himself to be a bit less motivated than his colleagues leading to one of the latter getting killed . The final battles in the prison and Ferrix are mostly unarmed civilians being motivated in different ways by their leaders to attack the Empire, working in small mobs of people who know each other really well to try and overwhelm armed Imperials. The resulting footage is much more visceral and feels much more realistic.
To be fair to Rings of Power, at least it’s first season tried to remember that the antagonist is meant to be a credible threat to the protagonists. That is more than most Star Wars shows seem to manage.
Perhaps the real problem is that Holywood wants things that look cool. Even Andor has scenes that look a lot more cool than sensible. Creating an actual threat to the protagonist makes him look less cool.
(To clarify: Andor does not make this mistake with its title character, and is vastly superior to the other SW shows I have seen.)
> to shift into fighting formation, everyone just had to face right or left
Surely the problem with this is that if a column is marching towards the enemy, and simply turns to the right to form a line of battle, the line is facing the wrong way.
In the film /Gettysburg/, Chamberlain says (paraphrased): “It’s easy to move from line-of-battle to column-of-march; it’s much harder to move from column-of-march to line-of-battle, and furthermore, when you do have to do it, you will probably be under fire.”
In fact Bret later shows a diagram of a column wheeling right to form a line, facing at 90 degrees to the direction of march, which would leave their flank facing the enemy.
The film portrays the beginning of Gettysburg as a meeting engagement, whth two armies marching straight towards one-another. Both sides are portrayed deploying from column-of-march to line-of-battle, and the process for both armies seems to be the same: the column wheels 90 degrees, the first rank stops and turns to face the enemy as the rest of the column marches past them, each rank turning to join the line as it reaches the end (hard to describe; the column sort of unwraps itself).
I think that’s what velites and other screening forces are for: preventing any funny business on the enemy’s part before your lines are set up. And bear in mind that pre-gunpowder missile troops are a lot less of a threat than mid 19th-century rifle-muskets firing minie balls.
> In fact Bret later shows a diagram of a column wheeling right to form a line, facing at 90 degrees to the direction of march, which would leave their flank facing the enemy.
Yes, the shielded flank. 😉
But more seriously, you have to remeber that “fire” is a lot less of a problem for a Roman consul, then for an Union General. As long as you begin to get into fighting formation a few hundered meters away from the enemy, you have all the time in the world to get into line. Espacially because the enemy probably also have to set up his formation, at the same time.
But I’m sure that better drilled armies can come up with more complex, but safer ways to get into line. And those became more important as effecitve range increased.
> In fact Bret later shows a diagram of a column wheeling right to form a line, facing at 90 degrees to the direction of march, which would leave their flank facing the enemy.
Not sure what you’re trying to say here- in the diagram after they turn to form a line, their front is to the enemy and the flank is, well, on the flank?
Are you saying that while they’re marching off to the right to stretch out their lines each soldier is physically facing 90 degrees away from the enemy? That’s true but it’s pretty trivial to have each man turn 90 degrees to the left if the enemy suddenly attacks. And in a pre-modern battle you’ll see them coming well before they’re a serious threat. Plus the “flank” you’re pointing at the enemy is the left where the shields are, so even before you turn you’re pretty protected against long range missile fire.
Pedantry moment: That line is actually from Gods and Generals, and it’s from Adelbert Ames, who’s teaching Chamberlain how to lead an infantry regiment.
No discussion of what British/Commonwealth armies drill calls “forming”?
The command “left [or right] FORM!” is a way to turn a column marching towards the enemy into a line of battle facing that enemy — without wheeling, as in Bret’s diagram.
Instead of wheeling, everyone executes a 45 degree turn on the march and moves off to form a line facing the direction they were previously marching towards. We still do this on ceremonial parade, to present ourselves towards the reviewing stand or audience. Just sayin’
To bring this back to the sort of discussion on this board — forming vs wheeling is generally seen as (1) a better way to get your troops facing the enemy; but (2) takes more training/discipline to pull off.
Yep. I’ve done my share of close-order drill (in my day, the Finnish Army NCO school and Reserve Officer School had one hour of close-order drill per week, and in the basic, perhaps a bit more). I and the troops I lead as an officer cadet later during my conscription could do very nicely the wheeling maneuver described by Bret. Doing the forming maneuver would have required very much more training in close-order drill than we had.
On the other hand, we paid somewhat more attention to topics necessary in actual modern warfare. It was sufficient to be able to do enough close order drill that the unit could be moved from one place to another as a unit, not as a mob.
Another fantastic article that leaves a lot of food for thought. I wondered if you have looked at the British Army Public Order training manual for a modern comparison to shield walls. There are open and close order formations that match your measurements for Roman Legion and drill tactics that are based on centuries of drill movements on the battlefield.
Confusion with Note 6:
“about how big the cubit is that Polybius is working with – around 80cm or so”
I think you mean the double cubit for 80cm? An 80cm forearm sounds inhumanly long.
I know Brett’s a historian and probably knows better than me but the proposed spaced out formation for the legion seems like it would be exactly the opposite to what would stand up to cavalry.
As is stated in previous posts the best way to stop cavalry was to form an immovable block of men since horses aren’t battering rams. But the wide order spacing is almost the opposite and could allow for cavalry to punch straight through.
Also the Saxons lost at Hastings due to falling for repeat fainted flights and the king being killed.
Also Also I think Brett may be putting too much emphasis on the morale aspect, entirely downplaying the kinetic aspect of war sounds like a mistake.
On the face of it, you could have people step forwards and to the side to create a thinner, denser formation if you really needed to. Perhaps nobody really needed to.
I might also argue that in almost all circumstances involving an attack on formed infantry the cavalry’s horses were likely to have lower morale than the opposing infantry’s men. Just how many horses were willing to risk a spear in the chest in the name of the Senate and People of Rome?
> Also Also I think Brett may be putting too much emphasis on the morale aspect, entirely downplaying the kinetic aspect of war sounds like a mistake.
I mean, does he though? In what ways?
The best way to stop cavalry is to stand reasonably close together _and hold your nerve_. Shoulder to shoulder but quaking and wavering and some dudes running away on a charge is useless. A bit more space, with everyone feeling brave and confident and ready to fight – and projecting that through their body language – is effective. Any of these reasonably close order formations, set up with a historical number of ranks, is dense enough to do the job.
> But the wide order spacing is almost the opposite and could allow for cavalry to punch straight through.
I don’t it’s quite as easy as that makes it sound. Yes, physically speaking, there might be enough space for a horseman to ride between files of the enemy soldiers (though horses are at least as broad as humans, and there are the rider’s legs adding to the width). Except that these enemy soldiers are not wooden posts to be passively ridden through; they’re active, angry, and armed, so said horseman would immediately find himself being attacked on all sides with greatly impeded mobility. Horses are just as vulnerable to injury as humans, after all; all it takes is one guy getting a good swing in with his sword, or entangling the horse’s legs with his shield to cause a fall, at which point the horseman (if he survives the fall – there’s a decent chance he doesn’t) is *still* surrounded on all sides by enemies intent on killing him, and now without even a modicum of extra mobility or height advantage. *Maybe* it’d work if the line is, like, two men deep, but going through a six-or-more deep formation seems like it would be tantamount to suicide if the formation doesn’t fortuitously break. And it’s a lot less risky trying to get the formation to break by charging up to it, breaking at the last second, and wheeling away repeatedly.
Bumming around European museums, I’d been struck by how often 90 cm shows up in descriptions of weapons and armor. It’s even the length of modern fencing weapons. Always wondered where it came from, and now I know.
BTW, it’s been a hundred years since a fencing coach last said “in measure”. We say “in distance” now.
However, “in distance” sounds godawful, and “in measure” is, in fact, in active modern use.
Maybe it sounds better in a sentence? I’m used to saying things like “Of course, at this point of the technique, you are within striking distance of your opponent, so what do you do next? You get away as fast as possible, correct!”
“Within striking distance” works great, if a bit of a mouthful; but I would consider it distinct to slotting an unmodified “in distance” into a sentence.
To be honest, I agree with Melanoc3tus that “in distance” sounds quite awful; I’m not a native speaker though.
Anyway, I think that “measure” is a better term, as it is more philogically accurate and more precise than just “distance”. After all, you even have the many English expressions, such as “to take your opponent’s measure”, “to have someone’s measure”, and so on…
Body measurements aren’t precise but they *are* always availible and easy to use. Hence why inch (“thumb”), feet, forearm (cubit), pace, fathom, etc crop up. (they tend to be standardized slightly differently but for a quick rough and ready thing they more than suffice)
An inch happens to be about the width of a thumb, but that’s not its origin. It’s from the Latin for twelfth.
Hence, perhaps, the expression “rule of thumb”.
Quite certainly hence the rule of thumb
I think it would be foolish to utterly discount riots as though not a perfect comparison do still represent attempts by either side to break enemy morale via melee combat.
Also there seems to be the constant attempt to portray the Roman system as atypical in all facets, and while it was atypical I’m not sure it was in every facet.
The riot police are not usually facing armed people, or at least not armed with anything but improvised weapons and not many of those. If the rioters are actually armed with melee weapons of some sort (and not firearms), the police tactics would not involve “kettling” or anything like that.
Keep in mind that the function of police is (or is supposed to be) pretty much the opposite of military. Military is breaking your will by killing you and breaking your stuff. Police is making you go home and be a good citizen.
Particularly in a present-day US context, the threat profile of riot cops to street protestors often seems to have little to do with direct physical violence by the cops themselves, compared to the long-term legal and/or reputational consequences for having been arrested under circumstances where the book will be thrown at you in increasingly absurd Kafkaesque ways, like attacking officers with chemical weapons by letting the wind blow their own tear gas back into their faces, injuring a police horse by “tripping” it as it charges into a crowd, bruising an officer’s knuckles by repeatedly headbutting them, and so on. It’s a bit like the “tripwire” interpretation of overseas US military deployments, where the threat profile of e.g. a small outpost near an oilfield in northeastern Syria isn’t the physical military presence itself but the potential for massively destructive retaliation on anyone who dared to so much as touch a single hair on a US soldier’s head, in which case the immediate physical vulnerability of a given US military presence might counterintuitively end up becoming a kind of asset.
The upshot is that “battles” between street protestors and riot cops are probably a poor model for actual pre-gunpowder infantry tactics (or cavalry-on-infantry tactics) for the same basic reason as Hollywood and/or LARP battles: a combat situation where at least some of the combatants are actively trying not to injure each other is fundamentally different from a combat situation where they’re trying to achieve the opposite!
Even if the higher-ups are hoping that some cops get injured so they have an excuse to arrest people, I don’t think that would be the case with the actual cops themselves.
People wanting to be avoiding injury in both situations doesn’t mean that the risk assessments are the same. The dangers and rewards can be radically different.
Think about cop drug bust tactics vs the motivations of soldiers involved in a large scale symmetrical conflict like WWII. Both are potentially at risk of getting shot but their personal danger assessments are radically different.
If you told a WWII GI “well this raid may or may not be necessary, there is no military intelligence but we might seize some money and that would look really good at your next promotion review” he would think you were an utter madman. He doesn’t want to die to seize some bags of cash. But many American drug squad units would jump at the opportunity to conduct such a raid, so much so that we’ve seen them fabricate evidence and break protocols to be allowed to conduct raids.
Both of these propositions mean the possibility of getting shot at but one of them is way, way more dangerous and has a corresponding higher degree of risk aversion.
People wanting to be avoiding injury in both situations doesn’t mean that the risk assessments are the same. The dangers and rewards can be radically different.
No, but it does mean that the people actually doing the fighting are likely to act similarly. Maybe there are some cops dedicated enough to let a protester beat them up so said protester can later be charged, but I can’t imagine they’re very numerous.
Do you think the typical scenario here involves the cops actually getting injured in any genuinely serious way? Punching someone in the face so many times you bruise your knuckles is technically an injury, after all.
The entire reason “stop resisting!” is such a cliche is because of how difficult it can be to avoid making any physical motion that a cop who wants to attack you (or arrest you on charges of having attacked them) could potentially point to as justification — the relevance to the OP topic being that protestors in a “battle” with riot police have the full weight of the US carceral system pressing down on them to treat the cops as daintily and gingerly as a movie star filming an action scene (even if the cops feel no such compunction in the other direction) which seems like an obvious confound for any attempt to use such “battles” as an experimental model for an actual premodern infantry battle.
Do you think the typical scenario here involves the cops actually getting injured in any genuinely serious way? Punching someone in the face so many times you bruise your knuckles is technically an injury, after all.
I don’t know about the “typical” scenario, but there have certainly been violent riots in various parts of the world.
True, the US criminal legal system is exceptionally punitive compared to many other countries in which riots take place, and riot-control scenarios in such countries aren’t necessarily beholden to the exact same dynamic of protestors contorting themselves to avoid doing anything that a prosecutor might conceivably be able to spin in court as having assaulted or otherwise physically resisted a cop (with the help of the cop’s own presumptively-truthful testimony, of course).
The point still stands that mass infantry combat in a riot-control scenario is fundamentally different from premodern armed warfare, in the sense that the primary fear for both sides is not that they might be killed or injured by the weapons currently in use on the battlefield, but that something might happen to trigger an escalation to vastly more powerful and/or lethal weapons — for the protestors, the fear might be the long-term legal or political consequences of arrest and prosecution, or it might be immediate physical escalation by the cops to the use of more effective if not outright military-grade weaponry; for the cops, it might be political backlash from the central state authority as punishment for heavy-handed overreach, or depending on the protest movement’s strength and goals, it might be the more dire political consequences of an outright internal revolution and/or external regime change. Regardless, what’s being modeled is less an actual infantry battle in line with premodern warfare, and more a kind of staged pseudo-combat charade in line with a professional wrestling match, with each side appealing to an outside audience for support while trying to bait the other side into screwing up its proscribed role.
Although this is not on point, it is on the topic of Roman Weapons and should be of interest to readers of this blog:
https://www.timesofisrael.com/swords-found-in-judean-desert-caves-ranked-as-most-exciting-archaeology-story-of-2023/
National Geographic ranked the discovery of four remarkably well preserved 1,900-year-old Roman Swords in a Judean Desert cave near the Dead Sea as the most exciting archaeology story of 2023.
Follow the link back. They also found a well preserved pilum. The weapons are thought to date from the Bar Kochba rebellion 132 — 136 C.E.
> No one, after all, is pulling out a ruler in order to get the spacing right when forming up for battle
(Until the Enlightenment, at least)
The 17th/18th century sergeant’s half-pike was both an emblem and a measuring tool, used to dress the line.
I wonder how much the idea of dedicated shield soldiers in the front line has to do with Tank v DPS roles in gaming. If someone’s concept of combat is that the defensive/front line fighter has vastly inferior harm+threat than an “offensive unit” but is super hard to kill, deployment without a primary weapon like spear or shield in favor of a better shield makes sense. The sacrifice of ‘damage’ may be negligible. The idea that an offensive weapon also is a defensive tool is not necessarily well represented in say DnD (same AC armed or unarmed) or most RTS games.
In games i play, unless you have special magic “taunt” that makes enemy can’t attack anyone but you, the tank also have to deal damage otherwise they can get bypassed entirely. At least they have to be like medieval castle that you don’t want to be backstabbed by if you don’t neutralize them first.
It’s also worth mentioning that this is not something (strategy / tactics) video games normally do. I at least cannot recall any strategy games where you’d have shieldbearers, ie people carrying *just* shields, as dedicated units. There may be some that I’ve missed, but I’d still argue it’s more an exception than a rule.
In fact, it’s quite the opposite – even in exceptional cases where there *might* have been a dedicated shieldbearer in real life, the game presents all units as weapon+shield. Pavise crossbowmen of Total War, which to my knowledge did sometimes work in teams of two IRL, come to mind.
Both dudes in a pavise crossbow team will have swords or something. They’re not necessarily expecting to use them, as dedicated missile troops focusing on weight of fire, but they’ll have them and be able to pull them out if it comes to that.
True – I was talking about primary weapon though, ie crossbow in this specific case.
I think the key factor in these sorts of arrangements is mostly that they’re not primarily melee formations. A crossbow team here is basically one guy who shoots the crossbow, one guy who helps with loading and protection from other missile fire via the big shield.
While there are non-homogenous melee formations (e.g. late medieval pike blocks usually have a fairly high proportion of intermingled shorter weapons), they won’t generally have dedicate purely defensive troops. Once you’re getting into close melee combat, everyone up at the front needs to have reasonable fighting capability – although that can be provided through a mix of weapons and roles.
The problem is definitely the idea of the Tank, yeah. Just as with actual tanks, the reality of all combat is that every single piece on the board punches well above its own ability to survive, and defence is a matter of having the better offence. Defensive measures aren’t designed to nullify threats on their own, they’re designed to make a target tough enough that it is given an opportunity to retaliate — which, in combat between people scared to die, is a powerful preventative measure.
Even if you’re intellectually aware that media/pop-culture depictions are inaccurate, they tend to seep into our minds, so that it takes an effort to break out of the conditioning. For example, there was much more to Roman warfare than a droid army of legionnaires taking on a mob of Germanic berserkers (with a volley of fire arrows of course), but those scenes color the Western imagination.
Last time, I fell into a trap of associating Roman swords & pila with the soldier-type, and longer swords & spears with warriors, although in fact, the gladius wasn’t that much shorter than La Tene swords in general, and spears were used by soldiers too. Other commenters offered helpful critiques, and I realized that I was unduly influenced by media stereotypes (which is why my intuition went astray, which it usually doesn’t).
As for shield walls, I think this too is warped by the “rule of cool”, which sacrifices accuracy & realism upon the altar of making things look radical for the viewer. Certainly such tactics were used, but I’d imagine they were spaced out a bit to allow for maneuver and attack.
re: “a droid army of legionnaires taking on a mob of Germanic berserkers,” Bret had a nice thread recently asking why it is that depictions of the Greek hoplite phalanx disproportionately seem to involve a disciplined and stationary Greek line defending against charging hordes of poorly-equipped, poorly-disciplined barbarians (even when those “barbarians” are from a much wealthier and better-organized military power like Persia, the opposite of “barbarian” having been “Greek,” not “civilized) given the obvious historical reality that the Greek hoplite phalanx typically did charge into battle, and that by far the most common and iconic opponent of the Greek hoplite phalanx was another Greek hoplite phalanx.
Bret’s point was that what this sort of thing is really doing is channeling racialized colonial-era imagery of modern European imperial rifle infantry standing against non-European melee forces (viz Michael Parenti on “the wagon train versus the swarthy hordes”) and projecting it backward onto the ancient past, and this VDH-style fixation on modern ideological categories without regard for vast gulfs of time and historical context seems like a key reason not only why the military sophistication of “barbarian” societies is so often scrubbed from such depictions, but also why depictions of “civilized vs. civilized” ancient battle are so relatively uncommon, even in media like HBO’s Rome where the intra-Roman battlefield clashes that occur entirely offscreen are the central driving events of the plot.
re: “a droid army of legionnaires taking on a mob of Germanic berserkers,” Bret had a nice thread recently asking why it is that depictions of the Greek hoplite phalanx disproportionately seem to involve a disciplined and stationary Greek line defending against charging hordes of poorly-equipped, poorly-disciplined barbarians
The only reasonably recent movies I can think of that show Greek infantry combat are 300, 300: Rise of an Empire, and Alexander. 300 has plenty of scenes of Spartan hoplites breaking ranks to fight disorganised one-on-one duels. 300: Rise of an Empire is mostly about naval combat, but the opening scene shows the Athenians charging at full pelt — one might even say, berserker-style — against the Persians at Marathon. Alexander, meanwhile, shows the Macedonian phalanx marching into battle, rather than remaining stationary. So, unless there are other examples which I’ve forgotten, I’d say the reason why it “seems” that Greek phalanxes are always shown as disciplined and stationary is that Bret goes into movies expecting to find problematic orientalist tropes and sees what he expects to see, even when it’s objectively not there.
but also why depictions of “civilized vs. civilized” ancient battle are so relatively uncommon, even in media like HBO’s Rome where the intra-Roman battlefield clashes that occur entirely offscreen are the central driving events of the plot.
That reminds me of a paper I read ages ago which offered a tortured theological explanation for why all the miracles in Euripides’ Bacchae take place off-stage. In both cases, I think budgetary constraints are a far more likely explanation than any principled aversion to the concept of portraying miracles or civilised armies fighting each other.
Yes, that would similarly be the reason why several of the cavalry battles in the GoT books turn into infantry battles on TV.
Michael Parenti seems pretty fixated on projecting modern ideological categories onto a wide variety of past situations. Anyone who claims to be presenting “the history” of the past 400 years has to be a fairly rigid ideologue.
Also, “better-organised” is ambiguous. The Persians undoubtedly had a better bureaucracy and commissariat than the Greeks, so it that sense their military certainly was better-organised than the Greeks. However, most Persian armies were raised ad hoc for a particular campaign; there’s no evidence of soldiers undergoing extensive formation drill, and the variety in languages and ways of fighting would have made it harder for the different contingents to get used to working with each other. In terms of being able to keep formation, work together, and perform battlefield manoeuvres, therefore, there’s no reason to suppose that the Persians were particularly well organised by comparison with the Greeks, and indeed Herodotus specifically cites Persian ill-discipline as a cause of their defeat at Plataea (9.62.3).
The idea of dedicated shield-bearers may be true for Ancient Sumer. There is a depiction of a Sumerian phalanx on the so-called Stele of the Vultures, which depicts a raw of large rectangular shields protecting warriors wielding two-handed spears. It seems that those shields are carried by somebody and not stationed on the ground (feet of warriors are depicted). If the shield-bearers have some other weapons, those aren’t shown. The depiction is not very realistic, so it is hard yo say for sure, and even if Sumerians experimented with such idea, it went out of use pretty quickly for obvious reasons.
With regards to the ‘wheel right and then turn left’ deployment, it seems that there’s an alternative mechanism using just turns. I’ll describe it using the 5-by-10 unit arrangement in the above diagram, but it can be adapted to any unit arrangement.
– The first five files march down the road in battle order, they halt and perform a right turn. When they are in position, they halt and perform a left turn.
– The second five files form up in battle order, leaving enough space between then and the first five files that the two groups won’t collide. They also march down the road in battle order. At the appropriate points they also right turn and left turn.
Advantage relative to the wheel-and-turn: Doesn’t require the unit be trained in wheeling.
Disadvantage 1: Time. With the additional gaps required between each portion of each unit, it will take the army longer to deploy.
Disadvantage 2: Perceived Quality. If the enemy sees a unit deploy this way, they may conclude that its of lower quality.
Clearly a row of 135 cm spacing Romans would not walk up to a line of 90 cm spaced Greeks and then stop to trade weapon blows. Both fronts would be moving, and in the initial clash by definition they are moving towards each other. The second and later ranks would be involved almost instantly, if only via momentum.
How that worked without messing everything up is a big mystery to me and I’d love to see a post about it.
You have mentioned quite a bit that the wargaming trope of mixing weapons is not ideal. So how did the mixed melee/missile formations like the Persian sparbera or the Byzantine skuatoi work?
“Some armies did have units which were composites of different troop types (this is common in Han-dynasty Chinese armies, for instance, and a standard feature of warfare in the Near East in the early iron age), but never in a way that makes each totally reliant on the other providing either all of the offense or all of the defense.”
Mixed melee/missile formations (as well as mixed formations with different melee weapons, like the Swiss mixing pikes with halberds) definitely were used throughout history.
The combination of sword-and-shield infantry with pikemen (quite similar to the one depicted on the fourth illustration) was suggested by Machiavelli in his book “The Art of War”, and maybe was used in practice by the Spanish with their rodeleros. But both Machiavelli and the Spanish, if I understand correctly, preferred to position the swordsmen behind the pikemen, so the swordsmen were defended against cavalry and were able to help the pikemen during melee.
One possible benefit of the development of late-medieval plate armour rendering shields is that fighting with a spear in two hands requires a bit less space than fighting with a spear and shield, and thus it might be possible to fight at a higher density without compromising protection.
I’ve participated in a few mass-combat events in early 15th century armour at HEMA or living history events and, accepting the limitations of the simulation, the spear in two hands seems fine at any density above maybe shoulder to shoulder.
The one thing that causes problems is the wearing of longer swords, which to be fair *was* done in the (late) 14th and 15th centuries. They can easily get tangled up with the guy next to you while in the scabbard, and can be pretty hard to draw without a bit of elbow room. Daggers, on the other hand, are really great at any density and can be drawn extremely quickly in an emergency.
Nitpicking detail, but Ming Dynasty Chinese did in fact deploy specialist shield wielders with squads of warriors wielding mixed poleams and no shields behind them in shield wall formations. See the famous Mandarin Duck formation, or this: https://greatmingmilitary.blogspot.com/2017/05/zhao-shi-zhens-multipurpose-shield.html
These kinds of formations worked really well against the Japanese, maybe less well against the Mongols. The Great Ming Military website has quite a bit of information on these formations.
The key difference is that the Ming fought with firearms, of wildly varying quality, for both them and their opponents. This made super heavy shields tactically viable, and it also made fielding most soldiers armed only with cold arms viable too.
Why the messy firearms? Ming China didn’t have central armories experimenting with improving firearms. Generals were expected to equip their armies using the local blacksmiths. All of them could make spears, but not many could make muskets, so firearms varied from rocket arrows to fire lances to single shot bamboo guns to imported matchlocks, and the failure rate was normally high.
I’d love to see a Pedantic take on the Ming military from a classical western perspective. The comparison would be informative. And fun to read.
Nitpicking detail, but Ming Dynasty Chinese did in fact deploy specialist shield wielders
The Mandarin Duck formation and formations like it are not an example. The specialist shield-wielders referenced in them are clearly shown and described as wielding weapons alongside their shields, with equipment within that broad category of frontline shield user varying rather a lot; from what I’ve seen so far, something of that category can range from “shield-bearer” heavy infantry in the same style as that of some Levantine and Persian militaries to “swordsmen” with small shields and javelins who are clearly some variety of skirmisher.
The multipurpose shield is indeed an exception, however. An incredibly bizarre exception straight out of a dwarven mine or a modern-day SWAT team, reliant on very peculiar conditions of warfare, and which I am entirely unconvinced saw any extensive use, but an exception nonetheless.
My understanding of the Mandarin Duck formation was that everyone trained most/all weapons. The dude with the banner spear led the 12 man squad, the two guys with the sabers and shields were the seconds, with one langxian, two pikes and one “tridents” normally lined up behind the shields (plus a porter in camp). But they fought as a single unit. If the banner-spear wielder was killed, they all would normally be put to death. Defense was normally provided by the shields and langxians (one of my favorite and uniquely Chinese weapons), primary offense by the pikes working around the shields and through the langxians, with the tridents providing a rear guard, launching rockets tied to their weapons, and so on.
The kill ratio Qi Jiguang achieved against the Wokou (Japanese samurai raiding China and Korea) using armies in the Mandarin Duck formation was truly astounding. Each samurai getting to the shield wall would get snagged by the lang xian, then speared by the pole arms and slashed by the sabers.
I don’t think western armies ever went so deep into the combined arms formations as Ming China did, and that’s what makes the comparison so interesting.
How would these formations adapt if they needed to fight in something like a forest setting where there were obstacles messing with their spacing?
You likely mean “there is”.
I suspect some of the problem here is the rock-paper-scissors of RTS games ended up roughly mirroring pike & musket era roles, but doesn’t reflect well on the less lethal era or arrows and javellins (the latter being less lethal due to ammunition limitations). Essentially I reckon the problem comes from replacing the musketeer with the archer in the classic ‘spear beats horse beats musket beats spear’ triangle, because the archer actually replaces the pike square and the shieldwall replaces the musket. Archers are far more effective against cavalry than muskets (because the horse is often naked, so armour penetration is largely irrelevant compared to rate of fire), but muskets are far more effective against infantry than arrows (because they go through armour, rather than just bouncing off).
> Archers are far more effective against cavalry than muskets
This is a claim that needs quite a lot of citation really. I think it mostly comes as a result of the modern set of tropes that bows are high rate of fire and long range, while muskets are powerful. While military authors in the 16th century vary on their exact evaluation of bows vs muskets, it’s pretty common to see them treat _muskets_ as having the higher range, both maximum and effective/accurate.
With more conservative evaluations about range, the rate of fire becomes less important. A horse at a gallop can cover 100 yards in 8 seconds or less – delivering two shots in that time with a bow is possible, but it’s not easy to do with a war-weight bow. And shooting under the pressure of charging cavalry is a great way to encourage an archer to loose off a bit early or jerk their release, so their accuracy is not guaranteed either. And of course the bullet is going to do a heck of a lot more damage to either the horse or the man on top of it.
Historically, we see cavalry able to charge and close into archers pretty regularly. Infantry are only really reaching a point where they can hold off cavalry through pure firepower well into the gunpowder age.
Not to mention, a warhorse is going to be notably bigger and heavier than a man, and so it will take more to seriously wound it. There are accounts from the Napoleonic Wars of horses being shot with muskets and carrying on for twenty or thirty yards before finally collapsing.
I’d say that many people over-generalize the examples of battles like Crecy and Agincourt, where formations of English archers *did* fend off cavalry charges.
The obvious counter-argument is to point out that English archers were organized somewhat differently from most contemporary missile troops and that their victories are largely attributable to positional advantages. As Tea points out, as well, English arrows were not able to stop French cavalry charges in either engagement it was necessary to repulse them in close combat.
There are later examples from the Hundred Years War where French cavalry absolutely wreck English archers, but English-speaking audiences tend not to know about them for some reason.
Also, the English archers planted rows of stakes in front of them specifically to block enemy cavalry. They didn’t rely on arrows alone to defend themselves.
Positional _and social_ advantages. A yeoman with a longbow has a longbow, sure – but probably even more importantly, he’s a respected and well paid member of an armed force who treat him as important.
That’s pretty right. Interestingly, nomad archery is optimised for range rather than power, presumably with the aim of disordering opposing cavalry.
“The most sustained discussion of hoplite phalanx file width I have to hand is Schwartz, Reinstating the Hoplite”
As you obviously aren’t aware of it (few people are!) I should mention Richard Taylor (me) ‘The Greek Hoplite Phalanx’ which is a bit more recent, quite sustained, and IMHO better than Schwartz.
I can then also go on to mention Richard Taylor, ‘The Macedonian Phalanx’, for similar discussion of the pike phalanx.
I don’t disagree with anything (much) you say here, and think it is a very good analysis. In a spirit of pedantry, some points:
“the standard Macedonian infantry shield is a smaller version of the aspis”
Well, maybe. One form of Macedonian infantry shield might have been a bit smaller than the Argive aspis, but I’m not sure there really was a ‘standard’. But yes, in general, they were a bit smaller. And almost certainly not held by a shoulder strap!
“We do get a few scattered references to synaspismos dealing with the older hoplite phalanx”
It’s pretty clear that none of hese are referring to a specific formation, just to generally huddling together a bit (if that).
“[Roman spacing] produces a file width of 4.5 feet … c. 135cm to their [Macedonian] c. 90cm”
Though I think Polybius’ ‘one Roman faces two Macedonians’ can’t be explained away quite so easily – I think Polybius clearly has in mind that the Romans use double the Macedonian spacing. But yes, all figures were approximate and Polybius, bless him, is probably being over-pedantic.
I will note here that formation with shield bearers separate from other troops were actually a thing. In 15th century it was not uncommon to have troops with pavise defend other troops from attack – though in this case pavesarii utilized one-handed spears while remaining troops were a mix of crossbowmen and close-range troops utilizing two-handed weapons such as pollaxes.
And while I need to look more at it, the Stele of king Ennatum implies that Assyrian troops may have fought in a shield-and-pike phalanx where shieldbearers carried large square shield akin to Roman scutum in one hand and a close-range weapon in the other hand, followed by ranks of pikemen with no shield at all.
Look at the upper carving: no way they could have used that huge shield with what seem to be two-handed pikes:
https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/9/96/Stele_of_Vultures_detail_01.jpg
And while I need to look more at it, the Stele of king Ennatum implies that Assyrian troops may have fought in a shield-and-pike phalanx where shieldbearers carried large square shield akin to Roman scutum in one hand and a close-range weapon in the other hand, followed by ranks of pikemen with no shield at all.
Nope, it’s sadly just an interesting artistic abstraction. The shields shown aren’t actually shields — they’re groups of six shields, shown together to express numbers in a space-limited medium; this is why they appear to have six bosses. This is why there are also six hands holding six spears arrayed in an impossible configuration along each shield-conglomeration.
We don’t really know enough about Assyrian infantry; but a common theme of warfare in West Asia seems to be the heavy use of bows, so if you want to imagine differently armed soldiers behind those depicted, then archers are a good bet.
That’s a rather interesting difference there seems to be between northern Mediterranean martial culture and that of the southeast and Levant — in the former bows never really became very popular; all the combined-arms and equipment specialization generally involved spears and javelins and is rather low-profile (particularly since distinguishing between the two is an exercise in irritation), which makes the stuff the latter traditions pulled off seem rather shocking and improbable.
Thing is that elsewhere we actually see Assyrian infantry using spears in two hands and no using shields at all:
https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/f/f9/Standard_of_Ur_-_War.jpg
What is more, their cloaks have circular design to them that seem to be metallic reinforcements.
And when it comes to soldiers on the stele, there are not six hands, but rather twelve hands; each spear is quite clearly held in two hands:
https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/6/6f/Stele_of_Vultures_detail_01a.jpg
It is not an “impossible configuration” either. Rather it is an artistic abstraction meant to portray placement of spearmen by depth: thus six spears between each shield means that there were six spearmen arrayed by depth in each file.
So while what you write is certainly possible, especially considering Sumerian love for number 60, I would like to see more evidence for it.
That’s a rather interesting difference there seems to be between northern Mediterranean martial culture and that of the southeast and Levant — in the former bows never really became very popular; all the combined-arms and equipment specialization generally involved spears and javelins and is rather low-profile (particularly since distinguishing between the two is an exercise in irritation), which makes the stuff the latter traditions pulled off seem rather shocking and improbable.
I wonder if that was due to the greater use of mounted (or chariot) archers in the Middle East as opposed to Europe. A mixed spear/bow formation is generally the best way for (pre-gunpowder) infantry to deal with horse archers — if you just have spearmen, the enemy can stay out of reach and whittle you down with arrows, whereas archers on their own would be vulnerable to a cavalry charge.
First of all, those depicted on the Stele of Vultures weren’t Assyrian warriors, they were from the city-state of Lagash in Sumer from around 2500–2400 BCE, way before Assyria became an important power.
Secondly, while simple bows were used by Sumerians (as well as javelins and slings), the importance of the bow significantly increased with the adoption of composite bow, which probably happened during the reign of Sargon of Akkad about a century after the battle depicted on the stele.
Lastly, the stele clearly depicts large rectangular shields with multiple bosses. (Shields with multiple bosses were used during Bronze Age – the Sherdens and other sea peoples are often depicted with round shields with multiple bosses.) Since the warriors on the stele are clearly holding their spears with two hands and the shields are quite big, it is a reasonable assumption that there were some dedicated shield-bearers. Also if you look at the rightmost warrior, you can see an axe-head, so it is possible that those shield-bearers were armed with one-handed axes.
There is an article dedicated to this scene specifically: “How many soldiers on the ‘Stele of the Vultures’? A hypothetical reconstruction.”? if you are interested in more detailed research.
I have some experience with shield and sword fighting (early medieval period in central europe, so appx 90cm diam round shields with central hold and metal umbo, swords in viking style, or one handed axes) and some conclusions of this blog post dont add up.
Orientation of soldiers: in the shield wall situation, nobody is standing by his side towards enemy, you stand in proper stance with your front forward, left leg forward. This way, half your body is shielded by your own shield, the rest of the body by the shield of the man at your right side.
Space for fighting: Even if the shields are locked up in scale-like fashion, there is plenty of free space to make hits to opponents head, shoulders or shield with your sword/axe. The space for fighting between the locked shields is so big, that it is possible to operate the two-hand wielded spears and long axes (danish or slavic type) there, standing immediately (in physical contact) behind the shieldbearers.
Even with shields locked together, there is still possibility to maneuvre that shield around to parry blows either to head (from long axes of opponents second line and first line swords/axes/saexes) or to the legs (courtesy of enemy spearmen in second line) or to advance slightly to support left side of your right neighbor which is attacking somebody in front of him (your typical target in this setting is not the person right in front of you, but the next man to the right of him – from your point of view).
Moreover, the locked shields enable the coherent (albeit slow) movement of the frontage forward (and in some extent even backward) even in typical battle induced tunnel vision. To train body of people to advance evenly, without closing the gaps (you must sense the gap without much looking) and jagging the line is certainly doable, but not as easy as it seems. On Roman legion level training – absolutely. With non-professional army – I dont think so.
From experience with pike and shot larping, the gaps between the pikemen which are on start of the clash even and on the reach on an arm long (as per early 17. century fighting manuals) become very fast virtually nonexistent as stress of battle and tunnel vision prevents the not professionally trained pikemen to pay attention to their place in the line.
A lot of this agrees with my experience. Especially the tactile aspects of close-formation marching. As you say, once you start fighting you get tunnel vision. If you’re trained to use your sense of touch rather than sight, however, you can maintain formation fairly well. Our commander used to put a spear horizontally in our backs and make us march, wheel, fall back, etc, until we could tell with our eyes closed exactly where we were in relation to the other guy.
It also takes a lot less movement to cause enough damage to make the enemy go away than people think. The scene where Inigo Montoya cuts the six-fingered man’s face in “The Princess Bride” is a favorite example of this. With that rapier, with that style of cut, you should realistically have seen the six-fingered man’s molars. It doesn’t take a huge overhand blow to cause damage, and in fact we were trained NOT to do those, because they take forever and leave you open. A quick stab to the face will get 99% of humanity to find somewhere else to be.
I think the orientation thing is a holdover from French fencing (which has caused a lot of problems in understanding swordplay of the past). I was trained to stand slightly askew, with my left shoulder (shield-arm) in front, but not anywhere NEAR what an Olympic fencer would do. (I also trained to fight right-foot forward, or “goofy-footed” as my instructor called it. Fun, but weird.) The way the diagrams show the fighting, you’re wasting most of the length of your spear–it’s got to cross about a yard of body before it gets to the enemy. And if my line can start killing you a full yard before you can attack me, I’m going to have a significant advantage (assuming our equipment is essentially equal). Plus, it’s easier to knock a guy down if he’s standing like that. There’s a reason linemen in football don’t stand shoulder-first! You brace the shield with both hands when you’re about to be hit (among other tricks). I’ve braced it with both hands and my left knee before (the guy hitting me was a former lineman on a pro football team).
The one area I’ll disagree with you on is training. Compared to, say, modern military training, the amount of training that goes into holding your place in a shield wall is pretty minor. At least it was for us. Maybe part of it was that, as Bret has pointed out elsewhere, horizontal ties held us together–we were a close-knit group. But cause and effect are hard to disentangle here. I became friends with them through the training. Still, as I said elsewhere, at most we’re talking 15-20 minutes of drill a week for a few months to see significant results. Since even getting to the battlefield could take months, I can see an army doing this training on the march.
Is footwork a thing? Do you take a step forward to thrust, or do the feet remain in place? When do you take steps? I know that the 15th and 16th century German manuals that HEMA relies on talk about spear fighting, but that’s judicial dueling with spears, not shield walling.
Footwork was absolutely a thing, but I was trained to use my hips more than my feet to add power to a stroke. My feet would stay relatively in place (not really “planted”) and I’d use my thighs and hips to add power. It’s kind of hard to explain in text, but if you see it it makes sense. (I was also taught to walk with my shoulders. You push your shoulders back until your body instinctively moves the feet to catch itself. Feels REALLY weird the first few times, but it is effective.)
As for when to take steps, we trained a little in marching in step, but not a lot. The problem was variability in size–I’m 6’4″, our shortest person barely topped out at 5′. One step for me was like five for her. So we focused more on staying in formation.
When you’re shieldwall-to-shieldwall, trying to bust through, there’s really not a lot of fancy blade movements. I was holding my sword at the top of my shield to knock off any polearms or spears that hooked it, so my thrusts were generally down. But honestly, most of us just bonked our enemies on the head. You can get good power from that position with a wrist flip and your arms, and the motion is more or less a continuation of the “get the halberd off the shield” movements. Plus, we were told not to fight the guy in front of us–we were supposed to hit the guy to our right. It’s hard to thrust to the right when your sword hand is at the upper right-hand corner of your shield.
For what it’s worth, most of us fought with heater shields. One guy fought with a round shield (Norse persona, the guy was born in Norway), and his legs were SUPER exposed. To break a shield wall you don’t need to kill everyone, you just need to put people out of the fight, and he frequently got taken out at the legs. It’s one reason I took a (possibly unreasonable) dislike to round shields.
Unfortunately I’m not qualified to speak on what the spearmen were doing with their feet. I exclusively fought as a shieldman.
For what it’s worth, most of us fought with heater shields. One guy fought with a round shield (Norse persona, the guy was born in Norway), and his legs were SUPER exposed. To break a shield wall you don’t need to kill everyone, you just need to put people out of the fight, and he frequently got taken out at the legs. It’s one reason I took a (possibly unreasonable) dislike to round shields.
Possibly relevant that “legbiter” was a popular name for Viking swords. (Which makes me wonder why they so rarely armoured their legs, if they were such a weak spot.)
Possibly they were “weak” because they were the only unarmored spot. Everything else got armor first, and the instant you left an opening elsewhere that was attacked instead.
Then we have to consider both weight and expense.
“Which makes me wonder why they so rarely armoured their legs, if they were such a weak spot.”
I’d imagine a few things are going on here.
First, SCA combat isn’t real combat. You can take a slash to the leg and still continue forward, if it’s not too deep. The angle makes it hard to hit with a sword (the guy in our unit typically got taken out by spears), so you’re not going to have a lot of force applied there. Which is the second thing: It’s a REALLY awkward angle to attack from Zone 3. I can stab you in the belly, chest, arm, or head, or bash you in any of those places, fairly easily (biomechanically speaking); hitting anywhere below the pelvic gridle requires me to bend over in weird ways that rob my blow of any real power. Plus, unless my shield is in the right position you’re going to cut into my neck, which is hardly a good exchange. (And if my shield is in the right position, your chest is a much better target. That was a fun day–I got to experience the “bullet time” thing from 300.)
Third, do we know that they weren’t armored? Even some cloth wrapped over the legs (something we know they did to a certain extent) would serve to baffle the blade. It won’t be impervious, but it’ll slow things down and make the blow less likely to hit anything significant, anatomically speaking. If cloth was good enough to defend against a relatively unattractive target.
That they called swords “legbiter” suggests that they did in fact strike there, but I’d be curious to see if there are any wounds in those regions on skeletons.
If the gaps between files in Roman armies are large enough to fit a person through, should we assume that when the Hastati retreated behind the Principes, they moved through the gaps between files instead of (as is often said) gaps left open between Maniples?
Trying to stream through a formation seems likely to disorder that formation even if you technically can fit. I would guess that they are trained not to do that.
I saw a video of South Korean riote police practising exactly that manoeuvre. Of course, this doesn’t prove that the Romans did the same, but it certainly is/was possible to do so without throwing your formation into disorder.
So, do different shield designs imply somewhat different techniques? Would lighter handier shields imply a looser formation than heavier ones (because a looser formation implies more one on one “spearplay”, necessitating more room to move around)?
Not entirely, and this is a very complex topic from what I can see, but you do sometimes see smaller shields when people have less of an expectation of engaging in hand-to-hand combat at all. I think this is because in a loose skirmishing context, where threats are mostly slow projectiles, it’s better to have more endurance to run and dodge, and coverage is less important since you can see a missile coming and actively bat it aside — while room for error is nice, all you strictly need for that is a hard surface.
The closer and more stationary the combat, the harder it is to avoid threats by agility (on two fronts — you don’t have as much room to evade, but the strikes also have a shorter distance to travel and thus come with less warning), and consequently optimal shield coverage swells as it becomes more and more desirable to have a more passive and error-tolerant defence that only needs small, easy motions on the part of its wielder to intercept incoming threats. It’s also no coincidence that shock-heavy cultures of warfare love body armour.
The inverse applies, too — in contexts where combat is very long-range and low-intensity, people sometimes don’t bother with shields at all, as the weight, expense, and inconvenience isn’t worth it.
I remember Arrian wrote something about how to deploy a legion for battle, though I’d never read it. So I went looking for it to see if he touches on this. Answer: not really. This is the closest:
“And the expectation is that the Scythians will not get close to the infantry battle formation because of the tremendous weight of missiles. If they do close in though, the first three ranks should lock their shields and press their shoulders and receive the charge as strongly as possible in the most closely ordered formation bound together in the strongest manner.”
This fits into legionary anti cavalry formations. These were fairly consistent, with similar descriptions given by Plutarch (Antony), Maurice (Strategikon) and Livy forming a close, testudo like formation to weather both the rain of missiles and the impact of the initial charge itself before engaging in hand to hand fighting. The difference appears in that Livy and Plutarch then describes the formation opening up to engage in fighting whilst from about Ammianus onwards, authors continue to stress the compactness of the formation.
Thank you for this thoughtful and illuminating summary. I appreciate your the comprehensively sourced yet pragmatic approach to the topic.
“But of course in a fight, each soldier is going to turn his body away, advancing the shield and refusing the rest of his body; turned like this, these shields cover basically the whole body.”
I’m so confused by this and cannot visualize it at all even with the diagram, could someone point me in the direction of a photograph of reenactors or the like doing this?
You mention here that tight formations aren’t good for resisting cavalry. However, elsewhere, you said that cavalry needs room in order to weave between the infantry they’re attacking in order to be effective.
So how exactly would cavalry attack infantry in a tight formation? And if the answer is “hope that the morale shock of being charged by cavalry causes them to turn and run”, then why would a tight formation be less effective at resisting than a looser formation?