The Furfante Sidesword
- Feb 5
- 3 min read
This striking lion-adorned cut-and-thrust sword was created to aid its wielder in his study of Saviolo's His Practise. Based on the illustrations in the manual itself, it features a simple guard and a long, tapering blade that is balanced toward swift tip movements and holding the line.
Its distinctive decoration is based on the heraldry of the Republic of Venice, where Saviolo spent his days. The red and brass grip takes its colours from the Venetian flag, while the leonine emblems are a nod to the Lion of St Mark, the Patron Saint of the Republic.
The sword is named in keeping with our client's previous Balefire swords, which feature monikers such as "Rascal", "Scoundrel" and "Knave". As this sword is designed to study the Italian fencer Saviolo's works, its name is an Italian insult with the same connotation.
Please see our pricing structure for an idea of what a similar sword would cost.
∴ Specs ∴
Total length: 126.5cm
Blade length: 109cm from cross
Blade width at cross: 3.5cm
Grip length: 13cm
Grip and pommel: 18cm
Grip to guard: 5.5cm
Quillon span: 19cm
Weight: 1355g
Point of Balance: 14cm from cross
Right-handed
Blunt edges & rounded tip
Fencing safe flex
∴ Notes ∴
The hand-forged and heat-treated guard and solid pommel are polished to a satin finish. The simple guard features horizontal extreme-S-shaped barwork quillons, with the outer quillon curving up to form a knuckleguard. The quillons taper to the terminals, where they have carved lion's paw detailing. The pronounced ecusson features a hand-carved leonine grotesque.
The large spherical pommel is engraved with a winged lion holding a book, the symbol of St Mark. This is hand-carved with chisel and burin using traditional methods.
The oak grip is wrapped in linen thread and oxblood red kidskin, finished with brass ferules to the top and bottom.
The blade features a deep central fuller to half of its length on each side.
∴ Gallery ∴
∴ A Mere Misunderstanding ∴
It was the wine that started it, you suspect. Good wine, at that. Better than you'd expected in a crowded little trattoria, full of would-be poets. Round and fruity - the wine, not the poets - but not too heavy. Good quaffing wine. After a couple of glasses, you were feeling quite bold. Bold enough to suggest - imply, perhaps - that the Italian style of fencing was all style and no substance.
At that, the room went silent. Looks were cast around. An older gentleman - a local, by the look of him - prowled catlike between the tables, and the drinkers scraped back benches to let him pass.
"Would you like to see for yourself?" he asked, gesturing to the door politely, as if inviting you to see his rose garden. With a sinking feeling, you realised that declining was not an option.
Now here in the cool, cobbled square, sobriety is rushing back in. The warm light and bustle of the tavern suddenly seem a world away, and the only witness to your likely demise is a great stone lion sat atop a pedestal, its features worn smooth by salt and centuries, feathered wings furled at its back.
It watches the space between you and the Italian like an unblinking judge. You shudder and look away.
"Look, Sir," you start, "this has all been a foolish misunderstanding. I don't even have a sword, for Christ's sake!"
"I have two," says the Italian, and holds out a brand to you. It is long - longer than you're used to - with a simple crossguard, curling in an S-shape up toward the pommel and down toward the blade.
"It doesn't have a hilt," you exclaim. "It's dangerous!"
The Venetian agrees with a grin.
“So is Venice.”
