The Aspis (Shield)

By Andrew Yamato

Perhaps the defining element of the panoply is the aspis, also known as a hoplon or the Argive shield.

The single most important element of the panoply – the piece which gives its name to the hoplite himself – is the aspis shield, also known as a hoplon or the Argive shield. Approximately three feet in diameter, the aspis is primarily identified by its distinctive hollow bowl shape (5 or 6 inches deep), 3” offset rim, and unique two-point grip system. 

The core of the aspis is made of wood – usually poplar or willow according to Aristotle’s contemporary Theophrastus, both water woods desirable for their lightness, resilience, and self-healing properties.  Archeological finds have produced at least two construction variants. 

The best known wooden core is found on the Bomarzo Shield in the Vatican Museum. It features a single layer of butted wooden planks, either lathed, carved, or steam-bent to produce the dome shape. 

Fragments of a wooden aspis core in _____ show a different construction in which two or three layers of thinner slats are bent and mounted in the rim (perhaps under tension) in a cross-laminated manner producing an especially resilient dome. 

Artistic representations suggest that a third (probably earlier) aspis type may have been made of wicker – a tradition perhaps vestigially reflected in the wicker-like “guillouche” design often seen on the bronze rim of aspides, and perhaps also shown on the famous Chigi vase (although the wicker-like aspis interiors seen there more likely represents the aforementioned wooden slat version). Wicker shields were of course common throughout the ancient world, and are generally tougher than is often supposed today, especially when sheathed.    

An aspis facing featuring the “guilloche” rim repousse almost invariably found on Greek aspides.

The domed face of the aspis was either covered with a sheet of thin (.5 mm) hammered bronze, or layers of linen and/or leather. Aspis interiors were generally covered with linen or leather for comfort, although the Chigi Vase shows only a L-shaped plate of bronze or leather over the exposed wood (or wicker) core where the bearer’s arm would be. Pitch or glue appears to have been used as structural adhesives, with gesso/plaster used for finishing/priming. Blazons perhaps identifying individuals, clans, and eventually city states (polei) were either painted on the shield’s face or cut from bronze and affixed there. The offset wooden rim was often sheathed in bronze, either as part of a bronze facing, or as a separately fashioned piece.       

At or near the center of the interior is a broad arm cuff made of bronze and/or wood called a porpax, through which the left forearm is thrust up to the elbow. The left hand then grasps a handle at the shield’s rim known as the antilabe. This arrangement allows the shield’s considerable weight to be borne at the center of its weight by the left arm and easily maneuvered with the left hand. The sharp interior curve of the aspis’ bowl shape can also be comfortably rested on the hoplite’s shoulder, making the approximately 16lb weight much easier to bear while standing or on the march. 

However it was constructed, the aspis’ unique shape was complex and difficult to fabricate, suggesting there must have been a practical reason that hoplites almost universally adopted it. Some speculate that the ergonomic shape of the aspis (i.e. easily carried on the shoulder) itself justifies the complex construction, but others have noted that the curvature of an aspis adds 40% more to the weight of a flat shield of equal thickness and width – a high price to pay for convenience. A simple but important point is that the dome shape is not only structurally strong and comfortable to bear, but profoundly comforting to its bearer, allowing him to feel more or less safely ensconced within a protective shell which – in addition to a helmet and greaves, would have rendered him almost completely armored to a facing opponent. Dr. Paul Bardunias has further theorized that the concavity of the aspis would also have protected the hoplite’s diaphragm, allowing him to breathe in the otherwise suffocating crush of classic othismos

A final element of the aspis is the mysterious but near-ubiquitous presence of a rope run around the interior of the aspis through bronze loops affixed at various (and often inconsistent) points. This may be a vestigial element recalling the Mycenean telamon rope, which Homeric heroes used to sling their shields from front to back as needed, although such an action would be impossible with the aspis. The tension of this rope is usually shown somewhat slack, which suggests its use as straps allowing the aspis to be carried on the back. Artistic representations suggest that this rope may have been an extension of the antilabe; I have constructed ours in such a manner from a single long piece of rope, coiled around itself to create an ergonomically stable antilabe, with sufficient slack in the remainder of the rope for the creation of two shoulder loops when pulled taut though the bronze ring fittings. 


Our Recreation

Our aspides were made by Daniyal Steel Craft in India to our specifications: 3-ply laminated poplar cores covered with linen and fitted with bronze hardware. I further requested mine to have a bronze-sheathed rim and an L-shaped vegetable-tanned leather piece over the exposed interior of the wooden core in the manner of the Chigi Vase aspides. (I covered the roughly exposed edge of the interior rim with thick leather for comfort and grip.) I specified the placement of my antilabe hardware at a slightly longer length than DSC usually installs to account for my longer forearm length (35cm vs 30cm).

The aspides arrived from DSC with rigged with cheesy synthetic ropes which I immediately removed and replaced with 6mm hemp rope. Tight antilabe handles were wound and anchored at both ends before continuing with the remainder of the rope around the interior through the ring fittings. The loose ends were fixed with slip knots, leaving enough slack to create two shoulder loops by which the shields could be carried on the back.

Even when made more or less correctly as we believe ours are (with the main exception being countless small nails used to assemble the laminated core), these are heavy shields, coming in at around 17 lbs. The weight is very well distributed, however, with the bearer being effectively inside the aspis’ center of gravity. Despite the widespread notion (based on Thucydides’ account of the battle of Mantinea) that the aspis only works in the context of a phalanx, with each hoplite covering the man to his left and seeking the cover of the aspis to his right, we were immediately struck by how the massive aspis is effectively a shield wall in itself, offering well-balanced chin-to-shin protection to the bearer and at least the impression of invulnerability – a critical factor, one imagines, in mustering the courage to face an enemy phalanx.  

This impression may have been somewhat illusory. A non-scientific field test at our first event conducted with my aspis and an authentically-made dory produced a 1½” penetration on the ⅜” thick flat of the aspis face (right where the bearer’s arm would have been) with a relatively moderate strike intended to simulate the less-than-ideal thrusting conditions of an engaged phalanx. I imagine a full-body thrust of the type delivered at an initial collision would have had no problem fully penetrating the aspis to kill or wound the man behind (as attested in many ancient accounts, most famously of Brasidas’ aspis “turning traitor”). By far the biggest revelation of this experiment, however, was the great difficulty I had in dislodging my dory from the shield. Even with such a shallow penetration, this was only possible with strenuous and sustained effort that would have been impossible in the heat of battle, where a more likely outcome would either have been the complete loss of my dory or a bent or broken spearhead. It is interesting to consider how the presence of even a thin .5 mm bronze sheathing on the aspis face might have changed this result; I suspect that when backed with a sturdy wood core, this seemingly insignificant thickness of metal makes a big difference in deflecting/absorbing strikes, although in light of the results described above, it’s not completely clear if this would favor the attacker or the defender. Further tests will have to be conducted, but it seems safe to say that the kind of shield-striking characteristic of modern martial arts and mock-fighting would have been an inadvisable tactic for actual hoplites.

Painting the Aspis

We painted our shields ourselves using milk-paints, choosing colors from the same limited palette of terra-cotta, ochre, and turquoise we see reflected in the Greek landscape and Aegean sea. John chose an Athenian owl taken from vase art, and I went with a vase art-inspired silhouette of my dearly departed dog.

Later, upon visiting Athens, we found a fantastic exhibit on ancient pigments at the Acropolis Museum that confirmed the use of our colors and explained how they were produced. I’d selected my turquoise to evoke patinated bronze, and it turns out the Greeks in fact used patinated bronze to create that color!

We really recommend using milk paints. They’re not optimized for smooth flow or coverage and can be a bit frothy, but they look and feel as ancient as their recipe. Fresh coats of paint pick up bits of the old, with irregularities blending into textured patinas that get deeper with each application; terracotta red coming to resemble dried blood, and turquoise mellowing to a burnished verdigris.  (We highly recommend mixing your milk paint with an adhesion promoter and using a low sheen finishing cream for a durable and washable finish.)

An exhibit at the Acropolis Museum in Athens demonstrates how ancient pigments were produced.

It’s very easy to imagine hoplites doing this themselves every year, probably in quiet winter months, or perhaps the night just before leaving for war; cleaning off the soot which had settled on their aspides as they hung above hearths, carefully mixing precious pigments to restore their blazons and bless the strength of the wood, linen, and bronze to which they were would soon entrust their lives. How many times would such a ritual have been performed on a single aspis, sealing the scars that may have commemorated generations of battle?