The Shield (Aspis)

By Andrew Yamato

The defining element of the hoplite panoply, also known as the Argive shield.

The single most important element of the panoply is the aspis shield, also known as the Argive shield. (It is also commonly — if incorrectly, or at least imprecisely — referred to as a hoplon.) Approximately three feet in diameter, the aspis is primarily identified by its distinctive hollow bowl shape (5-6 inches deep), 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.  Archeaological finds have produced at least two construction variants. The best known wooden core is found on the “Bomarzo Shield” on display 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 different wooden aspis core 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 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.

Surviving aspis facings are made of thin (.5 mm) hammered bronze sheet, but it is likely that other aspides were faced with linen or rawhide. Aspis interiors were generally covered with linen or leather, although the Chigi Vase shows only an L-shaped plate of bronze or leather over the exposed wood (or wicker) core where the bearer’s arm would be. Pitch or glue may have been used as structural adhesives or sealants, with gesso/plaster used for finishing/priming. Blazons perhaps identifying individuals, clans, and eventually poleis 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 (approximately 12 to 18lbs) to be borne inside its center of gravity by the left arm, and easily maneuvered with the left hand. Artifacts and artistic depictions often feature porpaxes offset to above and to the right, indicating the the shield was custom fit to a bearer’s arm dimensions to maximize efficiency and maneuverability. The sharp interior curve of the aspis’ bowl shape can also be comfortably rested on the hoplite’s shoulder, making the shield’s 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. 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, although the aspis is generally thought to have predated such combat by centuries, if indeed it was ever commonplace.  

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. [I have since written an article on the subject of the telamon that elaborates on my theories of its utility.]

Despite the widespread notion that the aspis only functions well in the context of a closely ordered phalanx, with each hoplite covering the man to his left and seeking the cover of the aspis to his right, any given aspis is effectively a shield wall in itself, offering well-balanced chin-to-shin protection to the bearer in individual combat. If properly made and fitted to the bearer, it is also a surprisingly agile and aggressive weapon in its own right.


Recreations

Aspides are generally the most expensive piece of a hoplite panoply to purchase, especially when shipping costs are factored in (see below for maker info). For this reason, many reenactors choose to make their own using one of three techniques:

  • Matt Amt’s famous “donut method” involves glueing stacked rings of wood together and grinding/sanding them into shape. It is the least historical method, but by far the easiest, and if executed well (using poplar boards rather than plywood sheets) it produces a completely acceptable shield.

  • Matt Amt’s "slab method” involves assembling laterally cut shield sections and grinding/sanding them into shape. This is the method more or less attested by the Bomarzo shield in the Vatican (although that artifact uses fewer, wider planks than the modern design). This is the method I employed to make one of my aspides as described below.

  • Laminated shields are historically attested, and tend to be very lightweight. It’s easy to make them too shallow, though, so care should be taken to bend the slats into a sufficiently deep bowl. Mikko Sinkkonen makes the best aspis cores of this type:

Rawhide-Faced, Bronze-Rimmed Slab Aspis Build

My first (and probably only!) attempt at making an aspis from soup to nuts.

This was a 36" slab (sectional) construction made with Douglas fir, faced with goat rawhide, lined with pig suede, and rimmed with 0.6mm commercial bronze. I used a stock bronze DSC porpax which I left as is to accommodate the largest range of forearms as this is a loaner shield. All the other hardware I made from commercial bronze sheet. Total weight is just over 13lbs (just under 6kg).

I wanted this aspis to be to be a properly "fitted" to me, so the porpax is offset up and to the right, with the antilabe mounted at the very edge of the bowl. The shield handles quickly and easily, and as I move my forearm 90 degrees, it rotates comfortably on my shoulder. As I'm over 6'1", I could use a larger shield, but I was limited to the 36" sheet bronze width available (which had to be slightly stretched as it was).

Once I had the core shaped, I laid in the suede lining with contact cement and attached the hardware with clenched nails. After pre-forming the rawhide on the wood core, I used diluted wood glue to attach the re-dampened facing, which I later sealed with Sno-Seal (essentially beeswax and turpentine). After sanding down the wrinkled rawhide on the rim, I secured the facing under the bronze rim with copper nails. Finally, I turned the rim edge by hammer, avoiding wrinkles and keeping scalloping to a minimum by tucking a thin piece of steel steel under the turned edge until it was almost closed.

The final step was making the antilabe and telamon from a single length of jute cord, which I rigged to be long enough for either shoulder loops or linking shields with what I call the “telamon grip.”

It's not perfect in any respect, but this aspis was a great learning experience, and I hope a proof of concept for rawhide as an aspis facing, which I believe would have been common (as it was for many other shields throughout history) because of its light weight, toughness, and availability. I've left the natural rawhide color as a talking point (vase art shows a lot of plain aspides), but plan to add a repousséd bronze device at some point.

Because the diameter of the shield exactly matched the width of the commercial bronze sheet from which I cut the rim, it was necessary to hammer out an extra 1/2 inch to fold around the backside of the core.

A steel punch was used to make the nail holes for the rim.

Ready-made Aspides

Unless you can get a shield from Mikko Sinkkonen, the best aspides you can buy are custom made by Res Bellica in Italy. Great, but expensive. Contact them for details on construction, options, and pricing.

A Res Bellica custom aspis.

A Res Bellica custom aspis.

The least expensive acceptable aspides are made in Meerut, India by Daniyal Steel Craft (DSC). (They are also sold by Res Bellica and other vendors.) Their “lightweight” version is the one to consider, featuring a 3-ply laminated poplar cores (butted slats on the outside, an unattested “radial” pattern on the interior) covered with linen and fitted with brass or bronze hardware.

My DSC aspis before painting.

I 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, and 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).

(I have since placed additional shield orders with DSC in which I specified offset porpax and antilabe placement for a more precise and ergonomic fit.)

The aspides arrived from DSC with rigged with 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.

Although advertised by DSC as their “lightweight” model, these are heavy shields, coming in at around 17 lbs. Such weight does not translate into impenetrability. 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. 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?