The Knight Club
by Jason Phelps

It’s a sunny September day in College Green Park, and the block is humming with activity. Students in cut-off T-shirts toss footballs on one section of the grass, while parents chase their children around the playground’s swings and slides. None realizes within the next hour, this modern-day scene will be interrupted by the clang of swords and shields.

Chivalry is far from dead.

One of the knights, Rob Rawlins — also known as Sir Dirk Mac Martin — has the look of a powerful fullback. He is built low to the ground and looks as if he could knock down anybody who steps in his path. His opponent, Thomas Zetty — Sir Thomas of Shrewsbury — is the opposite, and as he struts down the sidewalk to the match, he towers over everyone in the park.

These knights hail from the Society for Creative Anachronism, a worldwide group created in 1966 to research and recreate the arts and skills of 16th- and 17th-century Europe. The society functions in a world very different from our own. The group ignores current country and state boundaries, and it has created its own map for its world. The society is broken up into 19 major kingdoms, stretching across continental America and extending around the globe. Each kingdom is broken up into smaller kingdoms and even smaller “shires.” These caballeros belong to the Kingdom of Calontir, and the Iowa City chapter of the society is known as the Shire of Shadowdale.

Wayne Patton — dubbed Gawain of Misk Bridge — participates in the events held in Calontir. A retired UI faculty member, Wayne has a long memory and extensive knowledge of the chapter’s history. Aside from the dueling that goes on in College Green, Wayne said, the society is involved with a multitude of other events.

The Kingdom of Calontir comprises of most of Iowa and Nebraska, Kansas, Missouri, and a couple of counties in Arkansas. Each shire comes together twice a year for a colossal festival of Medieval food and fighting. The members of Calontir Kingdom elect their king at this event, and office of king signifies the power to decide where battles are held.

The peace of College Green is interrupted when the unsheathing of a sword shatters the afternoon hum. Zetty’s sword comes down with a loud THWACK! on a sturdy picnic table in front of the fighters. Zetty demonstrates how his sword works, and his slices through the air in front of him, showing off his quick reflexes and wristwork.

The weapon of choice for these knights is the rattan — actually a sturdy bamboo stick wrapped in layers of duct tape to prevent splintering that may occur in battle. While flexible, the rattan can leave damaging marks on fighters who get hit by one.

“Injuries from fighting are comparable to world-class table tennis,” Patton said with a laugh, noting that the armor worn during festivals can get rather hot.

The society’s events are not unlike the more familiar renaissance festivals that pop up around Iowa every summer — but they are far more serious.

That doesn’t mean these fierce fighters behave in an exclusive, cult-like manner. Far from it: They want any interested person to check out what the society is. But to partake, one has to fully commit to Middle Age life by wearing the traditional robes, eating Fartes of Portingale — a lamb meatball soup), and swigging almond milk.

As it turns out, an actual duel is comparable with any form of martial arts. Before becoming certified as a fighter, rookies must first train. In training sessions, a more experienced fighter teaches newbies blow calibration, the art of testing a weapon for its strength.

Far from being a free-for-all melee, a match is a controlled but furious fight. Fighters practice handling their shields and employing various sword thrusts. They treat each other in a respectful manner because they want to be chivalrous and act in the manner knights are perceived to have acted during the Middle Ages.

After perfecting their art locally, fighters often want to participate in bigger re-enactments. In these re-enactments, thousands of knights charge each other on a battlefield in a duel to the (fake) death. Rawlins has fought in five such battles, and he says each was a thrill. Charging across a field with 500 fellow jousters toward a group just as large gets his adrenaline pumping.

“The smash of the shields is almost indescribable, and the chaos that goes on around you is really intense,” Rawlins said.

As the sunlight fades, Rawlins and Zetty duel. As they circle one another, they sporadically explode into action. Every few minutes, the swords are silenced, and the opponents trade tips and techniques before continuing the fight.

The intense precision of each thrust and block is enough to hint at the cultivated skill it takes to fight. Passersby might see just two 30-somethings in old leather armor swinging swords at one another, but each strike is carefully executed against a specific body part.

“There is nothing better than beating up friends when it’s not going to hurt them,” said Rawlins as he caught his breath. Rawlins, a former Army recruiter, joined the society when the pressures of his job became too much, and he needed an outlet.

“My wife called my boss and said, ‘You’ve gotta get him into some kind of action or he’s gonna lose it,’ ” he says.
By day, each of these chevaliers works a 9-5 job, pays utility bills, and cares for his family. But when he steps into the arena or dons a Middle Age costume, his 21st-century life slips away if only for a while. The landscape is no longer College Green, but the training grounds of a castle packed with knights getting ready for their next tournament.

As the sky lit up with the last dying light of the day, the clash of the swords stops. Zetty and Rawlins are glistening with sweat, exhausted after another hard practice. It’s time to pack up their 17th-century gear and re-enter the 21st century, until next week, when they’ll shed their modern identities once more to merge into a land of chivalrous knights.