Leptis Magna

Listen first. The wind comes off the Mediterranean and moves across open stone. Under your feet, the paving is warm, smoothed by centuries of sandals and later by drifting sand. Somewhere nearby, the sea breaks against a shore that once held one of the busiest harbours in Roman Africa. Here, on the coast of Libya, near the modern town of Al Khums, a whole city lies open to the sky.

This is Leptis Magna. Its story begins before Rome. Phoenician traders, seafaring merchants from the eastern Mediterranean, set up a trading post here. Later it fell within the world of Carthage, the great Phoenician city to the west. The local language was Punic, the North African form of Phoenician. That language did not vanish when Rome arrived. It stayed carved in stone beside Latin, and you can still find it here today.

Under Roman rule, the town grew rich. The surrounding land produced olive oil in enormous quantities, and oil was the fuel, the soap, and the kitchen staple of the ancient world. Grain and trade goods from the African interior also passed through. Wealthy local families turned that money into public buildings. They wanted their city to look as grand as any in Italy... and for a while, it did.

One of those families gave Rome an emperor. Septimius Severus was born here in the second century. He rose through the army and the Senate, and he took the imperial throne in 193. He was the first Roman emperor born in Africa. Later writers said he still spoke with a local accent. Once in power, he remembered his hometown — and he spent lavishly on it.

That generosity is easiest to see at the Arch of Septimius Severus. It is a four-sided arch, open on every face, standing where two main streets crossed. Its carved panels show the emperor, his family, and scenes of triumph and ceremony. Much of what you see is careful reconstruction from the original fragments. Walk around it slowly. Each face shows a different scene, and the carving is deep enough to catch strong shadows.

Now turn to the older layer of the city, from long before Severus. The theatre is one of the earliest public buildings here. It dates to the reign of Augustus, the first Roman emperor. A local citizen named Annobal Rufus paid for it. Here is the detail many visitors miss: his dedication inscription is written in both Latin and Punic. A man with a Phoenician name honoured a Roman emperor in two languages, on the same stone.

Climb the seating if you can. From the upper rows, the stage building rises with its columns, and beyond it the sea fills the horizon. Imagine thousands of people here, fanning themselves in the heat, watching comedies and public ceremonies. The semicircle of seats is cut into a natural slope. Even a quiet voice on the stage carries well into the rows above.

Not far away is the market, another gift from the same Annobal Rufus. It was an open square with two round, many-sided kiosks at its centre. Merchants sold goods from stone counters. Some of those counters still survive. One carries carved standards of measurement, so buyers could check that they were not being cheated. It is a small, very human detail — proof that people argued about fair weights two thousand years ago.

Next come the Hadrianic Baths, built in the reign of the emperor Hadrian in the second century. Roman baths were not only for washing. They were social clubs, gyms, and meeting places. You moved from cold rooms to warm rooms to hot rooms, heated by fires under raised floors. Look for the large pools and the remains of the heating system. Hot air once flowed through the spaces beneath your feet.

Then walk to the Severan Forum, the great public square Severus added to the city. Its scale is a surprise. Around its arches, carved heads of Medusa look down at you — the snake-haired figure from Greek myth, used here as a protective image. Many heads survive, and no two faces look exactly alike. Beside the forum stands the Severan Basilica, a vast hall for law courts and business, with richly carved pillars.

Severus also rebuilt the harbour at the mouth of the Wadi Lebda, a seasonal river that runs past the city. Over time the harbour silted up with sand and mud. As Roman power weakened, the city suffered raids, earthquakes, and changing rulers — Vandals, then the Byzantine Empire, and finally the Arab conquest in the seventh century. Slowly, people left. Wind carried in the sand, and the sand covered almost everything.

That burial is the reason so much survives. For centuries the city lay hidden under dunes. Not all of it stayed safe, though. In the late seventeenth century, columns were shipped from here to France, and some of that stone ended up in Versailles. Large-scale excavation began in the twentieth century, much of it by Italian archaeologists. Today the site is listed by UNESCO as a World Heritage Site.

Before you leave, stand still for a moment. Look along one of the long colonnaded streets toward the sea. Notice the colours — the honey tone of local limestone, the paler grey of imported marble. Feel the wind again, the same wind that pushed the sand over these streets. As you walk away, look down at the paving stones. Thousands of people crossed them once, going to market, to the baths, to the theatre... and now, for a little while, so have you.