Cannae

Listen first to the wind. Out here, southwest of Barletta, it moves across the low hill without much to stop it. It pushes through the dry grass, lifts a little dust from the paths, and carries the smell of warm earth and olive leaves. Below you the land opens out into a wide, flat plain. A river valley runs through it toward the Adriatic. It is a quiet place. Yet the name of this hill is one of the most studied in the history of warfare.

You are standing at Canne della Battaglia, which means Cannae of the Battle. The name says it plainly. In 216 BCE, somewhere on the plain below, the Carthaginian general Hannibal met a Roman army far larger than his own. By the end of one summer day, that Roman army had been almost destroyed. More than two thousand years later, officers in military academies still study what happened here.

To understand the scale, step back two years. In 218 BCE, Hannibal led his army out of Spain, through southern France, and over the Alps into Italy. He came with soldiers from Africa, Spain and Gaul, and famously with war elephants, though few of them survived the journey. He then beat Roman forces at the river Trebia and again at Lake Trasimene. Rome was shaken. For a time, the Romans chose caution. They shadowed Hannibal and avoided open battle.

By 216 BCE, Rome was tired of waiting. The city raised an unusually large army and sent both of its consuls, its two highest elected leaders, to command it. Their names were Lucius Aemilius Paullus and Gaius Terentius Varro. Hannibal, meanwhile, had seized a supply depot here at Cannae. The two armies came together near the river the Romans called the Aufidus. Today it is the Ofanto — and you can follow its line of trees and fields across the plain from this hill.

Now the plan itself. Hannibal placed his Gallic and Spanish infantry in the centre, in a line that curved forward toward the Romans. On each side of them, a little behind, he set his experienced African infantry. His cavalry held the wings. When the Romans pushed hard into the centre, that curved line slowly gave ground. The Romans pressed deeper and deeper — and without realising it, they walked into a pocket.

Then the trap closed. Hannibal's cavalry drove the Roman horsemen from the field. They swept around behind the Roman army. At the same moment, the African infantry turned inward on both flanks. The Romans were surrounded on every side, packed so tightly that many could hardly lift their weapons. Military writers call this a double envelopment. It is the reason the word Cannae became a byword, for centuries, for the perfect encirclement.

How many died? Here we must be careful. Our main accounts come from two ancient historians, the Greek writer Polybius and the Roman writer Livy. Both give enormous figures, in the tens of thousands, but their numbers do not agree. Modern historians still debate them. What everyone accepts is this: the losses were catastrophic, and the consul Paullus was among the dead. Varro escaped, and he lived to face a stunned city.

Here is a detail many visitors miss. Nobody knows exactly where on this plain the battle was fought. Scholars have argued for generations about which bank of the Ofanto the armies stood on, and how the river ran in ancient times, because rivers shift their course. So as you look out, you are looking at the right landscape. But the precise ground of the fighting is still an open question.

Livy also recorded a story that is hard to forget. He wrote that Hannibal's men collected gold rings from the fallen Roman nobles, and that these rings were sent back to Carthage and poured out before its council. The tale may be exaggerated. But it shows how the defeat lived on in Roman memory. Livy also says that one of Hannibal's officers urged him to march on Rome at once, and told him that he knew how to win a victory, but not how to use one.

And that is the second surprise. Hannibal won here, completely, and still lost the war. He never took Rome. The city refused to make peace, raised new armies, and slowly wore him down. Years later, a Roman commander named Scipio defeated Hannibal at Zama, in North Africa. According to Livy, Scipio had been a young officer at Cannae, and he survived the slaughter. The lesson he learned on this plain, Rome later used against its teacher.

The hill under your feet holds much more than one day of battle. People lived here long before Hannibal and long after him. On the summit you can walk among the low stone remains of a fortified settlement, its citadel, and a medieval town. In the Middle Ages, Canne was a real town with its own churches and a bishop. In 1018, another battle was fought nearby, when a Byzantine army defeated a rebel force that included Norman fighters. Later, in the eleventh century, the town was badly damaged, and it slowly emptied.

As you walk the site, look at the stones themselves. Most of the walls now stand only knee or waist high. The pale limestone is worn smooth in places and rough in others. You can trace the outlines of streets, house foundations and church floors. A tall column stands on the hill, raised in the twentieth century to honour the battle. Near the entrance, a small museum, called an antiquarium, holds objects found here, from pottery to tools.

Before you leave, stand still for a moment and face the plain again. Notice the neat rows of olive trees, the vineyards, and the wheat fields turning gold or brown with the season. Notice how far you can see. A farmer's tractor may be moving slowly along a track below. The wind is still moving through the grass. This is ordinary, working countryside today... and that is perhaps the most striking thing of all. As you walk back toward the road, the hill falls quiet behind you, and the plain keeps its secret.