Nicopolis

Listen first. Wind comes in off the Ionian Sea and moves through dry grass and old olive trees. Underfoot there is a mix of loose earth, broken brick and pale stone. Around you, long stretches of wall rise out of the fields. They are thick, patient and quiet. A few kilometres to the south lies modern Preveza. Here, though, you are standing inside one of the largest Roman cities ever built in Greece... and most of it is still underground.

The name tells you why the city exists. Nicopolis means City of Victory. In 31 BCE, the waters just south of here saw the Battle of Actium. Octavian, the young heir of Julius Caesar, faced Mark Antony and Cleopatra, queen of Egypt. Their fleets met at the mouth of the Ambracian Gulf. Octavian won. That victory ended a long civil war. Within a few years he took the name Augustus and ruled as Rome's first emperor.

Augustus did not want a small memorial. He wanted a whole city. He founded Nicopolis on the narrow strip of land between the open sea and the gulf, close to where his army had camped. To fill it, he moved people here from towns across the surrounding region. Many older settlements were emptied. Their citizens became the first Nicopolitans. It was a city built by decree, almost overnight, as a statement of power.

Now look up toward the hill to the north. On those slopes Augustus built his victory monument, on the place where his own tent had stood. Here is a detail many visitors miss. The front of the monument once held the bronze rams from captured enemy warships. These rams were the heavy metal beaks that warships used to punch holes in other ships. The bronze is long gone. But archaeologists found the sockets cut into the stone, each shaped to fit a ram.

The city also had games. Augustus revived the Actian Games and held them here every four years, with athletic contests, music and horse races. For a time they ranked alongside the great festivals of the Greek world. That is why Nicopolis needed a stadium, a theatre and an odeon. An odeon is a small roofed theatre for music and speeches. The odeon has been restored, and on some summer evenings it still holds performances.

As you walk, notice the material of the walls. Much of what you see is Roman brick laid in bands, with mortar and rubble between the layers. This technique was fast and strong. It let builders raise large structures quickly. In the low sun, the brick turns a warm orange-red, and the joints of grey mortar stand out like lines on a page. The ruins look rough up close. From a distance, they show a careful, planned order.

Water was a serious problem on this dry isthmus. The Romans solved it with an aqueduct that carried water from springs in the hills to the north, a long way across the countryside. Sections of its arches still stand in the landscape outside the city. Inside the walls, the water fed baths and a public fountain building called a nymphaeum. Imagine the sound of running water here, in a place that today is mostly silent.

Now for a surprise from the world of ideas. In the late first century, the Stoic philosopher Epictetus came to Nicopolis. He had been born a slave, and he was expelled from Rome when the emperor Domitian banished philosophers. Here he opened a school. Students travelled from far away to hear him. His teaching, written down by a student named Arrian, still influences readers today. Some of the most quoted lines in Stoic philosophy were first spoken in this city.

Nicopolis also appears in the Christian New Testament. In the Letter to Titus, the apostle Paul writes that he has decided to spend the winter at Nicopolis. Scholars discuss which Nicopolis he meant, because several cities shared the name. Many believe it was this one. Over the following centuries, Christianity grew strong here. The city became the seat of a bishop and an important church centre for the region.

That Christian city left some of the finest remains on the site. Several large early Christian basilicas once stood here, decorated with floor mosaics. The best known is linked to a bishop named Doumetios. Its mosaics show the earthly world as a garden — trees, birds, fish and plants, framed by bands of water. These floors are delicate. Some are covered for protection, and parts can be seen in the nearby archaeological museum.

Then times changed. By late antiquity, raids and invasions hit the Balkans hard. Nicopolis shrank. A new, smaller wall was built inside the old Roman city, enclosing only part of the original area. That is the high, solid wall you see in many places today. Its builders reused older stone, so look closely for carved blocks set at odd angles. Over the following centuries the city faded, and its people moved elsewhere.

The fields kept most of the secret. Excavations have uncovered only a fraction of what lies here. Roads, houses and cemeteries still sit below the farmland and the trees. A modern road even runs straight through the ancient city. Cars pass the walls at speed, and many drivers barely glance at them. Nicopolis is not fenced off as one neat site. It is spread out, and you need to move between its parts.

That is also part of its character. You might find yourself alone beside a Roman gate, with only cicadas and the wind for company. Shepherds and farmers have worked this land for generations, among the ruins. The museum, near the southern edge of the city, helps tie the scattered pieces together. It holds sculpture, coins, inscriptions and objects from daily life, and it is a good place to begin or end.

Before you leave, stand still for a moment. Look along the line of the wall until it disappears into the trees. Behind you is the sea where an empire was decided. Ahead are the hills where the victor built his monument. In between, a whole city grew, prospered and slowly emptied. As you walk back, watch the ground. A fragment of red brick or a piece of marble at your feet may be two thousand years old.