For the historian of ancient
warfare, there can be few tasks as frustrating – or as tempting – as trying to
locate the sites of ancient battles. Our sources rarely say much about
topography, what they say is usually vague or contradictory, and, to make
matters worse, two thousand years of earthquakes, floods, and common-or-garden erosion is
generally enough to transform any landscape, especially when assisted by the
twin forces of farming and construction.
Despite these difficulties, military
historians over the years have relentlessly sought the locations of the major
battles of Antiquity, notable the great clashes of the Second Punic War, Rome’s infamous
life-and-death struggle with Carthage
at the end of the third century BC. Predictably enough, considering the spell
it’s cast on tacticians and military historians over the years, the quest to
locate the battle of Cannae has been an
unashamed free-for-all. Offhand, I can think of about a dozen different
theories of where the battle took place.
Just to put this into context, in
the summer of 216 BC the Carthaginian general Hannibal was marauding around Italy with an
army of around 50,000 men. Having been
decisively thrashed by him in their three previous encounters, the Romans
concentrated on building up their army to a total strength – perhaps, this is
debated – of 86,000 men. Hannibal
seized the grain stores at Cannae, near
Canusium, and the Romans under their consuls Paullus and Varro moved closer, evidently
planning to give battle soon. They set up camp by the river Aufidus, across the
river from Hannibal’s
camp. Hannibal
crossed the river and made camp, the next day offering battle to the Romans, who
declined.
The following day the Romans under Varro crossed the river to challenge
Hannibal, and Hannibal led his men
across the river to face them. Despite being massively outnumbered, Hannibal was able to
outflank the Romans and surround them, killing 50,000 men in a manoeuvre – the
‘double envelopment’ – which has been a model to generals ever since.
At the south-western end of the
citadel at Cannae there’s a small modern
monument, a simple column bearing an inscription from Livy, with a magnificent view
of what you might assume is the battlefield. You can see it here, a broad flat plain with the river
Ofanto – the ancient Aufidus - shown running across the centre of the shot, rendered clearly visible by the trees and bushes
that line its banks. The town in the background is San Ferdinando, which some
historians have identified as the site of Hannibal’s
camp before the battle. It all looks very straightforward – and if you ask in
the museum, or at the small tourist office at the train station, you’ll be told
that it is. Unfortunately, as with virtually everything that we touch in the
field of ancient history, matters aren’t anywhere near so simple.
Back in the late sixteenth century it seems to have been normal to assume the battle took place on the south-eastern bank of the river. If you ever visit the hall of maps in the Vatican Museum and seek out the map of this area by the Dominican friar Ignazio Danti you’ll see that not only has Danzi seen fit to mark the site of the battle of Cannae on the southern bank of the river, with the two main camps on the northern bank, but he’s painted both armies deployed for battle with the opposing commanders clearly identified. He does a similar thing with other maps in the series, showing, say, the opposing camps before the Battle of Lake Trasimene, and Caesar about to cross the Rubicon.
If you look at a satellite image of the region round the hill of Cannae, with the river Ofanto – the ancient Aufidus – running in a more or less north-easterly direction from the bottom left corner, you can just about make out the hill of Cannae in the very centre of the shot.
What positive information can we
gather from the sources? Well, Polybius 3.113 clearly states that the Roman right wing – the
citizen cavalry were positioned by the river, faced by the Carthaginian left wing
– the Celtic and Spanish horse. Further, Polybius 3.114 and Livy 22.46 tell us that the Romans faced south, the
Carthaginians north. We needn’t be too dogmatic about what Polybius meant when
he wrote ‘north’ and ‘south’ here. It can be taken as read, I think, that he
meant ‘roughly north’ and ‘roughly south’; it seems unlikely that either
Hannibal or the Roman commanders were using compasses to deploy their armies.
What’s
more, both armies had to cross the Aufidus to do battle, since most of their
men were camped on the far side of the river; Polybius 3.113 states this unambiguously, while Polybius 3.110 indicates that they must have crossed from west to east, since only a third of the
Roman forces were encamped on the eastern side of the river.
It can be helpful to see how people have read the data and attempted to locate the battle over the years. The turquoise box on this black-and-white satellite shot marks the area generally identified as the site of the battle of Cannae up to the early nineteenth century, and still generally pointed to as the battlefield by locals in Barletta and thereabouts.
Obviously, I've enhanced the course of the river; the hill of Cannae should still be clear in the centre. The problem with the obvious identification is that it’s based simply on the assumption that this is a good, handy, flat space that would have been an obvious spot for a fight. Quite right, but unfortunately the sources rule out this location, at least if we take them at face value.
It seems pretty clear, from the aforementioned passages, that the battle must have been fought on the right bank of the river,
with the two armies deployed more-or-less at a right angle to it, the Romans
facing roughly south, the Carthaginians roughly north. Some nineteenth-century writers
attempted to place the battle to the southwest of the hill of Cannae, notably Hesselbarth in his 1874
Göttingen dissertation and Thomas Arnold in 1886. Unfortunately, a cursory
inspection of the area – represented with an orange box – ought to have ruled out such ideas – the ground they
identified as the site of the battle is rugged and hilly, unsuitable for an
infantry battle, let alone a battle involving the use of about 15,000 horses
and some fairly sophisticated cavalry manoeuvres.
Attention returned once more to the
left bank of the Aufidus, with the American Theodore Dodge placing the battle
almost parallel to the river, close to the coast, as represented by the pink box; Dodge wasn’t working so much on the basis of the evidence as
he was using what’s termed "inherent military probability". This is the idea
that soldiers of whatever era will do what makes military sense, and that
bearing in mind certain principles of warfare we can establish what historical
generals are likely to have done. Although it ignores the fact that war’s a
cultural activity – it varies in aims and methods between cultures – it is a
useful tool. However, it’s a tool far too easily abused, as in this case;
there’s not a jot of evidence to support Dodge, and plenty of it to refute his
theory.
Konrad Lehmann and Hans Delbrück
hypothesised that the battle was fought on the river’s left bank, a couple of
miles west of the hill of Cannae, as represented by the green box,
but Lehmann has the Romans facing roughly north and the Carthaginians roughly
south, in direct contradiction of the sources, while Delbrück had the Romans
facing roughly east and the Carthaginans roughly west. Again, their theories,
however ingenious, lacked any real basis in our evidence.
De Sanctis, at least,
in placing the battlefield on the left bank as shown by the yellow box, with the Romans facing north-east and the Carthaginians
facing south-west, had an explanation. Polybius, he believed, thought of Italy
as a triangle with its base in the Alps and bisected by the Apennines; the
Aufidus thus must have, in Polybius’ mind, flowed in a south-easterly
direction; since the Aufidus in fact flows north east, all Polybius’ directions
must be corrected – a Roman force facing roughly southeast, for Polybius, would
in fact have been facing northeast, with its right flank on the river.
It’s a clever idea but it doesn’t really follow that
Polybius if envisaged Italy as a triangle he must have assumed that all rivers
flowing into the Adriatic flowed south-east; besides, considering that Polybius
explicitly speaks of the Aufidus having an east bank, it would seem that he
believed the river to have flowed from south to north. De Sanctis’ theory,
though ingenious, doesn’t hold up.
In 1912, Johannes Kromayer proposed
that the battlefield was in fact on the river’s right bank, downstream from the
hill of Cannae, on a front over four kilometres wide, with the Romans facing
south-west-south and the Carthaginians north-east-north, the Roman right flank
and the Carthaginian left flank both resting on the river. The red box here represents Kromayer's theory. Over time this theory gained more and more ground,
eventually becoming generally accepted as the one that best fits the evidence,
the topographical reality, and military practicality. See, for instance,
the definitive book on the battle*. (Cough, cough)
 |
| Yes, I'm using the drawing in my book. So sue me. |
In 1981, however, Peter Connolly dropped a very astute bombshell onto this increasingly cosy consensus. It was
all very well working on the basis of the texts, he pointed out, but we only
have two items of geography to correlate with our literary evidence, and while
the hill of Cannae is conveniently stationary, rivers have a habit of moving.
What, he asked, if the Aufidus had flowed rather further north in 216 BC than
it had done in his day?
Assuming the river was at the northernmost limit of its floodplain in 216 BC,
he placed the main Carthaginian camp at the modern town San Ferdinando with the
main Roman camp just over a mile downhill. His proposed site for the battle, shown in pink below, falls down largely because it
doesn’t allow for Hannibal having challenged the Romans to battle on the left
bank of the Aufidus the previous day. Polybius 3.112 describes Hannibal’s army deploying for battle along
the Aufidus, without crossing the river, and if we follow Connolly’s theory
there simply isn’t space for them to have done that in the narrow stretch between San Ferdinando and Connolly's hypothetical battlefield.
Nevertheless, Connolly had raised
an important point, one that Adrian Goldsworthy was to take up a few years ago
in his book Roman Warfare (as shown in orange) and subsequently revisit in his
books on The Punic Wars (with the battle located in the general area of the dotted turquoise box) and Cannae (as shown in olive green), where he explained his theory. Goldsworthy clearly changed his mind a couple of times as to the precise location of the
battle, but that’s no argument against his basic thesis, which needs to be
addressed.
- First, he says, Kromayer requires Hannibal’s camp to be in the open
plain rather than on higher ground at the modern San Ferdinando – of this he
says "there could have been no intrinsic
value to such a position apart from the pressure it applied on the enemy by its
proximity to their camp".
- Second, he argues that the location where Varro
offered battle, according to Kromayer, is no less suited to cavalry combat than
that location declined by Paullus the previous day.
- Third, he points out that we
have no reason to believe the course of the Aufidus in 216BC was anywhere near
where it is now, and it could well have been much further north as per
Connolly’s theory.
- Finally, he says that Connolly has overestimated – and
Kromayer has grossly overestimated – the frontage that a Roman army of 76,000
men would need. It would be possible, he argues, to squeeze an enormous Roman
army into a battlefield only two kilometres wide – and with one Roman flank
anchored on the river and the other flank anchored on the hill of Cannae or
thereabouts, the Romans would be able to thwart any attempts by Hannibal’s
cavalry to outflank and surround them.
Where do we start? Well, firstly
there’s the issue of Hannibal
gaining nothing from being encamped in the plain, barring the pressure that
he’d apply on the Romans through being so close to their camp. Frankly, that
could be reason enough to camp there – Hannibal
wanted to draw the Romans out, after all. He wanted them to fight him, since he was sure that if they fought, he’d win.
What then of the charge that
Kromayer’s proposed location for the battle is just as well-suited to cavalry
combat as the the plain between the camps, in Kromayer’s thesis? That’s simply
not true. The map I've cunningly nabbed from
my own book shows that the terrain between the two camps is as flat as a
pancake, perfect for cavalry combat, while there are at least a few contours in
the area where Kromayer places the battle. But even if that area had been
better suited to cavalry combat than the area where
Hannibal had offered battle the previous day,
Varro would still have had good psychological grounds for offering battle
there. The previous day
Hannibal
had picked his terrain – now it was time for the Romans to pick theirs. This is
an example of the dangers of applying "inherent military probability" to
cultures that are different from our own.
Third, and now we’re moving into the meat of the Connolly/Goldsworthy hypothesis, what if the Aufidus flowed rather further north in Hannibal’s day than it does now? The first thing that has to be borne in mind is that, yes, the river’s current path almost certainly doesn’t match its route in 216BC. It doesn't follow exactly the same route now, even, as it did when Kromayer drew his map. Rivers move, and over the course of six or seven centuries the river could easily move from one side of its flood plain to the other.
The Aufidus – or the Ofanto as it’s now called isn’t a particularly impressive river, after all. It’s neither broad nor deep, and lacks in power – it’s the type of river that would always take the path of least resistance. But there’s no evidence at all for what path it took in Hannibal’s day. Yes, it’s rather arbitrary to assume that the river’s current course matches its course when the battle was fought, but it’s equally arbitrary to assume that its course in 216 BC was along the northern limit of its floodplain. It’s even possible that its course then was slightly further to the southeast than it is now, so that it would have tightly hugged the hill of Cannae.
Certainly, whatever path the river
took when the battle was fought, two things are definite. Firstly, its general
direction must still have been towards the northeast, and second there's no way it followed the almost straight path we see in Connolly and Goldsworthy’s diagrams –
though not in Connolly’s reconstruction, which is a more accurate reflection of
reality. Rivers don’t follow straight paths in their old age – they meander
wildly, as Gerry Fee taught me in geography class millions of years ago, and whatever course the Aufidus would have followed would have been
marked by twists and turns, just as today’s river is, if not more so.
The only
way to find what the course of the Aufidus would have been in 216 would involve
a close topographical and geological study of the area, looking for evidence of
meanders and oxbow lakes – these would almost certainly have been filled in
over time, but they could be found. Once found, they could be cored, and the
cored deposits could be dated. Without such a project, any attempt to locate
the ancient course of the Aufidus must be regarded with suspicion.
What then of the idea that a Roman
army of 70,000 infantry and 6,000 cavalry could have been squeezed into a plain
two kilometres wide? Well, it’s possible. It does seem terribly convenient,
though, doesn’t it? The Roman army can, just about, be squeezed into a frontage
two kilometres wide… and the gap between the hill of Cannae and the river
Aufidus can, just about, be stretched to two kilometres wide. It does rather
look as though the facts are being forced to fit the theory here. Besides, it
would have been very tricky to deploy an army squeezed so tightly together into
such a narrow corridor.
What about the suggestion that with
their flanks protected by the river and the hill the Romans would have been
well-protected, at least in theory, from Hannibal’s
cavalry? Well, the first thing you might wonder is "why doesn’t Polybius or any
of our other sources for the battle even hint at the Romans having adopted such
a position?" That doesn’t disprove Goldsworthy’s theory, by any means, since
ancient writers are often far from forthcoming on the topography of
battlefields, but Goldsworthy’s asking us to accept that Polybius was willing
to relate the positions of the armies at Cannae
to one of the battle’s crucial landmarks, but not to the other. Such a
half-silence would be curious, to say the least.
We also need to remember that the
encounter at the Aufidus had been invited in the first place by Hannibal’s seizure of Cannae’s citadel, as is described in Polybius 3.107 Hannibal
had since then moved the bulk of his army to the left bank of the Aufidus
(Polyb. 3.111.11), but it seems unlikely that he would have altogether
abandoned the most important and defensible strategic point in the vicinity.
For what it’s worth, Plutarch suggests that Hannibal had control of the heights around Cannae when he describes a rather feeble joke made by Hannibal while on a
hilltop viewing the Roman army being deployed (Plut., Vit. Fab. Max. 15.1)
If Hannibal did control the hill of Cannae it
would have been suicidal for the Romans to have anchored their left flank on
it, exposing their men to a potential bombardment of missiles from above
– such missiles might not just include the heavy stones that Hannibal’s
Balearian slingers could hurl for great distances, but even such simple things
as rooftiles! Again, this doesn’t definitively refute Goldsworthy’s thesis, but
again it should cause us to pause before swallowing it.
One thing that’s crucial to
remember in evaluating this hypothesis is that the hill of Cannae is not an
isolated hill. Rather, it’s part of a ridge about fifty to sixty metres high You can pick out Cannae on this shot, just about, by squinting and looking
for the memorial column.
These hills are quite steep with something in the region of a 45 degree slope. All very well, you might
think, but bear in mind how little space Goldsworthy allows for the
Roman frontage – somewhere in the region of two kilometres – 360 metres for the
2,400 citizen cavalry at the river, 1050 metres for the infantry in the centre,
and 540 metres for the 3,600 allied cavalry at the foot of the hills. This
seems terribly constricted.
It’s reasonable to assume that the cavalry by the
river were squeezed tightly together – Polybius 3.115 and Livy 22.47 relate how with
little room to manoeuvre the cavalry battle by the river turned into a barbaric
melee with all fighting being done at close quarters. But what of the cavalry
on the other flank? Polybius 3.116 gives no hint that the cavalry there lacked room to move; on the contrary, it
seems as though that part of the battle was characterised by the typical
skirmishing and repeated sallies so typical of the Numidian cavalry; there’s
certainly no suggestion of any close combat between the Numidians and the
Allied cavalry, something which surely would have happened had they been wedged
between the infantry and the steep slopes of Cannae and the adjoining hills. No,
this part of the battle took place in the open plain.
So where does this leave us?
Goldsworthy’s theories don’t really hold up, but can we simply return to Kromayer? Not quite. Kromayer’s
theory that the battle was fought on the plain where the uplands near Cannae slope gently towards the sea at Barletta is still the best theory to date, fitting
all the facts we have. Unfortunately, the river moves, and until we know exactly what
course it took in 216 BC we can never be fully sure where the battle was
fought.
As it happens, even that may be too optimistic; part of me suspects
that unless we find a big pile of spearheads with ‘made in Carthage’ written on them we’ll never know
for certain, but that’s just me.
