Paul Arthur: Byzantine Terra d’Otranto Unveiled (23/1/2026)

Paul Arthur, President of the Italian Society of Medieval Archaeologists, has just retired as Full Professor at the University of Salento. A leading figure in medieval and Byzantine archaeology, he first came to Italy professionally in the 1980s to direct a dig at Pompeii. Since then, he has overseen a large number of archaeological projects throughout Europe. His name is publicly associated with several local sites, including the Castello Carlo V and the city walls.

We all know something of Lecce’s past. Evidence of the Baroque is everywhere, and even elements of the Norman period—from 1071 onwards—remain visible at sites such as the Abbazia di Santa Maria di Cerrate and the Chiesa dei Santi Nicola e Cataldo in Lecce. But we know almost nothing of the 500 years before then.Arthur therefore set out to unveil evidence of the “Byzantine Heritage of Southern Italy”, a national project he has recently directed. It is an eclectic undertaking, drawing partly on his excavation work—such as at Parco Montalbano in Oria—but also on a more Sherlock Holmes–style investigation into indirect evidence: tree rings, rats and plague patterns, volcanic activity (including Krakatoa), dialect studies, and even recurrent blood conditions found in the local population.

If you live in Salento, you do not need to travel to Istanbul—or even Ravenna—to encounter Byzantium. You need only learn how to look. Terra d’Otranto is not simply a region that contains history but a region whose very spatial logic—how communities connect, cluster, and move—was shaped during the Byzantine centuries.

Arthur offered this paradox: Byzantine rule in Italy endured for roughly five centuries (554–1071), long enough to leave deep marks on religion, language, cuisine, traditions, and even DNA; yet the period is still treated as a historical interlude—barely integrated into mainstream narratives of Southern Italy.But why?

He outlined two powerful forces that helped obscure the Byzantine chapter: religion and political-cultural pressures.

In religious terms, the Council of Trent (1545–1563) cast the long shadow of the Counter-Reformation. Its aim was to pressure individual dioceses to abandon Byzantine liturgical practices in favour of the Roman rite. In Salento, the Greek rite persisted well into this period, and it required the full force of the papacy to make the Byzantine rite disappear.

The second filter was political and cultural, becoming decisive with the nationalisation of Italy, which culminated in unification by 1870. Arthur recalled the famous observation of the Piedmontese statesman, Massimo d’Azeglio: “Now that we have made Italy, we must make the Italians.” A striking 19th‑century allegorical image celebrating the capture of Porta Pia became a powerful instrument of modern nation‑building. With Rome newly affirmed as caput mundi, anything “eastern” was pushed to the margins, treated as awkward or peripheral.

In this light, Arthur’s search for Byzantium in Terra d’Otranto becomes more than local archaeology: it becomes a corrective to how Italy has imagined itself.

One of the most persuasive moments in the talk came when Arthur shifted from anecdotal material to a map showing 2,230 archaeological sites across southern Italy and Sicily. The map contained a simple but disarming implication: the Byzantine period is not a footnote, but a dense archaeological reality.The audience felt the weight of accumulation—site after site, layer after layer—revealing that in Terra d’Otranto, Byzantine presence was not confined to isolated enclaves but formed the very fabric of the region.

Arthur also highlighted the broader movement toward “archaeology for all”. His project invests in public‑facing communication through social media and a reader‑friendly website in Italian, English, and—perhaps surprisingly—Russian. Arthur explained that the Russian version is essential because of Russia’s academic and popular interest in Byzantium, rooted in the idea of Russia as Byzantium’s cultural and political heir. It is no coincidence that Saint Nicholas—deeply venerated in Russia—lived in the heart of Byzantium (and whose relics rest in Bari).

The middle portion of the lecture expanded the lens to the pressures shaping the Mediterranean in late antiquity and the early medieval centuries. The Justinianic War and the Byzantine reconquest of Italy (535–554), part of Justinian I’s wider effort to reclaim the Western Roman territories, provided essential context.

Tree‑ring dating—dendrochronology—offered another window onto why the Byzantine period left fewer visible traces. Fossilised tree samples show severe growth stress between 536 and 541, pointing to a violent global climate crisis. Volcanic eruptions, including one associated with Krakatoa, and possibly even a comet strike, dramatically impeded the empire’s development. A population struggling for basic survival leaves little for posterity. Norse mythology’s Fimbulwinter, a legendary three‑year winter, may reflect these same climatic upheavals. As Arthur suggested, history is shaped not only by politics and armies but equally by climate and its consequences.

A final, devastating crisis of the time was the Justinianic Plague (541–544), spread by rats along Mediterranean shipping routes, killing vast numbers. Arthur noted that, in line with recent scholarship, this disaster nevertheless demonstrated an empire capable of surviving, adapting, and re‑stabilising.

Amid these environmental shocks came political ones. The Lombards, a Germanic people, exploited Byzantine weakness, entering Friuli in 568 and then moving south. How far they advanced is becoming clearer thanks to new excavations at the Limitone dei Greci (Sava) on the route to Taranto. A long defensive wall—sections of which survive near Sava—may once have stretched as far as 150 km. It now appears to have been a Byzantine defensive barrier, likely marking the southernmost limit of Lombard pressure.

From an archaeological point of view, however, there is rarely a single defining moment. Arthur used the Lecce “Roman” amphitheatre to illustrate how layers interlock and how the pursuit of Roman remains can obliterate later deposits—potentially erasing 500 years of Byzantine history. Messapian remains also wrap around the Roman core, alongside Baroque layers and others. Lecce’s past is a palimpsest of reuse and transformation. Consequently, Byzantine Terra d’Otranto often survives as repurposed space.

Arthur’s talk radiated the excitement of ongoing discovery. His work at Parco Montalbano in Oria is yielding important finds, including an 8th–9th‑century Lombard silver coin of Prince Sicard, suggesting that Oria held political significance and perhaps a military presence before the Byzantine reconquest.

One especially instructive thread concerned how archaeologists infer settlement patterns even where houses do not survive. In Otranto, 8th‑century oil and wine production facilities reveal rural occupation. In Salento more broadly, even when settlements disappear, individual Greek or Roman amphorae beneath the soil preserve evidence of economic life.

Trade and connections can be reconstructed in similar fashion. As Chris Wickham and others have shown (following McCormick’s Origins of the European Economy), the movement of people, objects, and communications can be inferred from scattered clues. Thus, finds such as the 860–940 shipwreck and the gold signet ring of a senior Byzantine official at Porto Cesareo become highly significant. The ring tells us his name—Basilios—and his office as an eparch in Constantinople, making clear that Terra d’Otranto participated directly in the administrative and maritime networks of Byzantium.

By the 10th century, the Byzantine Empire was weakening. The Normans had arrived and built new defensive structures—motte‑and‑bailey forts, familiar from the Bayeux Tapestry. A rare Italian example survives at Supersano, known locally as a motta.

The cumulative message is clear: the Byzantine centuries were not merely a period of holding ground. They were periods of building, organising, investing—activities that leave lasting imprints on settlement patterns and sacred landscapes across Salento.

In the final part of Arthur’s talk, he brought us to the present. The blood condition Anemia mediterranea (thalassemia) is genetically linked to populations from the Byzantine world, and in Italy it is most prevalent in Terra d’Otranto. In the same area, we hear the Griko dialect—whose roots lie in Byzantium—and encounter food traditions with parallel origins. The beloved rustico, for example, has striking cousins in Eastern Mediterranean and Byzantine cuisine, such as spanakopita, kataifi, and tsoureki.

To conclude, as Arthur remarked at the beginning: you only need to learn how to look. Terra d’Otranto is not simply a region that contains history, but a region whose spatial logic—how communities connect, cluster, and move—has been shaped by Byzantium.