The track was clean-cut in living rock, its smooth, hard surface lined with two parallel ruts nearly a foot deep; it extended for some twenty yards without a break, and further on I discovered less perfect bits.

Here, manifestly, was the seaside approach to Tarentum, to Taras, perhaps to the Phoenician city which came before them.

Ages must have passed since vehicles used this way; the modern high road is at some distance inland, and one sees at a glance that this witness of ancient traffic has remained by Time's sufferance in a desert region.

Wonderful was the preservation of the surface: the angles at the sides, where the road had been cut down a little below the rock-level, were sharp and clean as if carved yesterday, and the profound ruts, worn, perhaps, before Rome had come to her power, showed the grinding of wheels with strange distinctness.

From this point there is an admirable view of Taranto, the sea, and the mountains behind.
Of the ancient town there remains hardly anything worthy of being called a ruin.