All language subtitles for Expedition.Files.S04E06.1080p.WEB.h264-EDITH_track3_[eng]

On this episode
of "Expedition Files" --

Dracula is said to be inspired
by the real-life terrors

of a bloodthirsty
15th-century warlord,

Vlad the Impaler.

He's believed to have
killed thousands.

But the circumstances
of Vlad's death

and the location of his burial
remained a mystery until now.

Then, as the Cold War
burns hot,

a top-secret
U.S. government program

attempts to spy on the enemy
using the power of the mind.

But were the abilities of these
so-called "psychic spies"

real or just science fiction?

We declassify
the jaw-dropping truth.

And, in ancient Rome,
Spartacus is a legendary

slave-turned-gladiator
who sparks a rebellion,

bringing the nation
to its knees.

One!

[Josh]
But did he really exist?

Two!

[Josh]
New archaeological findings

shed light on the man
behind the myth.

In the corridors of time,

are mysteries that
defy explanation.

Now, I'm traveling through
history itself

on a search for the truth.

New evidence.

Shocking answers.

I'm Josh Gates.

And these...

are my "Expedition Files."

I've been lucky enough to
travel to 117 countries,

but some of the best places
I've ever been

aren't out there.
They're up here.

Arrakis, the Shire,
Diagon Alley,

all completely fictitious,

all made real
by a brilliant book

plus our own brilliant
imaginations.

But the thing is,
powerful fiction is still

inspired by powerful facts,
whether it was Tolkien's time

in the trenches
for "Lord of the Rings,"

or Frank Herbert
hitting those magic mushrooms

to create "Dune."

And tonight, we search for
the facts behind some other

equally epic fiction,
investigating three
iconic stories

to find the truth
behind the tale.

We begin in the year 1462
in the forests of Carpathia.

In time, this will be part
of Romania.

But in this century,
it's known as Transylvania.

And here's the man in charge
around here, Prince Vlad III,

also known as Vlad Tepes
and Vlad the Impaler.

He's currently leading
a military campaign against

the invading Ottoman Empire,
which has resulted in thousands

of his enemies dead by,
well, you get the idea.

This very real man is said to
go on to become the inspiration

for one of fiction's most
infamous vampires,

because his other name is
Vlad Dracula.

But while the monster
becomes iconic,

curiously, we know very little
about the man himself.

We don't know how he died
or where he was buried.

But 600 years from now,
new discoveries may allow us to

come face to face
with the real Dracula.

Vlad III is born in the winter
of 1431 in Sighisoara,

in the region of Transylvania,

then part of
the Kingdom of Hungary.

Vlad belongs to a ruling family
of Wallachia, a brutal

15th century borderland
caught between Hungary

and the expanding
Ottoman Empire.

Vlad's father is the ruler of
Wallachia and member of

the Order of the Dragon,
a Christian brotherhood sworn

to keep the Ottomans at bay.

His membership perk?
A fearsome new title, "Dracul,"

which makes Vlad III "Dracula,"

quite literally,
"the son of the dragon."

And the rest of Vlad's
childhood appropriately reads

like the origin story
of a monster.

As a boy, Vlad is hauled off
as a hostage

by his father's enemy,
the Ottoman Turks.

But while Vlad is a prisoner
of the Ottomans,

Wallachia's other great enemy,
the Hungarians,

decide to strike, assassinating
Vlad's father and brother.

With his dad gone, Vlad assumes
the throne of Wallachia

in 1448.

But that only lasts for two
months before he's forced out

in a coup led by rival nobles.

Vlad then spends the next
eight years in exile,

sharpening his grudges against
the Ottomans, the Hungarians,

the Wallachians,
frankly, anyone

who will stand in his way.

By 1456, Vlad is done waiting.

He returns to Wallachia with
an army to retake his throne

by any means necessary.
He's brutally successful.

Vlad's first order of business
is settling scores with those

who he feels had
betrayed his family.

[man gasping]

Accounts say he invites
hundreds of local aristocrats

to a grand feast,

framing it as a gesture
of peace.

Then he has them arrested.

The lucky are sent to toil
as forced laborers.

The unlucky are executed

in what becomes
Vlad's signature style,

impalement.

A sharpened stake driven
through the body,

leaving victims to die slowly.

Their corpses are left
skewered, a forest of warnings

to anyone who dares defy him.

The fearsome nickname
"Vlad the Impaler"

spreads throughout the land.

Meanwhile, Vlad's enemies,
the Ottoman Empire, push west

towards his territory,
spreading their Islamic regime.

In response, the Pope calls for
a new crusade to protect

Christian territory
that includes Vlad's.

Eager for revenge against
his former captors,

the Impaler seizes the moment.

When the Ottomans march into
Wallachia, Vlad strikes back

with scorched-earth fury,
raiding camps, poisoning wells,

and, yes, impaling thousands.

The savagery works.

The Ottomans pull back,
and Europe hails Vlad

as a defender
of the Christian faith,

a hero to some,
a nightmare to others.

Vlad's brutal tactics become
the stuff of legend.

One commonly repeated tale
claims he dined among

the impaled, dipping his bread
in their blood.

Now, we should be clear,
much of what we know about

these stories comes
from enemy propaganda,

pamphlets from the late 1400s.

In Romania itself, Vlad is
today considered

a national hero, a brave leader
who defended his country

from foreign invaders.

So the line between fact
and fear-mongering is blurry.

The story of Vlad's death is
similarly debatable.

Even the year, 1476,
or maybe 1477.

Some say he fell in battle.

Others claim he was betrayed
by his own men.

Another tale says his
severed head was sent

to the Ottoman Sultan
as a trophy.

As for his body,
his final resting place

has never been found.

But just as the man becomes
lost in the shadows,

the monster takes center stage.

In 1897, Irish author
Bram Stoker writes the novel

"Dracula," inspired, at least
in part, by Vlad the Impaler.

While writing the novel,
Stoker dives

into Eastern European lore.

In an 1820 history book,

he finds mention
of Vlad III as

"Dracula,
son of the dragon."

The name is exotic,
mysterious, terrifying.

Stoker scraps his original
villain, "Count Wampyr,"

and instead christens him
"Count Dracula."

From there, Stoker pulls
details from Vlad III's life

to shape Count Dracula's
backstory, his role as

a ruthless warlord,
the Transylvanian setting,

and his battles with
the Ottoman Turks.

Meanwhile, the mythical side
of Stoker's tale

comes from his deep dive
into centuries-old

vampire folklore
in Eastern Europe.

In the Middle Ages, long before
science could explain disease

and decay, villagers sometimes
exhumed the dead,

fearing those who lived
evil lives died

with unfinished business
and might rise again.

When the graves were opened,

some bodies showed bloated
faces, darkened skin and blood

at the mouth, natural signs of
decomposition that villagers

misinterpreted as proof
the dead had returned

to feed on the living.

To stop them,
communities resorted

to brutal measures.

Archaeologists have since
uncovered anti-vampire burials

throughout Europe,
skeletons nailed to the ground

with stakes, others with bricks
or metal forced into

their mouths to prevent biting.

Several years ago, I explored
these practices myself,

working alongside archaeologists

at a dig site in Bulgaria.

Amazing.
So this is the metal.

And what is it exactly?

It's a plowshare, the tool
that local people use to

plow the ground.

[Josh]
So this is something that was
done after the person died?

This was then driven into them?

Definitely happened after death,
and it shows evidence

that this is a ritual

preventing this person
from becoming a vampire.

[Josh]
These real-world horror
stories gave

Stoker's Dracula its fangs.

But not all Dracula legends are
rooted in medieval folklore.

One of the most iconic,
the bat, is a later invention.

Drawing on reports of
blood-sucking bats in

the Americas first documented
in the 16th century,

Bram Stoker fused this image
with Vlad's fiercer reputation

to create his infamous monster.

Since the late 1800s,
Dracula has sunk his teeth

into popular culture like almost
no other character.

The Count has starred in stage
plays, silent films,

blockbuster movies
and TV shows, comic books,

even breakfast cereal.

But behind the legend lies
an unsettling mystery,

the fate of the real man
who inspired it,

Vlad the Impaler.

For centuries, historians have
disagreed on how he died

and where he's buried.

Now, a modern-day search has
uncovered new evidence

that may finally lead
to Vlad's long-lost remains

and the secrets buried
with them.

For centuries,
the final resting place
of Vlad the Impaler,

the ruthless ruler
whose reign of terror helped

inspire the legend of Dracula,
has been a mystery.

Now, Dr. Anne DeLong,
professor of British and Gothic

literature and editor of the
"Journal of Dracula Studies,"

follows the trail of clues that
may finally lead

to Vlad's lost grave.

The fact that there is no
clear trail to Vlad's death

or to his burial site is
a bit strange,

particularly considering
his status today

as a hero of Romanian history.

For many years,
popular tradition believed that

Vlad the Impaler was buried
in a monastery in Romania.

One of those is the Snagov
Monastery, a site that was

connected to Vlad's family.

On a small island north of
Bucharest, Snagov Monastery has

long been linked
to Vlad the Impaler's fate.

16th century accounts claim
he died in battle nearby,

and was buried there.

For generations, locals pointed
to a plain stone slab inside

the church as his hidden grave,
a humble marker for a man

with a monster-sized legend.

The monastery at Snagov was
excavated in 1933 in order to

search for remains of Vlad.

The tomb turned out to be
completely empty,

except for animal bones.

That's led some historians to
look elsewhere,

like Comana Monastery,
a fortress-like church

Vlad founded during his reign.

[Dr. DeLong]
The Comana Monastery
is closer to the site

where he is believed
to have died.

It makes more logical sense
that he would have been moved

to a closer monastery.

But excavations at Comana
in the 1970s discovered

no proof of Vlad.

In the end, no grave site for
the Impaler has ever been

discovered in Romania,
leading some to the theory that

Vlad was buried somewhere else.

In 2014, there's a fascinating
new development.

A team of Italian researchers
identified a curious tomb at

the church of Santa
Maria La Nova in Naples,

featuring ominous engravings
and what some claim to be

a coded inscription of
letters and symbols.

[Dr. DeLong]
Some historians believe
that Vlad's remains ended up

in Naples, which is where
his daughter lived.

And some have suggested that
she sent for the body, then was

able to memorialize him where
she lived and presumably be

buried with him also.

[Josh] Supporters of the theory
point to details carved into

the tomb's facade,
an ornate dragon

and a knight's helmet,

symbols that could reference
the Order of the Dragon

to which Vlad's
father belonged.

Behind the tomb lies
an epigraph that has yet to be

fully deciphered,
but two translated words,

"Vlad" and "Balkans,"

have fueled speculation
that it may be

connected to Vlad the Impaler,
raising the possibility that

this is his long-lost grave,
more than a thousand miles from

the land he once ruled.

Skeptics argue that the tomb
may simply belong to a noble

Neapolitan family who adopted
similar symbols to reflect

their status
and religious devotion.

But that hasn't stopped
the church from embracing

its newfound celebrity as

the possible resting place
of Dracula.

Researchers have asked for
permission to investigate

the tomb to find out for sure.

But legal and ethical obstacles
mean it could be years before

we have a definitive answer.

And Vlad's alleged tomb in
Naples isn't the only recent

Dracula news to come out
of Italy.

In August of 2023,
Italian scientists examined

centuries-old letters
attributed to Vlad the Impaler.

They detected microscopic
protein traces that may have

been left on the paper
by his hands.

These proteins are linked to
a rare condition called

hemolacria, which can cause
a person's tear ducts to bleed.

If true, it means the man
who inspired Dracula may have

literally wept blood.

That doesn't make
him a vampire,

but it's not gonna
help me sleep any better
tonight either.

It's 1979.

That's a Soviet military base
somewhere near

the Arctic Circle.

American intelligence suspects
they're building

a new aircraft carrier here,
but can't confirm it,

because the CIA has
no agents on the inside.

Or do they?

-[swoosh]
-[gasps]

Nearly 5,000 miles away,
in a windowless room at

Fort Meade, Maryland,
a new kind of operative

is at work, the "psychic spy,"
agents who claim they can see

anywhere on Earth at any time
using nothing but their minds.

The U.S. government
will pour millions

into Project Star Gate until,

after decades of operation,
it's labeled

a failure and shuttered.

But 50 years after
its inception, former members

of this top-secret initiative
will speak out,

and declassified documents
will emerge.

What they reveal is nothing
short of mind blowing.

The story of Project Star Gate
may sound like science fiction,

but according to Joe McMoneagle,
it's all too real.

In 1978,
he's a 32-year-old officer

in the Army's Signal
Intelligence Program.

He says he's invited to
interview for a position

with physicist Hal Puthoff,

head of a new top-secret
military operation.

-You served in
Vietnam, correct?
-Yes, sir.

[Josh]
Midway through the meeting,

McMoneagle gets a question
he never expected.

Have you ever experienced
anything called

a "paranormal event"?

[Josh]
He hesitates, but then decides
to answer truthfully.

Well, actually...

[Josh]
He tells Puthoff about a night
at a bar with his wife

and a friend when he suddenly
feels sick.

Stepping outside for air,

he collapses
and stops breathing.

They rush him to the hospital,
where he remains unresponsive.

McMoneagle is unconscious,
but will later claim he sees

everything that is happening to
him, watching the doctors work

on his body from somewhere
above it.

When he finally wakes after
being revived,

he's back in his own body.

[woman] Dr. Florence,
please dial 1-1-8.

McMoneagle figures Puthoff must
think he's crazy after hearing

such a wild story.

But instead of being dragged
out of the office

in a straitjacket,
he's offered a job

in a top-secret psychic
espionage program.

McMoneagle will help found
the program,

tasked with harnessing

his supposed
"supersensory abilities"

to see and hear things
across the world,

all without ever
leaving his office.

He's allegedly even given
a code name,

"Remote Viewer 001."

And in a time of global
tension, his mind may become

one of the government's most
unconventional weapons.

In 1978, Army officer
Joe McMoneagle allegedly joins

a top secret program called
"Project Star Gate" and trains

to become a psychic spy.

Now, if you're wondering how

one trains to become a psychic,
you're not alone.

The project stems
from the work of physicists

Russell Targ and Star Gate
director Harold Puthoff

at the Stanford Research
Institute in the 1970s.

Convinced psychic abilities can
be taught, they spend years

testing the limits of remote
viewing, a kind of mental

teleportation where those
the mind's eye reaches across

time and space to perceive
distant locations and events.

Their experiments soon catch
the attention

of the U.S. Army's
Intelligence Command,

especially with reports that

the Soviets are researching
similar techniques.

The unit stays small, just 15
to 20 people working in secrecy

in an old, leaky
wooden barracks.

In 1979, McMoneagle claims

he starts getting
real assignments.

A U.S. spy satellite

has captured images
of a massive industrial complex

at a Soviet naval base
650 miles north of Moscow.

Ground operatives
can't get close,

leaving American intelligence
completely in the dark

about what's happening inside.

McMoneagle says he isn't told
any of this.

Instead, he's given
the coordinates.

Meanwhile, a satellite
photograph of the target

is sealed in an envelope.

So what do you make of this?

[Josh]
He's asked to view the contents

not with his eyes,
but with his mind.

McMoneagle says he begins
to sketch a series of boxes,

like an aerial view
of buildings.

Then he reports what
he believes is inside.

I see an object.

I see water.

It's a shark.

Shark is important,
but shark fins, no.

It has fins, elongated fins.

It's a submarine.

[Josh]
McMoneagle is told that
his sketch eerily matches

an overhead view of what
the photo captures,

a secret Soviet base.

And if McMoneagle is right,

then that base
hides a submarine.

McMoneagle says
Army intelligence reports

his findings up the chain to
the National Security Council.

But the council dismisses it,
saying it's not plausible.

Still, McMoneagle believes
his so-called psychic instincts

were eventually proven correct.

Just four months later,
new satellite photos reveal

a massive submarine docked
at the same Soviet base,

exactly as
McMoneagle described.

To the Americans, this type of
sub becomes known as Typhoon,

later made famous
by Tom Clancy's

"The Hunt
for Red October."

But it's what the Soviets
call the sub

that really gets heads spinning.

They call it "Shark," just like
McMoneagle first declared when

he was attempting to remotely
view the site.

It's a shark.

[Josh]
You'd think a success like
this would cause the military

to double down,
but apparently

not everyone's convinced.

The CIA argues that Project
Star Gate is wasteful and its

results are inconsistent
and hard to verify

in real time.

In 1984, a National Academy of
Sciences report backs them up,

concluding remote viewing
relies on poor methodology

and cherry-picked data.

The U.S. Army shuts down
the program as a result.

But just a year later,
in late 1985,

the Defense Intelligence
Agency steps in

to continue funding the work.

That's too late for
Joe McMoneagle, who had already

retired in 1984.

By the end of his service,
McMoneagle says he was involved

in hundreds of remote viewing
missions, though it's worth

noting the results of his work
remain classified,

with no public paper trail to
independently verify them.

Still, McMoneagle would not be
the last remote viewer

to claim the program
produced real results.

On May 15, 1987,
remote viewer Paul Smith,

a one-time co-worker
of McMoneagle, claims to see

something terrible
during a session.

An American ship under fire
from missiles launched

by an enemy aircraft
from a desert region.

It's the height of
the Iran-Iraq War and tensions

in the Gulf,
are at an all-time high.

Smith says his warning is
passed up the chain of command,

but officials see nothing
they can act on.

Two days later, news breaks.

The USS Stark,
a U.S. Navy destroyer,

is struck by two missiles
from an Iraqi jet.

Thirty-seven sailors
are killed.

Remote viewing skeptics
chalk it up to coincidence.

The program also suffers
some clear failures.

In 1988, the DIA reportedly
turns to Project Star Gate

to help locate William Higgins,

a Marine colonel taken hostage
in Lebanon.

A remote viewer supposedly
claimed to vision that he was

alive and being held at
an underground location.

But the information doesn't
lead to his rescue,

and Higgins is eventually
found dead.

With a much-disputed record of
success, Project Star Gate comes

to an abrupt end once again
in 1995

after a U.S. government
review conducted for the CIA

concludes that remote viewing
fails to produce reliable,

actionable intelligence.

Most of the documents relating
to program operations remained

classified, fueling decades of
rumor and speculation about

what the government might
still be hiding.

For more than 20 years,
those files sit buried

in archives, sealed away
from public view.

But then, in 2017,
everything changes.

The CIA
quietly uploads millions

of declassified documents to its
online Crest Archive,

and hidden among them

are the long-lost records
of Project Star Gate,

and what they reveal
is staggering.

[Josh] After years of secrecy,
classified files tied to

the government's experiments
in psychic intelligence

are finally declassified.

For the first time,
the public can access

over 12,000 Star Gate documents

from CIA headquarters
in Langley.

Even the former remote viewers
themselves step forward,

eager to prove
their incredible stories.

Paul Smith,
who claims he predicted

the missile attack
on the USS Stark,

is at the front
of the line.

One of the things I found
exciting about the archives

becoming public finally,

was that it allowed me to get
back into them

and find my session against
the ship that was attacked by

the Iraqi jet, the USS Stark.

And I found the typescript
of that session.

But what was maybe even more
exciting was that I found

the documentation for
the Typhoon Submarine Project

that Joe McMoneagle
is famous for,

with the sketches,
the descriptions, everything,

and it absolutely
matched the story

that had been
passed down to us.

So this is documentation that
proved that it really happened.

Not only that, the CIA files
reveal that plenty of

government officials
believed the program

was getting results.

For the first time, we can show
McMoneagle's sketch of

the Soviet base,
supposedly attained

through remote viewing.

We can also show
that it eerily matches

the actual satellite images
of the site.

Some even go so far
as to say that the data

gathered through remote viewing
was generally consistent

with later intelligence
and assessments.

[Smith]
We were doing things,
of course,

that humans aren't supposed to
be able to do,

and yet here we were
doing them.

And if this was impossible
and wasn't real,

we shouldn't get it right ever.

And yet we actually have
the evidence that we have

gotten it right many,
many, many times.

While believers
like Paul Smith argue

Project Star Gate proved
the mind can reach

beyond the limits
of space and time,

it should be noted that a number
of the declassified CIA files

tell a different story,
one of lucky guesses

and vague details
stretched to fit facts that

developed at a later date.

The divide endures,
yet the accounts

of these former remote viewers
remain fascinating,

leaving many to wonder,
were they really on the verge

of an extraordinary breakthrough
in mental espionage?

To answer that question,
well, you'd need to be psychic.

The year is 71 BC on the banks
of the Silarius River

in southern Italy.

An army has just been defeated
in battle, valiantly led

by this dying man.

He is a former slave-
turned-gladiator-

turned-general.

No, it's not Russell Crowe's
fictional character

from the movie "Gladiator,"
this is a real person.

Or at least he might be.

His name is Spartacus.

Legend says that for the last
two years, he's led nearly

120,000 slaves in a rebel
uprising against

the Roman Republic,
until it ends with his death.

Did this one man really fight
his way out of slavery

and nearly take down
the mighty Romans?

Or is all of this just a myth?

For 2000 years, there will be
no definitive proof

that Spartacus existed at all.

But a remarkable archaeological
discovery may change all that.

If you know the name Spartacus,
it's probably thanks

to Kirk Douglas' iconic
on-screen portrayal

in Stanley Kubrick's 1960 film.

Or perhaps through
the more recent TV series.

But as for the real story of
Spartacus, curiously,

we know almost
nothing firsthand.

No written eyewitness accounts,

no definitive
archaeological evidence.

Instead, almost everything
we think we know is written

over a century after his death
by the two ancient historians

behind me, Plutarch and Appian.

They wrote their accounts
separately decades apart,

but the story they tell
is quite the tale.

According to ancient
historians, Spartacus was born

around 103 BC in Thrace,
then a province of Rome,

but what today is an area of
Bulgaria, Greece, and Turkey.

He was likely raised as a free
tribesman before serving in

the Roman army, probably as
an auxiliary soldier,

which means he fought for Rome,

but without the full
protections of a Roman citizen.

But before long, Spartacus
is no longer an ally

of the Roman army.

He ends up on the run
after abandoning his post,

and under Roman law,

desertion is punishable
by death.

[screaming]

[Josh]
But because of Spartacus'
size and strength,

he isn't executed.

Instead, he becomes a Roman
slave and sent to become

a gladiator in southern Italy.

Here, Spartacus has one simple,
brutal job, fight to the death.

While some gladiators were free
men who fought by choice,

most were enslaved men
like Spartacus.

They had few rights.

Their only chance to ever earn
their freedom

was through deadly combat.

For Spartacus, if he is to die,
he believes it should be

on his own terms.

At this time, much of Rome's
power depends on slave labor,

with more than a million people
in servitude.

With so many in bondage,
revolts are a huge threat.

And according to Appian
and Plutarch, in 73 BC,

Spartacus hatches an escape
plan, organizing a band of

about 70 other gladiators,

ready to fight
for their freedom.

Under cover of darkness,
they manage to

overthrow the guards.

They then retreat to a hideout
near Mount Vesuvius.

Twice, the Romans send a small
band of soldiers after them,

but Spartacus
and the other gladiators

easily beat them back,

even overwhelming
their forces to steal

proper military equipment.

The histories record
that for months,

Rome treats Spartacus'
revolt like a mosquito bite,

more an annoyance than
a military threat.

This underestimation allows
Spartacus to spend time

gathering more and more rebels
to his cause.

His army is growing fast.

One!

-Huh!
-Two!

[Josh]
By the spring of 72 BC,

legend says that Spartacus'
forces swell to 120,000.

One!

[Josh]
An almost unbelievable number.

Thrust!

[Josh]
What will become known as
the Third Servile War

is about to begin.

Rome finally wakes up,
and they send two legions,

about 10,000 soldiers,
to fight him.

Initially, they are successful,

cutting down about 30,000
of Spartacus' men.

But despite the Roman army's
superior training,

Spartacus' overwhelming numbers
prevail on the battlefields.

[soldiers grunting]

It's a crushing blow
for the mighty Republic.

It is an extraordinary legend
that has been told

for centuries.
But is it true?

Is the uprising as epic
as history claims?

Furthermore, did Spartacus
really exist?

Now, a discovery hidden in
the forests of modern-day Italy

may finally offer answers.

In 71 BC,
following a humiliating defeat

after a slave uprising,
Rome prepares to finish off

their leader, Spartacus,
once and for all.

The Republic sends nearly
50,000 elite soldiers to hunt

him down in southern Italy,
led by one of its most powerful

and ambitious generals,
Marcus Licinius Crassus.

He has a single mission --
kill Spartacus.

As Roman pressure mounts,
Spartacus and his army are

pushed toward the narrow toe
of southern Italy.

To the south lies
the Mediterranean Sea,

but Spartacus has no navy,
no escape route,

and nowhere left to run.
Crassus sees his opportunity.

According to Plutarch,
Crassus orders

the rapid construction
of a massive wall

nearly 40 miles long,

stretching from sea to sea
across the peninsula,

effectively sealing in
Spartacus and his forces.

The wall will also become
a turning point that will shape

the final chapter
of this epic rebellion.

Once construction of the wall
is complete,

Crassus then attacks,

knowing that Spartacus
has nowhere to hide.

The rebel supposedly recognizes
he has no way out

and asks for a truce.

But Crassus wants blood,
denying the request and forcing

Spartacus into a fight
for his life.

What is said to follow is
a brutal battle,

with both sides losing tens
of thousands of men.

Remarkably, Spartacus breaks
through the Romans' barricade,

but it costs him a huge portion
of his army.

It isn't long before Crassus'
legions catch what's left of

the rebels, forcing Spartacus
into his final stand

near the Silarius River,

where the slave-turned-
rebel-general

is wounded by a spear
to the thigh.

[grunting]

Spartacus' forces
are decimated.

And with that, the man himself
finally succumbs to the might

of Rome.
Or so we're told.

The fact is,
archaeologists have never found

any evidence of Spartacus.

No grave,
no firsthand accounts.

The historians who recorded
his story were writing

hundreds of years
after his death.

But that lack of evidence would
seemingly change in 2024,

when Paolo Visona,
a classical archaeologist at

the University of Kentucky,
was on an expedition

in southern Italy.

In 2024, we were in southern
Italy, and I was accosted by

a group of
local environmentalists

who had wanted to show me some

photos on their cell phones.

And this is when I saw
the first images of this wall.

In my 30-plus year career doing
fieldwork, I've never seen

anything like it.
So I needed to see it.

When Visona and his team
arrived at the site, it became

clear that the small photo
shown to him on that cell phone

was only the beginning of
something much, much bigger.

Their investigation would soon
blow the archaeological
community away.

We walked the wall with a GPS
receiver so that we could plot

the route of the wall.

And the wall turned out to be
almost two kilometers in length

from east to west.

What would the wall that long
be doing in such a remote area

on a mountaintop in the middle
of a forest?

And then we deployed
the magnetometer,

and sure enough,
we found presence of the Galli

on one side of the wall,
and only on one side,

the southern side of the wall,

all the way to the end.

And they corroborated
Plutarch's description of

the fortification consisting of
a ditch and a wall.

So that made it possible that
this could be Crassus' wall.

But the metal detector was
a clincher because the metal

detector produced a number of
objects, some of which were

believed to be Roman.

And these objects included
fragments of weapons.

They could fit a very narrow
time period

between 75 and 50 BCE,

which is the time period
within which we have

the Spartacus War.

Visona believed he had found
the wall that the Romans used

to defeat Spartacus.

If it's true, this would
confirm the legend,

the first physical evidence
of Spartacus' stunning life.

This was a planned operation
that implied military strategy

and also a large labor force,
all of which would tend to

support Plutarch's account.

But it is clear that this
system did not extend from sea

to shining sea,
like Plutarch's description.

In other words, the archaeology
that we have done

both proves and disproves

the veracity of
Plutarch's account.

It reminds us that we can never
take ancient literary sources

at face value.

But in any case,
I believe with confidence

that this most likely was
the fortification system

built by Crassus.

So did Spartacus truly rise up
from nothing to nearly

overthrow the Roman Republic?

It seems more possible than
ever, thanks to the evidence

uncovered by
Dr. Visona's team.

To this day,
Italian researchers continue to

investigate the site.

And with any luck,
more evidence

will be discovered.

Enough, perhaps, to finally
free Spartacus

from the chains of rumor.

The freedom fighter
enslaved no more.

I'm Spartacus.
No, wait, I'm Josh Gates.

And I'll see you on
the next expedition.