Few experiences seem to bring us closer to people in the past than literally following in their footsteps on the streets of abandoned ancient cities, among the ruins of what they once called home. The effect can be dampened, though, when we reflect that these remains only exist because at some point the population left their houses, temples, palaces, and plazas for better or – more likely – worse. Seen this way, magnificent structures have only been left standing because the societies that raised them collapsed.
This is the uncanny amazement one can sense at, for example, the Roman provincial capital of Salona (Solin) in Croatia, which is one of many ruined Roman-era cities speckling the Dalmatian coast. There, around AD 300, the emperor Diocletian infamously presided over the gruesome executions of early Christian martyrs in an arena, before a mass of spectators. Yet only a few centuries later, all that remained of Salona’s population were a few hundred souls, and they had relocated to a monumental palace fortress commanding a neighbouring bay. Diocletian had originally constructed this complex for himself, but today it lies at the heart of the bustling tourist destination that is Split, a place now drawing even more visitors since the successful Games of Thrones series was partly shot within its walls.
By contrast, the demise of nearby Salona was effectively absolute. We know this because the medieval residents of Split left descriptions of their searches among Salona’s ruins for bones of the martyrs. The region’s former capital city, then, was already an archaeological site by the early Middle Ages. Variations on this fate have befallen many cities, both classical and otherwise.
