As I traverse a stone archway leading to the ancient site of Dara in Eastern Turkey, I step into a realm steeped in the macabre.

Above the arch, I see a depiction of Ezekiel from the Old Testament. To his right, the hand of God reaches down, while to his left lies a chaotic heap of bones and skulls. As I walk forward, I find myself on a glass platform suspended above a vast tomb carved into the granite approximately 1,500 years ago.

Below me lies a chaotic collection of bones—femurs, ribs, and skulls—the remains of Roman soldiers who lost their lives in 530 CE during the Battle of Dara, a significant clash between the Eastern Roman Empire and the Persian Sassanids.

The detailed accounts of the Roman historian Procopius recount the harrowing battle fought under the intense heat of the Mesopotamian plains, where temperatures soared to around 113F (45C).

The Sassanids marched confidently towards Dara with an army of 50,000, including an elite cavalry unit, the Immortals, while the Romans prepared their defenses with a contingent of 25,000.

This battle, a culmination of the Iberian War, was ignited by a religious conflict as the Sassanids aimed to convert the populace of the Caucasus to Zoroastrianism.

After two grueling days, the Sassanids initially broke the Roman lines. Yet, the Romans counterattacked, encircling the Sassanid forces. The Romans managed to slaughter approximately 5,000 enemy soldiers, including their general, Baresmanas, before the remaining Sassanids fled the battlefield.

The aftermath left the dead Sassanids abandoned on the ground, their bones exposed to the relentless Anatolian sun, while the Roman dead were taken to this granite quarry-turned-necropolis, their remains now visible beneath the glass beneath my feet.

While many visitors are drawn to this site due to its historical significance, I am more intrigued by the complex interplay of religious beliefs that coexisted here, as well as the eerie notions surrounding death that seem to transcend time and still resonate in modern culture.

The 6th-century belief systems were varied and evolving, encompassing Christianity, Gnosticism, Judaism, Manicheanism, Mithraism, and Zoroastrianism. The birth of the Prophet Muhammad was just 40 years away, and the Arab invasion that would establish Islam as the dominant faith in the region was still a century ahead.

As I wander through this unsettling site, rich with ancient significance, I find myself grappling with questions. The blend of religious symbols within the necropolis prompts me to ponder, “What is the significance of Ezekiel in this context?”

Ultimately, I conclude that the beliefs of those who fought and died here were rooted in humanity's deepest fears of mortality, echoing through millennia.

This necropolis serves as a vivid reminder of how these ancient beliefs—ideas of an afterlife, reincarnation, and resurrection—continue to resonate in our culture, religion, and warfare.

The exploration begins, of course, with the Old Testament’s Book of Ezekiel, believed to have been written a millennium before the Battle of Dara.

The hand of the Lord was on me, and he brought me out by the Spirit of the Lord and set me in the middle of a valley; it was full of bones.

Then the Lord said to me, “Prophesy to these bones and say to them, ‘Dry bones, hear the word of the Lord: I will make breath enter you, and you will come to life. I will attach tendons to you and make flesh come upon you and cover you with skin.’”

So I prophesied as I was commanded … and there was a noise, a rattling sound, and the bones came together, bone to bone. I looked, and tendons and flesh appeared on them and skin covered them, but there was no breath in them.

Then the Lord said to me, “Prophesy to the breath … Come, breath, from the four winds and breathe into these slain, that they may live.” So I prophesied as he commanded me, and breath entered them; they came to life and stood up on their feet — a vast army.

This narrative echoes modern tales of reanimation, and the fascination with the undead, from the White Walkers of Game of Thrones to the endless stream of zombie films from Hollywood, suggesting a deep-seated human fascination with death and the unknown.

For visitors with Christian beliefs, it becomes clear that concepts of resurrection and the afterlife have permeated various cultures long before the narrative of Jesus’s resurrection.

Military leaders have historically leveraged these beliefs to alleviate their soldiers' fear of death, as a fearless warrior is often a more effective one.

As General Maximus declared in Gladiator: “If you find yourself alone, riding in the green fields with the sun on your face, do not be troubled. For you are in Elysium, and you’re already dead!”

The Persians had long promised their soldiers resurrection, dating back to at least 500 BCE when Darius the Great formed the elite unit known as the Immortals.

Venturing deeper into the necropolis, I notice shafts of light illuminating the cavern’s far end. As I approach, I feel a chill, reminiscent of walking through a graveyard at midnight.

The light originates from a striking chimney-like structure carved into the ceiling, extending about 30 feet upward and allowing sunlight to penetrate the otherwise dim tomb. This unusual feature is designed to guide the souls of the deceased soldiers toward the afterlife.

As I gaze upward into the brilliance, I contemplate the accounts of individuals who, following near-death experiences, describe their souls being drawn toward a radiant light. Did the Romans share similar experiences?

This chimney was purposefully constructed to facilitate the ascension of souls into the afterlife, allowing the spirits of fallen soldiers to await the return of a prophet like Ezekiel, who could resurrect them for battle once more.

Such ideas evoke deep-seated fears that have haunted humanity since ancient times.

Ezekiel, for his part, harbored ambitions for his Army of the Dead that extended beyond tranquil pastures; he sought revenge. Having been exiled to the Mesopotamian Plains after the Babylonian conquest, he longed to return and reclaim Jerusalem.

It’s no coincidence that the Romans at Dara would embrace Ezekiel’s prophecy of resurrection, as the prophet's influence was strong in the area, with some believing his burial site lies nearby.

I find myself in the tomb of the fallen Romans on October 3, 2023. Just days later, violence erupted in the land from which Ezekiel was exiled 2,500 years earlier, as Palestinian fighters emerged from Gaza, triggering yet another conflict in the region.

This narrative of life, death, and war has been a recurring theme long before and after the clash at Dara. It is a cycle embedded in the human experience that persists through time.

The bones of Roman soldiers rest silently in the necropolis of Dara, perhaps awaiting Ezekiel's call to rise once more.

My reflections on this visit often linger in my dreams, serving as a reminder for visitors to Dara that these remains symbolize either a call for peace or a warning of the cyclical nature of war and death.

Ultimately, the choice remains with us.

References: - Charles, Michael, The Sassanian Immortals, Iranica Antiqua - Procopius, History of the Wars - Procopius, Wikipedia - The Battle of Dara, Wikipedia - Mardin Dara Archaeological Site, Turkish Museums - Ezekiel, Wikipedia - The Valley of Dry Bones, Ezekiel 37:1–14, Old Testament, New International Version

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Craig K. Collins, a writer and photographer based in San Diego, invites you to explore his latest work, including his piece, *The Curse of Timur, in the Spring ’24 issue of Hidden Compass Magazine. Discover more about him in his interview, Hidden Compass: Behind the Byline, and check out his published works, including Thunder in the Mountains and Midair, with a new novel forthcoming.*