Free Emperor: The Field of Swords by Conn Iggulden

him.
        He shrugged. “It could be anything: invasion, disease. Perhaps they just wanted to find a new home somewhere else. I spent days here when I first came, but the houses were looted long ago and there’s little left to show how they lived. It is a strange place, though I love it. If we ever reach this valley with our bridges and new streets, I will be sad to see it go.”
        A faded piece of pottery that could once have been a sign jarred his foot, and he knelt to look at it, blowing away the dust. It was blank and so thin that he could snap it in his hands.
        “I suppose it looked like Valentia, once. A market and crops to sell, children running around with chickens. Difficult to imagine now.”
        Servilia looked around her and tried to conjure up the image of a place full of bustling people. A lizard ran along a wall near her, catching her eye for a second before it vanished under a sagging eave. There was something eerie in walking through such a place, as if at any moment the streets would fill with life and noise again, the interruption to their lives forgotten.
        “Why do you come here?” she asked.
        He looked sideways at her, smiling strangely. “I’ll show you,” he said, turning a corner into a wider road.
        The houses here were little more than heaps of rubble, and Servilia could see a square beyond them. The sunlight made the air warm and light as they approached it, and Julius quickened his step in anticipation as they reached the open ground.
        The heavy stones of the square were cracked and lined with creeping grass and wild flowers, but Julius walked across them without looking, his eyes fastened on a broken pedestal and a statue that lay beside it in pieces. The features were almost completely worn away and the white stone was chipped and battered, yet Julius approached it with reverence. He tied their horses to a sapling that had sprung up through the stone of the square, and leaned against the statue, tracing the features with his hand. An arm had gone, but she could see the statue had been a powerful figure once. Servilia saw where words had been cut into the heavy plinth, and she traced the strange characters with her finger.
        “Who is it?” she whispered.
        “One of the local scholars told me it says ‘Alexander the King.’ ”
        Julius’s voice was rough with emotion and she felt again the desire to touch him, to share his thoughts. To her astonishment, she saw tears form in his eyes as he gazed at the stone face.
        “What is it? I don’t understand,” she said, reaching out to him without a thought. His skin felt hot against her hand and he didn’t move away.
        “Seeing him…” he said softly, wiping his eyes. For a moment, he pressed her hand against him with his own before letting it fall. After another long look at the stone figure, he shrugged, having found control once more.
        “By the time he was my age, he had conquered the world. They said he was a god. Compared to that, I have wasted my life.”
        Servilia sat on the ledge next to him, their thighs touching lightly, though she felt every part of the contact. Julius spoke again after a while, his voice distant with memory.
        “When I was a boy, I used to listen to the stories of his battles and his life. He was… astonishing. He had the world in his hand when he was little more than a child. I used to imagine myself… I used to see his path once.”
        Again, Servilia reached up to his face, smoothing the skin. He seemed to feel it for the first time and raised his head to look at her as she spoke.
        “It is here for you, if you want it,” she said, unsure as she spoke whether she was offering more than just a hope of glory, or something more personal. He seemed to hear both meanings in her words and took her hand again. This time, his eyes searched hers at the touch, asking a silent question.
        “I want it all,”