It depended on several factors: the number of able-bodied men at his disposal, the expectation of an attack (and the size of the attacking force), the amount of time the garrison would have to respond to any alarm. Also, in his experience, more men on the wall didn’t increase the chance of spotting sneaky attackers. Too many men, and they would get lazy in their watchfulness, assuming the man next to them would be as watchful or more. Fewer men meant more responsibility, for no man wanted to be the one who missed seeing the enemy approach.
The four sentries were armed with spears, curved swords, and bows. Of the three, only the last caused him any concern, and even though he knew there were twice as many Shield-Brethren archers scattered within the ruins on his left, the range was great enough to stir his blood as he crept along the verge of the pomerium. It was a tricky path to follow: too close and the guards might become suspicious; too far away and they might be suspicious as well. If he had nothing to hide, then why would he be riding as far away from the camp as possible and still be taking this route? When the time came, would he be close enough?
He didn’t dare look over his shoulder, though the urge to do was nigh unbearable. The signal would be plain enough, and it didn’t matter if he saw it. The Mongols were the ones who had to spot the plume of smoke.
It was hard to do nothing. After that fateful day when he had first met Kim in the church, and all during the following weeks when he had sent numerous boys through the gates of the Mongol compound for the sake of passing messages between the Flower Knight and the Shield-Brethren, Hans had been at the center of a secret web of intrigue against the Mongol invaders. He had no illusions about actively fighting the Mongols, but what he had been doing felt just as important. Earlier, when the Shield-Brethren quartermaster, Rutger, had been asking him questions about the layout of the Mongolian compound, he had strained to remember every little detail that the boys had relayed to him. The Shield-Brethren had listened intently, committing it all to memory.
Now, Hans could only watch as the two Shield-Brethren scouts, Styg and Eilif, prepared to scale the wall of the Mongolian compound. The fourth member of their group—a long-faced young man named Maks—crouched next to Hans behind the jumble of brick and burned logs that hid them from sight.
He wanted to be going with them. After all this time of watching others do the dangerous work, Hans chafed at staying behind. He had argued strenuously with the three Shield-Brethren when they had first approached the wall, but Eilif had cut his arguments short with a single statement. If what you have told us is true, we don’t need you; if it isn’t, we’re all dead.
It was a brutal assessment of his value to the Shield-Brethren, coldly delivered, and Hans had been stunned by it.
In the past, there would have been guards patrolling the entire length of the walls. The top of the wall was wide enough for one man to walk along, and sentries patrolled the entire circuit of the wall via a series of easily anchored ladders. Before Styg and Eilif had approached the wall, they had waited and watched for what had seemed like an interminable amount of time, and had seen no sign of a patrol.
Styg thought it was highly likely that the ladders had been taken down on the far side of the wall. The Mongols had decided the height of the walls was security enough, and the presence of men on the walls would only attract archers.
In which case getting up this side of the wall was the easy part. Once at the top, Styg and Eilif could take a quick peek. Hopefully they wouldn’t be peering into a nest of suspicious and angry Mongols, waiting for foolish knights to do exactly what they were doing.
Using a wooden mallet and tent stakes, Styg cautiously ascended the mud-brick wall, leaving behind a trail of hand-and footholds for Eilif to follow. Hans sucked in his breath and held it as Styg reached the top of the wall and—very gingerly—eased his head up until he could peek over the top of the wall. Styg risked a quick glance, and then raised his head slowly to take a longer look at the Mongol camp. Hans half expected the Shield-Brethren’s head to snap back, a Mongol arrow in his eye, but nothing happened. After a slow and methodical examination of the compound, Styg retreated down the stakes to join Eilif at the base of the wall. He looked toward Hans and Maks’s hiding place and flashed them a quick smile.
The route was clear. All they needed was a distraction.
“That’s it,” Maks breathed. “They’re ready.” Letting out a huge whoosh of pent-up air, he clapped Hans on the shoulder. “Let’s go, my friend. There’s nothing more we can do here.”
Hans hesitated, staring at the series of stakes pounded into the wall. Maks’s hand tightened on Hans’s shoulder, as if he sensed the direction of Hans’s thoughts. He held Hans back like one would hold a hound back from a downed bird.
Hans stared at the stakes. In his mind, he was already scaling them...