Batu came through the eastern gate at first light with his right arm in the sling and his breath rising white in the still air. No one with him. He stopped inside the perimeter and read the ground before he moved.
The prisoners were held on the camp's eastern ground, the area farthest from the horse lines and the supply depot. Eighteen hundred men in the open overnight.
The frost had come down hard again after midnight and the cold had done most of the guarding work. They sat in clusters or stood in groups, the ones who had slept poorly moving to stay warm, the ones who hadn't given up on sleep yet still wrapped in whatever they had.
The guards were there but the guards were almost ceremonial. Eighteen hundred men with no horses and no weapons in the middle of a formed camp were not going anywhere.
The clustering had happened without direction. Senior riders near the eastern edge, keeping some distance from the others. A habit of rank that survived captivity.
