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world and wasn't paying the slightest notice to what was being said.
    “Yes, yes, carry on, my lord, I'm listening,” the monarch lied, waving a hand and forcing himself to sit straighter as the man blabbered on about some bridges needing repairing. Why the king had to know about it Edward had no idea, but he watched the  petitioner and tried to look as if he was listening.
    It had been good to put down the Contrariants, especially his cousin the Earl of Lancaster. For years they had been trying to undermine him – they had even killed his first and greatest friend, Piers Gaveston. He sighed again, remembering the handsome, charming young man who he had loved yet everyone else seemed to hate. But he had avenged Piers's death when he'd crushed that rebellion and executed the ring-leaders and, now, at last, the country was at peace.
    The petitioner finished speaking and bowed his head before looking expectantly at the king for his decision.
    “You make a good case, sir,” Edward nodded, a genuine smile creasing his bearded face, glad that the man was finished at last. “I agree with the points you make.” He waved a hand towards his treasurer, Walter de Stapledon, Bishop of Exeter. “Your Grace, please see to it. We can't have bridges collapsing, can we? The country would grind to a halt.”
    The nobleman smiled, pleased to have been granted the funding he'd travelled to Knaresborough to ask for. It had been a stressful morning for him too – the king almost never saw anyone these days, leaving much of the country's administration up to his new favourite, Sir Hugh Despenser the younger. But Despenser, the king's chamberlain, was away in Wales at that time and so the monarch had decided he must see to business himself that day.
    It was a mistake Edward rectified now, as he stood up and smiled around the room. “I think that's enough for one morning. I will retire to my chambers.”
    Without another word, and followed by the disapproving stares of his subjects, he strode out of the throne room. The morning was gone, but it was still warm outside; he'd spend the rest of the day with his friends on one of his boats on the River Nidd which ran right past the castle. Sir Hugh would join him soon enough – then he could take care of the country.
     
    * * *
     
    Henry de Faucumberg, High Sheriff of Nottingham and Yorkshire, was angry. That morning, one of Robin Hood's men had strutted into the city as if he owned the place and offered his services as a bounty hunter.
    As far as the sheriff knew, the outlaw had never been pardoned so was still a fugitive. De Faucumberg had ordered his men to arrest the man as soon as he'd realised who the hell he was. Then Sir Guy of Gisbourne had intervened.
    The black-armoured, one-eyed, king's man had stepped in to stop the sheriff's guards from throwing the outlaw into the dungeon. Although de Faucumberg was the most powerful man in Nottingham he knew King Edward II expected him to work together with Gisbourne to capture or kill Robin Hood and his men.
    It was an uneasy relationship that had only got worse since Sir Guy's defeat – and mutilation – by Hood.
    Before, the king's man had been arrogant and unfriendly but he'd obviously enjoyed life. He enjoyed sparring with the sheriff's guards, defeating every one and brutally injuring some of them in the process. His legendary skill with a blade had been the one thing he was most proud of. He rose early in the morning to practice, and spent any spare moments going through combinations and tactics in his head, revelling in the knowledge he was the best swordsman in England.
    Then Robin Hood had beaten him. And not only that, the wolf's head had torn off half of his face, leaving him with only one eye and a scar that made him look like a monster.
    It had been a fair fight and Gisbourne was winning easily enough – toying with his younger foe – but sometimes the best man doesn't win and, when Sir Guy had slipped on a muddy patch of grass