Some books take a while to get into. Toby Venables' Hunter of Sherwood trilogy was not one of them. I absolutely devoured Knight of Shadows, The Red Hand and Hood.

The premise is wonderfully simple: what if everything we thought we knew about Robin Hood was wrong?

In Venables' version, Guy of Gisburne — traditionally one of the villains of the legend — is the man you find yourself rooting for. Robin Hood, meanwhile, is charismatic, clever, dangerous and, to my reading, a thoroughly narcissistic psychopath.

What makes the idea work is that Venables does more than simply swap the labels marked hero and villain. You can see how the legend of Robin Hood might grow around someone like this: a magnetic outlaw becomes a symbol, the stories improve with every retelling, and the unpleasant reality gets lost somewhere along the way. Gisburne, meanwhile, is left dealing with the consequences.

Guy of Gisburne

The real strength of the books is Guy himself. He's highly capable without feeling indestructible, intelligent without being smug, and practical in a way that makes him feel like somebody who genuinely belongs in the late twelfth century.

That sense of authenticity is helped by countless small details of everyday medieval life. One that stuck with me was something as ordinary as Guy carrying his own eating knife. It has virtually nothing to do with the plot, but it immediately makes the world feel more real. Of course there isn't a neat collection of cutlery waiting beside every plate; you carry the tools you need.

Those little observations often do more for historical fiction than pages of description.

The Horse Matters Too

Gisburne's relationship with his horse was another part that really worked for me.

Since becoming involved with The Yorkshire Knights, mounted medieval life feels a lot less abstract. Once you've ridden while carrying weapons, practised mounted skills and discovered how much harder even simple tasks become on horseback, you start noticing details in books that you might previously have skimmed past.

Venables gets that relationship right. The horse isn't just transport parked outside the next fight. There is trust, familiarity and partnership there, together with the basic reality that the supposedly heroic knight is still negotiating with half a ton of animal that has opinions of its own.

That makes Guy much more relatable — certainly to anyone who spends much time around horses.

A Medieval World That Feels Lived In

The trilogy also sits in exactly the right place for me between history and adventure. The political background of Richard the Lionheart, Prince John and the unrest of the 1190s is there, but the books never feel like history lessons disguised as novels.

Instead, the history gives the adventure weight.

There are castles, violence, intrigue and plenty of swordplay, but also travel, equipment, food, horses and the practical business of simply existing in that world. Given my current fascination with the Crusades and the Knights Templar, the links with Richard's absence in the Holy Land were always going to appeal as well.

Turning the Legend Upside Down

The cleverest thing about Hunter of Sherwood is that “Robin Hood is the villain” never outstays its welcome as a gimmick. It becomes a way of exploring how legends are made and why the version of history people remember is not necessarily the version that happened.

By the time Hood brings Guy and Robin towards their inevitable reckoning, I was firmly on Gisburne's side and had no particular desire to see the traditional legend restored.

These are not enormous literary meditations on medieval society. They're fast, violent and intelligent adventures with a great central character and a wonderfully unpleasant reinterpretation of one of England's best-known heroes.

But the things I remember most are often the smaller details: the eating knife, the equipment, the politics behind the legend, and the relationship between a knight and the horse he trusts with his life.

I finished all three wanting more Guy of Gisburne.