Chess
Sir James was mounting up after a trip to the Locksley blacksmith when he saw Sir Guy of Gisborne. His immediate reaction, as it usually was to Sir Guy, was dismay, but at least Gisborne didn’t seem to see him.
What was less usual was the second emotion Sir James felt: guilt. Not that guilt itself was unknown to Sir James-he felt that all the time-but Gisborne usually provoked feelings from the other end of the spectrum, like righteousness. However, for once Gisborne had done the right thing, and Sir James, perhaps, the wrong thing. Sir Guy had paid a Christmas call on Sir James, the last thing Sir James had expected. It was awkward and conversation was stiff, and Sir James found himself drinking perhaps more than he should to get through it, but still, it was civil of Gisborne to do it, damned civil-more civil, in fact, than Sir James would have given him credit for. And had Sir James been similarly civil in return? No, he had not, and the unspeakably foul weather they had experienced this winter could only carry him so far as an excuse.
There was more than manners at stake. He had no reason to think he and Gisborne could ever be actual friends: their worldviews, their ethics, their temperaments-why, everything about them-were too different. But Sir James firmly believed in the necessity of being on a decent footing with one’s neighbors, and Gisborne was, if nothing else, a neighbor. Among other things, it was a question of survival. There were any number of accidents and emergencies that could befall a man or his property that a neighbor could be, logistically, the best one to help with, but only if the neighbors were on good enough terms to keep abreast of each other’s situation. So Sir James squared his shoulders, muttered a quick prayer for strength, and approached the Man in Black.
“Gisborne! Fa…. Um, how are you, sir?” he called out, holding his hand out for a shake. (In his nervousness, Sir James almost led off with, “Fancy seeing you here!” but as they were in Gisborne’s own manor, there was no “fancy” about it, and he knew Gisborne would seize upon the gaffe and never let it go.) “I don’t get into Locksley as much these days as I used to, now that we’ve got our own church, but I had to see Leofric about some harness hardware. I was hoping to run into you.” (May God forgive him for the lie!) “Listen….” He dug the toe of his boot into the dirt like a little boy.
“Do you play chess? Would you like to come by for a match sometime? I’m hardly a master-can barely play it at all, to tell the truth-but I did enjoy it in the Holy Land, and I’d like a partner. This blasted snow’s had me so housebound and bored I actually whittled a set myself and now I’d like to try it out. What d’you say?”
What was less usual was the second emotion Sir James felt: guilt. Not that guilt itself was unknown to Sir James-he felt that all the time-but Gisborne usually provoked feelings from the other end of the spectrum, like righteousness. However, for once Gisborne had done the right thing, and Sir James, perhaps, the wrong thing. Sir Guy had paid a Christmas call on Sir James, the last thing Sir James had expected. It was awkward and conversation was stiff, and Sir James found himself drinking perhaps more than he should to get through it, but still, it was civil of Gisborne to do it, damned civil-more civil, in fact, than Sir James would have given him credit for. And had Sir James been similarly civil in return? No, he had not, and the unspeakably foul weather they had experienced this winter could only carry him so far as an excuse.
There was more than manners at stake. He had no reason to think he and Gisborne could ever be actual friends: their worldviews, their ethics, their temperaments-why, everything about them-were too different. But Sir James firmly believed in the necessity of being on a decent footing with one’s neighbors, and Gisborne was, if nothing else, a neighbor. Among other things, it was a question of survival. There were any number of accidents and emergencies that could befall a man or his property that a neighbor could be, logistically, the best one to help with, but only if the neighbors were on good enough terms to keep abreast of each other’s situation. So Sir James squared his shoulders, muttered a quick prayer for strength, and approached the Man in Black.
“Gisborne! Fa…. Um, how are you, sir?” he called out, holding his hand out for a shake. (In his nervousness, Sir James almost led off with, “Fancy seeing you here!” but as they were in Gisborne’s own manor, there was no “fancy” about it, and he knew Gisborne would seize upon the gaffe and never let it go.) “I don’t get into Locksley as much these days as I used to, now that we’ve got our own church, but I had to see Leofric about some harness hardware. I was hoping to run into you.” (May God forgive him for the lie!) “Listen….” He dug the toe of his boot into the dirt like a little boy.
“Do you play chess? Would you like to come by for a match sometime? I’m hardly a master-can barely play it at all, to tell the truth-but I did enjoy it in the Holy Land, and I’d like a partner. This blasted snow’s had me so housebound and bored I actually whittled a set myself and now I’d like to try it out. What d’you say?”