Chapter 12

Cecil hoisted the flag in his garden showing the symbol of the morris team. He knew that doing so went against his instructions but he had no time to waste. It wouldn't take too long for the Mayor to work out where the purple cloth came from so he had to act first to make sure that the culprit was apprehended.

By late afternoon, all of the dancers had gathered in Cecil's kitchen and they were discussing what was the best thing to do. There was unrest amongst them about taking direct action. Flo had said that she didn't mind dancing out to give a show of strength, but apprehending a killer was a step too far without the proper authority. Others agreed but some felt that to do so would be the best way to have themselves reinstated. About half of the dancers were willing to carry on and confront the Lord of the Dance. The others wished them well but felt that they would be overstepping the line. Supporting the Mayor would be the best option and that is what they would do.

The two groups split and went their separate ways. Although they were amicable there was still an unsettling tension in the air. Politeness and procedure had replaced understanding and co-operation. Cecil addressed those who remained. "We must act, and we must act now, and we must be successful. We cannot allow these killings to carry on. As our numbers are down we cannot simply rely on our standard procedure. We will need to act as a mixed group with two sets of six. I know that we don't often practice mixed sets but we are bound by events."

     "Don't worry about us," Agnes piped up. "We've got it covered."

*

It was not difficult tracking down the Lord of the Dance. The morris dancers hadn't wanted it to be a public affair, they had hoped to bring him in quietly. He was however always performing, improving his visibility, making a name for himself. Today was no exception. With it being spring there were a number of festivals taking place all over the county to celebrate the arrival of new life. The first bulbs had broken through the turf and brought with them the hope for the new year. The Lord of the Dance had been performing in the streets amongst the stalls, thrilling the festival-goers with his acrobatic moves and lightening reflexes. When he saw the morris dancers gathering around him, he stopped, looked them over, and grinned.

The dancers had arrived in drips and drabs so as not to alarm the target. The Dancing Queen, who had been beating out a rhythm on a cajon, changed style and upped the tempo, reacting to a flick of a eyebrow from her dancer. The morris dancers circled, forming as they had intended into two lines of six. They all took out their ironed, white hankies and knotted them around their fingers in preparation for the battle which was about to commence. The slinky purple costume of the Lord seemed in striking contrast to the morris dancers' makeshift outfits. To the on-lookers it looked like a professional was being assaulted by a group of uncoordinated hooligans. The morris team raised their hankies above their heads and pulled them down in unison, single stepping ahead in formation. Cecil, who usually played the music, was calling from the front to lead the team. Just as he was about to peal off into formation, the Lord of the Dance pounced. The rhythm of the drum changed to accompany his moves, the moves changed to fit the rhythm. It was like they were one, a symbiotic being of man and music floating and striking, twisting and beating. One did did start where the other stopped, they were simply together.

The morris team were ill-prepared for such grace. They snapped their hankies but only connected with the air. They tried to create confusion by carrying out a horseguard movement, filtering the lines to encircle the dancer. He was however ahead of them, his moves were strong and precise. Every flick of the hankie connected with the target. The dancers were worn down by his tactics yet enthralled by is skills. Some peeled off out of formation. The division was the beginning of the end. His footwork suddenly came into play, tripping the morris dancers, punishing them with devastating blows. He leapt higher than any of them thought capable. Brian dropped his hankies and in desperation picked up his large length of oak. His barrage was pure, uncoordinated aggression, swinging and swiping and yelling like a gorilla with toothache. The stick however did not strike true. The Lord of the Dance parried the blows with ease and was nimble enough to get out of the way. As Brian tired, his blows became slower and more desperate. The drumming on the cajon was now in time with Brian's swings, making them appear comical and slap-dash. The final one was accompanied by a drum role at which point Brian was spent. The Lord of the Dance looked at him down his nose and pushed him over using his well manicured little finger.

The crowd roared with appreciation for the show put on by the purple wonder. He walked through the beaten morris dancers before arriving over Cecil who was sat on the ground, panting for breath.

"Well that was fun!" announced the Lord, more to the crowd than Cecil but it was the morris man who's eyes he met. "You didn't even have the decency to tell me why you came. What is your beef with the Lord of the Dance? You are no match for me and my lady no!" he shouted, pointing towards the Dancing Queen who made a small curtsy in response.

Cecil managed to gather enough breath to reply. "You are wanted... for the murder... of John the Thatcher," he gasped, wheezing slightly. "We will... bring you to justice."

"You? Ha! What makes you think you can compete with me? I've whipped you twice now no? And who is this Thatcher person? Why so I be bothered with him?"

"You were seen quarrelling with him. He accused you of being one of us. Now he's dead," said Cecil.

"Oh yes, I remember giving him a good whipping. He's the dead man? No loss there no?"

"Are you saying that you had nothing to do with it?" asked Cecil, trying to gauge whether he was telling the truth or lying.

"It was not I. I have more important things to do. You suspect the Lord of the Dance just because a man had the audacity to stand up to me? I had thought better of you." The crowd were still watching the exchange, the Lord looked around and spoke to them. "These are your morris dancers. The ones before you who look after you. They look after you no more. It is I, the Lord of the Dance who is your keeper. Love me!" They cheered and applauded as before but with real passion and vigour. Cecil's head dropped as he sat there. He didn't think it could get any worse. He was wrong.

There was another noise added to the melee. The crowd were jostled aside as the second group of morris dancers arrived on the scene, accompanied by the Mayor. The elderly gent stepped forward with the second wave of dancers forming a guard around him. "Mr of the Dance," he said loudly so all could hear whilst brandishing a scroll before him and reading from it formally. "You are hereby charged with the murder of John the Thatcher. What say you?" 

"It wasn't me," said the Lord of the Dance arrogantly. "When did this, unfortunate incident, take place?"

"We believe it took place in the early hours of Wednesday morning, before the milk was delivered but after the pubs closed," replied the Mayor, slightly confused as to why he had not pleaded guilty. He was not used to this line of work.

"Then it could not have been the Lord!" shouted the purple man upon who all eyes were focused. "On Wednesday, the Lord makes love, all night long."

"He's right," said the Dancing Queen. "He was... busy."

"You would say that wouldn't you," shouted Agnes, "can anyone else vouch for him? Eh?" Agnes looked around as another three ladies and one man in the crowd held up their hands. "Oh," said Agnes.

The Lord of the Dance just stood, and smiled, and nodded in self satisfaction as the Mayor and the morris dancers stood and slowly walked away.