Chapter Two

Mr Davies wore a huge smile as he strode up the street, leading his tribe of hairy Ancient Britons from their encampment in the park. They were going to head the May Day Parade.

Mr Davies had been elected Chief of the Wales and West Tribe of the Ancient Briton Re-enactment Society, who were better known as the Red Dragons. He was in charge at last.

Mr Davies loved history. At weekends, he and his wife and two little children would dress up as Ancient Britons and live in a leaking tent, eating cold porridge and turnips.

After dark, there’s not a lot for Ancient Britons to do but drink lots of mead, which is a kind of ancient beer made with honey.

Then they get very merry and sing ancient songs while Mrs Davies plays ancient tunes on her ancient harp.

Usually, at least one merry, hairy Red Dragon will trip over in the dark and break an arm or a leg. The hospital is quite used to bearded, hairy Ancient Britons with burns, broken bones or bleeding bits, arriving by ambulance on Saturday nights!

Mr Davies was the only Red Dragon warrior without a beard. ‘Ho-ha!’ he ordered, waving his sword in the air. The tribe of bearded, hairy warriors came to a halt outside Merlin’s Cave — the shop where Harri lived with his mum and Imelda.

The shop sold magic stuff — healing stones, tourist knick-knacks and bottles of water from St Gertrude’s Well. Since Imelda had been living with them, they had been selling her homemade love potions, cures and magic spells too. Business had never been so good.

The little town of St Gertrude’s, where they lived, was celebrating the 1400th anniversary of the day that St Gertrude tripped and bashed her head against a rock. The rock had split in two. Crystal clear water had sprung from its heart and had flowed through the town ever since.

Mr Davies and the Red Dragons were leading the carnival procession through the town down to the well. The well’s ancient church and buildings had become a tourist destination. People came from all over the world to see it.

Harri and Ryan walked over and joined the tribe.

‘Hail, Harri and Ryan!’ said Mr Davies.

‘Hail, sir!’ The boys chorused.

‘Don’t call me sir,’ Mr Davies whispered. ‘Call me Chief when we’re in the Red Dragons.’

‘Yes, sir — I mean Chief!’ Harri stammered. As his form teacher at school, Harri had always called Mr Davies ‘sir’. Calling him anything else didn’t feel right, almost like breaking school rules!

Harri pressed the switch on a radio control unit. A red light flashed on. He looked at Mr Davies and raised his eyebrow as if to say, ‘Now?’

Mr Davies nodded. His eyes were alight with excitement. Wait until the Red Dragons saw this!

Ryan carried a box with flames painted on it. As Ryan opened the lid, Harri pulled out a long, thin aerial and pointed it in Ryan’s direction. The small, flame-patterned flag at the end of the aerial fluttered in the warm breeze.

‘Up!’ Harri ordered, pointing the aerial towards the sky.

Ryan’s box shook and quivered. The tribe gasped as Tân rose gracefully into the sky.

‘Oh!’ Mr Davies frowned. ‘It’s bigger than I remember.’ Did he know? Had he worked out that Tân had grown since he last saw him at the school competition?

Mr Davies shrugged his shoulders, and pointed down the street, calling, ‘Forward the Red Dragons! On to St Gertrude’s Well!’

A forest of flags and banners were hoist up above the mob of Ancient Britons. Each bore the emblem of a red dragon.

The Red Dragons held their hairy, bearded heads high and shook their flashing swords at the sky.

‘Ho-ha!’ They shouted in one voice. The Red Dragons had a flying red dragon leading them today. None of them suspected that is was real and not a radio-controlled toy!