Targeted Age Group:: 10-16 years old
Princess Gwenllian ferch Gruffydd’s fascinating and tragic true story comes to life in this special bi-lingual Welsh-English edition!
Born in 1097 in Aberffraw Castle in northwestern Wales, Princess Gwenllian ferch Gruffydd ap Cynan was always destined for great things. Beautiful, kind, and one of the finest archers in all of Wales, Gwenllian’s courage against the Norman Conquest of Wales has inspired generations of Welsh for nearly one thousand years.
Translated into Welsh by Gwenlli Haf.
Perfect for students of both Welsh (Cymraeg) and English (Saesneg) languages.
What Inspired You to Write Your Book?
Welsh is one of the oldest surviving languages on the planet. It has survived the Roman conquest, Danish and Saxon invasions/colonization, the Norman Conquest, and more than a millennium of Welsh-English wars, conflicts, and attempts to exterminate Welsh language and culture.
Translator Gwenllian Haf keeps the Welsh text easy to read for both native Welsh speakers and Welsh learners of all ages.
Welsh is a beautiful, very ancient language that connects us to the past. I am thrilled to bring this biography of medieval Wales' greatest heroine to life in both languages together.
Book Sample
Following is presented first in Welsh (Cymraeg) and then English (Saesneg).
Pennod Dau
Sawl wythnos yn ddiweddarach, marchogodd dau ddyn dan glogyn a chwfl yn ddistaw at ddrysau Castell Aberffraw, ei gerrig llyfn yn wlyb gyda glaw mân. Wrth i’r ceffylau hanner-carlamu i ganol y clôs, galwodd hwyaden ar y pum cyw bach â’i dilynodd. Dyna’r ceiliog yn clochdar ar ei ieir wrth iddo arddangos ar y buarth yn ymyl y ceffylau. Aeth ostler i gwrdd â’r dynion a chymryd yr awenau ganddyn nhw wrth iddynt ddod oddi ar y ceffylau cyn arwain y meirch blinedig, llwglyd at stablau’r Brenin Gruffydd ap Cynan. Wrth dynnu’r cyflau oddi ar ei wynebau, ymlaciodd y dynion ifainc o’r diwedd. Roedden nhw’n ddiogel nawr.
“Noswaith dda, f'arglwydd,” moesymgrymodd y Tywysog Gruffydd ap Rhys, ei wallt brown byr yn dal yn wlyb wedi iddo ef a’i frawd Hywel gael bath wedi iddyn nhw gyrraedd.
Gwenodd y Brenin Gruffydd ar y dynion ifainc, “Noswaith dda! ’Rwy’n falch o’ch gweld chi’n ddiogel yn fy nghastell o’r diwedd.”
Moesymgrymodd y Tywysog Hywel i’r brenin, “’Rydyn ni’n hynod ddiolchgar am eich gwarchodaeth, f’arglwydd.”
“’Roedd eich tad yn ffrind da, Hywel. Roedd yn ŵr bonheddig, ac yn un caredig. Carodd y tir hwn a charodd ryddid fel y dylai tywysog Cymru,” cadarnhaodd y Brenin Gruffydd.
“’Rydyn ni’n hynod ddiolchgar eich bod wedi llwyddo i ddal ati i wrthwynebu ymosodiadau’r Brenin Wiliam Rwffws yn ein habsenoldeb,” ychwanegodd y Tywysog Gruffydd.
“’Rydyn ni’n gymdogion, Deheubarth a Gwynedd. Rhaid i ni weithio gyda’n gilydd i gadw’n rhyddid.”
“Nid yw cydweithio yn ein gwaed, f’arglwydd. Er i hynny gostio’n rhyddid, ni fu erioed yn un o’n cryfderau. Hyd yn oed ar eithaf ein rhyddid—cyn i’r Rhufeiniaid ddod a lladd y derwyddon doeth—nid oedden ni’n llwyddo i roi’n anghydfod o’r naill du er mwyn gwarchod ein tiroedd. Onid ydi’r castell hwn wedi’i godi yn y man y brwydrodd y derwyddon dros ein rhyddid, yn ôl y chwedlau?” gofynnodd y Tywysog Gruffydd.
“Yn y fan hon, neu’n agos iawn,” cadarnhaodd y Brenin Gruffydd. “Weithiau, fe ddown o hyd i ryw grair—powlen, cwpan, piser—o’r amser hwnnw.
“’Dydw i ddim yn dweud fod undod yn hawdd i ni; dim ond fod rhaid i ni gydweithio. I’r perwyl hwnnw, fe wna i unrhyw beth o fewn fy ngallu i’ch helpu.”
Agosaodd Hywel at y brenin, gan fethu cuddio poen ei anafiadau , “’Does gennych chi ddim ofn y Brenin Harri?”
Cododd y Brenin Gruffydd ei gwpan ac amneidio ar stiward i roi cwpanau o win i’r Tywysog Gruffydd a’r Tywysog Hywel, “’Rydw i’n aelod o dri teulu brenhinol; caethwasiaeth yw’r unig beth sy’n fy nychryn i. ’Dydi marwolaeth mewn brwydr ddim yn fy nychryn, cyn belled â ’mod i’n cael marw gydag anrhydedd fel y gwnaeth eich tad.” Cododd y brenin ei gwpan yn uchel, “I’r Brenin Rhys ap Tewdwr! Heddwch i’w lwch!”
“HEDDWCH I’W LWCH,” atebodd meibion y Brenin Rhys.
Y noson honno, daeth Hywel i siambr ei frawd wrth i’r ddau noswylio â lamp fechan yn ei law, “Gruffydd, wyt ti wir yn meddwl y gallwn ni ymddiried ym mrenin Gwynedd i’n cadw’n ddiogel oddi wrth y Saeson?”
“’Roedd ein tad yn ymddiried ynddo. ’Roedden ni’n ymddiried ynddo ef tra’r oedd o’n fyw.”
“’Roedd hynny cyn i’r Saeson ladd Gronwy yn y carchar a chyn iddyn nhw fy mhoenydio a ’nghloffi i. Efallai na wna i byth wella o’r clwyfau hyn, Gruffydd.”
Arllwysodd Gruffydd gwpan o ddŵr iddo’i hun a chymryd llymaid, “Wn i. Carwn fedru gwneud mwy i dy helpu gyda dy boen.”
“’Rydw i’n dywysog Deheubarth; fe wna i ymdopi.”
“Wyt, digon gwir,” cytunodd Gruffydd.
“Glywaist di’r sibrydion gan y gweision?”
“Pa sibrydion?”
“Mae ‘na son fod ein chwaer wedi fflyrtio gyda’r Brenin Gruffydd fel ’roedd hi’n arfer ei wneud gyda brenin Lloegr—ond fod Gruffydd wedi ei gwrthod a’i throi ymaith.”
“Mae Nest yn ddynes annibynnol.”
“Ond a oes angen iddi ymddwyn mor warthus?”
“Hywel, mae’n rhaid i ti ddeall nad yw’r Normaniaid na’r Saeson yn parchu merched fel ’rydyn ni’r Cymry. Mae cyfreithiau eu gwlad yn wahanol i’n rhai ni; mae’n fwy patriarchaidd; mae gan ferched lai o hawliau ymysg y Saeson nag sydd ganddyn nhw yn ein mysg ni. Mae Nest yn defnyddio’r hyn sydd ganddi. Yn ei ffordd ei hun, mae hithau’n eu hymladd nhw hefyd.”
“’Dydi pedair blynedd fel cariad i’r Brenin Harri ddim yn swnio fel ymladd y Saeson,” wfftiodd Hywel.
“Mae Nest yn gorfod camu’n ofalus iawn, Hywel, neu fydd hi ddim yn cael byw. Fyddai’n well gen ti pe bai hi’n marw dan law Sais?”
“Ni fyddai tywysoges anrhydeddus o Ddeheubarth yn gwneud dim llai, Gruffydd.”
“Ie—hawdd yw marw. Mae cydweithio’n llawer anoddach. ’Does dim ots os yw’r cyfaddawd gyda ffrind neu gyda gelyn. Mae bob amser yn well gennym farw.”
Dair noson yn ddiweddarach, roedd y Tywysog Gruffydd yn cael trafferth cysgu. Gwisgodd amdano yn y tywyllwch, gan ddewis ei glogyn cynhesaf, ac allan ag ef i’r clôs am ychydig o awyr iach.
Disgleiriai’r sêr uwch ei ben, a’r rheiny’n hynod ddisglair wedi’r storm a fu ynghynt. Dan olau’r sêr, safodd dynes gyda gwallt coch wedi’i blethu’n dwt i lawr ei chefn, a dim ond cylchyn syml am ei gwallt. Aeth Gruffydd ati, “Noswaith dda, f’arglwyddes.”
Trodd y ferch ato, “Noswaith dda, f'arglwydd.”
“’Dydych chi ddim yn gorchuddio’ch gwallt fel y mae’r rhan fwyaf o ferched yn ei wneud,” sylwodd Gruffydd.
“Cymraes ydw i. ’Dydw i ddim angen ffasiynau Saesnig.”
“Mae uchelwyr yr Alban yn hidio mwy am arian nag ydyn nhw am anrhydedd. Cawsant eu prynu gan y Normaniaid. Fedrwch chi ddim fy mhrynu i.”
“’Rydych yn siarad fel gwir wraig fonheddig o Gymraes,” gwenodd Gruffydd.
“Aberffraw yw fy nghartref. ’Does gen i ddim angen yr un arall.”
“Geiriau clodwiw, f’arglwyddes.” Camodd Gruffydd yn nes ati, “Gaf i fynd ar eich gofyn a holi eich enw?”
“Gwenllian ydw i,” gwenodd. “Gwenllian ferch Gruffydd ap Cynan.”
Disgynnodd Gruffydd ar ei liniau, “F’arglwyddes!”
“Gruffydd ap Rhys ydych chi?” gofynnodd Gwenllian.
“Ie. Pryd clywsoch chi f’enw, Eich Mawrhydi??”
“’Nid yw’n anodd dyfalu pwy ydych chi, Gruffydd. A chan fod eich brawd mor gloff yn dilyn ei anafiadau, mae’n dilyn mai chi fyddai etifedd gorsedd Rhys ap Tewdwr.”
“Gelyn creulon i’w ymladd yw’r Sais,” cadarnhaodd Gruffydd.
“Ydych chi’n tybio nad ydw i’n gwybod unrhyw beth am ryfela? Merch brenin Dulyn yw fy mam. Mae fy nhad wedi brwydro gydol ei oes i ryddhau Gwynedd o reolaeth y Sais. Ydych chi’n meddwl mai dim ond fy mrawd Owain sy’n dysgu am ryfela? Na, f’arglwydd. Cymraes ydw i, nid rhyw wraig fonheddig Normanaidd sy’n byw er mwyn epilio ar chwiw ei thad a’i gŵr. Pan fydd hi’n bryd i mi briodi, gwnaf hynny o’m gwirfodd!”
“’Dydw i ddim yn amau hynny, Eich Mawrhydi.”
“Pam ydych chi’n fy nghyfarch i felly?”
“Pam lai? Tywysoges ydych chi, ac os gai fod mor hy, yn ddynes ifanc brydferth dros ben.”
“Efallai mai golau’r sêr yw hynny. Efallai y byddwch yn meddwl fel arall yng ngolau dydd.”
“Hoffwn eich gweld chi yng ngolau dydd. Ydych chi’n fodlon i mi’ch gweld chi felly?”
“Cyn neu ar ôl i chi fy nghyffwrdd fel y cyffyrddodd y Brenin Harri eich chwaer?” gofynnodd Gwenllian yn graff.
F’arglwyddes, ddo’ i ddim atoch chi na’ch cyffwrdd yn y fath fodd oni bai fy mod wedi f’uno gyda chi yn unol â chyfreithiau a defodau’r wlad hon. ’Rwy’n addo hynny i chi”
“Dyna ni, felly,” cytunodd Gwenllian wrth iddi droi i fynd yn ôl i mewn.
“Gaf i eich gweld ryw dro eto? Dan olau dydd, dan olau’r sêr neu dan olau cannwyll? ’Does ots gen i sut y gwelaf i chi, f’arglwyddes. Os gwelwch chi’n dda, gaf i eich gweld eto?”
“Gwestai ydych chi yma. Os dymunwch i mi ymuno â chi pan fyddwch yn ciniawa, dim ond gofyn i fy nhad sydd eisiau, ac fe ddof i.”
Chapter Two
Several weeks later two heavily cloaked and hooded men rode silently to the gates of Aberffraw Castle, its wind polished stones wet with light rain. As the horses gently cantered into the centre courtyard a mother duck quacked to the five young ducklings following her. A rooster crowed to his hens as he strutted near the horses. A groom met the men and held the reins for them as they dismounted before leading the tired and hungry horses to King Gruffydd ap Cynan’s stables. Pulling the hoods off their faces the young men finally relaxed. They were safe at last.
“Noswaith dda, f'arglwydd,” bowed Prince Gruffydd Ap Rhys, his short brown hair still damp from the bath he and his brother Hywel took upon their arrival.
King Gruffydd smiled at the young men, “Noswaith dda! I am glad to see you safe in my castle at last.”
Prince Hywel bowed to the king, “We are most grateful for your protection, my lord.”
“Your father was a good friend, Hywel. He was noble and kind. He loved this land and loved freedom as a prince of Wales ought to,” affirmed King Gruffydd.
“We are most grateful you were able to continue resisting King William Rufus’ invasions in our absence,” added Prince Gruffydd.
“We are neighbours, Deheubarth and Gwynedd. We must work together to remain free.”
“Team work is not in our blood, my lord. Though it cost us our freedom it has never been our strength. Even at the height of our liberty –before the Romans came and massacred the druid teachers—we could not manage to put aside our differences for the common defence of our lands. Is not this castle built where the legends say the druids fought to keep us free?” asked Prince Gruffydd.
“If not this spot, then very near,” confirmed King Gruffydd. “Sometimes we find something—a bowl, a cup, a pitcher—from that time.
“I am not saying that unity is easy for us; only that we must work together. To that aim I will do anything within my power to help you.”
Hywel shuffled closer to the king, the agony of his injuries flashing across his face against his will, “You are not afraid of King Henry?”
King Gruffydd picked up his cup and motioned for a steward to hand Prince Gruffydd and Prince Hywel cups of wine, “I am of three royal houses; I fear only slavery. Death in battle is nothing to me, as long as I die with honour like your father.” The king raised his cup high, “To King Rhys ap Tewder! God rest his soul!”
“GOD REST HIS SOUL,” echoed the sons of King Rhys.
That night Hywel came to his brother’s chamber as both readied for bed, a small lamp in his hand, “Gruffydd, do you really think we can trust this king of Gwynedd to keep us safe from the English?”
“Our father trusted him. We trusted him while he lived.”
“That was before the English killed Gronwy in prison and before they tortured and maimed me. I may never recover from these wounds, Gruffydd.”
Gruffydd poured himself a cup of water and took a sip, “I know. I wish I could do more to help your agony.”
“I am a prince of Deheubarth; I can manage.”
“So you are,” agreed Gruffydd.
“Did you hear the gossip from the servants?”
“What gossip?”
“They say our sister tried on King Gruffydd what she used to do with the English king—only Gruffydd rebuffed her and turned her away.”
“Nest is her own woman.”
“But must she behave so disgracefully?”
“Hywel, surely you understand that neither the Normans nor the English honour and respect women like we Welsh do. Their common law is different than our common law; it’s more patriarchal; women have fewer rights among the English than they do among us. Nest is using the tools she possesses. In her own way, she is fighting them too.”
“Four years as King Henry’s mistress hardly seems like fighting the English,” scoffed Hywel.
“To survive Nest must tread very carefully Hywel. Would you prefer she die at English hands?”
“An honourable princess of Deheubarth would do nothing less, Gruffydd.”
“Yes—death is easy. Cooperation is far more difficult. It does not matter if the compromise is with a friend or a foe. We always prefer to die.”
Three nights later Prince Gruffydd found himself unable to sleep. Dressing himself in the dark he put on his warmest cloak and headed into the main courtyard for some fresh air.
The sky above him glistened with stars that seemed especially bright after the storm that greeted him before. In the starlight stood a lady with red hair neatly braided down her back and covered only with a simple circlet. Gruffydd approached her, “Noswaith dda, f’arglwyddes.”
The lady turned to him, “Noswaith dda, f'arglwydd.”
“You do not cover your hair like most ladies do,” observed Gruffydd.
“Cymraes ydw i. I have no need for English fashions.”
“They say even the great ladies in Scotland wear the veil.”
“The nobles of Scotland care more about money than they do honour. The Normans bought them. You cannot buy me.”
“Spoken like a true lady of this land,” smiled Gruffydd.
“Aberffraw is my home. I need no other.”
“Well said, f’arglwyddes.” Gruffydd took a step closer to her, “May I beg your indulgence and inquire of your name?”
“Gwenllian ydw i,” she smiled. “Gwenllian ferch Gruffydd ap Cynan.”
Gruffydd fell to his knees, “F’arglwyddes!”
“Gruffydd ap Rhys ydych chi?” asked Gwenllian.
“Ydw. How long have you known my name, Your Highness?”
“It is not hard to guess who you are, Gruffydd. And since your brother’s gait is impaired by his injuries it is only logical that you would be the heir to Rhys ap Tewder’s throne.”
“The English are a cruel enemy to fight,” affirmed Gruffydd.
“Do you think I know nothing of warfare? My mother is a daughter of the king of Dublin. My father has fought his entire life to free Gwynedd from English control. Do you think only my brother Owain studies the arts of war? Nay, my lord. I am Welsh, not some Norman lady who lives to breed at her father and husband’s pleasure. When it is time for me to marry it shall be of my own choosing!”
“Of that I have no doubt, Your Highness.”
“Why do you call me that?”
“Why not? You are a princess and if I may be so bold, a very beautiful young woman.”
“Perhaps it is the starlight. Perhaps in the light of day you will think otherwise.”
“I am willing to find out. Are you willing to let me see you by daylight?”
“Before or after you touch me as King Henry touched your sister?” asked Gwenllian astutely.
“I swear to you my lady I shall not touch you in such a manner short of binding myself to you in accord with the laws and customs of this land.”
“So be it then,” agreed Gwenllian as she turned to return inside.
“May I see you another time? By daylight or starlight or candle? I care not how I see you, my lady. Please, I ask you, may I see you again?”
“You are our guest. If it pleases you for me to join you when you dine, you need only ask my father and I will come.”
Author Bio:
Born, raised, and educated in Lincoln, Nebraska USA Laurel A. Rockefeller is author of over twenty books published and self-published since August, 2012 and in languages ranging from Welsh to Spanish to Chinese and everything in between. A dedicated scholar and biographical historian, Ms. Rockefeller is passionate about education and improving history literacy worldwide.
With her easy to understand fireside storytelling style, Laurel A. Rockefeller is the historian for people who do not like history.
In her spare time, Laurel enjoys spending time with her cockatiels, attending living history activities, travelling to historic places in both the United States and United Kingdom, and watching classic motion pictures and television series.
Wedi ei geni, ei magu a’i haddysgu yn Lincoln, Nebraska yn UDA, mae Laurel A. Rockefeller yn awdur gyda thros ugain o lyfrau wedi’u cyhoeddi a’u hunan gyhoeddi ers Awst 2012. Yn hanesydd ac ysgolhaig ymroddedig, mae Ms. Rockefeller yn angerddol dros addysg a gwella llythrennedd hanes ledled y byd.
Gydag arddull adrodd stori sy’n hawdd iawn i’w ddeall, Laurel A. Rockefeller yw’r hanesydd ar gyfer pobl nad ydynt yn hoffi hanes.
Yn ei hamser rhydd, mae Laurel yn mwynhau treulio amser gyda’i pharotiaid copog, mynychu gweithgareddau hanes byw, teithio i lefydd hanesyddol yn yr Unol Daleithiau a’r Deyrnas Unedig, a gwylio ffilmiau a chyfresi teledu clasurol.
Links to Purchase Print Books
Link to Buy Gwenllian ferch Gruffydd Bilingual Welsh-English Edition Print Edition at Amazon
Link to Buy Gwenllian ferch Gruffydd Bilingual Welsh-English Edition Print Edition at Barnes and Noble
Link to Gwenllian ferch Gruffydd Bilingual Welsh-English Edition Print book for sale at Create Space
Links to Purchase eBooks
Link To Buy Gwenllian ferch Gruffydd Bilingual Welsh-English Edition On Amazon
Link to Gwenllian ferch Gruffydd Bilingual Welsh-English Edition on Barnes and Noble
Link to Gwenllian ferch Gruffydd Bilingual Welsh-English Edition for sale on Smashwords
Link to Gwenllian ferch Gruffydd Bilingual Welsh-English Edition for sale on iBooks
Link to Gwenllian ferch Gruffydd Bilingual Welsh-English Edition eBook for sale on Kobo
Link to Gwenllian ferch Gruffydd Bilingual Welsh-English Edition eBook for sale on Scribd
Social Media:
Goodreads
Facebook
Twitter
Pinterest
Have you read this book? Tell us in the comments how you liked it!
Suppliers offer trusted supplies from trusted manufacturers and discount prices on health products.
