The Ogre and the False Guinevere: Brutal Father, Bastard Daughter

Hello, everyone, and welcome to Camelot Chat! I’m your hostess, Shannon Watson; and this week’s episode is The Ogre and the False Guinevere: Brutal Father, Bastard Daughter.

Did you know that Queen Guinevere had a twin sister? Well, not really a twin sister, per se. More of a half-sister/cousin. Her father, King Leodagan, cheated on her mother... with her mother's sister, who was also the wife of his own seneschal, or history-keeper. When he tired of the woman – and had claimed her inheritance, along with her body – he locked her up in a tower… where she eventually died.

But that didn’t save the creeper king. Oh, no. Not at all.

The dishonored seneschal – and his extended family – would one day come for Leodagan. That family included the young, illegitimate half-sister of Queen Guinevere. Their vengeance would be twisted, disconcerting, and merciless.

So, Leodagan’s bastard daughter, named Gwenhwyach, was both Queen Guinevere’s half-sister and her maternal first cousin. The queen was alleged to be just a touch wealthier, more beautiful, and more educated than her half-sister. Needless to say, the sisters didn't get along.

Gwenhwyach was known in the later French romances as the “False Guinevere.” Probably for the homicidal, seditious actions she committed later in life, at the behest of her wronged stepfather, the vengeful seneschal. But that's a tale for another day.

That said, the False Guinevere and Queen Guinevere shared a father. So, Gwenhwyach’s name, identity, and father provide a second set of clues to the legendary queen’s lineage.

The name, Gwenhwyach, has always proven a bit of a puzzle. Gwen we've got. It means “white” or “blessed” in Welsh and Proto-Brythonic.

The second part of her name, which is spelled H-W-Y-A-C-H, with some variation, has always troubled linguists, etymologists, and scholars. Countless academics have argued over it down the centuries.

My best guess? Gwyach: G-W-Y-A-C-H. It means “grebe,” a type of bird, in Welsh.

In days of yore, there was power in a name. In fact, the names of kings and queens were tabooed after their deaths, leaving us lowly mortals only titles with which to reckon … and a good bit of guesswork.

This makes sense, because the queen’s similar-sounding and -looking name, Gwynhwyfar, means “White or Blessed Phantom,” or “Viper,” or even “Dragon”. With that, perhaps the “dragon” in one name is equivalent to another animal – in this case, a bird, or “grebe” – in the other. A less mystical, ferocious, and powerful animal, by far.

So, we have “The Blessed Dragon” and “The White Grebe.” At a glance, which of them holds the greater power? Which is the true queen?

“Dragon” may also refer to a family kinship. For instance, King Arthur's House was known as the House of the Pendragon, or “Dragon Chief.” The Red Dragon of Wales originates from the Votadini, who migrated south to Wales from Scotland in the fifth century. It remains the national emblem of Wales to this day.

So, one Guinevere was the actual dragon, bearing the name of her House… while the other was merely a common grebe.

This brings us back to the fathers. A number of Middle Welsh texts call the Guineveres’ father a “giant” or an “ogre.” Wiktionary defines the word ogre as “a type of brutish giant from folk tales that eats human flesh,” or else, “a brutish man reminiscent of a mythical ogre.”

This father is fittingly named Gogy Vran Gawr. While it looks like gibberish to the modern eye – unless you happen to be fluent in Welsh – this name is actually not terribly hard to translate. The first part of the name, Gog, which resembles the word, ogre, is a Welsh word indicating a "North Walian,” or “a person from North Wales.”

Another, related Welsh word, Gogleddwr, simply means “a northerner.” And a third Welsh word, Gogledd, indicates a territory comprised of northern England and southern Scotland and, by extension, the collective inhabitants of that region.

In the early fifth century, the Men of the North, who lived in what is now Stirlingshire and Lothian, in the Borders area of Scotland, had yet to populate North Wales. And Wales had yet to evolve into the separate country of that name.

So, rather than rendering the Guineveres’ father an “ogre” or “giant” and relegating him to the realm of folklore, this geographic designation may have earlier indicated a person from Strathclyde, Stirlingshire, or Lothian: the lands of the Northern Wealas… in Old English, the “Strangers,” or “Foreigners,” who would one day be known as “Welsh.”

The second part of the name is easier. Vran means “crow” or “raven” in Welsh. It was probably either a personal or clan badge. It certainly makes for a strong, keen-eyed, predatory descriptor: a black bird of prey, hovering, ever-watchful, in the trees.

In the French romances, the twin Guineveres’ father's name was, with various spellings, Leodagan. I think Leodagan’s name was borrowed from the original Welsh one, with some French additions.

In French, it may have broken down as follows: Le, “the.” Ogre, “giant.” Plus, the Welsh bran, “raven.” Rendering something like Le Ogre Bran, “The Giant Raven.” An almost-onomatopoeia of the original Gogyvran… and the perfect name for a fairytale villain.

This legendary status as a giant, an ogre, or a monster corresponds with another of Guinevere’s mythical fathers,Gwythyr ap Greidawl. Gwythyr’s chief rival was Gwyn ap Nudd, who was Chieftain of the Fairies, leader of the Wild Hunt, and King of Annwn, the Welsh Otherworld, or Hell. The two were doomed to fight over the same woman every year on May Day until the end of time. So, through his relationship with Gwyn, the two Guineveres’ father was also associated with Fairyland, the Underworld, and various myths and legends.

Gogy Vran or Leodagan’s “ogre” connotation contains a further mythical subtext. Ogre is connected to the Latin word orcas, which indicates the Underworld, the Roman god, Pluto – who, like Gwyn ap Nudd, rules the Underworld – and death. So, whether he was a giant, an ogre, or merely somehow related to the Underworld, the French romances imparted mythological status to the father of the “Twin-everes.”

This brings us back to the third word in the name: Gawr. There are several viable options – and one really tantalizing one – for the translation of this word. The first, and most obvious, substitutes a hard C for the initial G, rendering Cawr, C-A-W-R, “Champion,” or “Giant.” This meaning would certainly explain why Guinevere’s father was remembered as a “giant.”

Of course, the French romances preferred that he be remembered as a mythological creature, or formidable giant, rather than recalling that champions were very common in ancient times. And that “champion” seems to have been a formally-designated function among the northern Britons of the fifth century.

That said, Gawr could also have been a bastardization of the word Mawr, M-A-W-R, meaning simply, “Great.” I come across many, many fifth-century names with some variation of the word mawr appended to them. Apparently, everyone in those days was “great.” One has to wonder how many people gave themselves this designation.

Our search for this man in the far reaches of the northern Borders leads us to a third, sexier, and more enticing candidate for the meaning of his final moniker, Gawr. That candidate is another of Queen Guinevere’s proposed fathers: King Garlin of Galore. More specifically, to the locative appended to the end of his name: Galore.

Ignoring the obvious interpretation – the late seventeenth-century English word, galore, meaning “abundance,” which would not yet have existed in the fifth century – we continue our search for translations closer to home.

Home, in this case, being the Borders of Scotland. Stirlingshire. Lothian. Can we find anything in this area that fits this locative?

We sure can. And that's Gore: G-O-R-E. Rhymes with bore.

Interestingly, Guinevere’s one-time fiancé, King Urian, also claimed the appendage “of Gore.” So, once again, we find a locative tacked onto the end of a king’s name. In this case, a locative claimed by both the Queen's father and her fiancé, who, being cheated out of his claim to the queen by her marriage to Arthur, promptly rebelled against the young king.

Did Urian of Gore revolt because he had lost his promised dowry of the land of Gore – wherever it was – still claiming it as part of his name?

Let's examine the evidence more closely.

Gore is described in Middle English as meaning “a patch of land.” In regular modern-day English, Gore is also a geographic designation: “a triangular piece of land where roads meet,” or “a projecting point.”

This is promising.

But there's more. More for Gore.

In fact, we find names with gore in them all over the Midlothian region. The Gore Water: a minor tributary, which flows through the town of Gorebridge, emptying into the River South Esk. Also in Gorebridge, a shallow cave lies in Gore Glen. Robert the Bruce once used it as a hiding place.

So, Gore is not a secret, mystical fairyland, like Tir na Nog, or Lyonesse. It is rather, “hiding in plain sight.”

Lothian was the ancestral home of the Votadini, a native northern British tribe, perhaps of mixed Roman, Celtic, and/or Pictish ancestry. So, this “ogre-giant” father, Leodagan, or Gogy Vran Gawr, or Garlin of Galore, may have been a leader, or champion, or chieftain of the fifth-century Votadini, before they migrated south to Wales.

Remember last week’s episode, when I said that the leader of these Votadini at the time was a man named Cunedda Wledig? Cunedda married the daughter of the famous Coel Hen of York: the man who became known in nursery rhyme as “Old King Cole.” One of Cunedda’s sons married a Pict. And their son became an infamous chieftain later associated with both Wales and Scotland.

That man was known as Kaduwallọn Llawhir, an epithet that means the “Long Hand” or “Arm,” and may have originated from a word indicating “Branch,” as in the “long branch of a family tree.” It also may have indicated Kaduwallọn’s “long reach.” Or his grasping nature.

Kaduwallọn means “Battle Chieftain” in Proto-Brythonic. It derives from the earlier Proto-Celtic name, Katuwellaunos, “One Who Leads in Battle.”

So, it sounds sexy but is really fairly generic. Like many translations of Dark Age names, Kaduwallọn is really more of a title than a name.

Kaduwallọn’s mother was a Pict named Prawst, daughter of Deithlyn. His father was Einion Yrth. And his grandfather was the redoubtable Cunedda Wledig, the same man who led nine of his many sons out of the ancient land of the Votadini in Scotland and into Wales.

Einion Yrth’s name is interesting. Yrth means “the Impetuous,” while Einion indicates “The Anvil.”

The mention of an anvil put me in mind of another of Guinevere’s many fathers: Gwythyr ap Greidol. Greidolmeans “the gridiron.”

What's the difference between an anvil and a gridiron?

Not being a blacksmith or an ironmonger, I wasn't sure. So, I looked it up.

An anvil is “a solid block of metal used to shape hot metal with a hammer.” A gridiron is “a grate of parallel metal bars used for cooking food over a fire.”

So: different, but sort of similar?

My point is that there may be some connection between the two men: Gwythyr ap Greidol and Kaduwallọn map Einion. One is the “son of the Gridiron,” the other, the “son of the Anvil.” But aside from their obviously Welsh names, that theory is admittedly thin.

What isn't so thin is Kaduwallọn’s role in the Dark Age Arthurian world. While he may have settled eventually in the south – parts of Wales are rumored to have been Kaduwallọn’s court or were named after him – there's no question that he originated in the fifth-century north.

But his family carried on the tradition in the south. Later, Saint Gildas excoriated Kaduwallọn’s son, Maelgwyn Gwynedd, for his many sins and failings. The kingdom of Gwynedd in Wales took its name from him.

Could this Dark Age “Battle Chieftain” have been Queen Guinevere’s morally-compromised father... and the father of her illegitimate sister, a woman so treacherous, seditious, and deadly in her own right that she became known as the False Guinevere and executed for treason?

Daughters were not always well attested in ancient manuscripts. Sometimes, they were omitted entirely. Perhaps, the names of Kaduwallọn’s daughters befell the same fate?

Kaduwallọn’s son, Maelgwyn, recorded by a fifth-century saint as both duplicitous and evil, would certainly have been capable of some of the same depredations attributed to the False Guinevere. What if the two hailed from the same family tree? What if Maelgwyn Gwynedd and the False Guinevere were brother and sister? Were some of their less-nice traits genetic? Or learned at their father’s knee?

It is unlikely that we will ever know the truth of this.

But I found out a few years into my research that, with Arthurian legend – and the history hiding behind it in the mist – you sometimes have to go with what seems likeliest. This is especially true if you are writing a series of twelve books told from a fifth-century point of view. You do the homework, you compile your research, and you select what seems most probable to you. If all suggestions seem equally likely, you pick the one that works best for your books.

Kaduwallọn Llawhir works best for my books. He makes a hell of a father – or a father from hell – for the two Guineveres, both so different, both so adversely affected by their sire’s many failings.

In my next episode, we meet the last of the “Guineveres”: King Arthur’s fourth – or third – and final queen, the exotic Winlogoto. Find out the details of her life – her tragic, violent family tree; her famous royal father; how she met Arthur – next week on Camelot Chat.

If you can’t wait for more Arthurian lore till the next episode, you will find my historical fiction novel, The Wanderer and the Wolves, told from Queen Guinevere’s perspective, on Amazon.com. The link is included below. And be sure to check out my author page at ShanavereStudios.com.

Until next week: People who read live in many worlds. Books are the surest portals to those worlds. So, keep living, keep reading, and keep dreaming... till we meet again.