It is one of life’s ironies that some of Wales’ top tourist attractions were built by outsiders seeking to dominate the land and its people. One only has to see castles like Harlech on its rocky promontory, Pembroke with its massive round keep, or the showy Caernarfon and Beaumaris to realise how important these formidable edifices must have been to the Normans as they sought to extend their conquest westwards.​

 

     Yet not all of Wales’ many castles are monuments to the invader. Some were built by the Welsh princes in defiant imitation of Norman military might. These castles, like Dolbadarn and Dolwyddelan in the heart of Gwynedd, are not as massive as the Norman castles nor, generally speaking are they as well preserved. But often they are more dramatically sited, and each of them had a part to play in the Principality’s troubled history.

 

     Perhaps the most impressively sited, as well as one of the most important in Welsh history, is Castell-y-Bere, at the southern edge of what is now called the Snowdonia National Park, under the shadow of Cadair Idris. Until fairly recently, the castle remains were all but invisible on their thickly wooded spur, but now they have been reclaimed and can be visited by anyone who does not mind going a little off the beaten track.

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     The site, in the Dysynni Valley, is splendidly remote. There is something about the castle’s stony ruins that tells even the casual visitor they have a story to tell. Indeed they do. Their story is bound up with that of Llywelyn ab Iowerth (Llywelyn I or ‘The Great’), his grandson Llywelyn ap Gruffudd (Llywelyn II or ‘The Last’ and briefly, with that of the brother of the younger, Dafydd ap Gruffudd.

Although towards the end of the eleventh century it had looked as if the conquest of Wales would be almost as rapid as that of England, the native Welsh princes began to regain the military initiative, ensuring that Norman penetration was piecemeal and mainly confined to the lowlands of Gwent, Glamorgan, Gower, and Pembroke. The most successful of the princes was Llywelyn ap Iorwerth of Gwynedd, who not only maintained his own lands, but also began to bring the princes of Powys and Deheubarth under his authority.

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     On 11 July 1201, King John recognised Llywelyn’s title as Prince of Gwynedd. Castell-y-Bere, which was intended to protect Gwynedd’s vulnerable southern flank, and guarded a major route through the mountains, was begun in 1221. It looked as if there would be stability, that the Norman King and the Marcher Lords had accepted coexistence with the Welsh rather than outright conquest.

     

     Llywelyn’s grandson went even further. Llywelyn II regained land from the eastern Marcher Lordships and forged the whole of North and Mid Wales into a single political unit. King Henry III recognised this achievement in 1267. With the Treaty of Montgomery, Llywelyn was formally confirmed as the undisputed Prince of Wales. But this was all to change with the accession of Henry’s son, Edward I. Edward had what he considered to be unsatisfactory experiences of the politics of the Marcher regions as a youth, and when Llywelyn sought to find even further independence than provided for in the Treaty of Montgomery, he decided that he would tolerate the situation no longer.

 

     Llywelyn’s refusal to do homage to Edward gave the Norman king the opportunity to move against him. In 1277, in a well-organised campaign, Edward forced Llywelyn to surrender, and an uneasy peace reigned for five years. This was broken on Palm Sunday, 1282. Hostilities were apparently sparked off by Llywelyn’s brother Dafydd. Ironically Dafydd had been suspected of a plot against Llywelyn some years before. Edward tried to repeat the swift victory of his previous campaign, but was less successful this time around, and an attempted invasion of the Gwynedd heartland was foiled.

 

     Fate took a hand on 11th December 1282, when Llywelyn was killed in what was not much more than a minor skirmish with a Marcher force led by the Mortimer brothers, John Gifford and Roger Lestrange. This led to a collapse in the morale of the Welsh forces. The princelings of Deheubarth began to surrender; Powys, always the most vulnerable area of Pura Wallia, came completely under Norman control, and Dolwyddelan Castle was taken on 18th January 1283.

 

     At last, it was only Llywelyn’s brother, Dafydd ap Gruffudd’ who carried on the struggle, although only briefly. Eventually, he had to retreat to what was to be the last garrison of an independent Wales, Castell-y-Bere. A stout defence was made, but the castle was besieged by a lieutenant of the King’s, Sir Otto de Grandison of Savoy. Perhaps inevitably, the castle finally fell on 25 April 1283. Dafydd escaped but was soon captured and was put to death in Shrewsbury in the following June. Gwynedd became crown land and was divided into the shires of Caernarfon, Anglesey, and Meirionydd, following the English model.

 

     Castell-y-Bere itself was ingloriously re-garrisoned, this time by a small force of Edward’s men. On 22 November1285, the King founded the Borough of Bere on the site in attempt to bring Norman ways to the area, but this was not to be a success, and the little town disappeared from history almost without trace in the 14th century.

 

     The castle, abandoned soon after being briefly retaken by the Welsh during the revolt of Madoc ap Llewelyn in 1294, survived in a damaged state. Over the years it came to be hidden from casual eyes by the woods that encroached upon its rocky spur. Now it can be visited more easily, although it does not attract such numbers of sightseers as the Edwardian castles because of its isolated location and its less obviously impressive remains.

 

     But, if there is one place in Wales where the past survives, where it is easy to imagine the epic struggles that took place centuries ago, that place must be Castell-y-Bere. If you visit it today, you may find that you are the only one at this historic site. If so, look over the broken castle walls to the valley below, or perhaps towards the strange and rugged inland sea-cliffs of Craig-yr-aderyn (‘Bird Rock’) only a matter of miles away. It is not hard to imagine the ghost of Dafydd ap Gruffudd in his last stronghold looking over your shoulder, and perhaps to know a little of what he felt on that fateful day more than seven hundred years ago, when the history of this land was changed for ever.