When evening came, Llewelyn returned to his bedchamber, eager to see his son and his old friend Gelert. But alas! his heart leaped to his throat when he entered the room, for it looked like the scene of a mighty battle. Draperies were torn from the windows, and tapestries from the walls. The crib was turned on its side, its bedding strewn across the floor and splashed with crimson. The baby was nowhere in sight and then Gelert came forward to meet his master; his head, which he usually carried high and happy and proud, hung slightly down, and his great jowls and neck and chest were smeared and spattered with blood.

In a frenzy of rage and grief, believing Gelert had betrayed their long friendship and killed the infant prince, Llewelyn drew his sword from its scabbard and plunged it into his dog’s heart. Gelert sank to the floor, sounding one last mournful cry.

As the great hound’s howl died away, another took its place. It was the howl of a baby startled from sleep, and it came from under Prince Llewelyn’s wooden bed. The prince ran to the bed and peered underneath. Then he pulled the bed away from the wall and found his young son, safe and whole and rosy-cheeked, lying on the blanket by which Gelert had pulled him to safety. And a few feet from the babe he found the body of a gray wolf, gaunt from the hunger that drove it into the castle in search of a tender meal but still fearsome even in death. Its throat had been torn, and it was blood from that wound and his own that covered brave Gelert.

His heart breaking, Llewelyn gently placed the baby in the crib and knelt beside his faithful hound. He cradled the great shaggy head in his arms, and promised Gelert that in honor of the hound’s courage and loyalty, and as a sign of his own remorse, he would forever forbid the slaying of a dog in his realm without trial by jury. He would, he whispered, build a monument to remind all who saw it that hasty judgments lead to regret. Gelert forgave his friend with a lick of the hand, and died.

History or hoax?

As have many legends, the story of Prince Llewelyn’s faithful hound Gelert has been the subject of considerable debate. Did it really happen? Did it happen in Wales to Prince Llewelyn and his hound? If not, then why has the story been told as if true?

In fact, the story as it is told here is just one version of the legend of Gelert—the version I heard as a child from my mother, who learned the legend from her mother, who believed the story that she had learned in Scotland.