So did he, and for three years a mutual love grew up in their hearts.
By day Tristan followed King Mark at pleas and in saddle; by night he
slept in the royal room with the councillors and the peers, and if the
King was sad he would harp to him to soothe his care. The barons also
cherished him, and (as you shall learn) Dinas of Lidan, the seneschal,
beyond all others. And more tenderly than the barons and than Dinas
the King loved him. But Tristan could not forget, or Rohalt his
father, or his master Gorvenal, or the land of Lyonesse.

My lords, a teller that would please, should not stretch his tale too
long, and truly this tale is so various and so high that it needs no
straining. Then let me shortly tell how Rohalt himself, after long
wandering by sea and land, came into Cornwall, and found Tristan, and
showing the King the carbuncle that once was Blanchefleur’s, said:

“King Mark, here is your nephew Tristan, son of your sister
Blanchefleur and of King Rivalen. Duke Morgan holds his land most
wrongfully; it is time such land came back to its lord.”

And Tristan (in a word) when his uncle had armed him knight, crossed
the sea, and was hailed of his father’s vassals, and killed Rivalen’s
slayer and was re-seized of his land.

Then remembering how King Mark could no longer live in joy without
him, he summoned his council and his barons and said this:

“Lords of the Lyonesse, I have retaken this place and I have avenged
King Rivalen by the help of God and of you. But two men Rohalt and
King Mark of Cornwall nourished me, an orphan, and a wandering boy. So