and as this harper touched the strings of his harp, Tristan who
sat at the King's feet, spoke thus to him:

"Oh master, that is the first of songs! The Bretons of old wove it
once to chant the loves of Graelent. And the melody is rare and rare
are the words: master, your voice is subtle: harp us that well."

But when the Welshman had sung, he answered:

"Boy, what do you know of the craft of music? If the burgesses of
Lyonesse teach their sons harp--play also, and rotes and viols too,
rise, and take this harp and show your skill."

Then Tristan took the harp and sang so well that the barons softened
as they heard, and King Mark marvelled at the harper from Lyonesse
whither so long ago Rivalen had taken Blanchefleur away.

When the song ended, the King was silent a long space, but he said at
last:

"Son, blessed be the master that taught thee, and blessed be thou of
God: for God loves good singers. Their voices and the voice of the
harp enter the souls of men and wake dear memories and cause them to
forget many a mourning and many a sin. For our joy did you come to
this roof, stay near us a long time, friend."

And Tristan answered:

"Very willingly will I serve you, sire, as your harper, your huntsman
and your liege."

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