On the death of Trygve, Astridda, his widow, who was then pregnant, fearing the vengeance of Gunhilda and her sons, fled to an island in the solitary lake of the uplands, where, in 969, she brought forth a son, whom she named Olaf, after his grandfather of that name. There she remained the whole summer, accompanied only by her foster-father, and two or three domestics. But when the days began to shorten, the cold breezes from the lake were too much for Astridda and her child; and, accompanied by the same faithful domestics, she left her island home. To escape observation, she never came within sight of human habitation; and when, after many days, she approached her father’s habitation, she was too cautious to enter. A messenger acquainted him with her arrival; and he met her at a solitary hut in the forest, where every domestic comfort was supplied her. Two maid servants only, with her foster-father, his child, and her infant son, formed her whole establishment. It was fortunate for her that, during this winter, Gunhilda and her sons were too closely occupied by Hako, the jarl, to have leisure for pursuing her. But that ambitious woman had heard of Olaf’s birth; and when spring arrived, she sent her spies to inquire into the truth of the report, and where both mother and child might be found. Their inquiries were successful; and a chief, with thirty horsemen, was despatched to bring the infant to the court of Gunhilda. Eric, however, the father of Astridda, was told their purpose when they were only a few miles distant from the house. It was nightfall; and he led his daughter, with her precious charge and a few domestics, into the forest, where he acquainted her with her danger, with his inability to protect her, and with the necessity of her hastening, in the most secret manner, to the house of an aged friend in Sweden. No sooner had she departed, than he returned to his own house, to await the arrival of the horsemen. Fortunately, both for him and his daughter, they did not immediately call upon him, but passed the night at a neighbouring house. The following morning, when he was asked where his daughter and grandson were, he denied that they were with him; and, on their refusing to believe him, he allowed them to search every corner of his habitation. But the leader of the band was at length informed of their route, and, causing his men to mount, he pursued it. Darkness overtaking them, they passed the night with a rich landowner, whom they carelessly asked whether he had seen a woman with a child pass that way. He replied, that a woman and child, in very mean attire, with other persons equally humble, had besought his hospitality, and that he had refused to lodge them,—for, like worthies of recent times, he had a great dislike to beggars,—but he believed they were at some cottage in the neighbourhood. And so they were;—at the cottage of an honest farmer, and less distant than was suspected.