His poor mother, Astrid, was obliged to fly, on murder of her husband by Gunhild,--to fly for life, three months before he, her little Olaf, was born.

She lay concealed in reedy islands, fled through trackless forests; reached her father's with the little baby in her arms, and lay deep-hidden there, tended only by her father himself; Gunhild's pursuit being so incessant, and keen as with sleuth-hounds.
Poor Astrid had to fly again, deviously to Sweden, to Esthland (Esthonia), to Russia.

In Esthland she was sold as a slave, quite parted from her boy,--who also was sold, and again sold; but did at last fall in with a kinsman high in the Russian service; did from him find redemption and help, and so rose, in a distinguished manner, to manhood, victorious self-help, and recovery of his kingdom at last.

He even met his mother again, he as king of Norway, she as one wonderfully lifted out of darkness into new life and happiness still in store.
Grown to manhood, Tryggveson,--now become acquainted with his birth, and with his, alas, hopeless claims,--left Russia for the one profession open to him, that of sea-robbery; and did feats without number in that questionable line in many seas and scenes,--in England latterly, and most conspicuously of all.

In one of his courses thither, after long labors in the Hebrides, Man, Wales, and down the western shores to the very Land's End and farther, he paused at the Scilly Islands for a little while.