The Seventh Trumpet

CHAPTER FOUR

Tóla’s young son, Breac, had been relieved of his guard duty and sent back to the farmhouse with the dog and ass while the farmer remained with Fidelma and her companions to show them exactly how he had found the body. Gormán and Enda stood to one side holding the horses while Fidelma and Eadulf approached the corpse.

The finding of a murdered youth in this beautiful little glade with its gushing stream produced a curious feeling of unreality. The frothing of the water around the stepping-stones, the rustle of the leaves in the trees and even the musical warble of the smólach mór, a missel thrush, high above them in one of the trees, added to the chimerical scene. It seemed so peaceful, and yet — yet here was the corpse of someone whose life had come to a violent end, shattering the serenity of the place.

It was Eadulf who knelt to examine the body first.

‘There are no wounds in the front of this young man’s body,’ he announced, echoing what the farmer had already told them.

Fidelma cast her eyes quickly over the body and its clothing, paying particular attention to the hands, which were fair-skinned and delicate, with slender, tapering fingers. The hands and nails were carefully manicured, which was a sure sign of nobility. The long hair was neatly trimmed and the young man was cleanshaven. There was no mistaking — the clothing was of good quality, even had the jewellery, which enhanced it, not proclaimed a person of some status and wealth. Of particular interest was the fact that the man still wore his sword and dagger in their bejewelled sheaths.

‘One thing is certain from this,’ Fidelma observed softly. ‘He was not attacked from the front and did not have time to draw his weapons to defend himself.’

Eadulf nodded absently before glancing up at Tóla. ‘You said that when you turned the body over, you found rents in his clothing, and blood?’

‘I did,’ replied the farmer, feeling apprehensive. It was still uppermost in his thoughts that the body, being that of a noble — and a murdered noble, at that — was on his land and he would be liable, under law, for payment of compensation.

Fidelma guessed what was in his mind and smiled encouragingly. ‘Do not worry, Tóla. You have done well in bringing news of this to Cashel. And you also did well in realising that this unfortunate young man was someone of status. The responsibility is now ours, so just tell us everything you did, no matter how insignificant.’

Tóla compressed his lips for a moment before he replied in a slow, considered tone: ‘I had dragged the body from the stream, where it had been blocking the waters against the stepping-stones of the ford …’

‘So it was lying across the stream, but facing which way?’ interrupted Fidelma.

‘The head was towards the southern bank, towards Cashel, and it was face down in the water.’

‘So you dragged the body on to this bank?’

‘I did. Then, as I have said, not seeing any wound on the front, I turned the body over to examine the back of his head. At first I thought the young man had slipped on the crossing-stones and hit his head. Then I saw the cuts in his short cloak and jacket. And there was still blood there. I laid the body back down … it seemed an insult to leave it face down. I left it face up, as you see it now. Then I removed that brooch, which I took to be an emblem and means of identity, and went back to the farm to get my ass. I left my son and my dog to guard this place and came straight to Cashel. That is all I know.’

‘You did well, Tóla,’ Fidelma repeated. Then she turned to Eadulf and gave a nod.

Eadulf unfastened the short cape and the man’s upper garment and linen shirt. Then, with the help of Tóla, he turned the body over and finished removing the upper clothing. The cause of death was immediate to see. There were three jagged wounds in the back, all fairly close together between the shoulder-blades. They matched the jagged tears in the garments that the young man had been wearing. Eadulf examined them with pursed lips.

‘Fairly deep,’ he reflected. ‘Any one of them might have been the fatal blow.’ He glanced at Fidelma. ‘Would you say he was a tall man?’

Fidelma followed his gaze, examining the corpse from poll to feet.

‘He is certainly not short. I would say that he is slightly above average height. What makes you ask that?’

‘Whoever inflicted these wounds was taller than he was. They must have stood behind him, and even raising their dagger for the blows to descend into the area of the wounds, they would need height to gain the strength to make the cuts so deep.’

‘A good point,’ Fidelma agreed. ‘But there is another possibility — that whoever did this could have been standing on an elevated piece of ground or a rock behind the victim.’

Eadulf looked round at the muddy bank and the stream. ‘Nothing I can see fits such a theory.’

‘Perhaps his attacker was on horseback while his victim was on foot.’ Fidelma began examining the muddy ground of the bank. She then turned and nimbly crossed the stepping-stones to the far bank and repeated her search. She returned without saying a word.

Tóla was helping Eadulf put back the upper clothing on the corpse.

‘We will have to remove the body to somewhere in preparation for burial,’ Eadulf stated.

‘There is a little chapel and burial-ground not far from here at Fraigh Dubh — the Black Heath. It is on the highway that leads south by the heathland into Cashel,’ said Tóla. ‘There is a new priest there, but I do not know him.’

‘It would surely be better to learn the victim’s identity before the burial — especially as he seems to belong to the nobility,’ Eadulf observed.

‘But that will take time, and we cannot leave him unburied,’ Fidelma argued. ‘It is a practical matter.’

Eadulf acknowledged that she was right. He bent to rearrange the clothing on the corpse. Suddenly, he withdrew his hand, uttering an exclamation, and put his fingers to his mouth.

‘What is it?’ Fidelma demanded.

‘Something sharp,’ he replied. ‘A prick from a splinter, probably.’ He knelt to find out what it was that had hurt him. Something was protruding from the sword sheath. ‘Curious,’ he muttered. ‘It’s a broken piece of wood in its own little leather sheath, tied to the sword belt.’

Fidelma carefully unhooked the small leather sheath and removed the broken piece of wood. It was a short wand of white wood — rowan, she thought. The top had been snapped off but there was some evidence of gold binding on the lower part.

She breathed out sharply as she recognised it.

‘Does that mean something to you?’ Eadulf queried, seeing her expression.

‘It means that this man was an envoy or of equivalent rank,’ she said. ‘Not only was he wearing a brooch with the emblem of the Uí Máil, the Kings of Laigin, but he was carrying the wand of office of an envoy. Sometimes even chieftains of high rank carry such wands to proclaim their office.’

Eadulf knew that this was the custom of Fidelma’s people. He also knew that, under the law, the life of a herald or an ambassador was inviolate, even during warfare. Neither harm nor injury could be visited on such an official for, if harm was done, blood feuds could carry from one generation to another until reparation was made. It was a heinous crime, and the punishment for the perpetrator was great.

Gormán, who had been standing a short distance away with Enda holding their horses, now took a step forward, having overheard the conversation.

‘But what would an envoy from the King of Laigin be doing alone and on foot in this place?’

‘That’s a good question, Gormán’, Fidelma said. ‘One that needs an answer, and very soon. It seems inconceivable that such a noble or an ambassador was travelling alone here on foot in the darkness. That is why I was looking at the muddy banks of this stream. I am afraid our horses must have obliterated any signs of tracks at this point. So, if this ambassador came here on horseback, which way would he have come?’

The question was addressed to Tóla. The farmer immediately pointed to the west.

‘This stream flows into the great river, the Suir, not far from here. As you know, lady, this crossing is usually used only by local people who travel on the track along the east bank of the river and then turn inland along this stream to cross at this ford and continue their journey to Cashel. From the east, there would be no reason to come in this direction since there is a good highway there which leads all the way to Cashel.’

‘So if this man came from the Suir, he could have ridden down along the eastern bank to turn along this stream to cross here on his way to Cashel?’ asked Eadulf.

‘That presents other questions,’ interposed Gormán after Tóla had agreed. ‘A man of this elevated rank would surely have an entourage or a companion and, as such, would have taken the main highway where there are hostels for such travellers. So he would have followed the road to the east of here, not the west.’

‘Whichever way he came, lady,’ Tóla said, ‘the paths to this point from both west and east are on my farmlands, and my livestock wander freely. The mud is always turned, as you see. I doubt whether you could trace any individual horses along it. And as you said, lady, why would an ambassador, on his own or with an entourage, be coming through this place after nightfall?’

Fidelma suddenly let out an exclamation which caused everyone to start. ‘What a fool I am!’ She turned to Tóla. ‘You say that you found the body this morning?’

‘It was exactly as I told you, lady. It was just after first light that I had come down here to find whether my heifer had produced her calf.’

‘When were you at this spot before that?’

‘As dusk approached last night. The heifer was in the field behind us. I was worried for her as she was overdue with her calf and so I came to look at her.’

‘Did you look at this crossing at that time?’

‘I did not. However, the body was not here.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘Because the stream was running freely.’

‘I do not understand,’ Eadulf said.

‘I was alerted to the body being in the stream by the fact that it was being pushed by the current against those stepping-stones and thereby forming a dam. The water makes a different noise when it is allowed to flow freely. Also, my dog, Cú Faoil, was at his ease when we were here last night, whereas this morning he was nervous and showing signs that something was untoward. His behaviour prompted me to find the body.’

‘So there is yet another conundrum,’ breathed Fidelma. ‘The logical conclusion is that this ambassador came here alone in the darkness or with a companion who was his assassin. If they were both on horseback, then the young man was obliged to dismount at the crossing while his companion, still seated on his horse, stabbed him from that superior height. Afterwards, the assassin must have led both horses away without alarming anyone. Not even your dog was awoken during the night, Tóla.’

‘If there had been any disturbance, however slight, Cú Faoil would have surely raised an alarm,’ agreed the farmer. ‘There is nothing that escapes his attention.’

‘There is another answer to that conundrum.’ It was Eadulf who spoke.

Fidelma turned to him in slight surprise. ‘Another answer?’

‘What if the man was killed elsewhere and then brought in stealth to this place? The body could have been dumped here by someone thinking it was an out-of-the-way spot where it would not be discovered.’

There was a pause while Fidelma considered this. ‘It is a good point,’ she conceded. ‘But if the murderer brought the body here, thinking it a good hiding-place, surely the stepping-stones across the stream would have warned him that it was not so remote, and that people used the crossing. There are plenty of better places around here to hide a body. And why leave so many clues behind, like his Uí Máil emblem? Why leave part of his wand of office, showing he was an envoy? Indeed, why not just remove all his valuable jewellery, the dagger, sword and so on? In fact, why not strip the body entirely, which would have made the task of identification almost impossible?’

‘Of course, if the murder was done here, perhaps the killer left these things on the corpse because they heard someone coming and had to flee,’ Eadulf suggested.

Fidelma shook her head. ‘If so, why was the body not reported by the person who disturbed the killer?’

‘It seems,’ Eadulf reflected, ‘that we are engaging in speculation when we have no information.’

Fidelma glared at him before noticing the amusement in his features. The corners of her mouth turned down with a wry expression.

‘So now we must start in pursuit of information,’ she said in a firm tone. She turned to Tóla. ‘We need trouble you little. Perhaps we can fodder our horses and obtain some refreshment for ourselves when we have finished here? It would help if we could also purchase a linen sheet for use as a racholl — a shroud — for the body. We shall take the corpse to the chapel you spoke of, at Fraigh Dubh and make use of the burial-ground there. We may have to travel all the way to Laigin to establish the identity of this young noble: the body cannot be preserved during such a long journey and must therefore be interred here.’

‘You are welcome to what hospitality we can provide,’ Tóla said politely.

‘Then we will not interrupt your harvesting any further. We have a few things to do here first.’

The farmer left them while Fidelma began to give instruction to the others.

‘Secure the horses to those bushes, Enda. Then I want you to walk a distance along the bank of this stream towards the east. Watch out for any sign of the passage of horses. Gormán, I want you to examine the bank to the west.’

The two warriors moved off immediately.

Fidelma stood for a moment looking down at the broken rowan wand that she still held in her hands, and wondering where the top was.

‘It is usually the top part which bears the emblem of the holder of the office. See if you are able to find it, Eadulf. Search the body thoroughly, if you will. It may have broken off as he fell. I am going to check the stream, for if it fell in there, the gold mounting from the top will have caused it to catch on the bed of the stream.’

There was a silence as they both bent to their tasks. Eadulf not only carefully checked through the clothing on the corpse but thoroughly searched the muddy bank nearby. There was no sign of the splintered top piece of the wand of office, and when he glanced at Fidelma, she was wading out of the stream looking disappointed.

‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘No sign of it.’

A few moments later, Gormán came along the bank of the stream.

‘I went as far as the point where the stream empties into the Suir,’ he reported. ‘Along the path there were long stretches of hardened earth, but where there were also muddy stretches with signs of horses’ tracks, these were obscured by the passage of sheep and cattle. Is Enda not back yet?’

As if on cue, they saw the warrior trotting towards them along the embankment.

‘Anything?’ Fidelma asked hopefully.

‘A short distance from here, there is a bend in the stream and a muddy stretch of ground by it. There are signs that two horses emerged from the stream at that point. However, it is difficult to say how long ago the prints were made. I would estimate that it was not long because the ground is soft and muddy. There has been no time for the tracks to dry.’

‘Any sign of footprints?’

‘Whoever was on the horses did not dismount. I only saw prints of cows and wolves, but nothing else of significance. The prints of the horses led eastwards. I followed them as far as I could, but soon lost them when the ground became hardened. They were heading towards the highway that leads north to Durlus Éile or south to Cashel.’

There was a brief silence as Fidelma and Eadulf absorbed the information. Then Fidelma said: ‘Well, there is little more we can do here. Eadulf, can you and Enda remove all the valuable items from the corpse, the sword and dagger as well as anything else that might provide a means of identity? We’ll go to the farmhouse and get the winding sheet. Then we’ll take advantage of Tóla’s hospitality to feed the horses and refresh ourselves before moving on.’

It was after midday when Fidelma and her companions recommenced their journey from the farmstead of Tóla where his wife, Cainnear, had fed them, and his son Breac had tended their horses. The body of the unknown envoy had been wrapped in a linen sheet and strapped across the back of Enda’s horse. The four of them had then set out due east along the banks of the stream. A short time later, they recrossed the stream and turned a little southward on to the edge of a rough stretch of uncultivated land called Fraigh Dubh.

Here was the burial-ground to which the people of the area took their dead, and the small chapel where they went to receive blessings. The chapel lay close by the main highway that eventually connected Cashel to the northern township of the kingdom, Durlus Éile, the strong fortress of the Éile, whose territory bordered the lands of the Osraige; beyond this was the covetous Kingdom of Laigin.

They crossed the highway along which merchants and pilgrims travelled in both directions; although it was usually very busy, it was not classed as one of the five great highways that united the Five Kingdoms, such as the Slige Dála that connected Cashel to the Palace of the High King at Tara. This smaller highway was classed as a bothar — a cattleway — for it was along earlier tracks in ancient times that people herded their cattle to market and, indeed, still did so. At this hour, the highway was deserted, for most people liked to travel early in the mornings and then halt to take refreshment at midday when the sun stood at its zenith. By the time the day became cooler, their refreshment had usually influenced them to delay their journey until the following morning. Therefore it was not surprising that the small party encountered no one as they joined the highway and crossed to the little wooden chapel that stood on the edge of the wild heathland.

Surrounding the construction was the burial-ground, each grave aligned east to west. It was to the west that people believed the souls of the dead were taken, even in the earliest times before the coming of the New Faith. It was obvious to Fidelma’s eyes that this was a poor, rural burial-ground, for there were but few wooden crosses, some weathered in the passing of the years. From the time of the coming of the Faith it had become customary to erect a cross over the grave of a Christian. But those of rank would have a flat slab or a pillar stone erected on which was inscribed a name, sometimes in the characters called Ogham and sometimes in Latin. She noticed that there were no such stone grave-markers here.

As they approached the chapel, they heard the sharp blows of a hammer, striking hollowly, and saw the figure of a man on the roof, securing some roofing boards. A ladder leaned against the side of the building.

Fidelma gave a quick nod to Gormán, who leaned back in his saddle and called up, ‘God bless the work, Brother.’

The man paused and looked down before he removed a couple of nails that he was holding between his lips. He carefully replaced them, and his hammer, in a sling in his belt, before he returned the greeting. ‘He does bless this work, indeed, warrior. But I am no Brother. Just an ailtirecht.’

Eadulf had to think for a moment, confusing the word with ailithir, a pilgrim, before realising that ailtirecht meant a craftsman in wood.

Fidelma edged her horse forward and looked up towards the workman. ‘What is your name?’ she asked.

The man peered down and then, appearing to recognise her, he left his position and slid down the ladder with surprising dexterity before coming to stand at her horse’s head. He was a weathered-looking man of medium height with greying hair and light blue eyes, obviously used to heavy work. He bowed his head in respectful acknowledgement to her.

‘I am called Saer, lady. I maintain this building for Brother Ailgesach and, indeed, the other buildings of our little settlement.’

‘Where might we find this Brother Ailgesach?’

Saer hesitated and then gestured with his chin in a northward direction.

‘At this time of day, lady, you may well find him in the bruden, the tavern run by Fedach Glas. It is but a short distance along the highway.’

‘Brother Ailgesach?’ Even in the circumstances Fidelma could not help the smile that came to her lips. ‘He sounds a truly pious man.’ The name meant ‘servant of the saints’.

Saer caught her humour and muttered sourly, ‘Neither pleasant nor pious, lady. But that is not for me to condone or condemn.’

‘You will not get into trouble for giving your opinion,’ Fidelma reassured him, interested by his response. ‘In any event, we intended to go to the tavern even if this Brother Ailgesach had not been there.’

Saer had noticed the burden that Enda’s horse was carrying. ‘Has one of your party come to harm, lady?’ he asked.

‘Not one of our party,’ she replied. ‘The dead man is a stranger whom we found. We do not yet know who he was or what he was doing in this area. So we have brought his body to this chapel as it would be unlawful to leave a stranger to the mercy of the wolves, crows and other scavengers.’

‘Then, in the absence of Brother Ailgesach, I would say that you should bring the body into the chapel and we shall lay him out there. Come, warrior,’ this was addressed to Enda. ‘I will help you down with your burden.’

Between the two of them, they took the body and carried it into the small, dark chapel. Fidelma swung down and followed them.

‘Perhaps you can help us further, Saer?’ she said, after a thought had occurred to her. ‘Unwrap the winding-sheet from the face, Enda. Saer, look on the man’s features and tell us if you have seen him before. Perhaps he passed recently along the highway here?’

The carpenter gazed on the face of the corpse and then shrugged. ‘There are always strangers passing along this highway from Durlus to Cashel and in the other direction.’

‘Look closely, if you will. This was a young noble and of rich and striking appearance.’

Saer peered closer at the pale bloodless features. ‘He does bear a resemblance to someone who called to see Brother Ailgesach many days ago. But I can’t swear to it.’

‘A resemblance?’ pressed Fidelma eagerly.

The carpenter shook his head. ‘I can’t swear that it was the same person. I was passing by here when I saw Brother Ailgesach entering the chapel with a young man. He was richly dressed. This could have been that man. I walked on without further interest. I was on my way to the tavern.’

‘You saw nothing else? Did you notice whether the man had a horse?’

To her disappointment the carpenter shook his head again and repeated, ‘I am sorry, lady.’

‘And you never saw Brother Ailgesach’s visitor again?’

‘During the last several days I have been at my hut in the woods cutting planks for this job.’ He jerked his thumb towards the chapel roof. ‘New planks were needed because the roof was letting in water.’

‘I suppose no one else has spoken of any such person to you?’ enquired Fidelma.

‘As I say, I have been at my hut in the woods cutting timber. I spoke only briefly to Brother Ailgesach when I came to fix the roof earlier. He did not mention any visitors.’

Fidelma nodded thoughtfully. ‘Well, we shall go to the tavern of Fedach Glas and speak with Brother Ailgesach. You have been very helpful, Saer.’ She reached forward and placed something in his palm, at which he raised a hand to his forehead in thanks. They left the interior of the chapel, remounted their horses and Fidelma led her companions back to the highway, where they turned north.

‘Well, if the carpenter says this Brother Ailgesach is regularly at the tavern, then it seems he believes in taking the advice of the Blessed Paul to Timothy,’ Eadulf commented, breaking the silence.

Fidelma frowned absently. ‘What?’

‘“Take a little wine for thy stomach’s sake”,’ Eadulf joked. This did not, however, raise a smile from Fidelma who had been deep in thought.

The bruden of Fedach Glas lay only a short distance along the highway. Gormán knew the place, saying that it was not one of the higher class of hostels that were to be found along the main highways of the kingdom. These hostels or taverns could be run by either men or women. The higher classes of hostel were, in fact, provided by the landowner, sometimes a chieftain or even the king of the territory himself. The laws proclaimed that these hostels were required to entertain guests without asking questions or payment. The bigger ones would employ men on the approaching roads to advise travellers of their locations and to extol the comforts of the facilities they provided. And after dark, each bruden had at least one lantern on a tall pole to advertise itself to travellers.

The smaller hostels were more like wayside inns where charges were made and questions asked. One thing all bruden had in common, as Fidelma well knew, was that they were a place of refuge. A suspected murderer could claim sanctuary from summary arrest and punishment in a bruden until they were assured of a fair trial before a Brehon. The system of the bruden had been carried abroad by the missionaries of Éireann, providing accommodation and food for those pilgrims travelling to Rome, along the roads through Gaul, Frankia and the other Germanic lands.

Fedach Glas’s hostel was a series of rough-built log cabins surrounding the main house, and with stables for the horses. As they reined in before the entrance, a man came hurrying towards them. He had grey hair and a full beard, a sallow skin and dark mournful eyes. His gaze ran over their mounts and manner of dress. It was obvious that he quickly made up his mind what manner of travellers they were.

‘Welcome lady, welcome sirs. We are no brugaid-lethech but only a poor bruden. Do your honours wish to alight here?’

It was a polite way of pointing out that the tavern of Fedach Glas was not used to catering for people of rank. Gormán assumed the lead. ‘We do not intend to stay, but will refresh ourselves inside with your ale.’

They dismounted and tied their horses to the wooden hitching-rail.

The host, for such the man who greeted them turned out to be, went to the door and ushered them inside. It was gloomy, although a smoky wood fire was crackling in the hearth over which a cauldron was simmering; the pleasant aroma of meat and vegetables filled the place. A thin-faced, elderly woman with her hair tied back in a scarf but still showing wisps of grey about her forehead and neck, was stirring the contents with a long wooden spoon. She glanced up at them with surprise and then returned to her task. The man took his place before a crude wooden counter.

‘Welcome again, your honours,’ he greeted with a smile. ‘How may this humble tavern be of service to you?’

This time it was Fidelma who stepped forward. ‘My companions wish for refreshment, your finest ale. As for myself, do you have wine?’

The man shook his head. ‘Wine, lady, is for the nobility and the clergy of rank. We cannot afford to import it here for we rarely have such distinguished guests. All we have is corma or lind.’

Corma was a strong intoxicating spirit distilled from barley while lind was weaker ale.

Fidelma realised her mistake and quickly said: ‘Then we will all have ale.’

They turned to some benches by a table and seated themselves, watching as the brugaid, the tavern-keeper, filled a jug of ale and set it before them, together with four clay drinking vessels.

‘Can I serve you further?’ asked the man, obviously used to his guests pouring their own drinks. Gormán decided to fill the mugs for all of them.

‘I presume your name is Fedach Glas?’ asked Fidelma.

The man moved his weight uneasily from one foot to the other. ‘That it is,’ he answered.

‘Then I am told that in this tavern we might find Brother Ailgesach. He is the religious who is in charge of the nearby chapel.’

Fedach Glas frowned, and his eyes flickered to a dark corner of the tavern before returning to meet her gaze. ‘Why would you seek him?’ he countered.

Enda snorted indignantly. ‘It is incumbent upon you to answer the questions of a dálaigh, especially-’

‘Especially when a hosteller is responsible to his guests,’ Fidelma interrupted, annoyed that Enda had revealed her rank.

Fedach Glas’s eyes widened a fraction. ‘A dálaigh?’

‘Is Brother Ailgesach here?’ she repeated loudly.

A figure stirred in the gloom at a far corner of the tavern, then rose to its feet somewhat unsteadily. It moved forward a pace, supporting itself for a moment with one hand on the table at its side.

‘I am Brother Ailgesach,’ it intoned wheezily.

Taking another pace forward, the figure was revealed as a very rotund and short man clad in worn brown woollen robes. A wooden cross hung on a leather thong about his neck. The wood and the leather denoted that the wearer was not of a wealthy Order. His head was like that of a baby, plump and fleshy with red cheeks, but whether the lack of hair was due to baldness or due to his choice of tonsure was difficult to discern. The lips were so thick and red that the mouth could be described as ugly. Only the eyes were striking by being tiny pinpoints of black almost hidden in the folds of flesh around them.

‘Come forward, Brother Ailgesach,’ invited Fidelma. ‘We would speak with you about God’s work.’

The rotund religieux stopped, his fat features screwed into an expression as if he were trying to recall something.

‘I am …’ Fidelma began.

But the man suddenly raised an accusing finger at her.

‘I know you. I know you! You are the Whore of Babylon.’ His voice was rasping and breathless. ‘The Whore of Babylon — mother of harlots and the abomination of the earth!’