Thangbrand Of Saxony, Olaf Tryggvason’s Murderous Priest

King Olaf Tryggvason (r. 995-1000) was not a particularly patient or compromising monarch in his efforts to make Christianity the state religion of Norway. He often brought overwhelming military power to public assemblies and forced his people to convert at sword point, then took hostages to keep them in line, and smashed representations of the Norse gods for good measure before moving on to the next pagan region. As bad often attracts bad, it is not surprising that other violent church figures found their way into the court of Olaf Tryggvason. In particular, a priest named Thangbrand was known to have been a chaotic and turbulent figure.

Thangbrand’s early history has been lost to time, but he was said to have been of Saxon origin. Njal’s Saga (c. 13th century) even claimed that he was the son of a certain Count Willibald of Saxony. Whatever his origin story, Thangbrand eventually traveled to Norway and became a court priest of Olaf Tryggvason. In Norwegian circles, Thangbrand gained a reputation of being admirable in study, but abysmal in social settings. The Icelandic historian, Snorri Sturluson (c. 1179-1241), summed up Thangbrand’s reputation as, “He was a man of great overbearing and much inclined to violence, but otherwise a good cleric and a brave fellow” (Heimskringla, Oláfs saga Tryggvasonar, chapter 73). Although Thangbrand did have some positive qualities, his negative quirks were too much for some members of the Norwegian court to bear—the king included. Therefore, King Olaf Tryggvason apparently concluded that the brave and ruthless Thangbrand was the perfect candidate to send off on a missionary trip to Iceland.

To the relief of Norwegian courtiers, Thangbrand set sail for Iceland in 997. A warrior named Gudleif (or Gudlaug) Arason was the priest’s companion on the mission, and, according to Njal’s Saga, they sailed on a ship called the Bison. The missionaries eventually landed in Álptafjord of the Eastfjord District of Iceland. There, Thangbrand continued his educated, but belligerent, ways. The Laxdæla Saga claimed, “He preached the Christian faith with both fair words and dire punishments” (section 41). He did succeed in converting several significant figures in Iceland, such as Hall of Sida, Gizur the White and Hjalti Skeggjason, yet Thangbrand’s antics created more enemies than friends. The Saxon priest became an extremely unpopular figure on the island, and witty skalds in Iceland started to write unflattering verses at Thangbrand’s expense.

Unfortunately for the Icelanders, the priest was in no way a forgive-and-forget Christian, and he lashed out at the poets in an extremely unpriestly way—murder. Virtually every source on Thangbrand claims that he killed at least two people in his short stay on Iceland. The Islendingabók of Ari the Learned (c. 1068-1148) claimed that Thangbrand killed two or three of the people who lampooned him, while Snorri Sturluson proposed it was three, and the embellished Njal’s Saga alleged that the priest slew at least five people. The skalds, Thorvald Veili and Vetrlidi, were the two victims on which most sources agreed. About those two, Snorri Sturluson wrote, “Thorvald Veili and the skald Vetrlidi composed scurrilous verses about Thangbrand, and he killed both” (Heimskringla, Oláfs saga Tryggvasonar, chapter 73).

As soon as Thangbrand began murdering poets in Iceland—a land prone to bloody feuds at that time—it became no longer safe for him to remain on the island. Assassination plots began to form among the priest’s enemies, and, by 999, Thangbrand decided to flee back to Norway. The same year, Gizur the White and Hjalti Skeggason (both Icelandic converts of Thangbrand) also fled to Norway. The latter of the two Icelanders had outraged his countrymen with a crass poem of his own, one that called the gods Odin and Freyja a pair of dogs.

When Thangbrand reported his failure in Iceland to King Olaf Tryggvason, the monarch did not give up his quest to convert the Icelanders to Christianity. The king quickly sent a second wave of missionaries to Iceland, led by the aforementioned Icelandic exiles. About this second group of proselytizers, Snorri Sturluson wrote, “he [Olaf Tryggvason] sent Gizur the White and Hjalti Skeggjason to Iceland to proclaim Christianity there, and with them a priest called Thormod and several other ordained men, but kept with him as hostages four Icelanders that seemed to him noblest” (Heimskringla, Oláfs saga Tryggvasonar, chapter 95). This second party of missionaries was much more successful and, aided by the fact that the Norwegian king was holding the sons of four prominent chieftains captive, they convinced the Icelanders to accept Christianity by 1000. As for Thangbrand, he apparently did nothing of note after his peculiar trip to Iceland and faded into history.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (A scene depicting King Olaf Tryggvason of Norway, by Peter Nicolai Arbo (1831–1892), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• Heimskringla, by Snorri Sturluson and translated by Lee Hollander. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1964, 2018.
• The Book of Settlements (Sturlubók version) translated by Hermann Pálsson and Paul Edwards. Winnipeg: University of Manitoba Press, 1972, 2006. 
• Laxdæla saga by an unknown 13th century Icelander, translated by Keneva Kunz. New York: Penguin Classics, 2008. 
• Íslendingabók (ed. Jakob Benediktsson) in The Viking Age: A Reader, edited by Angus A. Somerville and R. Andrew McDonald. Ontario: University of Toronto Press, 2010. 
• https://www.pitt.edu/~dash/njal100.html 
• https://www.britannica.com/topic/Germanic-religion-and-mythology/Beliefs-practices-and-institutions#ref533322  

The Flamboyant Tale Of King Liu Duan Of Jiaoxi

Emperor Jing (r. 157-141 BCE) and the concubine Lady Cheng had three sons named Liu Yu, Liu Fei and Liu Duan. All three brothers were quickly appointed as kings after their father’s ascendance to the throne. Liu Yu and Liu Fei were given kingdoms in 155 BCE and Liu Duan followed close behind with his appointment as the King of Jiaoxi in 154 BCE. Lady Cheng’s sons were generally well behaved when it came to respecting the authority of the emperors—they never rebelled and they had largely tranquil reigns. Liu Yu and Liu Fei both died after twenty-five or twenty-six years of rule, which had been tame and peacefully absent of drama. Liu Duan, however, who lived to rule twice as long as his brothers, quickly became the oddball of the family.

Liu Duan set up his regime in Jiaoxi like any other king. He hired an entourage of ministers and attendants to help govern his kingdom, and he also took in several concubines who would hopefully provide him with an heir to the kingdom. Yet, Liu Duan and his ministers quickly began to feud. The main point of dissent, according to Han historian Sima Qian (c. 145-90 BCE), was the relationship between the king and his concubines—or lack thereof. Apparently, Liu Duan was strictly homosexual and used every trick in the book to avoid time with his palace women. His favorite ploy was to plead illness, a tactic that allowed him to escape his concubines for months at a time.

Although the king and his harem of women had a cold relationship, Liu Duan was quite affectionate toward a certain young man who worked in the palace. The attendant, left unnamed by Sima Qian, was either accepting of or nonresistant to the king’s interest and the two were alleged to have begun a passionate relationship. Yet, unlike Liu Duan, the palace attendant fancied women as much as he did men, and, when he became smitten with one of the king’s scorned concubines, a classic love triangle was formed.

While not attending the king, the handsome courtier found ways to spend time with the palace lady who had caught his eye. His advances were apparently reciprocated and the two began an affair behind the back of the king. Yet, the couple became horrified when the concubine entered that state which couples receive with both excitement and anxiety—she was pregnant. To the relief of the illicit lovers, Liu Duan liked to keep his palace women out of sight and out of mind. The king reportedly had so little interest in the women of his harem that he was totally oblivious to the pregnancy of the concubine. It was only after the child was born that gossip reached the ears of Liu Duan. When the truth was discovered, the heartbroken king reportedly had the palace attendant, the concubine and even their newborn child all executed.

During the time that King Liu Duan was not hiding from his palace women, he usually was immersed in legal intrigue against his ministers and other imperial officials. It was apparently a life-long battle, but the king proved himself to be a worthy and dangerous opponent. Sima Qian wrote,  “The chancellors and the 2,000 picul officials would no sooner attempt to bring charges against him than they would find that they themselves had become entangled in the Han Laws” (Shi Ji 59). It was a testament to Liu Duan’s political skill that he won most of his legal battles during his lengthy forty-seven-year reign as king of Jiaoxi. Yet, with the king and the officials distracted by a never-ending feud, the kingdom suffered from neglect. Sima Qian wrote, “His storehouses began to leak and fall into ruin, and the goods in them, valued at millions of cash, rotted away until they could not even be moved from the spot” (Shi Ji 59). Along with the storehouses, the kingdom’s tax collection system and the flow of payment to guards and the military also suffered from poor management. The officials used the tattered state of the kingdom to their advantage. Sima Qian stated, “The officials then requested that his kingdom be reduced in size, and he was deprived of over half of his domain” (Shi Ji 59).

As the king grew older, he apparently took his security much more seriously. Likely in consequence of the unstable pay of his guards and military, the king became more reclusive, reportedly spending most of his time holed up in his palace with those he trusted most. He may have also feared assassination, as he was said to have used disguises and false names whenever he traveled on roads that left him vulnerable to attack. Nevertheless, Liu Duan was a survivor and lived until his peaceful death in 107 BCE, after nearly a half-century of rule in Jiaoxi. At the time of his death, the king still had no children, and the kingdom was consequently brought under the direct jurisdiction of Emperor Wu’s central government.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (figures from a tomb mural of Prince Zhanguai (c. 706) and a woman from a Sung Dynasty tomb mural (c. 960-1279), both [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Records of the Grand Historian (Shi ji) by Sima Qian, translated by Burton Watson. New York: Columbia University Press, 1993.

The Odd Lifestyle Of Zhou Ren

In China during the 2nd century BCE, there lived an interesting fellow named Zhou Ren. He hailed from the region now known as Jining, Shandong, and through unknown means he managed to ingratiate himself into the imperial court of Emperor Wen (r. 180-157 BCE). While Emperor Wen was still alive, Zhou Ren became a palace counselor and joined the retinue of the imperial heir apparent, the future Emperor Jing. Before the ascendance to the throne of Emperor Jing (r. 157-141 BCE), Zhou Ren became one of the new emperor’s closest and most intimate friends. Almost immediately after Jing became emperor, he appointed Zhou Ren to be the chief or chamberlain of all the palace attendants—a position Zhou Ren would hold for the remainder of the emperor’s reign.

Zhou Ren definitely was an oddball. He was described as something of an ascetic when it came to physical appearance and wealth. Even if a crowd of courtiers surrounded him, the peculiar figure of Zhou Ren could be immediately and easily identified from the rest of the masses. While other members of the court dressed in the latest fashions, Zhou Ren reportedly wore tattered robes that were barely kept intact by a network of sewn patches. His clothes were not only frayed and ripped, but also horribly dirty. Grand Historian Sima Qian (c. 145-90 BCE) described the striking visual and aromatic experience of meeting Zhou Ren: “He always went about in a worn and patched robe and urine-stained trousers, purposely presenting a dirty and unattractive appearance” (Shi Ji, 103).

Despite Zhou Ren’s monk-like asceticism in regards to clothing and wealth, he was allegedly far from restrained when it came to more sensual matters. Sima Qian categorized Zhou Ren as one of the “emperor’s male favorites” and, although the historian did not definitively state that Zhou Ren and Emperor Jing were more than friends, he did write that “it is not women alone who can use their looks to attract the eyes of the ruler” (Shi Ji, 125). Whatever the truth may be, Zhou Ren was evidently one of the emperor’s most favored and trusted courtiers. With trust came access to restricted quarters, and before long, Zhou Ren was able to wander in places where others could only dream of exploring. Sima Qian wrote, “Emperor Jing favored him and allowed him to go in and out of his private chambers; whenever there were secret revels in the women’s quarters Zhou Ren was always present” (Shi Ji, 103).

Despite rumors of Zhou Ren’s mysterious visits to Emperor Jing’s private chambers, women’s quarters and other such “dubious means to gain intimacy with the emperor” (Shi Ji, 103), Zhou Ren otherwise lived a virtuous and humble life in the imperial court. The reason he never was promoted from his position as chief of the palace attendants was apparently because Zhou Ren simply refused all offers of advancement. Similarly, he was said to never accept bribes, gifts or favors from courtiers or nobles. Zhou Ren’s reputation persisted even after the death of his patron, Emperor Jing, in 141 BCE. The new ruler, Emperor Wu, treated Zhou Ren with respect, but the aging chief palace attendant soon decided to retire. Although Zhou Ren never used his proximity to the emperors to ascend the social ladder, his children and grandchildren profited greatly from his intimacy with the imperial family. Sima Qian wrote that a majority of Zhou Ren’s descendants were given prominent positions in government.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Illustration of a Daoist immortal by Zhang Lu (1464–1538), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• Records of the Grand Historian (Shi ji) by Sima Qian, translated by Burton Watson. New York: Columbia University Press, 1993.
• http://www.chinaknowledge.de/History/Han/personszhouren.html  

The Life Of St. Magnus And His Supernatural Revenge

Around 1098, the Norwegian crown placed Orkney under direct royal control, but Hakon Paulsson, the son of a formal jarl of the region, was appointed to govern Orkney within a year or two after Sigurd the Crusader became king of Norway in 1103. Jarl Hakon Paulsson was portrayed as a willing retainer of the Norwegian kings in the Orkneyinga saga. Yet, Hakon had a cousin called Magnus Erlendsson who was less enthusiastic about being ordered around. Instead of behaving like Hakon Paulsson and serving his Norwegian liege, Magnus Erlendsson fled to Scotland and found shelter with King Edgar (r. 1097-1107). Magnus’ stay in Scotland, however, was only temporary and he decided to return home not long after Jarl Hakon Paulsson was appointed as jarl of Orkney.

Like Hakon, Magnus Erlendsson’s father was also a former jarl of the islands and he intended to press his claim. Multiple jarls coexisting in Orkney was nothing new—according to the Orkneyinga saga, the practice of dividing the governance of Orkney into halves and thirds was at least a century old by that time. When Magnus Erlendsson arrived in Orkney, he had powerful friends that flocked to back his claim, and the island population seemed accepting to the idea of a second jarl. Hakon Paulsson was undoubtedly less than enthusiastic about sharing power with his cousin, but he was convinced to accept the Norwegian crown’s decision on whether Magnus Erlendsson should become a jarl. The claimant sailed to Norway around 1107 and, to Hakon’s disappointment, Magnus Erlendsson was recognized as a rightful jarl of Orkney.

As Jarl Magnus was later considered a saint, it is not surprising that he was described as a tremendously virtuous man. He reportedly avoided war at all cost—his self-imposed exile to Scotland was allegedly done so that he would not be forced to go on Viking raids with his liege.  Yet, when it came to upholding law, Jarl Magnus was a staunch defender of the people, going to great lengths to hunt down thieves and murderers. He strove to help the poor and was never stingy with his wealth. As for Magnus’ personal life, he married a Scottish noblewoman, but he publicly behaved with such purity and restraint that the people of Orkney swore that he remained chaste during the entirety of the marriage.

After several years of joint rule, Jarl Hakon and Jarl Magnus found that they no longer could coexist. For unknown reasons, the faction of Hakon Paulsson began a civil war against the supporters of Magnus Erlendsson. Both sides eventually agreed to a peace meeting on Egilsay, which was set to occur just after Easter. Both jarls agreed to arrive on the island with only two ships. Magnus Erlendsson followed the prearranged agreement to the letter, sailing with a pair of ships and a limited amount of guards. Jarl Hakon, however, arrived with eight ships and captured Magnus without a fight. With his rival in his grasp, Hakon showed no mercy and ordered that Magnus be executed. According to legend, Hakon had a difficult time forcing his soldiers to carry out the order against such a virtuous man—one executioner was said to have refused the job outright and the replacement headsman allegedly began to cry as he prepared for his task. Nevertheless, Jarl Magnus, himself, was said to have consoled the executioner, forgave him for his sin, and encouraged him to swing true. In 1117, apparently with soldiers singing hymns in the background, Jarl Magnus Erlendsson was executed and Hakon seized the whole of Orkney. After the deed was done, Jarl Magnus’ body was brought to Mainland, Orkney, and entombed at Christ Church.

Magnus was proclaimed a saint in Orkney before the end of the century. Interestingly, although he had been a very peaceful man during life, the tales of St. Magnus’ postmortem miracles became quite vengeful, especially against anyone who mistreated him during life or neglected his shrine and relics after his death. Here are several accounts of St. Magnus’ supernatural payback that are mentioned in the Orkneyinga saga:

1) Although St. Magnus had forgiven his executioners during life, he apparently changed his mind after his death. According to the Orkneyinga saga, “the story goes that in general the men most deeply involved in the betrayal of the Holy Jarl Magnus died cruel and violent deaths” (chapter 52). Jarl Hakon Paulsson, however, must have been forgiven by St. Magnus, for he lived a long life and died of natural causes in his bed.

2) On another occasion, the spirit of St. Magnus apparently believed that his body was not being properly venerated and was disappointed that none of his relics had been displayed in the church. Therefore, Bishop William of Orkney was said to have been supernaturally stricken with blindness and he only regained his sight after swearing that he would prepare relics of Saint Magnus and place them in a prominent location in the sanctuary. St. Magnus even supposedly helped out the churchmen as they excavated his body: “When they started digging they found that the coffin had already almost reached the surface” (Orkneyinga saga, chapter 57). With the remains exhumed, Bishop William picked the choicest relics and placed them with honor above the altar in Christ Church.

3) A certain man of Shetland named Thord Dragon-Jaw reportedly refused to stop working on the day of St. Magnus’ Mass. When the over-achiever stopped for a while to have a drink, he went completely insane. Thord’s employer, Bergfinn, was convinced that the madness was St. Magnus’ doing. Therefore, dutiful Bergfinn donated silver to the shrine of St. Magnus on Thord’s behalf and also held a three-night vigil for his crazed employee. Eventually, the silver and vigils placated St. Magnus and Thord was cured after six or more days of insanity.

4) Another Shetlander named Sigrid made the same mistake as Thord Dragon-Jaw and St. Magnus once again retaliated. As the story goes, the dreaded St. Magnus’ Mass was approaching and poor Sigrid had not finished her daily allotment of sewing. She was convinced that she could finish before nightfall, but, alas, when the final string was sewn, it was already dark. St. Magnus struck her with madness as punishment for disregarding his holy day. Sigrid’s friend, Thorlak, brought her to the shrine of St. Magnus and cast lots to decide whether she should offer money to the shrine, free a slave, or go on pilgrimage to Rome in exchange for being cured. The cast determined that St. Magnus preferred the pilgrimage option and Sigrid was immediately cured. Once she had come to her senses, Sigrid immediately left for Rome.

5) St. Magnus did not abide theft in life and continued to despise thieves after death. According to the Orkneyinga saga, a man named Gilli and an unnamed accomplice from Orkney stole gold from the shrine of St. Magnus. In response, the saint unleashed his wrath on the thieves. Gilli reportedly drowned at sea, but the accomplice was attacked by St. Magnus’ signature holy madness. The madman, who uncontrollably mumbled confessions about his crime, was brought to the shrine of St. Magnus and vows were made on the man’s behalf that if he recovered, he would go on a pilgrimage to Rome. St. Magnus apparently accepted the promise and the man’s madness was lifted.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (A scene of Olaf Tryggvason, by Peter Nicolai Arbo (1831–1892), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• Orkneyinga Saga, written anonymously approximately c. 1200, translated by Hermann Pálsson and Paul Edwards. New York: Penguin Classics, 1981.
• http://www.orkneyjar.com/history/stmagnus/magnus2.htm 
• https://catholicsaints.info/saint-magnus-of-orkney/  

Liu Pengli—The Serial Killer King Of The Han Dynasty

History has long hinted that absolute power can tempt even virtuous leaders into corruption. Yet, what happens when the one who gains power was never virtuous in the first place, but instead had murderous fantasies and psychopathic tendencies. This horrific second option reportedly became reality in China during the 2nd century BCE, when Liu Pengli became the king of Jidong. The Grand Historian, Sima Qian (c. 145-90 BCE), was a contemporary of the infamous king and wrote a short description of the dark events that supposedly occurred in Jidong during Pengli’s reign. The killer king was seemingly a figure that the Han Dynasty wanted to forget about, and consequently Sima Qian only devoted one measly paragraph to describing Pengli’s life. Nevertheless, the brief information that the Grand Historian packed into those few sentences was terrifying.

Unfortunately for the people of ancient China, Liu Pengli was extremely powerful and incredibly well connected. He was the grandson of Emperor Wen (r. 180-157 BCE) and the nephew of Emperor Jing (r. 157-141 BCE). Pengli’s own father, King Xiao of Liang (brother of Emperor Jing), ruled one of the most powerful kingdoms in the Han Empire and was even a top contender to become the imperial heir before Emperor Jing finally nominated his son, the future Emperor Wu, as his definitive successor. When the disgruntled King Xiao of Liang died in 144 BCE, his wealthy kingdom was divided among his five sons, one of whom was Liu Pengli.

Before becoming king of Jidong around 144 BCE, Liu Pengli apparently had a spotless record, or, at least, his crimes were subtle enough to escape notice. If anything, he only had a reputation for being uncouth and arrogant. Yet, when he became a king, Liu Pengli’s behavior was said to have grown exponentially worse. He surrounded himself with people of ill repute and developed into a ruthless tyrant. Tragically, Liu Pengli would be given nearly three decades in power to spiral into depravity.

Make no mistake, all of the emperors and kings of Liu Pengli’s day were mass killers—uncounted scores of people died in their wars and were executed by their legal systems. They were not necessarily murderers, but their hands were undoubtedly stained with blood. Yet, something separated Liu Pengli from his powerful peers. Other nobles killed to uphold law, to protect their country and family, or simply for political or personal gain. Contrastingly, Liu Pengli reportedly did not kill for any of these reasons; instead, according to Sima Qian, he simply enjoyed “murdering people and seizing their belongings for sheer sport” (Shi Ji 58).

It is unknown how quickly Liu Pengli’s alleged killing spree began, but by the end of his rule, the people of Jidong were living in a nightmare. According to Sima Qian, Liu Pengli recruited a band of around twenty or thirty like-minded disciples from the questionable courtiers that flocked to his kingdom. At some point in his reign, Pengli and his devoted cult of followers began skulking through the kingdom at night in search of random victims to rob and kill. The accumulating numbers of deaths sparked a panic in the kingdom and the people of Jidong eventually took to barricading themselves indoors at night so they would not be murdered. Over a long period of time, evidence began to grow against the king, and uneasy officials in Jidong started to suspect Pengli of perpetrating the killings. Even among the commoners of the kingdom, rumor spread that it was their king who was responsible for the wave of deaths. Yet, what could they do—Liu Pengli was Emperor Jing’s nephew and Emperor Wu’s cousin.

Fortunately for the people of Jidong, a letter accusing Liu Pengli of mass murder finally reached Emperor Wu around 116 or 115 BCE, the twenty-ninth year of Pengli’s reign. The emperor took the accusation seriously and launched an investigation into his cousin’s conduct. According to Sima Qian, the Han detectives discovered that the king had murdered over one hundred people without any just reasoning. The killings were done simply for the king’s pleasure, or, as Sima Qian stated earlier, as a sick form of sport.

Unbelievably, Emperor Wu was said to have spared his murderous cousin’s life. Liu Pengli was stripped of his nobility and was ultimately banished to live like a commoner in the region of Shangyong—an oddly light punishment for a convicted mass-murdering serial killer. That being said, it may be possible that Liu Pengli was framed. Emperor Wu and his father made serious efforts to divide and weaken the feudal kingdoms of ancient China, similar to the way Emperor Jing had divided the powerful kingdom of Liang into five more manageable domains. After Liu Pengli was stripped of power, his kingdom of Jidong was dissolved and the land was brought under the direct jurisdiction of the central Han government. In the scheme of things, Liu Pengli was one of several kings whose kingdoms were absorbed by Emperor Wu’s government after criminal trials. Nevertheless, because of the vague evidence left behind, we shall never know for certain if Liu Pengli was the victim or the victimizer.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (painting from the wall of Xu Xianxiu's Tomb of Northern Qi Dynasty, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons)

Sources:

• The Records of the Grand Historian (Shi ji) by Sima Qian, translated by Burton Watson. New York: Columbia University Press, 1993.
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Wudi-emperor-of-Han-dynasty 
• http://www.newworldencyclopedia.org/entry/Emperor_Wu_of_Han 
• https://listverse.com/2017/01/04/10-historic-serial-killers-you-dont-know/