On the following morning
the monks applied to me, and as usual I vainly pleaded my unofficial
position. I was either to do or to say something. If the man was sent to
Limasol, thirty-five miles distant, the monks would have the trouble and
expense of appearing as prosecutors; the robber would be imprisoned for
perhaps a couple of years, during which his family would starve. I could
offer no advice. I simply told them that if any robber should attempt to
enter my tent I should not send him to Limasol, but I should endeavour
to make the tent so disagreeable to him that he would never be tempted
to revisit the premises from the attraction of pleasing associations. I
explained to the monks that although a severe thrashing with stout
mulberry sticks would, if laid on by two stout fellows, have a most
beneficial effect upon the burglar, and save all the trouble of a
reference to Limasol, at the same time that the innocent wife and family
would not be thrown upon their relatives, they must not accept my views
of punishment as any suggestion under the present circumstances.
About half an hour after this conversation I heard a sound of
well-inflicted blows, accompanied by cries which certainly denoted a
disagreeable physical sensation, within the courtyard of the monastery,
and to my astonishment I found that my interpreter and willing cook
Christo had volunteered as one of the executioners, and the burglar,
having been severely thrashed, was turned out of the monastery and
thrust down the path towards the depths of Phyni.
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