The spectacle of this frightful punishment did not satisfy the revenge
of Charles of Durazzo. Seconded by the chief-justice, he daily brought
about fresh executions, till Andre's death came to be no more than a
pretext for the legal murder of all who opposed his projects. But Louis
of Tarentum, who had won Joan's heart, and was eagerly trying to get the
necessary dispensation for legalising the marriage, from this time
forward took as a personal insult every act of the high court of justice
which was performed against his will and against the queen's
prerogative: he armed all his adherents, increasing their number by all
the adventurers he could get together, and so put on foot a strong
enough force to support his own party and resist his cousin. Naples was
thus split up into hostile camps, ready to come to blows on the smallest
pretext, whose daily skirmishes, moreover, were always followed by some
scene of pillage or death.
But Louis had need of money both to pay his mercenaries and to hold his
own against the Duke of Durazzo and his own brother Robert, and one day
he discovered that the queen's coffers were empty. Joan was wretched and
desperate, and her lover, though generous and brave and anxious to
reassure her so far as he could, did not very clearly see how to
extricate himself from such a difficult situation. But his mother
Catherine, whose ambition was satisfied in seeing one of her sons, no
matter which, attain to the throne of Naples, came unexpectedly to their
aid, promising solemnly that it would only take her a few days to be
able to lay at her niece's feet a treasure richer than anything she had
ever dreamed of, queen as she was.
The empress then took half her son's troops, made for Saint Agatha, and
besieged the fortress where Charles and Bertrand of Artois had taken
refuge when they fled from justice. The old count, astonished at the
sight of this woman, who had been the very soul of the conspiracy, and
not in the least understanding her arrival as an enemy, sent out to ask
the intention of this display of military force. To which Catherine
replied in words which we translate literally:
"My friends, tell Charles, our faithful friend, that we desire to speak
with him privately and alone concerning a matter equally interesting to
us both, and he is not to be alarmed at our arriving in the guise of an
enemy, for this we have done designedly, as we shall explain in the
course of our interview. We know he is confined to bed by the gout, and
therefore feel no surprise at his not coming out to meet us. Have the
goodness to salute him on our part and reassure him, telling him that we
desire to come in, if such is his good pleasure, with our intimate
counsellor, Nicholas Acciajuoli, and ten soldiers only, to speak with
him concerning an important matter that cannot be entrusted to
go-betweens."
Entirely reassured by these frank, friendly explanations, Charles of
Artois sent out his son Bertrand to the empress to receive her with the
respect due to her rank and high position at the court of Naples.
Catherine went promptly to the castle with many signs of joy, and
inquiring after the count's health and expressing her affection, as soon
as they were alone, she mysteriously lowered her voice and explained
that the object of her visit was to consult a man of tried experience on
the affairs of Naples, and to beg his active cooperation in the queen's
favour. As, however, she was not pressed for time, she could wait at
Saint Agatha for the count's recovery to hear his views and tell him of
the march of events since he left the court. She succeeded so well in
gaining the old man's confidence and banishing his suspicions, that he
begged her to honour them with her presence as long as she was able, and
little by little received all her men within the walls. This was what
Catherine was waiting for: on the very day when her army was installed
at Saint Agatha, she suddenly entered the count's room, followed by four
soldiers, and seizing the old man by the throat, exclaimed wrathfully--
"Miserable traitor, you will not escape from our hands before you have
received the punishment you deserve. In the meanwhile, show me where
your treasure is hidden, if you would not have me throw your body out to
feed the crows that are swooping around these dungeons."
The count, half choking, the dagger at his breast, did not even attempt
to call for help; he fell on his knees, begging the empress to save at
least the life of his son, who was not yet well from the terrible attack
of melancholia that had shaken his reason ever since the catastrophe.
Then he painfully dragged himself to the place where he had hidden his
treasure, and pointing with his finger, cried--
"Take all; take my life; but spare my son."
Catherine could not contain herself for joy when she saw spread out at
her feet exquisite and incredibly valuable cups, caskets of pearls,
diamonds and rubies of marvellous value, coffers full of gold ingots,
and all the wonders of Asia that surpass the wildest imagination. But
when the old man, trembling, begged for the liberty of his son as the
price of his fortune and his own life, the empress resumed her cold,
pitiless manner, and harshly replied--
"I have already given orders for your son to be brought here; but
prepare for an eternal farewell, for he is to be taken to the fortress
of Melfi, and you in all probability will end your days beneath the
castle of Saint Agatha."
The grief of the poor count at this violent separation was so great,
that a few days later he was found dead in his dungeon, his lips covered
with a bloody froth, his hands gnawed in despair. Bertrand did not long
survive him. He actually lost his reason when he heard of his father's
death, and hanged himself on the prison grating. Thus did the murderers
of Andre destroy one another, like venomous animals shut up in the same
cage.
Catherine of Tarentum, carrying off the treasure she had so gained,
arrived at the court of Naples, proud of her triumph and contemplating
vast schemes. But new troubles had come about in her absence. Charles of
Durazzo, for the last time desiring the queen to give him the duchy of
Calabria, a title which had always belonged to the heir presumptive, and
angered by her refusal, had written to Louis of Hungary, inviting him to
take possession of the kingdom, and promising to help in the enterprise
with all his own forces, and to give up the principal authors of his
brother's death, who till now had escaped justice.
The King of Hungary eagerly accepted these offers, and got ready an army
to avenge Andre's death and proceed to the conquest of Naples. The tears
of his mother Elizabeth and the advice of Friar Robert, the old
minister, who had fled to Buda, confirmed him in his projects of
vengeance. He had already lodged a bitter complaint at the court of
Avignon that, while the inferior assassins had been punished, she who
was above all others guilty had been shamefully let off scot free, and
though still stained with her husband's blood, continued to live a life
of debauchery and adultery. The pope replied soothingly that, so far as
it depended upon him, he would not be found slow to give satisfaction to
a lawful grievance; but the accusation ought to be properly formulated
and supported by proof; that no doubt Joan's conduct during and after
her husband's death was blamable; but His Majesty must consider that the
Church of Rome, which before all things seeks truth and justice, always
proceeds with the utmost circumspection, and in so grave a matter more
especially must not judge by appearances only.
Joan, frightened by the preparations for war, sent ambassadors to the
Florentine Republic, to assert her innocence of the crime imputed to her
by public opinion, and did not hesitate to send excuses even to the
Hungarian court; but Andre's brother replied in a letter laconic and
threatening:--
"Your former disorderly life, the arrogation to yourself of exclusive
power, your neglect to punish your husband's murderers, your marriage to
another husband, moreover your own excuses, are all sufficient proofs
that you were an accomplice in the murder."
Catherine would not be put out of heart by the King of Hungary's
threats, and looking at the position of the queen and her son with a
coolness that was never deceived, she was convinced that there was no
other means of safety except a reconciliation with Charles, their mortal
foe, which could only be brought about by giving him all he wanted. It
was one of two things: either he would help them to repulse the King of
Hungary, and later on they would pay the cost when the dangers were less
pressing, or he would be beaten himself, and thus they would at least
have the pleasure of drawing him down with them in their own
destruction.
The agreement was made in the gardens of Castel Nuovo, whither Charles
had repaired on the invitation of the queen and her aunt. To her cousin
of Durazzo Joan accorded the title so much desired of Duke of Calabria,
and Charles, feeling that he was hereby made heir to the kingdom,
marched at once on Aquila, which town already was flying the Hungarian
colours. The wretched man did not foresee that he was going straight to
his destruction.
When the Empress of Constantinople saw this man, whom she hated above
all others, depart in joy, she looked contemptuously upon him, divining
by a woman's instinct that mischief would befall him; then, having no
further mischief to do, no further treachery on earth, no further
revenge to satisfy, she all at once succumbed to some unknown malady,
and died suddenly, without uttering a cry or exciting a single regret.
But the King of Hungary, who had crossed Italy with a formidable army,
now entered the kingdom from the side of Aquila: on his way he had
everywhere received marks of interest and sympathy; and Alberto and
Mertino delta Scala, lords of Verona, had given him three hundred horse
to prove that all their goodwill was with him in his enterprise. The
news of the arrival of the Hungarians threw the court into a state of
confusion impossible to describe. They had hoped that the king would be
stopped by the pope's legate, who had come to Foligno to forbid him, in
the name of the Holy Father, and on pain of excommunication to proceed
any further without his consent; but Louis of Hungary replied to the
pope's legate that, once master of Naples, he should consider himself a
feudatory of the Church, but till then he had no obligations except to
God and his own conscience. Thus the avenging army fell like a
thunderbolt upon the heart of the kingdom, before there was any thought
of taking serious measures for defence. There was only one plan
possible: the queen assembled the barons who were most strongly attached
to her, made them swear homage and fidelity to Louis of Tarentum, whom
she presented to them as her husband, and then leaving with many tears
her most faithful subjects, she embarked secretly, in the middle of the
night, on a ship of Provence, and made for Marseilles. Louis of
Tarentum, following the prompting of his adventure-loving character,
left Naples at the head of three thousand horse and a considerable
number of foot, and took up his post on the banks of the Voltorno, there
to contest the enemy's passage; but the King of Hungary foresaw the
stratagem, and while his adversary was waiting for him at Capua, he
arrived at Beneventum by the mountains of Alife and Morcone, and on the
same day received Neapolitan envoys: they in a magnificent display of
eloquence congratulated him on his entrance, offered the keys of the
town, and swore obedience to him as being the legitimate successor of
Charles of Anjou. The news of the surrender of Naples soon reached the
queen's camp, and all the princes of the blood and the generals left
Louis of Tarentum and took refuge in the capital. Resistance was
impossible. Louis, accompanied by his counsellor, Nicholas Acciajuoli,
went to Naples on the same evening on which his relatives quitted the
town to get away from the enemy. Every hope of safety was vanishing as
the hours passed by; his brothers and cousins begged him to go at once,
so as not to draw down upon the town the king's vengeance, but unluckily
there was no ship in the harbour that was ready to set sail. The terror
of the princes was at its height; but Louis, trusting in his luck,
started with the brave Acciajuoli in an unseaworthy boat, and ordering
four sailors to row with all their might, in a few minutes disappeared,
leaving his family in a great state of anxiety till they learned that he
had reached Pisa, whither he had gone to join the queen in Provence.
Charles of Durazzo and Robert of Tarentum, who were the eldest
respectively of the two branches of the royal family, after hastily
consulting, decided to soften the Hungarian monarch's wrath by a
complete submission. Leaving their young brothers at Naples, they
accordingly set off for Aversa, where the king was. Louis received them
with every mark of friendship, and asked with much interest why their
brothers were not with them. The princes replied that their young
brothers had stayed at Naples to prepare a worthy reception for His
Majesty. Louis thanked them for their kind intentions, but begged them
to invite the young princes now, saying that it would be infinitely more
pleasant to enter Naples with all his family, and that he was most
anxious to see his cousins. Charles and Robert, to please the king, sent
equerries to bid their brothers come to Aversa; but Louis of Durazzo,
the eldest of the boys, with many tears begged the others not to obey,
and sent a message that he was prevented by a violent headache from
leaving Naples. So puerile an excuse could not fail to annoy Charles,
and the same day he compelled the unfortunate boys to appear before the
king, sending a formal order which admitted of no delay. Louis of
Hungary embraced them warmly one after the other, asked them several
questions in an affectionate way, kept them to supper, and only let them
go quite late at night.
When the Duke of Durazzo reached his room, Lello of Aquila and the Count
of Fondi slipped mysteriously to the side of his bed, and making sure
that no one could hear, told him that the king in a council held that
morning had decided to kill him and to imprison the other princes.
Charles heard them out, but incredulously: suspecting treachery, he
dryly replied that he had too much confidence in his cousin's loyalty to
believe such a black calumny. Lello insisted, begging him in the name of
his dearest friends to listen; but the duke was impatient, and harshly
ordered him to depart.
The next day there was the same kindness on the king's part, the same
affection shown to the children, the same invitation to supper. The
banquet was magnificent; the room was brilliantly lighted, and the
reflections were dazzling: vessels of gold shone on the table; the
intoxicating perfume of flowers filled the air; wine foamed in the
goblets and flowed from the flagons in ruby streams; conversation,
excited and discursive, was heard on every side; all faces beamed with
joy.
Charles of Durazzo sat opposite the king, at a separate table among his
brothers. Little by little his look grew fixed, his brow pensive. He was
fancying that Andre might have supped in this very hall on the eve of
his tragic end, and he thought how all concerned in that death had
either died in torment or were now languishing in prison; the queen, an
exile and a fugitive, was begging pity from strangers: he alone was
free. The thought made him tremble; but admiring his own cleverness in
pursuing his infernal schemes, and putting away his sad looks, he smiled
again with an expression of indefinable pride. The madman at this moment
was scoffing at the justice of God. But Lello of Aquila, who was waiting
at the table, bent down, whispering gloomily--
"Unhappy duke, why did you refuse to believe me? Fly, while there is yet
time."
Charles, angered by the man's obstinacy, threatened that if he were such
a fool as to say any more, he would repeat every word aloud.
"I have done my duty," murmured Lello, bowing his head; "now it must
happen as God wills."
As he left off speaking, the king rose, and as the duke went up to take
his leave, his face suddenly changed, and he cried in an awful voice--
"Traitor! At length you are in my hands, and you shall die as you
deserve; but before you are handed over to the executioner, confess with
your own lips your deeds of treachery towards our royal majesty: so
shall we need no other witness to condemn you to a punishment
proportioned to your crimes. Between our two selves, Duke of Durazzo,
tell me first why, by your infamous manoeuvring, you aided your uncle,
the Cardinal of Perigord, to hinder the coronation of my brother, and so
led him on, since he had no royal prerogative of his own, to his
miserable end? Oh, make no attempt to deny it. Here is the letter sealed
with your seal; in secret you wrote it, but it accuses you in public.
Then why, after bringing us hither to avenge our brother's death, of
which you beyond all doubt were the cause,--why did you suddenly turn to
the queen's party and march against our town of Aquila, daring to raise
an army against our faithful subjects? You hoped, traitor, to make use
of us as a footstool to mount the throne withal, as soon as you were
free from every other rival. Then you would but have awaited our
departure to kill the viceroy we should have left in our place, and so
seize the kingdom. But this time your foresight has been at fault. There
is yet another crime worse than all the rest, a crime of high treason,
which I shall remorselessly punish. You carried off the bride that our
ancestor King Robert designed for me, as you knew, by his will. Answer,
wretch what excuse can you make for the rape of the Princess Marie?"
Anger had so changed Louis's voice that the last words sounded like the
roar of a wild beast: his eyes glittered with a feverish light, his lips
were pale and trembling. Charles and his brothers fell upon their knees,
frozen by mortal terror, and the unhappy duke twice tried to speak, but
his teeth were chattering so violently that he could not articulate a
single word. At last, casting his eyes about him and seeing his poor
brothers, innocent and ruined by his fault, he regained some sort of
courage, and said--
"My lord, you look upon me with a terrible countenance that makes me
tremble. But on my knees I entreat you, have mercy on me if I have done
wrong, for God is my witness that I did not call you to this kingdom
with any criminal intention: I have always desired, and still desire,
your supremacy in all the sincerity of my soul. Some treacherous
counsellors, I am certain, have contrived to draw down your hatred upon
me. If it is true, as you say, that I went with an armed force to Aquila
I was compelled by Queen Joan, and I could not do otherwise; but as soon
as I heard of your arrival at Fermo I took my troops away again. I hope
for the love of Christ I may obtain your mercy and pardon, by reason of
my former services and constant loyalty. But as I see you are now angry
with me, I say no more waiting for your fury to pass over. Once again,
my lord, have pity upon us, since we are in the hands of your Majesty."
The king turned away his head, and retired slowly, confiding the
prisoners to the care of Stephen Vayvoda and the Count of Zornic, who
guarded them during the night in a room adjoining the king's chamber.
The next day Louis held another meeting of his council, and ordered that
Charles should have his throat cut on the very spot where poor Andre had
been hanged. He then sent the other princes of the blood, loaded with
chains, to Hungary, where they were long kept prisoners. Charles, quite
thunderstruck by such an unexpected blow, overwhelmed by the thought of
his past crimes, trembled like a coward face to face with death, and
seemed completely crushed. Bowed, upon his knees, his face half hidden
in his hands, from time to time convulsive sobs escaped him, as he tried
to fix the thoughts that chased each other through his mind like the
shapes of a monstrous dream. Night was in his soul, but every now and
then light flashed across the darkness, and over the gloomy background
of his despair passed gilded figures fleeing from him with smiles of
mockery. In his ears buzzed voices from the other world; he saw a long
procession of ghosts, like the conspirators whom Nicholas of Melazzo had
pointed out in the vaults of Castel Nuovo. But these phantoms each held
his head in his hand, and shaking it by the hair, bespattered him with
drops of blood. Some brandished whips, some knives: each threatened
Charles with his instrument of torture. Pursued by the nocturnal train,
the hapless man opened his mouth for one mighty cry, but his breath was
gone, and it died upon his lips. Then he beheld his mother stretching
out her arms from afar, and he fancied that if he could but reach her he
would be safe. But at each step the path grew more and more narrow,
pieces of his flesh were torn off by the approaching walls; at last,
breathless, naked and bleeding, he reached his goal; but his mother
glided farther away, and it was all to begin over again. The phantoms
pursued him, grinning and screaming in his ears:--
"Cursed be he who slayeth his mother!"
Charles was roused from these horrors by the cries of his brothers, who
had come to embrace him for the last time before embarking. The duke in
a low voice asked their pardon, and then fell back into his state of
despair. The children were dragged away, begging to be allowed to share
their brother's fate, and crying for death as an alleviation of their
woes. At length they were separated, but the sound of their lamentation
sounded long in the heart of the condemned man. After a few moments, two
soldiers and two equerries came to tell the duke that his hour had come.
Charles followed them, unresisting, to the fatal balcony where Andre had
been hanged. He was there asked if he desired to confess, and when he
said yes, they brought a monk from the sane convent where the terrible
scene had been enacted: he listened to the confession of all his sins,
and granted him absolution. The duke at once rose and walked to the
place where Andre had been thrown down for the cord to be put round his
neck, and there, kneeling again, he asked his executioners--
"Friends, in pity tell me, is there any hope for my life?"
And when they answered no, Charles exclaimed:
"Then carry out your instructions."
At these words, one of the equerries plunged his sword into his breast,
and the other cut his head off with a knife, and his corpse was thrown
over the balcony into the garden where Andre's body had lain for three
days unburied.