The Historical Nights' Entertainment: First Series

  X. THE NIGHT OF STRANGLERS--Govanna Of Naples And Andreas Of Hungary

  Charles, Duke of Durazzo, was one of your super chess-players, handlingkings and queens, knights and prelates of flesh and blood in the gamethat he played with Destiny upon the dark board of Neapolitan politics.And he had no illusions on the score of the forfeit that would beclaimed by his grim opponent in the event of his own defeat. He knewthat his head was the stake he set upon the board, and he knew, too,that defeat must inevitably follow upon a single false move. Yet heplayed boldly and craftily, as you shall judge.

  He made his first move in March of 1343, some three months after thedeath of Robert of Anjou, King of Jerusalem and Sicily, as ran the titleof the ruler of Naples. He found his opportunity amid the appallinganarchy into which the kingdom was then plunged as a result of a wrongand an ill judged attempt to right it.

  Good King Robert the Wise had wrested the crown of Naples from his elderbrother, the King of Hungary, and had ruled as a usurper. Perhaps toquiet his conscience, perhaps to ensure against future strife betweenhis own and his brother's descendants, he had attempted to right thewrong by a marriage between his brother's grandson Andreas and hisown granddaughter Giovanna, a marriage which had taken place ten yearsbefore, when Andreas was but seven years of age and Giovanna five.

  The aim had been thus to weld into one the two branches of the House ofAnjou. Instead, the rivalry was to be rendered more acute than ever, andKing Robert's fear of some such result contributed to it not a little.On his deathbed he summoned the Princes of the Blood--the members ofthe Houses of Durazzo and Taranto--and the chief nobles of the kingdom,demanding of them an oath of allegiance to Giovanna, and himselfappointing a Council of Regency to govern the kingdom during herminority.

  The consequence was that, against all that had been intended when themarriage was contracted, Giovanna was now proclaimed queen in herown right, and the government taken over in her name by the appointedCouncil. Instantly the Court of Naples was divided into two camps, theparty of the Queen, including the Neapolitan nobility, and the party ofAndreas of Hungary, consisting of the Hungarian nobles forming histrain and a few malcontent Neapolitan barons, and guided by the sinisterfigure of Andreas's preceptor, Friar Robert.

  This arrogant friar, of whom Petrarch has left us a vivid portrait, ared-faced, red-bearded man, with a fringe of red hair about his tonsure,short and squat of figure, dirty in his dress and habits, yet imbuedwith the pride of Lucifer despite his rags, thrust himself violentlyinto the Council of Regency, demanding a voice in the name of hispupil Andreas. And the Council feared him, not only on the score ofhis over-bearing personality, but also because he was supported by thepopulace, which had accepted his general filthiness as the outward signof holiness. His irruption occasioned so much trouble and confusion thatin the end the Pope intervened, in his quality as Lord Paramount--Naplesbeing a fief of Holy Church--and appointed a legate to rule the kingdomduring Giovanna's minority.

  The Hungarians, with Andreas's brother, King Ludwig of Hungary, at theirhead, now appealed to the Papal Court of Avignon for a Bull commandingthe joint coronation of Andreas and Giovanna, which would be tantamountto placing the government in the hands of Andreas. The Neapolitans,headed by the Princes of the Blood--who, standing next in succession,had also their own interests to consider clamoured that Giovanna aloneshould be crowned.

  In this pass were the affairs of the kingdom when Charles of Durazzo,who had stood watchful and aloof, carefully weighing the chances,resolved at last to play that dangerous game of his. He began by thesecret abduction of Maria of Anjou, his own cousin and Giovanna'ssister, a child of fourteen. He kept her concealed for a month in hispalace, what time he obtained from the Pope, through the good officesof his uncle the Cardinal of Perigord, a dispensation to overcome thebarrier of consanguinity. That dispensation obtained, Charles marriedthe girl publicly under the eyes of all Naples, and by the marriage--towhich the bride seemed nowise unwilling--became, by virtue of his wife,next heir to the crown of Naples.

  That was his opening move. His next was to write to his obliginguncle the Cardinal of Perigord, whose influence at Avignon was veryconsiderable, urging him to prevail upon Pope Clement VI not to sign theBull in favour of Andreas and the joint coronation.

  Now, the high-handed action of Charles in marrying Maria of Anjou hadvery naturally disposed Giovanna against him; further, it had disposedagainst him those Princes of the Blood who were next in the succession,and upon whom he had stolen a march by this strengthening of his ownclaims. It is inevitable to assume that he had counted preciselyupon this to afford him the pretext that he sought--he, a Neapolitanprince--to ally himself with the Hungarian intruder.

  Under any other circumstances his advances must have been viewed withsuspicion by Andreas, and still more by the crafty Friar Robert. But,under the circumstances which his guile had created, he was receivedwith open arms by the Hungarian party, and his defection from the Courtof Giovanna was counted a victory by the supporters of Andreas. Heprotested his good-will towards Andreas, and proclaimed his hatred ofGiovanna's partisans, who poisoned her mind against her husband. Hehunted and drank with Andreas--whose life seems to have been largelymade up of hunting and drinking--and pandered generally to the rathergross tastes of this foreigner, whom in his heart he despised for abarbarian.

  From being a boon companion, Charles very soon became a counsellor tothe young Prince, and the poisonous advice that he gave seemed shrewdand good, even to Friar Robert.

  "Meet hostility with hostility, ride ruthlessly upon your own way,showing yourself confident of the decision in your favour that the Popemust ultimately give. For bear ever in your mind that you are King ofNaples, not by virtue of your marriage with Giovanna, but in your ownright, Giovanna being but the offspring of the usurping branch."

  The pale bovine eyes of Andreas would kindle into something likeintelligence, and a flush would warm his stolid countenance. He wasa fair-haired young giant, white-skinned and well-featured, but dull,looking, with cold, hard eyes suggesting the barbarian that he wasconsidered by the cultured Neapolitans, and that he certainly lookedby contrast with them. Friar Robert supporting the Duke of Durazzo'sadvice, Andreas did not hesitate to act upon it; of his own authorityhe delivered prisoners from gaol, showered honours upon his Hungarianfollowers and upon such Neapolitan barons as Count Altamura, who wasill-viewed at Court, and generally set the Queen at defiance. Theinevitable result, upon which again the subtle Charles had counted, wasto exasperate a group of her most prominent nobles into plotting theruin of Andreas.

  It was a good beginning, and unfortunately Giovanna's own behaviourafforded Charles the means of further speeding up his game.

  The young Queen was under the governance of Filippa the Catanese, anevil woman, greedy of power. This Filippa, once a washerwoman, had inher youth been chosen for her splendid health to be the foster-motherof Giovanna's father. Beloved of her foster-child, she had becomeperpetually installed at Court, married to a wealthy Moor named Cabane,who was raised to the dignity of Grand Seneschal of the kingdom, wherebythe sometime washerwoman found herself elevated to the rank of one ofthe first ladies of Naples. She must have known how to adapt herself toher new circumstances, otherwise she would hardly have been appointed,as she was upon the death of her foster-son, governess to his infantdaughters. Later, to ensure her hold upon the young Queen, and beingutterly unscrupulous in her greed of power, she had herself contrivedthat her son, Robert of Cabane, became Giovanna's lover.

  One of Giovanna's first acts upon her grandfather's death had been tocreate this Robert Count of Evoli, and this notwithstanding that inthe mean time he had been succeeded in her favour by the handsomeyoung Bertrand d'Artois. This was the group--the Catanese, her son,and Bertrand--that, with the Princes of the Blood, governed the Queen'sparty.

  With what eyes Andreas may have looked upon all this we have no meansof determining. Possibly, engrossed as he was with his hawks and hishounds, he may have been stupidl
y blind to his own dishonour, at leastas far as Bertrand was concerned. Another than Charles might havechosen the crude course of opening his eyes to it. But Charles was toofar-seeing. Precipitancy was not one of his faults. His next move mustbe dictated by the decision of Avignon regarding the coronation.

  This decision came in July of 1345, and it fell like a thunderbolt uponthe Court. The Pope had pronounced in favour of Andreas by granting theBull for the joint coronation of Andreas and Giovanna.

  This was check to Charles. His uncle the Cardinal of Perigord had donehis utmost to oppose the measure, but he had been overborne in theend by Ludwig of Hungary, who had settled the matter by the powerfulargument that he was himself the rightful heir to the crown of Naples,and that he relinquished his claim in favour of his younger brother. Hehad backed the argument by the payment to the Pope of the enormous sum,for those days, of one hundred thousand gold crowns, and the issue,obscure hitherto, had immediately become clear to the Papal Court.

  It was check to Charles, as I have said. But Charles braced himself, andconsidered the counter-move that should give him the advantage. He wentto congratulate Andreas, and found him swollen with pride and arrogancein his triumph.

  "Be welcome, Charles," he hailed Durazzo. "I am not the man to forgetthose who have stood my friends whilst my power was undecided."

  "For your own sake," said the smooth Charles, as he stepped back fromthat brotherly embrace, "I trust you'll not forget those who have beenyour enemies, and who, being desperate now, may take desperate means toavert your coronation."

  The pale eyes of the Hungarian glittered.

  "Of whom do you speak?"

  Charles smoothed his black beard thoughtfully, his dark eyes narrowedand pensive. There must be a victim, to strike fear into Giovanna'sfriends and stir them to Charles's purposes.

  "Why, first and foremost, I should place Giovanna's counsellor Isernia,that man of law whose evil counsels have hurt your rights as king. Nextcome--"

  But here Charles craftily paused and looked away, a man at fault.

  "Next?" cried Andreas. "Who next? Speak out!" The Duke shrugged.

  "By the Passion, there is no lack of others. You have enemies to spareamong the Queen's friends."

  Andreas paled under his faint tan. He flung back his crimson robe asif he felt the heat, and stood forth, lithe as a wrestler, in hisclose-fitting cote-hardie and hose of violet silk.

  "No need, indeed, to name them," he said fiercely.

  "None," Charles agreed. "But the most dangerous is Isernia. Whilsthe lives you walk amid swords. His death may spread a panic that willparalyze the others."

  He would say no more, knowing that he had said enough to send Andreas,scowling and sinister, to sow terror in hearts that guilt must renderuneasy now, amongst which hearts be sure that he counted Giovanna's own.

  Andreas took counsel with Friar Robert. Touching Isernia, there wasevidence and to spare that he was dangerous, and so Isernia fell on themorrow to an assassin's sword as he was in the very act of leaving theCastel Nuovo, and it was Charles himself who bore word of it to theCourt, and so plunged it into consternation.

  They walked in the cool of evening in the pleasant garden of the CastelNuovo, when Charles came upon them and touched the stalwart shoulder ofBertrand d'Artois. Bertrand the favourite eyed him askance, mistrustingand disliking him for his association with Andreas.

  "The Hungarian boar," said Charles, "is sharpening his tusks now thathis authority is assured by the Holy Father."

  "Who cares?" sneered Bertrand.

  "Should you care if I added that already he has blooded them?"

  Bertrand changed countenance. The Duke explained himself.

  "He has made a beginning upon Giacomo d' Isernia. Ten minutes ago hewas stabbed to death within a stone's throw of the castle." So Charlesunburdened himself of his news. "A beginning, no more."

  "My God!" said Bertrand. "D' Isernia! Heaven rest him." And devoutly hecrossed himself.

  "Heaven will rest some more of you if you suffer Andreas of Hungary tobe its instrument," said Charles, his lips grimly twisted.

  "Do you threaten?"

  "Nay, man; be not so hot and foolish. I warn. I know his mood. I knowwhat he intends."

  "You ever had his confidence," said Bertrand, sneering.

  "Until this hour I had. But there's an end to that. I am a Prince ofNaples, and I'll not bend the knee to a barbarian. He was well enoughto hunt with and drink with, so long as he was Duke of Calabria with noprospect of being more. But that he should become my King, and thatour lady Giovanna should be no more than a queen consort--" He made agesture of ineffable disgust.

  Bertrand's eyes kindled. He gripped the other's arm, and drew him alongunder a trellis of vines that formed a green cloister about the walls.

  "Why, here is great news for our Queen," he cried. "It will rejoice her,my lord, to know you are loyal to her."

  "That is no matter," he replied. "What matters is that you should bewarned--you, yourself in particular, and Evoli. No doubt there will beothers, too. But the Hungarian's confidences went no further."

  Bertrand had come to a standstill. He stared at Charles, and slowly thecolour left his face.

  "Me?" he said, a finger on his heart.

  "Aye, you. You will be the next. But not until the crown is firmly onhis brow. Then he will settle his score with the nobles of Naples whohave withstood him. Listen," and Charles's voice sank as if under theawful burden of his news; "a black banner of vengeance is to precede himto his coronation. And your name stands at the head of the list of theproscribed. Does it surprise you? After all, he is a husband, and he hassome knowledge of what lies between the Queen and you--"

  "Stop!"

  "Pish!" Charles shrugged. "What need for silence upon what all Naplesknows? When have you and the Queen ever used discretion? In your placeI should not need a warning. I should know what to expect from a husbandbecome king."

  "The Queen must be told."

  "Indeed, I think so, too. It will come best from you. Go tell her, sothat measures may be taken. But go secretly and warily. You are safeuntil he wears the crown. And above all--whatever you may decide--donothing here in Naples."

  And on that he turned to depart, whilst Bertrand sped to Giovanna. Onthe threshold of the garden Charles paused and looked back. His eyessought and found the Queen, a tall, lissome girl of seventeen, in aclose-fitting, revealing gown of purple silk, the high, white gorgetoutlining an oval face of a surpassing loveliness, crowned by a wealthof copper-coloured hair. She was standing in a stricken attitude,looking up into the face of her lover, who was delivering himself of hisnews.

  Charles departed satisfied.

  Three days later a man of the Queen's household, one Melazzo, who wasin Duke Charles's pay, brought him word that the seed he had cast hadfallen upon fertile soil. A conspiracy to destroy the King had been laidby Bertrand d'Artois, Robert of Cabane, Count of Evoli, and thelatter's brothers-in-law, Terlizzi and Morcone. Melazzo himself, for hisnotorious affection for the Queen, had been included in this band, andalso a man named Pace, who was body servant to Andreas, and who, likeMelazzo, was in Charles's pay.

  Charles of Durazzo smiled gently to himself. The game went excellentlywell.

  "The Court," he said, "goes to Aversa for a month before the coronation.That would be a favourable season to their plan. Advise it so."

  The date appointed for the coronation was September 20th. A monthbefore--on August 20th--the Court removed itself from the heat andreek of Naples to the cooler air of Aversa, there to spend the time ofwaiting. They were housed in the monastery of Saint Peter, whichhad been converted as far as possible into a royal residence for theoccasion.

  On the night of their arrival there the refectory of the monastery wastransfigured to accommodate the numerous noble and very jovial companyassembled there to sup. The long, stone-flagged room, lofty and withwindows set very high, normally so bare and austere, was hung now withtapestries, and the floor strew
n with rushes that were mingled withlemon verbena and other aromatic herbs. Along the lateral walls andacross the end of the room that faced the double doors were set thestone tables of the Spartan monks, on a shallow dais that raised themabove the level of the floor. These tables were gay now with the gleamof crystal and the glitter of gold and silver plate. Along one side ofthem, their backs to the walls, sat the ladies and nobles of theCourt. The vaulted ceiling was rudely frescoed to represent theopen heavens--the work of a brother whose brush was more devout thancunning--and there was the inevitable cenacolo above the Abbot's tableat the upper end of the room.

  At this table sat the royal party, the broad-shouldered Andreas ofHungary, slightly asprawl, his golden mane somewhat tumbled now, forhe was drinking deeply in accordance with his barbarian habit; ever andanon he would fling down a bone or a piece of meat to the liver-colouredhounds that crouched expectant on the rushes of the floor.

  They had hunted that day in the neighbourhood of Capua, and Andreas hadacquitted himself well, and was in high good-humour, giving now littlethought to the sinister things that Charles of Durazzo had latelywhispered, laughing and jesting with the traitor Morcone at his side.Behind him in close attendance stood his servant Pace, once a creatureof Durazzo's. The Queen sat on his right, making but poor pretence toeat; her lovely young face was of a ghostly pallor, her dark eyes werewide and staring. Among the guests were the black-browed Evoli and hisbrother-in-law, Terlizzi; Bertrand of Artois and his father; Melazzo,that other creature of Charles's, and Filippa the Catanese, handsome andarrogant, but oddly silent to-night.

  But Charles of Durazzo was not of the company. It is not for the player,himself, to become a piece upon the board.

  He had caught a whisper that the thing he had so slyly prompted toBertrand d'Artois was to be done here at Aversa, and so Charles hadremained at Naples. He had discovered very opportunely that his wife wasailing, and he developed such concern for her that he could not bringhimself to leave her side. He had excused himself to Andreas with athousand regrets, since what he most desired was to enjoy with him thecool, clean air of Aversa and the pleasures of the chase; and he hadpresented the young King at parting with the best of all his falcons inearnest of affection and disappointment.

  The night wore on, and at last, at a sign from the Queen, the ladiesrose and departed to their beds. The men settled down again. Thecellarers redoubled their activities, the flagons circulated morebriskly, and the noise they made must have disturbed the monksentrenched in their cells against these earthly vanities. The laughterof Andreas grew louder and more vacuous, and when at last he heavedhimself up at midnight and departed to bed, that he might take some restagainst the morrow's hunt, he staggered a little in his walk.

  But there were other hunters there whose impatience could not keep untilthe morrow, whose game was to be run to death that very night. Theywaited--Bertrand d'Artois, Robert of Cabane, the Counts of Terlizzi andMorcone, Melazzo and Andreas's body servant Pace--until all those wholay at Aversa were deep in slumber. Then at two o'clock in the morningthey made their stealthy way to the loggia on the third floor, a longcolonnaded gallery above the Abbot's garden. They paused a moment beforethe Queen's door which opened upon this gallery, then crept on to thatof the King's room at the other end. It was Pace who rapped sharplyon the panels thrice before he was answered by a sleepy growl from theother side.

  "It is I--Pace--my lord," he announced. "A courier has arrived fromNaples, from Friar Robert, with instant messages."

  From within there was a noisy yawn, a rustle, the sound of anoverturning stool, and, lastly, the rasp of a bolt being withdrawn. Thedoor opened, and in the faint light of the dawning day Andreas appeared,drawing a furlined robe about his body, which was naked of all but ashirt.

  He saw no one but Pace. The others had drawn aside into the shadows.Unsuspecting, he stepped forth.

  "Where is this messenger?"

  The door through which he had come slammed suddenly behind him, and heturned to see Melazzo in the act of bolting it with a dagger to preventany one from following that way--for the room had another door openingupon the inner corridor.

  Instead, Melazzo might have employed his dagger to stab Andreas behind,and so have made an instant end. But it happened to be known thatAndreas wore an amulet--a ring that his mother had given him--whichrendered him invulnerable to steel or poison. And such was the credulityof his age, such the blind faith of those men in the miraculous powerof that charm, that none of them so much as attempted to test it with adagger. It was for the same reason that no recourse was had to the stilleasier method of disposing of him by poison. Accepting the amulet atits legendary value, the conspirators had resolved that he must bestrangled.

  As he turned now they leapt upon him, and, taking him unawares, borehim to the ground before he could realize what was happening. Here theygrappled with him, and he with them. He was endowed with the strength ofa young bull, and he made full use of it. He rose, beating them off, tobe borne down again, bellowing the while for help. He smote out blindly,and stretched Morcone half senseless with a blow of his great fist.

  Seeing how difficult he proved to strangle, they must have cursed thatamulet of his. He struggled to his knees again, then to his feet, and,at last, with bleeding face, leaving tufts of his fair hair in theirmurderous hands, he broke through and went bounding down the loggia,screaming as he ran, until he came to his wife's door. Against that hehurled himself, calling her.

  "Giovanna! Giovanna! For the love of God crucified! Open! Open! I ambeing murdered!"

  From within came no answer--utter silence.

  "Giovanna! Giovanna!" He beat frenziedly upon the door.

  Still no answer, which yet was answer enough.

  The stranglers, momentarily discomfited, scared, too, lest his criesshould rouse the convent, had stood hesitating after he broke from them.But now Bertrand d'Artois, realizing that too much had been done alreadyto admit of the business being left unfinished, sprang upon him suddenlyagain. Locked in each other's arms, those wrestlers swayed and panted inthe loggia for a moment, then with a crash went down, Bertrand ontop, Andreas striking his head against the stone floor as he fell. TheQueen's lover pinned him there, kneeling upon his breast.

  "The rope!" he panted to the others who came up.

  One of them threw him a coil of purple silk interwrought with goldthread, in which a running noose had been tied. Bertrand slipped itover Andreas's head, drew it taut, and held it so, despite the man'sdesperate, convulsive struggles. The others came to his assistance.Amongst them they lifted the writhing victim to the parapet of theloggia, and flung him over; whilst Bertrand, Cabane, and Pace bore uponthe rope, arresting his fall, and keeping him suspended there until heshould be dead. Melazzo and Morcone came to assist them, and it was thenthat Cabane observed that Terlizzi held aloof, as if filled with horror.

  Peremptorily he called to him:

  "Hither, and lend a hand! The rope is long enough to afford you a grip.We want accomplices, not witnesses, Lord Count."

  Terlizzi obeyed, and then the ensuing silence was broken suddenly byscreams from the floor below the screams of a woman who slept in theroom immediately underneath, who had awakened to behold in the greylight of the breaking day the figure of a man kicking and writhing at arope's end before her window.

  Yet a moment the startled stranglers kept their grip of the rope untilthe struggles at the end of it had ceased; then they loosed their holdand let the body go plunging down into the Abbot's garden. Thereafterthey scattered and fled, for people were stirring now in the convent,aroused by the screams of the woman.

  Thrice, so the story runs, came the monks to the Queen's door to knockand demand her orders for the disposal of the body of her husbandwithout receiving any answer to their question. It remained stillunanswered when later in the day she departed from Aversa in a closedlitter, and returned to Naples escorted by a company of lances, andfor lack of instructions the monks left the body in the Abbot's garden,where
it had fallen, until Charles of Durazzo came to remove it two dayslater.

  Ostentatiously he bore to Naples the murdered Prince--whose death he hadso subtly inspired--and in the cathedral before the Hungarians, whom hehad assembled, and in the presence of a vast concourse of the people, hesolemnly swore over the body vengeance upon the murderers.

  Having made a cat's-paw of Giovanna--through the person of her lover,Bertrand d'Artois, and his confederate assassins--and thus cleared awayone of those who stood between himself and the throne, he now soughtto make a cat's-paw of justice to clear away the other. Meanwhile, daysgrew into weeks and weeks into months, and no attempt was made by theQueen to hunt out the murderers of her husband, no inquiry instituted.Bertrand d'Artois, it is true, had fled with his father to theirstronghold of Saint Agatha for safety. But the others--Cabane, Terlizzi,and Morcone--continued unabashed about Giovanna's person at the CastelNuovo.

  Charles wrote to Ludwig of Hungary, and to the Pope, demanding thatjustice should be done, and pointing out the neglect of all attemptto perform it in the kingdom itself, and inviting them to construe forthemselves that neglect. As a consequence, Clement VI issued, on June2d of the following year, a Bull, whereby Bertrand des Baux, theGrand Justiciary of Naples, was commanded to hunt down and punish theassassins, against whom--at the same time--the Pope launched a secondBull, of excommunication. But the Holy Father accompanied his commandsto Des Baux by a private note, wherein he straitly enjoined the GrandJusticiary for reasons of State to permit nothing to transpire thatmight reflect upon the Queen.

  Des Baux set about his task at once, and inspired, no doubt, by Charles,proceeded to the arrest of Melazzo and the servant Pace. It was not forCharles to accuse the Queen or even any of her nobles, whereby he mighthave aroused against himself the opposition of those who were herloyal partisans. Sufficient for him to point out the two meanest of theconspirators, and depend upon the torture to wring from them confessionsthat must gradually pull down the rest, and in the end Giovanna herself.

  Terlizzi, alive to his danger when he heard of the arrest of those two,made a bold and desperate attempt to avert it. Riding forth with a bandof followers, he attacked the escort that was bearing Pace to prison.The prisoner was seized, but not to be rescued. All that Terlizzi wantedwas his silence. By his orders the wretched man's tongue was torn out,whereupon he was abandoned once more to his guards and his fate.

  Had Terlizzi been able to carry out his intentions of performingthe like operation upon Melazzo, Charles might have been placed in adifficult position. So much, however, did not happen, and the horribledeed upon Pace was in vain. Put to the question, Melazzo denouncedTerlizzi, and together with him Cabane, Morcone, and the others.Further, his confession incriminated Filippa, the Catanese, and her twodaughters, the wives of Terlizzi and Morcone. Of the Queen, however, hesaid nothing, because, one of the lesser conspirators, little morethan a servant like Pace, he can have had no knowledge of the Queen'scomplicity.

  The arrest of the others followed instantly, and, sentenced to death,they were publicly burned in the Square of Sant' Eligio, after sufferingall the brutal, unspeakable horrors of fourteenth-century torture, whichcontinued to the very scaffold, with the alleged intention of inducingthem to denounce any further accomplices. But though they writhed andfainted under the pincers of the executioners, they confessed nothing.Indeed, they preserved a silence which left the people amazed, for thepeople lacked the explanation. The Grand Justiciary, Hugh des Baux,had seen to it that the Pope's injunctions should be obeyed. Lest thecondemned should say too much, he had taken the precaution of havingtheir tongues fastened down with fish-hooks.

  Thus Charles was momentarily baulked, and he was further baulked by thefact that Giovanna had taken a second husband, in her cousin, Louisof Taranto. Unless matters were to remain there and the game end ina stalemate, bold measures were required, and those measures Charlesadopted. He wrote to the King of Hungary now openly accusing Giovannaof the murder, and pointing out the circumstances that in themselvesafforded corroboration of his charge.

  Those circumstances Ludwig embodied in a fulminating letter whichhe wrote to Giovanna in answer to her defence against the charge ofinaction in the matter of her late husband's murderers: "Giovanna, thyantecedent disorderly life, thy retention of the exclusive power in thekingdom, thy neglect of vengeance upon the murderers of thy husband, thyhaving taken another husband, and thy very excuses abundantly prove thycomplicity in thy husband's death."

  So far this was all as Charles of Durazzo could have desired it. Butthere was more. Ludwig was advancing now in arms to take possession ofthe kingdom, of which, under all the circumstances, he might considerhimself the lawful heir, and the Princes of Italy were affordinghim unhindered passage through their States. This was not at all toCharles's liking. Indeed, unless he bestirred himself, it might prove tobe checkmate from an altogether unexpected quarter, rendering vain allthe masterly play with which he had conducted the game so far.

  It flustered him a little, and in his haste to counter it he blundered.

  Giovanna, alarmed at the rapid advance of Ludwig, summoned her barons toher aid, and in that summons she included Charles, realizing that atall costs he must be brought over to her side. He went, listened, andfinally sold himself for a good price the title of Duke of Calabria,which made him heir to the kingdom. He raised a powerful troop oflances, and marched upon Aquila, which had already hoisted the Hungarianbanner.

  There it was that he discovered, and soon, his move to have been a badone. News was brought to him that the Queen, taken with panic, had fledto Provence, seeking sanctuary at Avignon.

  Charles set about correcting his error without delay, and marched outof Aquila to go and meet Ludwig that he might protest his loyalty, andrange himself under the invader's banner.

  At Foligno, the King of Hungary was met by a papal legate, who in thename of Pope Clement forbade him under pain of excommunication to invadea fief of Holy Church.

  "When I am master of Naples," answered Ludwig firmly, "I shall countmyself a feudatory of the Holy See. Until then I render account to nonebut God and my conscience." And he pushed on, preceded by a black bannerof death, scattering in true Hungarian fashion murder, rape, pillage,and arson through the smiling countryside, exacting upon the whole landa terrible vengeance for the murder of his brother.

  Thus he came to Aversa, and there quartered himself and his Hungariansupon that convent of Saint Peter where Andreas had been strangled a yearago. And it was here that he was joined by Charles, who came protestingloyalty, and whom the King received with open arms and a glad welcome,as was to be expected from a man who had been Andreas's one true friendin that land of enemies. Of Charles's indiscreet escapade in the matterof Aquila nothing was said. As Charles had fully expected, it wascondoned upon the score both of the past and the present.

  That night there was high feasting in that same refectory where Andreashad feasted on the night when the stranglers watched him, waiting, andCharles was the guest of honour. In the morning Ludwig was to pursue hismarch upon the city of Naples, and all were astir betimes.

  On the point of setting out, Ludwig turned to Charles.

  "Before I go," he said, "I have a mind to visit the spot where mybrother died."

  To Charles, no doubt, this seemed a morbid notion to be discouraged. ButLudwig was insistent.

  "Take me there," he bade the Duke.

  "Indeed, I scarce know--I was not here, remember," Charles answeredhim, rendered faintly uneasy, perhaps by a certain grimness in the gauntKing's face, perhaps by the mutterings of his own conscience.

  "I know that you were not; but surely you must know the place. It willbe known to all the world in these parts. Besides, was it not yourselfrecovered the body? Conduct me thither, then."

  Perforce, then, Charles must do his will. Arm-in-arm they mounted thestairs to that sinister loggia, a half-dozen of Ludwig's escortingofficers following.

  They stepped along the tessellated floor abov
e the Abbot's garden,flooded now with sunshine which drew the perfume from the roses bloomingthere.

  "Here the King slept," said Charles, "and yonder the Queen. Somewherehere between the thing was done, and thence they hanged him."

  Ludwig, tall and grim, stood considering, chin in hand. Suddenly hewheeled upon the Duke who stood at his elbow. His face had undergone achange, and his lip curled so that he displayed his strong teeth as adog displays them when he snarls.

  "Traitor!" he rasped. "It is you--you who come smiling and fawning uponme, and spurring me on to vengeance--who are to blame for what happenedhere."

  "I?" Charles fell back, changing colour, his legs trembling under him.

  "You!" the King answered him furiously. "His death would never havecome about but for your intrigues to keep him out of the royal power, tohinder his coronation."

  "It is false!" cried Charles. "False! I swear it before God!"

  "Perjured dog! Do you deny that you sought the aid of your preciousuncle the Cardinal of Perigord to restrain the Pope from granting theBull required?"

  "I do deny it. The facts deny it. The Bull was forthcoming."

  "Then your denial but proves your guilt," the King answered him, andfrom the leather pouch hanging from his belt, he pulled out a parchment,and held it under the Duke's staring eyes. It was the letter he hadwritten to the Cardinal of Perigord, enjoining him to prevent the Popefrom signing the Bull sanctioning Andreas's coronation.

  The King smiled terribly into that white, twitching face.

  "Deny it now," he mocked him. "Deny, too, that, bribed by the title ofDuke of Calabria, you turned to the service of the Queen, to abandonit again for ours when you perceived your danger. You think to use us,traitor, as a stepping-stone to help you to mount the throne--as yousought to use my brother even to the extent of encompassing his murder."

  "No, no! I had no hand in that. I was his friend--"

  "Liar!" Ludwig struck him across the mouth.

  On the instant the officers of Ludwig laid hands upon the Duke, fearingthat the indignity might spur him to retaliation.

  "You are very opportune," said Ludwig; and added coldly, "Dispatch him."

  Charles screamed a moment, even as Andreas had screamed on that samespot, when he found himself staring into the fearful face of death. Thenthe scream became a cough as a Hungarian sword went through him fromside to side.

  They picked up his body from the tessellated floor of the loggia,carried it to the parapet as Andreas's had been carried, and flung itdown into the Abbot's garden as Andreas's had been flung. It lay in arosebush, dyeing the Abbot's roses a deeper red.

  Never was justice more poetic.