The war of the factions had begun by the omission of Andrew’s name from all the proclamations, warrants, and so forth issued by the Queen in her own sole name. In retaliation for this indefensible slight, Andrew had ordered his followers to break open all the prisons within reach and to liberate their tenants, criminal or otherwise, in his name alone and in honour of his succession to the throne of Naples. He had also loaded the members of his own party—and especially the execrated Altamura—with honours and riches by means of patents signed by himself, only, as the one supreme temporal authority in the kingdom. It may be added that, in all these arbitrary and illegal measures, so admirably calculated to arouse the bitterest anger and the most murderous hatred of the Queen’s supporters against him, Andrew of Hungary’s one confident adviser was none other than his evil genius, Charles of Durazzo. From that moment the party of Joan, led by the Counts of San-Severino, Mileto, Terlizzi, Balzo, Morcone, Catanzaro, and Sant’ Angelo, and, more especially, by the Queen’s ex-favourite, Robert of Cabano, Count of Eboli, and his successor in her affections, Bertrand d’Artois, was resolved upon ridding the land of Andrew and of his minions. Of all the angry barons who had rallied to Joan’s support, the last mentioned, Bertrand d’Artois, really loved her for herself, and was actuated by no motive of personal gain, except—alas!—his lawless hope of becoming united to her in matrimony once her husband were removed from the path of his criminal passion. In vain his father, the brave and noble Charles of Artois, one of the regents of the kingdom, strove to dissuade him from the perilous course of a love as treasonable as it was immoral; nothing was of any avail to hold back the young man from the pursuit of his designs.
More successful, however, was the restraining influence of another parent over another child in the same situation—the influence of the Empress of Constantinople over her youngest-born, the handsome Louis of Taranto, who, in deference to his mother’s entreaties, turned away his eyes as well as he could from his lovely, ill-mated cousin.
After the rupture between Joan and the Duke of Durazzo, many weeks elapsed without her either meeting him or hearing much of his doings, beyond that he was become the inseparable comrade of her husband; although, indeed, at times she cannot have helped wondering what shape his enmity towards her might eventually assume.
One radiant morning of spring, however, as she was in her room in the Castel Nuovo, looking out over the town and the sea beyond, all shimmering in the sunlight, towards Sorrento, there came a knock on the door, and Donna Filippa Cabano, mother of the Grand Seneschal, entered precipitately, her face blanched with alarm and anger, to say that Princess Maria, Joan’s little sister, was nowhere to be found.
A short while previously the child had been playing happily by herself in the castle grounds; and then, soon afterwards, she had simply disappeared, none could say where or in what direction.
Joan’s consternation may be more easily imagined than described. Her love for Maria was the one perfectly innocent, unspoilt love of her whole existence, the very tenderest spot in all her heart. And now Maria was gone from her; the horror and grief of it were such that she shrieked as though a live coal had been laid upon her breast. That, however, was only in the first anguish of her loss; recovering herself quickly, she broke out in a storm of anger upon those responsible by their want of vigilance for the catastrophe; such was the Queen’s fury, indeed, that Filippa fled from her in fear for her life. Instantly, the whole castle was in an uproar, its inhabitants scouring every nook and cranny, indoors and out; but without success; and, presently, the whole city of Naples was bent distractedly upon the same quest, hunting high and low for the beloved little girl. All, though, was in vain; and, albeit, during that day and many days and nights to follow the search was diligently pursued, yet, in spite of every effort, no trace could be found of the lost Princess.
The only drop of comfort vouchsafed to Joan, during all those weary hours of agonising anxiety, came from Bertrand d’Artois, who had been led, somehow, to suspect the agency of the Duke of Durazzo in respect to Maria’s disappearance; a drop, however, that Joan refused to accept, saying that such a thing was beyond the bounds of probability. For no one, even, of Duke Charles’ household, let alone the Duke himself, had so much as set foot within the castle precincts since the day when he had left the place in anger. No stranger, even, had set foot, that morning of Maria’s disappearance, inside the gates, except Nicholas of Melazzo, for whose integrity Tommaso Pace, Prince Andrew’s own body-servant, was willing to answer on his life.
In this manner a month went by, bringing to Joan despair of ever seeing her sister again, until on April 30, 1343, there occurred an event so amazing as to deprive her at first of every other sensation; until her astonishment turned to fury at the insolent daring of it. On first learning of it, she refused to believe it, and then, as the certainty of it took the place of incredulity, her indignation knew no bounds.
For, on the stroke of noon of that day, she learned that her sister had become the legal wife of Charles of Durazzo, having been publicly married to him at an altar erected in the open air and in sight of all the people before the Church of Saint John by the Sea, not a bow-shot distant from the great gates of the Palazzo Durazzo. The marriage had been solemnised by Duke Charles’ chaplain, the necessary dispensation for the marriage of cousins, one of them being a minor, having been received from Rome the day before; and, at its conclusion, the newly wedded pair had faced the spectators hand in hand, and had solemnly declared that they took one another as husband and wife, calling upon God and the people to bear witness to it. Their announcement had been acclaimed with tumultuous vociferations of applause and delight; after which the Duke and Duchess of Durazzo received the Papal benediction, prior to being escorted in procession round the city by their men-at-arms and the sympathetic populace to the beating of drums and the blowing of trumpets.