Of a sudden, though, the newcomer’s sails were seen to collapse and fall to the deck; and, judging from the way in which she was tossed and rolled about by the waves, albeit without changing her position, the watchers could see that she had cast anchor. Without further delay, Louis, in order to put an end to Joan’s suspense, ordered a boat to be lowered and, together with several of his comrades-in-arms, sprang into it and was rowed out—not without considerable difficulty—to the vessel in the offing.
On drawing alongside, their feelings may more easily be imagined than described at hearing the cries of a woman in distress come to them from out the creaking, storm-tossed galley which was unquestionably that of Des Baux. Moreover, the deck was crowded with sailors, who now called to them to come quickly. Clambering over the side by means of a rope-ladder thrown down by the crew, Louis of Taranto and his comrades rushed towards the Admiral’s quarters at the poop end of the deck, to find his cabin shut and barred, the while the voice of Maria of Durazzo called to them from within, with redoubled energy, to come to her assistance. In an instant they had broken down the door and, surging into the roomy cabin, found themselves in the presence of Maria and of the Admiral, who was endeavouring to stifle her cries and to push her, with the help of his son, Robert des Baux, into a cupboard of the apartment.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Louis of Taranto smote the Admiral with his sword, so that he fell dead, whilst Maria sank on to a couch, her face in her hands to shut out the sight of the killing. But, having slain the Admiral, Louis was content and ordered Robert des Baux to be merely put in irons and taken with them back to the other vessel, where Queen Joan was waiting so feverishly to learn if her sister were alive and on board or not. And when Maria at last rejoined the Queen she told her how, having once taken her away from the Castel dell’ Uovo on his flagship, the Admiral, instead of sailing in the wake of the rest of the fleet, had shaped his course for Marseilles; how he had tried to compel her to marry his son, and how at length the sailors, learning of it, and angered at his attempt to make the coast of France instead of following the Queen, had broken into mutiny on coming within sight of the ships at Gaeta.
It would seem that the younger Des Baux was less to blame in the affair than his father. At any rate, there is no evidence to show that he shared the latter’s fate; although this may well have been owing to the fact that, soon after Louis of Taranto’s return with her sister to the Queen, news was brought to them from Naples of a sudden change in the situation there. It appeared that, soon after the departure of the Queen and her husband from the city, the answer of the King of Hungary to the deputies sent out to surrender the city to him was received and made known to the inhabitants. But of such a nature was it, so atrociously haughty and so sinister withal, that, rather than submit themselves to so despotic and so resentful a Prince, the unhappy Neapolitans declared their intention of dying with arms in their hands in the defence of their families and their homes. No sooner did the Hungarians learn of this resolve than a desperate attack was delivered by them upon the Porta Capuana, which they succeeded in penetrating, and compelled the defenders to fall back towards the harbour and the fortresses in the southern quarter of the city.
As the Hungarians were, however, advancing through the black, deserted streets upon the Castel Nuovo in the hope of capturing at least a portion of the royal family, the amazing rashness of their venturing thus under cover of night into the midst of an hostile, well-armed, and well-barricaded populace suddenly became patent to the Neapolitans; as well as the extreme exhaustion of the Hungarian men and horses. No sooner had the Neapolitans recognised their opportunity than they seized it, flinging themselves upon their enemies, whom they now beat back to the Porta Capuana and out through it into the country beyond, amidst great slaughter and an indescribable confusion, taking no prisoners but killing all who fell into their hands.
This was practically the end of that war of the Hungarians against Queen Joan and Louis of Taranto, after whom messengers were despatched that night to Gaeta, asking them to return and to lead their subjects once more against the foreigners, who, said the message, had been beaten back from Naples and were in full retreat upon their former eastern base about Benevento. Soon after the return to Naples of Joan and Louis, however, a truce for twelve months was arranged between them and the Hungarian, who was now more willing to listen to reason than he had been before; so that when the Pope was invited by Joan to mediate between them, he welcomed the suggestion thankfully enough. Pope Clement’s first proposal, though, that Joan should make the King of Hungary the heir to her crown, and so put her sister Maria out of the succession, Joan refused even to contemplate; and then the Pope suggested that she should pay a lump sum in cash to the King of Hungary as ransom for all the fortresses that he still held in his hands in the Kingdom of Naples; in return for which he was to abandon all further claims upon and to the Crown.
To this Joan agreed willingly; but, when the proposal was made known to the King of Hungary, he said: “It is not for money or lands that I have fought, but for vengeance on my brother’s murderers. But now my work is done; the angry shades are satisfied, and I am going back to my own country.” Nor would he accept so much as a single piece of money for all the strong places and the power that were still his in the Kingdom of Naples; but gave all over, undefiled by money, to Joan, and then departed as he had come, triumphant and unapproachable.
After Louis of Hungary had gone away, there came a legate from the Pope to crown Louis of Taranto as King of Naples and to solemnly ratify once more his marriage with the Queen. All of which was carried out on May 25, 1351, and the next three days, with an accompaniment of much feasting and tourneys; also a general amnesty was issued to all who had in any way taken part against their lawful sovereigns in the late wars. The ecclesiastical ceremonies took place in the Chapel of Justice built by Charles II, to which Joan afterwards added the Church called “Chiesa dell’ Incoronata,” in memory of her wedding to Louis of Taranto. Among the frescoes in the Church are portraits of Joan and of Louis and of the infant son of the Duke of Calabria, all painted by Roberto di Oderisio or, as some say, by his master, the great Giotto himself. It is recorded that the festivities passed off to the satisfaction of all and were only marred by a single untoward event. For it happened that, as King Louis was riding back from his coronation beside the Queen, and was passing through the Porta Petruccia towards the Castel Nuovo, a party of ladies threw down upon him an immense quantity of flowers, making his horse rear up and break the rein. To save himself, lest it should fall and crush him, the King sprang out of the saddle; but in doing so he loosened the crown so that it fell from his head into the roadway and was broken into three pieces. And that same day there fell sick and died his infant daughter by Joan. However, the King forbade that the festivities should be spoiled by mourning; and so they were carried to their conclusion. And in memory of his coronation King Louis instituted the Order of the Knot.
The short rest of his life, though, was full of wars and disquiet and disillusionment, for he was constantly employed in repressing rebellion and in checking the independent tendencies of his barons. Among the most formidable of the disturbers of his peace was Louis of Durazzo, brother of that evil Charles who had perished by order of the King of Hungary at Aversa. Louis of Durazzo was defeated, however, and ended his days in the Castello dell’ Uovo. But he left behind him a son, Charles, whose life was spared in answer to the pleading of Joan, who took charge of him and loaded him with kindnesses and married him to her niece, Margaret, the daughter of Maria of Durazzo and of that other Charles.