In the centre of the square of Saint Eligius an immense stake was set up:  there the prisoners were taken, and what was left of their mutilated bodies was thrown into the flames.  The Count of Terlizzi and the grand seneschal’s widow were still alive, and two tears of blood ran down the cheeks of the miserable mother as she saw her son’s corpse and the palpitating remains of her two daughters cast upon the fire—­they by their stifled cries showed that they had not ceased to suffer.  But suddenly a fearful noise overpowered the groans of the victims; the enclosure was broken and overturned by the mob.  Like madmen, they rushed at the burning pile,—­armed with sabres, axes, and knives, and snatching the bodies dead or alive from the flames, tore them to pieces, carrying off the bones to make whistles or handles for their daggers as a souvenir of this horrible day.

CHAPTER VI

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: