After the interchange of these two letters, Louis of Tarentum proposed nothing further.  The garrison at Aversa had capitulated after a heroic resistance, and it was known only too well that if the King of Hungary could get so far as the walls of Naples, he would not have to endanger his life in order to seize that city.  Happily the Provencal galleys had reached port at last.  The king and the queen had only just time to embark and take refuge at Gaeta.  The Hungarian army arrived at Naples.  The town was on the point of yielding, and had sent messengers to the king humbly demanding peace; but the speeches of the Hungarians showed such insolence that the people, irritated past endurance, took up arms, and resolved to defend their household gods with all the energy of despair.

CHAPTER VIII

While the Neapolitans were holding out against their enemy at the Porta Capuana, a strange scene was being enacted at the other side of the town, a scene that shows us in lively colours the violence and treachery of this barbarous age.  The widow of Charles of Durazzo was shut up in the castle of Ovo, and awaiting in feverish anxiety the arrival of the ship that was to take her to the queen.  The poor Princess Marie, pressing her weeping children to her heart, pale, with dishevelled locks, fixed eyes, and drawn lips, was listening for every sound, distracted between hope and fear.  Suddenly steps resounded along the corridor; a friendly voice was heard; Marie fell upon her knees with a cry of joy:  her liberator had come.

Renaud des Baux, admiral of the Provencal squadron, respectfully advanced, followed by his eldest son Robert and his chaplain.

“God, I thank Thee!” exclaimed Marie, rising to her feet; “we are saved.”

“One moment, madam,” said Renaud, stopping her:  “you are indeed saved, but upon one condition.”

“A condition?” murmured the princess in surprise.

“Listen, madam.  The King of Hungary, the avenger of Andre’s murderers, the slayer of your husband, is at the gates of Naples; the people and soldiers will succumb, as soon as their last gallant effort is spent—­the army of the conqueror is about to spread desolation and death throughout the city by fire and the sword.  This time the Hungarian butcher will spare no victims:  he will kill the mother before her children’s eyes, the children in their mother’s arms.  The drawbridge of this castle is up and there are none on guard; every man who can wield a sword is now at the other end of the town.  Woe to you, Marie of Durazzo, if the King of Hungary shall remember that you preferred his rival to him!”

“But have you not come here to save me?” cried Marie in a voice of anguish.  “Joan, my sister, did she not command you to take me to her?”

“Your sister is no longer in the position to give orders,” replied Renaud, with a disdainful smile.  “She had nothing for me but thanks because I saved her life, and her husband’s too, when he fled like a coward before the man whom he had dared to challenge to a duel.”