But on the eve of the 20th of August a strange and terrible scene was being enacted in the basement storey of one of the lateral towers of Castel Nuovo.Charles of Durazzo,who had never ceased to brood secretly over his infernal plans,had been informed by the notary whom he had charged to spy upon the conspirators,that on that particular evening they were about to hold a decisive meeting,and therefore,wrapped in a black cloak,he glided into the underground corridor and hid himself behind a pillar,there to await the issue of the conference.After two dreadful hours of suspense,every second marked out by the beating of his heart,Charles fancied he heard the sound of a door very carefully opened;the feeble ray of a lantern in the vault scarcely served to dispel the darkness,but a man coining away from the wall approached him walking like a living statue.
Charles gave a slight cough,the sign agreed upon.The man put out hid light and hid away the dagger he had drawn in case of a surprise.
"Is it you,Master Nicholas?"asked the duke in a low voice.
"It is I,my lord."
"What is it?"
"They have just fixed the prince's death for tomorrow,on his way to the hunt.""Did you recognise every conspirator?"
"Every one,though their faces were masked;when they gave their vote for death,I knew them by their voices.""Could you point out to me who they are?"
"Yes,this very minute;they are going to pass along at the end of this corridor.And see,here is Tommaso Pace walking in front of them to light their way."Indeed,a tall spectral figure,black from head to foot,his face carefully hidden under a velvet mask,walked at the end of the corridor,lamp in hand,and stopped at the first step of a staircase which led to the upper floors.The conspirators advanced slowly,two by two,like a procession of ghosts,appeared for one moment in the circle of light made by the torch,and again disappeared into shadow.
"See,there are Charles and Bertrand of 'Artois,"said the notary;"there are the Counts of Terlizzi and Catanzaro;the grand admiral and grand seneschal,Godfrey of Marsan,Count of Squillace,and Robert of Cabane,Count of Eboli;the two women talking in a low voice with the eager gesticulations are Catherine of Tarentum,Empress of Constantinople,and Philippa the Catanese,the queen's governess and chief lady;there is Dona Cancha,chamberwoman and confidante of Joan;and there is the Countess of Morcone."The notary stopped on beholding a shadow alone,its head bowed,with arms hanging loosely,choking back her sobs beneath a hood of black.
"Who is the woman who seems to drag herself so painfully along in their train?"asked the duke,pressing his companion's arm.
That woman,"said the notary,"is the queen.""Ah,now I see,"thought Charles,breathing freely,with the same sort of satisfaction that Satan no doubt feels when a long coveted soul falls at length into his power.
"And now,my lord,"continued Master Nicholas,when all had returned once more into silence and darkness,"if you have bidden me spy on these conspirators with a view to saving the young prince you are protecting with love and vigilance,you must hurry forward,for to-morrow maybe it will be too late."
"Follow me,"cried the duke imperiously;"it is time you should know my real intention,and then carry out my orders with scrupulous exactness."With these words he drew him aside to a place opposite to where the conspirators had just disappeared.The notary mechanically followed through a labyrinth of dark corridors and secret staircases,quite at a loss how to account for the sudden change that had come over his master--crossing one of the ante-chambers in the castle,they came upon Andre,who joyfully accosted them;grasping the hand of his cousin Duras in his affectionate manner,he asked him in a pressing way that would brook no refusal,"Will you be of our hunting party to-morrow,duke?""Excuse me,my lord,"said Charles,bowing down to the ground;"it will be impossible for me to go to-morrow,for my wife is very unwell;but I entreat you to accept the best falcon I have."And here he cast upon the notary a petrifying glance.
The morning of the 20th of August was fine and calm--the irony of nature contrasting cruelly with the fate of mankind.From break of day masters and valets,pages and knights,princes and courtiers,all were on foot;cries of joy were heard on every side when the queen arrived,on a snow-white horse,at the head of the young and brilliant throng.Joan was perhaps paler than usual,but that might be because she had been obliged to rise very early.Andre,mounted on one of the most fiery of all the steeds he had tamed,galloped beside his wife,noble and proud,happy in his own powers,his youth,and the thousand gilded hopes that a brilliant future seemed to offer.Never had the court of Naples shown so brave an aspect:every feeling of distrust and hatred seemed entirely forgotten;Friar Robert himself,suspicious as he was by nature,when he saw the joyous cavalcade go by under his window,looked out with pride,and stroking his beard,laughed at his own seriousness.
Andre's intention was to spend several days hunting between Capua and Aversa,and only to return to Naples when all was in readiness for his coronation.Thus the first day they hunted round about Melito,and went through two or three villages in the land of Labore.
Towards evening the court stopped at Aversa,with a view to passing the night there,and since at that period there was no castle in the place worthy of entertaining the queen with her husband and numerous court,the convent of St.Peter's at Majella was converted into a royal residence:this convent had been built by Charles II in the year of our Lord 1309.
