there were new accusations and new sentences.  The prisons were crowded:  Louis’s punishments were redoubled in severity.  A fear arose that the town, and indeed the whole kingdom, were to be treated as having taken part in Andre’s death.  Murmurs arose against this barbarous rule, and all men’s thoughts turned towards their fugitive queen.  The Neapolitan barons had taken the oath of fidelity with no willing hearts; and when it came to the turn of the Counts of San Severino, they feared a trick of some kind, and refused to appear all together before the Hungarian, but took refuge in the town of Salerno, and sent Archbishop Roger, their brother, to make sure of the king’s intentions beforehand.  Louis received him magnificently, and appointed him privy councillor and grand proto notary.  Then, and not till then, did Robert of San Severino and Roger, Count of Chiaramonte, venture into the king’s presence; after doing homage, they retired to their homes.  The other barons followed their example of caution, and hiding their discontent under a show of respect, awaited a favourable moment for shaking off the foreign yoke.  But the queen had encountered no obstacle in her flight, and arrived at Nice five days later.  Her passage through Provence was like a triumph.  Her beauty, youth, and misfortunes, even certain mysterious reports as to her adventures, all contributed to arouse the interest of the Provencal people.  Games and fetes were improvised to soften the hardship of exile for the proscribed princess; but amid the outbursts of joy from every town, castle, and city, Joan, always sad, lived ever in her silent grief and glowing memories.

At the gates of Aix she found the clergy, the nobility, and the chief magistrates, who received her respectfully but with no signs of enthusiasm.  As the queen advanced, her astonishment increased as she saw the coldness of the people and the solemn, constrained air of the great men who escorted her.  Many anxious thoughts alarmed her, and she even went so far as to fear some intrigue of the King of Hungary.  Scarcely had her cortege arrived at Castle Arnaud, when the nobles, dividing into two ranks, let the queen pass with her counsellor Spinelli and two women; then closing up, they cut her off from the rest of her suite.  After this, each in turn took up his station as guardian of the fortress.

There was no room for doubt:  the queen was a prisoner; but the cause of the manoeuvre it was impossible to guess.  She asked the high dignitaries, and they, protesting respectful devotion, refused to explain till they had news from Avignon.  Meanwhile all honours that a queen could receive were lavished on Joan; but she was kept in sight and forbidden to go out.  This new trouble increased her depression:  she did not know what had happened to Louis of Tarentum, and her imagination, always apt at creating disasters, instantly suggested that she would soon be weeping for his loss.

But Louis, always with his faithful Acciajuoli, had after many fatiguing adventures been shipwrecked at the port of Pisa; thence he had taken route for Florence, to beg men and money; but the Florentines decided to keep an absolute neutrality, and refused to receive him.  The prince, losing his last hope, was pondering gloomy plans, when Nicholas Acciajuoli thus resolutely addressed him: