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