fter that time was the
slightest suspicion cast upon her for any other evil act. How, then,
could it be possible that Andreas had been murdered by her order?
Whatever the cause of this ferocious outbreak, the Hungarian faction,
struck with consternation, fled in all directions, not knowing what to
expect. The next morning Joanna returned to the castle Nuovo, where she
remained until after the birth of her son. During this period of
confinement, she wrote a letter to the King of Hungary, her
father-in-law, telling him what had taken place. In this epistle she
makes use of the expression:

"My good husband, with whom I have ever associated without strife;" and
she declares regarding her own sorrow: "I have suffered so much anguish
for the death of my beloved husband that, stunned by grief, I had
well-nigh died of the same wounds!"

As soon as her strength would permit, Joanna summoned a council of her
advisers and signed a commission giving Hugh de Balzo full authority to
seek out the murderers and punish them. Suspicion at once fell upon
Philippa the Catanese, and upon other members of her family, as her
hatred of the Hungarians was well known, and her past reputation for
intrigue and mystery only added strength to the accusation. Philippa,
who, since the death of King Robert, had been created Countess of
Montoni, was now more powerful than ever at the court, and seemed to
invite the danger which was hanging over her, in the belief that no harm
could touch her head. But her calculations went astray, as Balzo
appeared one morning at the palace gate, produced evidence incriminating
her and her intimates, and dragged them off to prison, where they were
put to death in the most approved Neapolitan fashion--with lingering
torments and tortures. From that day the character of the young queen
underwent a most decided change. Hitherto she had been gay, frank, and
confiding, now she became serious and reserved. She had always been
gracious and compassionate, and rather the equal than the queen of those
about her,--according to Boccaccio's description,--but treachery had
come so near to her, and her trusted Philippa had proved so vile a
character, that she never after gave her entire confidence to any
person, man or woman.

Some two years after the death of Andreas, for reasons of state, she
married her second cousin, Louis of Taranto, a brave and handsome prince
of whom she had long been fond. But she was not to be allowed to