The true victim of the Holy See’s marital meddling, however, was undoubtedly the kingdom of Naples, which lost its one chance to hold on to its long-sought territorial gains in Sicily. By 1372, Joanna was forced to concede Catalan supremacy on the island and sign a peace treaty with Frederick III. Although the queen managed to negotiate a number of concessions—Frederick III was to pay homage to the crown of Naples in perpetuity; he was not to use the title “king of Sicily,” which she reserved for herself and her heirs, but rather was to style himself “king of Trinacria”; the island was to pay an annual tribute of three thousand ounces of gold, which made up about half the amount Joanna needed to supply the church each year as part of the original contract with Charles of Anjou—the agreement nonetheless represented a final surrender of Neapolitan ambitions in Sicily. On October 31, 1372, this compact was further amended to Naples’s detriment by the pope, who demanded that Sicily fall under his dominion and that both Joanna and Frederick do homage to the church for the island. Frederick’s acceptance of this and other papal stipulations led to his being crowned king of Sicily on March 30, 1375; thereafter he was known by this designation, and not king of Trinacria. Since Joanna also retained the title of sovereign of Sicily, the double billing might have caused some confusion, but the medieval world was nothing if not resourceful and neatly resolved the difficulty by simply coining the appellation the “Kingdom of the Two Sicilies,” an ingenious solution that would endure for the next five hundred years.
Despite the excommunications, the acrimony surrounding the duchess of Durazzo’s marriage represented a distinct anomaly in the queen’s overall relationship to the pope. In almost every other aspect of their affiliation, Joanna maintained a congenial rapport with Urban. This affinity was based on a shared purpose and understanding. Each recognized in the other an advocate for what both believed was the critical issue of the age: the necessity of physically returning the papal court to its former seat of authority in Italy.
To return to Rome was a cherished objective of Urban’s pontificate. Almost every evil plaguing Italy was, he believed, attributable to the removal of the papal court to Avignon, and certainly the best way to capitalize on Cardinal Albornoz’s considerable military achievements was to reinhabit the patrimony. Urban knew that there would be vociferous opposition to his plan, both from within the Sacred College, a majority of whose members were French, and from external sources like the crown of France, which had become used to wielding significant influence over church policy by virtue of the papacy’s proximity in Avignon. To accomplish his dream, Urban needed powerful allies in Italy who would be willing to provide material support in the form of ships to transport the court to Rome, and soldiers to guard its members and implement its policies once they arrived.
In this aspiration, the pope had no more stalwart champion than the queen of Naples. A return of the papal court to Italy meant the resumption of the close collaboration that had characterized papal relations during earlier Angevin reigns. Moreover, Joanna herself was very religious, and for this reason also desired the seat of church power to be close at hand. And so, although they quarreled about Jeanne’s marriage, and certainly Joanna’s frustration at the loss of Sicily was real, the issue never caused a significant rift between Joanna and Urban, the way similar arguments had alienated Innocent VI from Louis of Taranto.
Instead, Urban often went out of his way to assist Joanna as a means of cementing her reign. In May 1364, when the queen could not raise the money for the yearly tribute—the archbishop of Naples reported that the kingdom as a whole produced some 290,000 florins in revenues that year, but due to the alienation of the realm, the crown’s share of this was so small that the queen could barely afford to buy bread, a bit of hyperbole which nonetheless made the point—Urban forgave nine tenths of the debt and then lent Joanna the remaining balance of 15,000 florins through an intermediary. When Robert of Taranto, who had been gravely ill, finally died on September 17, 1364, and Philip of Taranto tried to prevent Joanna from reclaiming lands and income formerly belonging to the crown from his brother’s estate, Urban again supported the queen’s position, particularly after she promised to earmark the revenues generated by these properties toward the payment of the annual tribute.
The following year, 1365, marked a turning point for the queen. Evidently, despite her fear of James’s outbursts, Joanna had resumed sleeping with her husband, an indication of just how desperately she sought to provide a child of her own as heir to the kingdom. In January 1365, her efforts were rewarded. The thirty-nine-year-old queen of Naples was pregnant.
Joanna’s joy and relief over having conceived is not difficult to imagine. Urban, too, was pleased and in a February 5 letter revoked her excommunication (still in force due to the court’s resistance to Jeanne’s marriage with Aimon) to accommodate the prospective birth of the child. But jubilation turned to despair in June when the queen miscarried.
The abrupt termination of this pregnancy, so ardently wished for, had a profound impact on Joanna. She had only endured the trial of her third husband because she believed she could still bear children with someone who was not a near relation. When events dictated otherwise, she turned to the church. That summer, as soon as she recovered, she wrote to Urban, inviting him to resettle the papal court in Naples, under her protection, and offering him her fleet as a means of transportation.
The choice of Naples, rather than Rome, was not without precedent. Joanna knew that Pope Celestine V had been induced by her great-grandfather Charles the Lame to be crowned at Aquila in 1294 and to reside for his entire pontificate (albeitly abbreviated to five months) in a little room at the Castel Nuovo. Moreover, Joanna’s kingdom promised to be a much safer destination than Rome, whose notoriously aggressive citizens had only recently agreed to submit once again to papal authority, and then only under the stimulus provided by the presence of Cardinal Albornoz and his mercenaries.
With the queen’s encouragement and that of the Holy Roman Emperor, Charles IV, who was concerned that the Viscontis were becoming too powerful and wanted a strong local papacy as a counterpoint, Urban came to a decision. On October 1, 1365, he wrote to Joanna, thanking her for her invitation and offer of assistance and informing her that he intended to return the papal court to Italy as soon as political conditions seemed favorable. Although it was clear the pope meant to inhabit Rome and not Naples, Joanna expressed no disappointment, only joy—a further indication her motives were spiritual rather than political. “I have only one regret,” the queen wrote in response to Urban’s letter, “that the Creator did not see fit to make me a man; because if my gender had allowed me to do so, upon seeing my lord [the pope] arrive… like Peter before me, I would have hurried on foot to greet him in complete and trusting faith.”
Even the sudden, unexpected death of Niccolò Acciaiuoli on November 8 did not adversely affect plans for this transition. Or, perhaps, it was not so unexpected. According to Matteo Palmieri, a fifteenth-century historian and one of Niccolò’s early biographers, the grand seneschal’s death was foretold by Saint Bridget of Sweden, who happened to be staying with Niccolò’s sister Lapa in Naples that autumn. Frightened by her houseguest’s prophecy, Lapa hurried to find her brother and discovered him in council with Joanna. He seemed perfectly healthy, and Lapa returned to her own castle vastly relieved, only to have Niccolò subsequently fall ill and die a few days later. For this reason, Saint Bridget, Lapa, and Joanna were all painted into the Via Veritatis, a magnificent fresco by Andrea da Firenze (also known as Andrea di Bonaiuto) in the Spanish Chapel of Florence’s Santa Maria Novella church in 1366, the year after Niccolò’s death.
The corpse of the grand seneschal was transported to Florence and interred at the Certosa of Galluzzo, the cavernous Carthusian monastery he had built with the proceeds of his highly lucrative career, and the repository of much of this wealth. There, surrounded by many precious works of art and a library rivaling that of King Robert, an impressive shrine depictin
g Niccolò in full armor was installed and the tomb decorated with the royal Angevin fleurs-de-lis, an honor ordinarily strictly reserved for immediate members of Joanna’s family. Niccolò was laid to rest beside his son, who had predeceased him, and whose equally splendid statuary was reputed to have cost his father fifty thousand florins. The remaining family held on to both Niccolò’s fabulous riches and control of the principia of Achaia well into the next century in the name of Robert of Taranto’s widow and her subsequent heirs. “Acciaiuoli,” Edward Gibbon would later pronounce. “Plebian at Florence, potent at Naples, and sovereign in Greece.”
The loss of the man who was, at least in his own estimation, the single most important influence in the kingdom of Naples, had surprisingly little effect on the state of the realm, causing none of the usual plays for power that characterized most medieval political transitions. Instead, the queen, very much in control of her government, simply replaced Acciaiuoli with Niccolò Spinelli, formerly a Neapolitan ambassador to the papal court. While lacking Acciaiuoli’s undeniable gift for self-promotion, Spinelli was nonetheless an extremely able administrator who served the queen with great distinction. The next several years were among the most peaceful, prosperous, and prestigious the kingdom had known in decades.
Unquestionably, much of the tranquility resulted from a slightly improved economic position. Joanna had made a deliberate effort to foster security, and thereby promote material gain, by protecting the rights and livelihoods of the common people from the excesses of the aristocracy, as witnessed by her decree in favor of the townspeople of Chieti, issued on August 6, 1362, immediately after the death of Louis of Taranto:
Joanna, by the grace of God, queen of Jerusalem and Sicily… to the Captain general and justiciar of the province of Abruzzi… On behalf of the whole community [universitas] of the men of Chieti… It has recently been shown by their petition to our Majesty that a dispute arose between the count of San Valentino and the men of Chieti on account of some men from the count’s lands who had gone to live in Chieti. The count demanded them back, and two envoys were sent to the count to negotiate a settlement. The count detained them and refused to release them until the community obliged itself on pain of 400 onze [about 30 tarius] to remit and expel his vassals from the city. This the community, keen to liberate its citizens, undertook to do, under duress… In the same petition, it is added that the count busied himself… to proceed against the community and notified you, as royal justiciar, of the penalty and pressed you to exact it… Mindful that if the undertaking was made under duress, as claimed, the community is not legally held to observe it, we… therefore order that if you find the matter corresponds to this petition… you are… not to trouble the community at the request of the count in any way.
Similarly, the queen tried to introduce the production of silk as a means of offsetting the losses from grain. Other sources of income came from the sale of lumber from the kingdom’s many forests and the export of sweet wine. The queen was not above putting pressure on her trading partners to exact economic concessions. In 1363, Niccolò Acciaiuoli had written to the Florentines on her behalf: “You know well… the great difficulties faced by my lady the queen, and the dangers she faces by not paying her tribute [to the Holy See]; hence the officials of the treasury have investigated many ways of finding the funds she needs, and the method everyone approved was to impose a tax of two ounces per piece on Florentine cloth brought by sea or by land into this kingdom. And meanwhile it is the Genoese who provide help and offer to bring as many French, Genoese, and Milanese cloths into the kingdom as we might need, if it is forbidden for Florentine cloths to enter the kingdom without payment of two ounces per piece; by acting thus they [the treasury officials] want to increase the taxes and to obtain no small sum of money.”
The redistribution of Robert of Taranto’s assets also served to relieve the financial stress on the crown, which aided the cause of stability. Because Robert died childless, Philip inherited the title of emperor of Constantinople, and Maria styled herself empress, even though Robert’s widow, Marie of Bourbon, kept all the property in Achaia and haughtily refused to recognize the transferal of rank, so that for a time there were two empresses of Constantinople. And although Philip of Taranto remained obdurate, refusing to do homage to Joanna after she appropriated lands from his brother’s estate, he lacked sufficient support to contest her rule and was effectively marginalized.
The first months of the year 1366 were bittersweet for the queen. James of Majorca, frustrated at his exclusion from his wife’s government, abruptly left Naples at the beginning of January to seek allies willing to help him recover his former kingdom. His departure signaled an end to the queen’s hopes of producing an heir, but the pain of this reality was no doubt tempered by her relief at his absence. James’s withdrawal from the field of Neapolitan politics was followed soon after by the loss of yet another of Joanna’s perennial opponents, her sister, Maria, who died on May 20. Maria, always second, did not live to see her daughter Jeanne married to Louis of Navarre that fall, but her eldest daughter’s recalcitrance had apparently brought her closer to Joanna, as evinced by the burial arrangements. Maria was interred at the church of Santa Chiara, in a position of honor next to King Robert. Her funeral statuary featured her figure crowned and clothed in imperial robes, under which ran the inscription “imperatrix Constantinopolitana a ducissa Duracii” (empress of Constantinople and duchess of Durazzo), a parting gift from the queen, who allowed her sister to occupy in death the sphere of majesty that had been denied her in life.
Two months later, on July 20, 1366, Urban V upended the balance of power in Europe by publicly announcing his intention of leaving Avignon in order to return the papal court to its rightful place in Italy.
CHAPTER XVI
Queen and Pope
So began the period of Joanna’s greatest influence, when the kingdom of Naples again assumed the position of primacy it had occupied during the halcyon years of King Robert’s early reign.
Although Urban’s decision was announced in the summer of 1366, the actual transfer of the Holy See was delayed by a number of factors and did not take place for another nine months. Despite Cardinal Albornoz’s efforts, the Papal States had not yet been completely pacified. The criminal activities of the free companies, particularly John Hawkwood’s mercenary bands, threatened church rule and raised questions as to whether sufficient protection existed to move the papal court to Rome. Then, too, there was the problem of the deplorable condition of the holy city itself. “For more than sixty stormy years there had been no court life, no pilgrims worth mentioning, no great religious festivals, none, in fact, of the ordinary sources of Roman prosperity. The nobles had shunned the dismal city, the mercenaries had sacked it, and even the priests had fled, leaving their deserted cloisters to add to the surrounding desolation.” Urban was informed that the most famous and important buildings, including Saint Peter’s and the Lateran Basilica, had been allowed to fall into ruin and that the papal palaces were completely uninhabitable. Lastly, great opposition to the move was voiced by the French crown and from within the Holy See itself. Six decades in Avignon had produced a Sacred College heavily weighted toward France. Only three of Urban’s twenty cardinals were Italian by birth; Albornoz was Spanish; the rest were all French. These sixteen did not want to give up their immense, splendid homes, nor the fashionable company, excellent wines, and temperate climate of Provence to take up residence in a dilapidated, dangerous city whose climate was as notoriously unhealthful as its citizenry and where they could not even speak the language.
But Urban quietly persisted in the face of every obstacle. Security was established on September 18, 1366, when the kingdom of Naples joined together in a league with Florence, Pisa, and Siena and committed to sending 650 horsemen and 650 foot soldiers to resist the free companies and ensure the protection of the papal court. Similarly, an army of architects, masons, marble cutters, and carpenters descended on Rome to restore
the city to its former glory. Urban spent 15,569 florins on repairs to the papal palace alone. A fleet of sixty galleys provided by Naples, Venice, Genoa, and Pisa was assembled to convey the vast wealth and material goods accumulated by the members of the papal court. One cardinal needed space to transport his stable of more than two hundred horses, and some sixty-five barrels of wine were conveyed in order to ensure an adequate drinking supply during the first months of relocation.
Opposition from France was considerable, but again Urban prevailed. King John had died in 1364 and was succeeded by his eldest son, Charles V. Desperate to hold on to the papacy, Charles sent a delegation of his most learned clerics and prestigious nobles to Avignon armed with scholastic arguments refuting the decision to move. Incorporated in one of the speeches enunciated by the French ambassadors was a fictional conversation between king and pope. “‘Lord, where goest thou?’ asked the son [Charles]. ‘To Rome,’ replied the father [Urban]. ‘There thou wilt be crucified,’ rejoined the son,” the ambassador finished ominously, thereby providing a succinct summation of the prevailing opinion of a majority of the cardinals. Indeed, on May 6, 1367, when all was finally prepared and the galleys waiting at Marseille, the cardinals refused to board the ship and were only induced to sail when Urban diluted their power by raising an underling to a cardinalship on the spot and assuring them “that he could produce other cardinals from underneath his cowl.” Even with this persuasion, only five members of the Sacred College embarked with Urban that day, and when the fleet finally set off “like a floating city,” the cries and moans of the despondent cardinals—“Oh, wicked Pope! Oh, Godless brother! Whither is he dragging his sons?”—trailed in its wake and were distinctly audible to the citizenry of Marseille.
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