Sandwiched between the burials of these two literary lions was a third loss, less noted by history, but of significance to the kingdom of Naples. In February 1375, Joanna’s third husband, James IV of Majorca, passed away at the age of thirty-nine. Although he participated in the early maneuvers against the Visconti in Piedmont in 1372, by 1373 James had drifted away to France, intent on organizing yet another foray against his eternal nemesis, the king of Aragon, for control of Majorca. With the help of the king of Navarre, he had managed to obtain an army of some twelve hundred knights, and actually succeeded in invading Aragon, where he “took little fortresses, and sore-travailed the plain country, and ransomed men and took prisoners,” reported Froissart. With victory in his grasp, the unfortunate James was felled not by his rival but by the ill health that had dogged him since his youthful incarceration in Spain. “And while this war was thus begun, cruel and fell, King James of Majorca fell sick again in the vale of Soria, of the which sickness he died; and so therefore the Aragoneses had peace and rest for a great season after; and the companions that had made war departed and returned into France,” the chronicler concluded. James was buried in Soria, in northeast Spain, the closest the king of Majorca ever came to the longed-for island domain he had known as a boy but never ruled.
Word of her widowhood reached Joanna just as a new threat from her old enemy, Hungary, surfaced. In 1374 Louis the Great’s third daughter, Hedwig, was born, and the king had begun to reexamine the plans for the royal succession. Charles of Durazzo was no longer his primary heir; that honor now fell to Catherine, Louis’ eldest daughter. Her younger sisters would have to be provided with an inheritance as well, and Louis had only two dominions—Hungary and Poland—to bestow. The king needed a third realm.
With this in mind, Louis the Great, in his correspondence with the pope, began to revive the old issue of Hungarian rights to the kingdom of Naples. For the first time in more than two decades, he characterized Joanna’s government as illegal, claiming that, by the law of primogeniture, first King Robert and then the queen had “usurped” the realm from the true heir, Louis’ father, Carobert. The king of Hungary then acted on his demand by entering into a nuptial agreement with Charles V, king of France, whereby Louis’ daughter Catherine, four at the time of her engagement, would wed one of Charles’s younger sons, two-year-old Louis, duke of Orléans. The marriage contract of 1374 stipulated that Catherine of Hungary was to be dowered with the domains of Naples, Provence, and Piedmont.
This alliance between Louis the Great and the French monarchy against Joanna was particularly ominous. Under Charles V’s leadership, France was in the process of reclaiming its role as the predominant power in Europe. The French king was aided enormously in this endeavor by the unpopular tax policies and steadily deteriorating health of his principal opponent, the Black Prince. Members of the Gascon nobility, infuriated at being required to foot the bill for Edward’s Castilian adventure, had rebelled. By 1371, a seriously ill Edward had been forced to return to England. Charles V had taken advantage of his absence to mount a military campaign in Aquitaine and succeeded in taking back much of the occupied territory, including Saintes, La Rochelle, and Poitiers. “As soon as it was known that the prince was ill and at death’s door, his enemies decided to start the war again,” wrote Chandos Herald. “Then the war between France and England began again, and then towns and cities changed sides, and many counts and barons as well,… all renounced their allegiance to their lord the prince on the same day, because he was ill and could not look after his interests.” Prince Edward lived just long enough to see almost all the territory he had fought for revert to France. By 1375, when a truce was declared, the English were left with little more than Calais and a narrow piece of coastland between Bordeaux and Bayonne. On June 8, 1376, a week before his forty-sixth birthday, “that flower of English knighthood, the Lord Edward of England, Prince of Wales and Aquitaine, departed this life in the palace of Westminster,” Froissart reported. “Here ends the lay of the most noble Prince Edward, who had never a coward’s heart,” mourned Sir John Chandos. The Black Prince’s body was buried with great pomp before parliament, and even the king of France recognized the warrior’s death by ordering a funeral service performed in his honor in Paris. Twelve months later, Edward III, king of England, old and grieving, also expired, leaving the field to Charles V.
Emboldened by his success against England, the king of France sought to expand the kingdom’s borders still further, and Provence, just to the south, made a tempting target. Even before the alliance with Hungary, Charles V had sent his younger brother Louis of Anjou, who had been very helpful to Gregory in the war against Milan, to the papal court at Avignon to press for the royal family’s claims to Provence. The 1374 agreement with the king of Hungary was merely an extension of existing French policy.
But by this time, Joanna had a strong supporter in Gregory, who recognized and appreciated the effort she had made to come to his assistance against Milan. When the king of Hungary sent a team of ambassadors to Avignon in the summer of 1374 to inform the pope of the marriage arrangement with France, Gregory refuted the usurpation accusation by referring to the original 1301 agreement between Charles the Lame and the church, whereby thirteen-year-old Carobert had been sent to Hungary and King Robert named legitimate ruler of Naples. The pope also wrote to the queen on September 22, 1374, to warn her of the scheme to deprive her of her birthright and to solicit further legal evidence substantiating her position. Joanna immediately fired back, citing as precedent the much more recent Neapolitan-Hungarian peace treaty of 1351, signed by Louis the Great himself, in which the king of Hungary had officially abandoned all claim to the kingdom of Naples and the county of Provence in exchange for a compensation payment of three hundred thousand florins, monies he had subsequently also voluntarily renounced in an excess of chivalry.
Moreover, in the months following James of Majorca’s death, the pope and the queen were deeply involved in a plan that would bring them even closer together. By the spring of 1375, the Holy See recognized that church control of the Papal States would never be more than nominal without a physical presence in Italy. Milan’s influence, coupled with the growing desire among the city-states for independent government, would eventually erode the military gains Gregory had acquired at such cost to the papal treasury, and this attrition the pontiff was determined to prevent. In May, with the active approval of the queen of Naples, whose logistical support was essential to the journey, Gregory officially announced his intention to return the papal court once more to Rome.
The prospective return of the papal court to Italy for the second time represented another diplomatic triumph for Joanna over the interests of her enemies. No monarch in Europe had harnessed the power of the church or managed his kingdom’s relationship with the pope as effectively as had the queen of Naples since the death of Louis of Taranto in 1362. To have Gregory ensconced in Rome as Urban had been, where he would be even more reliant on Neapolitan troops for protection, and where she could be in close personal communication with him, ensured the safeguarding of Joanna’s prerogative and increased her already potent influence.
But this time, unlike previously, sentiment throughout the rest of Italy was decidedly hostile to Gregory’s plan. The pope was widely viewed as grasping and intent on enlarging church dominion over formerly independent territory. Florence, in particular, nursed a number of grievances against the papacy. In early 1375, the city had suffered from famine and had pleaded with Gregory to be allowed to import grain from the Papal States; inexplicably, permission had been withheld by the local legate even though Gregory had approved the Florentines’ request. Then that summer, following hard upon the denial of grain, came an invasion by John Hawkwood’s mercenaries. The signing of the papal peace treaty with Milan on June 4, 1375, had left the free company without an obvious means of support, and so the bandit army had descended south in search of spoils. Eyewitnesses reported that Hawkwood’s militia, compose
d of thousands of soldiers of fortune and all the ominous accoutrement of war, including massive siege engines and catapults, made up “a vast army… a good ten miles long” as it trundled its way into Tuscany. Terrified, Florence sent emissaries to intercept the band of outlaws and on June 21 agreed to pay them the staggering sum of 130,000 florins to leave the commune in peace for five years. Pisa followed suit on July 3 with a bribe of 30,500 florins; Lucca on July 13 with 7,000 florins; and Siena a few days later with 30,500 florins. In total “John and his society received 200,000 florins in tribute from the time they formed the company,” wrote Giovanni Pico, one of the ambassadors involved in the negotiations. “The magnificent figure was more than five times greater than the operating capital of the businesses of the famous merchant of Prato… It was three times greater than the operating capital of the great Medici bank of the next century; and more than the combined yearly revenue of the cities of Lucca and Siena,” agreed a later scholar.
Nothing agitated a commercial town like Florence more than an out-of-pocket expense, particularly one of this magnitude, and in fury the citizenry turned on Gregory. Everybody knew that Hawkwood was in the pay of the pope, and it was widely believed that the church deliberately sent the free company into Tuscany to expand its territorial domain in preparation for its return to Rome. In retaliation, on July 24, 1375, Florence, historically a staunch supporter of Guelphic policies, did an abrupt about-face and joined with Gregory’s archenemy, Milan, to raise an army of “2,350 lances with accompanying units of archers, crossbowmen, and infantrymen” in a league to defend themselves against incursions by the pope. Within a month, Siena, Pisa, and Lucca, following Florence’s cue, also fell in with Milan and signed the anti-papacy pact.
Naples, as Florence’s primary trading partner and ally, was caught in the middle. Joanna, convinced that Gregory was not behind Hawkwood’s attack, did all she could to heal the rift between the Holy See and the disgruntled city-states. Beginning in August, as soon as she was informed of the league’s existence, the queen sent a series of her most trusted and highly placed ambassadors to Florence to try to calm the commune’s fears and to reassure her ally of the pope’s peaceful intentions. Gregory, too, protested his innocence; and there is no evidence that Hawkwood’s invasion of Tuscany was the result of any impetus other than the mercenary’s own. But that was the problem with the pope’s having accepted the aid of the free companies in the first place; Gregory was powerless to control his employees’ actions and perception went against him. Joanna’s first embassy failed; the queen tried again in October, and then a third time in November. Additionally, she kept Tommaso Sanseverino, a member of one of the most important aristocratic families in Florence, by her side at court in an effort to convince her former ally of her good intentions.
Joanna’s efforts at mediation were reinforced by those of another figure central to the growing political turmoil in Italy: Catherine of Siena, later Saint Catherine. The youngest of twenty-five children, Catherine had demonstrated an early affinity for the church; at the age of five, she began the habit of ascending and descending the staircase of her family home on her knees, as though in prayer. At seventeen she took the vows and black mantle of the Church of Saint Dominic, becoming one of the youngest members of the sister order. Adding to her mystique, Catherine reported many visions where God appeared before her and spoke to her; during one of these visitations, as a sign of divine favor, she was presented by Jesus with a magnificent diamond and pearl ring, which afterward she wore continually, although only she could see it. Additionally, and perhaps more impressively, while in seclusion, Catherine taught herself to read and write in the vernacular.
Having acquired this skill, the future saint, dedicated to good works and the promotion of peace, aggressively inserted herself into the diplomatic process between Florence and the papacy by engaging in an extensive letter-writing campaign. Fueled by religious zeal, her passionate missives bombarded every combatant, dignitary, and potential ally who might be induced to further her cause. Among her correspondents were the pope; Bernabò Visconti and his wife, Regina della Scala; Elizabeth, the dowager queen of Hungary; Charles V, king of France, and his brother, Louis, duke of Anjou; the eight Florentine magistrates, known as the “Eight of War,” charged by the commune with conducting hostilities against the pope; and Joanna. Catherine even wrote to John Hawkwood, urging the mercenary to stop harassing the Florentines and go on crusade instead. “My dearest and very loved brothers in Christ Jesus,” Catherine wrote to the English brigand. “I Caterina, servant and slave of the servants of Jesus Christ, am writing to you in his precious blood… Oh dearest gentlest brother in Christ Jesus, would it be such a great thing for you to withdraw a little into yourself and consider how much pain and anguish you have endured in the devil’s service and pay? Now my soul wants you to change your course and enlist instead in the service and cross of Christ crucified, you and all of your followers and companies… You find so much satisfaction in fighting and waging war, so now I am begging you tenderly in Christ Jesus not to wage war any longer against Christians (for that offends God), but to go instead to fight the unbelievers, as God and our holy father have decreed.”
To the queen of Naples, too, Catherine appealed for help with her crusade, and received a sympathetic response. Calling Joanna “honorable and dearest mother, milady the queen,” in a letter dated August 4, 1375, Catherine wrote: “I want you to know, my revered lady, that my soul is jubilantly happy after receiving your letter. It gave me great consolation because, it seems to me, you have a holy and wholesome readiness to give both your possessions and your life for the glory of the name of Christ crucified. You can show no greater sacrifice or love than to be ready to give even your life, if necessary, for him. Oh what a great joy it will be to see you giving blood for blood! May I see the fire of holy desire so growing in you at the remembrance of the blood of God’s Son that you may be leader and patroness of this holy crusade just as you bear the title of queen of Jerusalem.” It is unlikely that forty-nine-year-old Joanna would have been willing to go quite so far as to lead the military expedition herself, but encouraging the free companies to divert their attention to the Holy Land made political and diplomatic sense, and both the queen and the pope added their endorsement to Catherine’s plan. Evidently proud of Joanna’s support, but clearly unaware that her backing might not be the most tactful recommendation, Catherine specifically mentioned Joanna in a letter to her former mother-in-law the queen mother of Hungary: “I want you to know, dearest mother,” Catherine informed Elizabeth, “that I have written to the queen of Naples and to many other rulers in regard to what I am asking you here. All have responded kindly and graciously, offering to help both with their possessions and personally.”
Joanna’s solicitude for Catherine of Siena’s entreaties reflected her growing absorption with matters of the spirit. At this point in her life the queen was profoundly religious, with a tendency toward superstition, an inclination somewhat at odds with her opulent and eccentric court, which included a white deer and a parrot, as well as African, Saracen, and Turkish servants; an incident is recorded whereby the queen had her African servants present a prayer book to a chapter of Franciscan friars. Joanna was also profoundly affected by the extended visit to Naples, from 1365 to 1372, of the mystic Saint Bridget of Sweden. Legend portrays the queen of Naples as lusting after Bridget’s handsome son, twenty years her junior, who only escaped the lascivious queen’s clutches by a premature death, but this story, like so much of the gossip attached to Joanna, was a myth. In fact, Bridget characterized the relationship between herself and the queen as one of a mother instructing an obedient daughter. At Bridget’s urging, Joanna issued decrees warning of the dangers to the soul of wearing too much makeup or dressing in too overtly sexual a fashion (“modifying male and female bodies by dishonest styling in clothes”), which were subsequently read aloud in Neapolitan churches. The saint also favored the queen with many prophecies, often with obs
cure meanings. In one, “Saint Bridget had a vision of Joanna seated on her golden throne, with two Black men facing her. One of them said to her: ‘O woman lioness, I bring this blood to you, take it and spill it,’ and the other said: ‘I bring to you this vase filled with fire, take it, you who have the spirit of fire.’”
Catherine of Siena’s passionate approach to religion and politics was similar to Bridget’s, and the queen of Naples, understanding and sympathizing with Catherine’s motives, respected and encouraged her. Although later events would divide them, in the beginning these two shared a common purpose. Like Joanna, Catherine also wished to see the papal court reinstated in Rome, and she made a special trip to Avignon to beg Gregory to act on his intention. Subsequent church lore recounts that it was this visit that induced the pope to make the journey, but Catherine’s role seems overstated. “We know how Saint Catherine went to Avignon to urge Gregory IX to leave, and how she persuaded herself that she was the one who had ultimately convinced him to do so. Yet before she had even reached the County [of Provence], the first travel arrangements had been made, galleys had been rented in Marseille, and the journey of the Holy See had been organized together with Queen Joanna.”
Despite the efforts of both women, the Florentines remained obdurate, and by her adherence to Gregory, Joanna forfeited the goodwill of her former partisans. Seeking allies in an attempt to escalate hostilities, the commune deliberately turned to Charles of Durazzo, the assumed heir to the kingdom of Naples, to undercut the queen’s position. On September 2, 1375, the Florentine chancellor wrote to Charles, now a manly eighteen years old and schooled in the art of warfare by Louis the Great, complaining of the pope’s antipathy. “It was necessary that we seek grain for our sustenance from Flanders, Burgundy, Spain and—still more merciless—from the Turks and islands of the Saracens,” the chancellor informed his correspondent. “We found more charity from foreigners and infidels than from the Church!… While we were exhausted from famine, the Church set their eyes on us and all of Tuscany… They held a colloquium and offered remedy by hiring the company of soldiers so that they would—or so they said—not vex us. In this way, they prepared for our destruction… Within one day [Hawkwood’s band] was united into a pestilential ‘society’ and sent upon Tuscany.”
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