A few days later Queen Elizabeth sailed away from Naples, her head still full of forebodings; try as she would, she could not shake off the fears that beset her so increasingly for the safety of her son whom she was leaving behind with none but a handful of foreign adherents in the midst of a Court and of a people bent, as she felt certain, upon his destruction. But these misgivings were in no wise shared by Andrew of Hungary, who now proceeded without loss of time to carry out his intention of punishing his seditious subjects. The first of those upon whom his hand fell was one of the chief Councillors of the Kingdom, a certain Andrew of Isernia, who had been chiefly concerned in persuading Queen Joan—who had looked upon him as a father—to set at naught the provisions of King Robert’s will and to let herself be proclaimed the sole ruler of Naples to the detriment of her husband. In passing be it said that, instead of at once making public the Pope’s recognition of him as King of Naples, with, of course, absolute rights of life and death over its people, Prince Andrew had chosen to keep the fact of his kingship a secret for a little time in order the better to enjoy the grim jest of his opponents’ ultimate discomfiture when they should learn of his real power over them. Nevertheless, in the meantime, he had not been able to resist tasting the fruits of sovereignty in the shape of an _hors d’œuvre_ to his banquet of reprisals; with the consequence that Andrew of Isernia was found dead one morning, near the Porta Petruccia of the city, bathed in blood, with a score of sword-wounds on his body. The news of Isernia’s murder was brought to Joan by Bertrand of Artois, who had learned also of Andrew’s confirmation as King by the Pope, as well as of the fact that a list of persons to be summarily dealt with had been drawn up by the Hungarian; and, supremely, that his, Bertrand of Artois’, name was the first upon the list. This last item it was that finally removed any lingering scruples from Joan’s heart; for she loved Bertrand with all the passionate recklessness of her fiery nature, and the thought that his handsome head should roll upon the board of a scaffold maddened her against Andrew. “That decides it,” she is said to have declared to her lover. “The man must die.”