Bayard, when informed of this proposal, indignantly declared that he would go and have the traitor hanged, and warning sent to the pope. “Why,” said the duke, “he would have been very glad to do as much for you and me.” “That is no odds to me,” said the knight; “he is God’s lieutenant on earth, and, as for having him put to death in such sort, I will never consent to it.” The duke shrugged his shoulders, and spitting on the ground, said, ‘Od’s body, Sir Bayard, I would like to get rid of all my enemies in that way; but, since you do not think it well, the matter shall stand over; whereof, unless God apply a remedy, both you and I will repent us.” Assuredly Bayard did not repent of his honest indignation; but, finding about the same time (January, 1511) an opportunity of surprising and carrying off the pope, he did not care to miss it; he placed himself in ambush before day-break, with a hundred picked men-at-arms, close to a village from which the pope was to issue. “The pope, who was pretty early, mounted his litter, so soon as he saw the dawn, and the clerics and officers of all kinds went before without a thought of anything. When the good knight heard them he sallied forth from his ambush, and went charging down upon the rustics, who, sore dismayed, turned back again, pricking along with loosened rein and shouting, Alarm! alarm! But all that would have been of no use but for an accident very lucky for the holy father, and very unfortunate for the good knight. When the pope had mounted his litter, he was not a stone’s throw gone when there fell from heaven the most sharp and violent shower that had been seen for a hundred years. ‘Holy father,’ said the Cardinal of Pavia to the pope, ‘it is not possible to go along this country so long as this lasts; meseems you must turn back again; ‘to which the pope agreed; but, just as he was arriving at St. Felix, and was barely entering within the castle, he heard the shouts of the fugitives whom the good knight was pursuing as hard as he could spur; whereupon he had such a fright, that, suddenly and without help, he leaped out of his litter, and himself did aid in hauling up the bridge; which was doing like a man of wits, for had he waited until one could say a _Pater noster,_ he had been snapped up. Who was right down grieved, that was the good knight; never man turned back so melancholic as he was to have missed so fair a take; and the pope, from the good fright he had gotten, shook like a palsy the live-long day.” [_Histoire du ben Chevalier Ballard,_ t. i. pp. 346-349.] [Illustration: Chaumont d’Amboise----350]