Of all the train none escaped but Wamba, who showed upon the occasion much more courage than those who pretended to greater sense. He possessed himself of a sword belonging to one of the domestics, who was just drawing it, laid it about him like a lion, drove back several who approached him, and made a brave though ineffectual effort to succor his master. Finding himself overpowered, the jester threw himself from his horse, plunged into a thicket, and, favored by the general confusion, escaped from the scene of action. Suddenly a voice very near him called out in a low and cautious tone, "Wamba!" and, at the same time, a dog which he recognized as Fangs jumped up and fawned upon him. "Gurth!" answered Wamba with the same caution, and the swineherd immediately stood before him. "What is the matter?" he asked. "What mean these cries and that clashing of swords?" "Only a trick of the times," answered Wamba. "They are all prisoners." "Who are prisoners?" "My lord, and my lady, and Athelstane, and the others." "In the name of God," demanded Gurth, "how came they prisoners? and to whom?" "They are prisoners to green [v]cassocks and black [v]vizors," answered Wamba. "They all lie tumbled about on the green, like the crab-apples that you shake down to your swine. And I would laugh at it," added the honest jester, "if I could for weeping." He shed tears of unfeigned sorrow. Gurth's countenance kindled. "Wamba," he said, "thou hast a weapon and thy heart was ever stronger than thy brain. We are only two, but a sudden attack from men of resolution might do much. Follow me!" "Whither, and for what purpose?" asked the jester. "To rescue Cedric." "But you renounced his service just now." "That," said Gurth, "was while he was fortunate. Follow me." As the jester was about to obey, a third person suddenly made his appearance and commanded them both to halt. From his dress and arms Wamba would have conjectured him to be one of the outlaws who had just assailed his master; but, besides that he wore no mask, the glittering baldric across his shoulders, with the rich bugle horn which it supported, as well as the calm and commanding expression of his voice and manner, made the jester recognize the archer who had won the prize at the tournament and who was known as Locksley. "What is the meaning of all this?" the man demanded. "Who are they that rifle and ransom and make prisoners in these forests?" "You may look at their cassocks close by," replied Wamba, "and see whether they be thy children's coats or no, for they are as like thine own as one green pea-pod is like another." "I will learn that presently," returned Locksley: "and I charge ye, on peril of your lives, not to stir from this place where ye stand until I have returned. Obey me, and it shall be the better for you and your masters. Yet stay; I must render myself as like these men as possible."