Hanging Out

I'm on the edge of nothing. For my crimes I was chained to the side of a cliff. On the upside, the view is spectacular. I can see just about everything. The downside is that I am slowly starving to death. I am mesmerized how I am here. I don't mean psychologically how I got here. I really mean how I got here physically. A foot below my feet is a ledge. It's about the width of a tight rope. It shouldn't be able to hold one person, yet somehow there were two people on this tiny, little ledge chaining me to the wall. Three people in total if you count me. I have no idea how they did that, and I was there. They most be some of the most dextrous people in the world. I'm sure in another life they could have been acrobats. I glance down at the ledge and view it in perspective of my dangling foot. I don't think I could do it, and I might have to. "My lord, is that you?" A voice calls from the top of the cliff. I try and look up, but all I can see is the sun. "Who is it?" I ask. "Why it's none other than your faithful Mamba." "Mamba? Like the dance?" "No, like Wamba. Flip my first M and that's what you get." "Wait, who is Wamba?" "Wamba is the great Jester of Ivanhoe. He speaks the language of fools, but he knows more than he lets on." I smile to myself. "I would have never of gotten that reference." "Glad to share wisdom with you. Now, may I be of assistance to you?" "I guess not. But how are you going to help me?" "I have a rope. I will repel down to you. Let me tie it to the nearest tree. Hang tight."