Sholto being cumbered with his armour, Laurence might in time have gotten the upper grip.

But at this moment a diversion occurred which completely altered the character of the conflict.

A stout, reddish young man came up, holding in his hand a staff painted with twining stripes of white and red, which showed him to be the marshal of that part of the camp which pertained to the Earl of Angus.

He looked on for a moment from the skirts of the crowd, and then elbowed his way self-importantly into the centre, till he stood immediately above Laurence and Sholto.
"What means this hubbub, I say?
Quit your hold there and come with me; my Lord of Angus will settle this dispute." He had come up just when the young men were in the final grips, when Sholto had at last gotten his will of his brother's head, and was, as the saying is, giving him "Dutch spice" in no very knightly fashion.
The Angus marshal, seeing this, seized Sholto by the collar of his mailed shirt, and drawing him suddenly back, caused him to lose hold of his brother, who as quickly rose to his feet.

The red man began to beat Sholto about the headpiece right heartily with his staff, which exercise made a great ringing noise, though naturally, the skull cap being the work of Malise MacKim, little harm ensued to the head enclosed therein.
But Master Laurence was instantly on fire.
"Here, Foxy-face," he cried, "let my brother a-be! What business is it of yours if two gentlemen have a difference?
Go back to your Angus kernes and ragged craw-bogle Highland folk!" Meanwhile Sholto had recovered from his surprise, and the crowd of varlets was melting apace, thinking the Angus marshal some one of consequence.