The men of Bute then went in a vast crowd to the lower march beside Ascog mere, for it was against the ancient custom that any blood should be shed within the sacred circle reserved for the administration of the laws.  And they formed a great ring upon the level ground, in the midst of which stood Earl Roderic alone, with his great two-handed sword in his hand, and the sun glancing upon his helm as he held his head proudly aloft.

And the cry went about: 

“Alpin! where is Alpin?  Is he then afraid?”

But soon a gap was made in the circle and Alpin strode boldly forward with a light step.

Kenric, who had sent Ailsa away, telling her that it was no sight for a girl, stood beside Sir Oscar and Allan Redmain, and he told how Ailsa had brought Alpin’s armour.

“Then am I much relieved,” said Sir Oscar.  “Nevertheless there is no man I know, unless it be Sir Piers de Currie, who can handle a sword as your brother can; and methinks Earl Roderic will not easily bear up against him.  Look at them both.  Alpin is fresh and lithe as a young stag.  Ah, Roderic, methinks your hour has surely come!”

Alpin dressed the end of his plaid about his left arm and pulled out his sword.  He stood at five paces from his foe.  Then both swerved about with their heads bent forward.  Still keeping apart, eyeing one the other, round and round they traversed.  Then Alpin got his back to the sunlight, drew himself up, and flung back his sword.  With a fierce cry they rushed together and their swords clashed with mighty strokes.  Then they both reeled backward two strides to recover.  Tracing and traversing again they leapt at each other as noble men who had often been well proved in combat, and neither would stint until they both lacked wind, and they stood a while panting and blowing, each grasping his weapon ready to begin again.

When they had rested they went to battle once more, tracing and foining and hurtling together, so that none who beheld them could know which was like to win the battle.  Their clothing was so far hewn that the chains of their coats of mail could be seen.  Alpin had a cut across his knee, Roderic’s arm was bleeding.

Roderic was a wily man of war, and his wily fighting taught Alpin to be wise and to guard well his bare head, for it was ever at his head that Roderic aimed.  Often he smote such strokes as made Alpin stagger and kneel; but in a moment the youth leapt lightly to his feet and rushed at his foe, until Roderic’s arms and face were red with blood.

The crowd about them hailed Alpin’s dexterous fighting with lusty cries of approval, and none doubted that he would soon make an end of his boastful antagonist.  But neither had yet gained the upper hand.

So for a full half-hour they fought, until Alpin at length sorely wounded Roderic on the shoulder.  At that Roderic was wroth out of measure, and he rushed upon Alpin, doubling his mighty strokes.  Their swords clashed and clanged and flashed in bright circles through the air.  But at last, by fortune, Roderic smote Alpin’s sword out of his hand, and if Alpin had stooped to pick it up surely he would have been slain.