It Was Caesar's Birthday.

It was Caesar's birthday, and as in every year around this time, the Consuls were worrying about what to get him as a present. Brutus in particular was in a bind. How about a villa in the Apennines? He already had six. A Quinquireme? Marcus Antonius bought him a fleet of those last year, the suckup. He went to his wife for advice.

"O Portia, cousin and wife, avail me of your wisdom. What can I procure for our Dictator that will secure his good will and adequately celebrate the anniversary of his birth?"

Portia considered this for a moment, idly toying with a freshly greased ringlet. "We just got the new Far Samarkand Silk Road Mail Order Catalog. Why don't you go sit in your, uh, thinking room and have a look? Even if there's nothing in there, it might inspire you." So, Brutus did just that. He settled onto the finely carved marble and hefted the Far Samarkand Silk Road Mail Order Catalog onto his lap, and began to page through.

At first, he was dismayed at page after page of Apennine villas and fleets of Quinquiremes. He skipped over the heavily illustrated lingerie section, idly turning down the corners on a couple of pages for later reference - and then he saw it.

Chocolate-Covered Christians.

"Each individually-crafted, guaranteed unique Chocolate-Covered Christian is shipped to you direct, on ice, and escorted by a platoon of Khwarezmian Eunuch Warrior Monks. Packed in straw and wicker and cradled in a specially-engineered howdah, the Chocolate-Covered Christian is carried by a camel trained from birth for this task*.

"*Ice, Warrior Monks, Packaging and Camel costs vary by shipping destination. Quantities are strictly limited, order now!"

He was dumbstruck. This was... perfect. A glance at the fine print confirmed his suspicion, he had just enough time to order a couple of these bad boys before the big celebration, Two would be a fitting gift for Caesar, what the heck, he thought.

So, in due course, Marcus Junius Brutus the Younger went to the Appian Gate to take delivery. Sure enough, from far off in the distance he could see the dust cloud raised by his approaching delivery. As they drew closer, he could make out bright silk banners fluttering and the sound of Cornu and Auskales accompanying the strangely high-pitched singing of the escort. As they drew even closer, he could see the man-shaped wicker caskets standing atop the exotic beasts, swaying slightly back and forth, and steaming as the icy packaging sublimed in the midday sun.

"Awesome," thought Brutus, "I am sorted. I'll pack these away in my icehouse until the big day. And the other crap beats any fancy wrapping paper."

So, a few days passed. But, as Brutus went about his daily consular duties, some of his colleagues might have noticed that his mind was not on his task. He seemed somehow... distant. Only Brutus knew the truth, as he was constantly wondering... what do they taste like? As time went on, he was seized by doubt, what if they're just plain bad? I really need to check.

So, came the night, and Brutus stole away into his icehouse. The Chocolate-Covered Christians stood in the darkness like a pair of mute witnesses to his shame, as he reached out... and snapped off a pinky finger. Breathlessly, he raised it to his lips, and bit.

It was delicious.

He could not control himself. This was the most delicious thing he had ever eaten. He reached out again, and snapped off the whole hand at the wrist. He devoured it in seconds, and reached out for more.

By dawn, Brutus sat in shame, head in hands. Next to him, one of the Chocolate-Covered Christians was half gone, just a pair of legs standing like accusing sentinels. His head cleared slightly as he realized that there was still, mercifully, one entirely untouched Chocolate-Covered Christian to serve as his gift. Also, he still had both camels, much of the ice, and nearly all of the Eunuchs... Things weren't too bad. He breathed a sigh of genuine relief, and smiled inwardly in the knowledge that still, Caesar would never have received such a gift as this.

So, the day of Caesar's celebration arrived. This year, the Consuls had pretty much outdone themselves - Publius had flooded the Plain of Mars and staged a naval battle. Crassus had given a fleet of Septiremes, with the extra two rows of oars manned by slaves selected for their resemblance to Marcus Antonius. Marcus Antonius himself had presented a bevy of a thousand barely-clad maidens, one from each distant province and kingdom of the known world. And now it was Brutus' turn. He mounted the steps of the Theater of Pompey to stand next to his Dictator and, he hoped, friend.

"Now, Caesar, let me present... Your Chocolate-Covered Christian.". He raised an arm, and into the plaza moved the procession. The banners, trumpets, bells, drums and song were every bit as exotic as he had hoped. The panoply of the Eunuch Warriors and the camels were almost terrifying in their strangeness. And in the center, the swaying, faintly sinister Chocolate-Covered Christian itself, steaming slightly as the humid air chilled in its ice-cooled proximity. With pride, Brutus turned back to Caesar...

...In time to see Gaius Servilius Casca, standing behind Caesar, his arms raised, clutching a vicious looking knife in his hand. Brutus opened his mouth to cry out, but his shock was such that he was paralyzed into inaction. He was unable to stop the blow, and unable to act as others en the crowded steps moved forward, revealing formerly concealed knives, and rained down blows on Caesar.

As they moved away to reveal the bloody figure on the ground, Brutus finally moved. He ran forwards and cradled the gory head of his dying friend. Still in shock, he leaned closer as he saw that Caesar was trying to speak. In his dying croak, he heard:

"Et tu, Brute?"

Brutus said, "No! I only had half of one!"