THERE was a joke that I loved as a wean. It involved Julius Caesar, Brutus and a tube of Smarties. It goes like this … Brutus bought a tube of Smarties. He gave it to Caesar for safe keeping.

“Caesar, gonnae keep these fur me. They’re fur ma girlfriend but I cannae trust maself no tae eat them. I’ll get them aff ye on the Ides of March.” (Brutus was from Possilpark).

“Not a problem, my good man, “ responded Julius Caesar, denizen of Milngavie (obviously).

What Caesar hadn’t fully comprehended was the deeply tempting nature of Smarties. As he lay in bed that night he couldn’t stop thinking about eating a single Smartie.

“I’m sure Brutus wouldn’t miss one Smartie …” So Julius sneaked one Smartie into his Caesarian mouth – he was astonished by how delicious it was. He nabbed another. Since three was his lucky number, he snaffled a third before replacing the cellophane wrapper as best he could and wiping down the tube. CSI Pompei were notorious for their ability to trace felons.

The morning of the Ides, Brutus sent a slave round for the Smarties. Caesar acted normally. It was only later on his way to the Senate when confronted by Brutus, Cassius and 60 conspirators did Caesar realise all was not right. As Brutus plunged the knife into Caesar (and plunged the republic into a four-year civil war) the dying Julius clutched the dagger around the hands of his protégé, looking him in the eye as he spat out his last few words: “Et tu, Brute.”

Brutus’ response? “Ya ate three. Ya liar.”

I love that joke. That scene from history has given us no shortage of comic moments. When Kenneth Williams was stabbed playing Julius Casar in Carry On Cleo we got the beautifully crafted classic: “Infamy, Infamy. They’ve all got it in for me.”

Betrayal – now forever associated with the Ides of March – is a big and scary word, hence our need to create comedy around it. It is one of those few words that is a concept – it applies across a range of situations. Malcolm X posited the notion that “the thing that is worse than death is betrayal. You see, I could conceive death, but I could not conceive betrayal”. Philosophers Judith Shklar and Peter Johnson, authors of The Ambiguities Of Betrayal, claim there is no clear definition of betrayal – for betrayal to be more effectively understood one must turn to literature.

Brutus’ “betrayal” of Caesar was an attempt to return the once democratic Republic of Rome back from the “dictator perpetuo” Julius had fashioned for himself. Betrayal can be defined as that of country, a cause or indeed an individual. My best pal appeared in Harold Pinter’s Betrayal, a play about marital and friendship infidelity. He was “the other man” and I remember my profound discomfort of sitting next to his wife (my other best friend) watching him play out a betrayal.

It is interesting that much as I know and like the word “betrayal” I seldom use it; it seems a massive work, laden with baggage and circumstance and somehow not applicable to daily life. Or maybe I don’t invest enough in others to ever feel like I’m going to be betrayed? But I know that’s not true.

There is a reason betrayal is on my mind. I have had a falling-out with someone very close to me, someone I love. Tough words were exchanged, respective truths shared and a Rubicon crossed (to continue the Roman theme). Every logical impulse exhorts me to find a way to rectify the situation. I know what was said to me came from a place of love, from a person I love. I can understand (if not completely agree) what was said. What was said I have to agree with, I am prepared to grapple with and change. I know how difficult and painful it was for this person to say what they said. Yet still, I feel betrayed. Whether I am entitled to feel this way is anything but relevant – my intellect cannot direct my heart and soul into a space of rational realization.

“It is easier to forgive an enemy than to forgive a friend.” William Blake couldn’t have concentrated the aftermath of betrayal any more succinctly. In writing this, I think perhaps what I need to do is to buy them a tube of Smarties. I might have eaten three before I hand it over, though, and hopefully he’ll never know ...