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gone-arai · 2 years

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Retelling the Myth of Leukippos: Trans Hero of Krete

For one of my final projects, I translated the myth of Leukippos from Antoninus Liberalis and wrote a modern retelling. The reason I chose to translate the story myself was that I wanted to get a personal feel for, and understanding of, the story's themes, meaning, and symbolism. I believe the story of Leukippos is mainly one of motherhood and unconditional love; this makes sense given Leto is the story's main divine actor. I chose to tell the story from the third person perspective of Galateia, rather than Leukippos, to highlight this theme. I also wanted to make Galateia a deeply religious character given that it seems she was rewarded by Leto for her piety. I mainly wanted to avoid the modern trope of depicting the gods as cold and heartless. To strengthen the story's significance as a trans allegory, I also wanted to rewrite the story in a way that is more in line with our modern understanding of gender and its connection to biological sex. As a nonbinary person, however, I will never completely understand the experiences of binary trans people, and I welcome and encourage any positive or negative feedback those people may have in that regard.

I had a lot of fun with this assignment, and although I'm certain it isn't perfect, I look forward to hearing what people think! :)

You can read the story here or under the cut:

On the day of her wedding to Pandion’s son, Lampros, Galateia awoke to the smell of the chaste-tree flowering outside her window. She sat up in bed, breathing in deeply, and could almost feel the soft and warm embrace of Hestia, to whom the tree was sacred. Galateia looked at the hearth and saw Lady Hestia in her warm red peplos, her grass-yellow veil just barely covering her head as she crouched over the fire preparing a meal. The hair peeking out was in tight little braids, glistening and dripping with oil. The sagey smell of the chaste tree wafted through the kitchen. Hestia looked up from the hearth, and Galateia met her eyes. They were warm brown, and the flames in the hearth were reflected in her pupils. Galateia blinked, and the goddess disappeared.

Galateia just smiled, put on her simple white veil, and walked over to the altar. Some people may have thought they were going mad, but she saw the vision as a good omen. Today, she was taking the first step toward building a new home for herself. Quietly, Galateia took some incense from her father Eurytios’ stash and poured water from a jug into her favorite bronze phiale. She stood at the altar, before the sacred hearth, and raised her hands, holding what small offerings she could gather, and began her prayers.

“Lady Hestia, everlasting goddess who sits at the omphalos, attending to Apollo’s sacred hearth at Delphi, with oil dripping from your hair and fueling the fire of life, I thank you for your kindness in showing yourself to me. Your blessing over my new home, O most stalwart goddess, gives me every confidence that this marriage will allow me to prove my devotion to you and the other deathless gods.” She sprinkled the incense around the hot coals, causing the pleasant smell to waft up with the smoke. “To you all, I sacrifice my father’s incense for the last time, ever so grateful for your love and endless blessings.” Galateia allowed some of the water from the phiale to trickle into the fire as a libation to Hestia.

“Next, to Hera Teleia and Zeus Teleios, divine partners, rulers of Olympus, and patrons of marriage, I praise the sacred bond which you represent.” She poured a libation. “I come to you, modestly asking for your blessing over the bond of marriage between Lampros and I. Let our marriage, and its fruits, bring only honor to the gods.”

“And to Artemis Philomeirax, friend of young girls, you have guided me well through my girlhood.” Galateia poured a libation in thanks. “Bless me as I make the transition into life as a woman, a wife, and hopefully soon, a mother…” Galateia paused. She had been about to pour her final libation for Hestia, when she got a sudden image of Leto, Artemis’ mother, in her mind.

The titaness was covered completely by golden cloth, not even one hair exposed by her veil. The golden shape shifted and shined so clearly, Galateia was unsure if the vision was in her mind or if she was seeing it with her own eyes. The titaness’ demure voice echoed around Galateia’s skull, “Fear not, Galateia, my child, you are destined to be one of the greatest mothers in all of Hellas.” Then, the dreamlike vision ended. Galateia stepped back from the altar, more in awe than afraid. Never had she gotten this many signs from the gods before breakfast, and especially not good ones.

When Galateia went out to find her sisters, so they could give her the ritual nuptial bath, she did so with a skip in her step, excited to start her new life. As they worked together to wash her body and purify her for the ceremony, pouring water from the ritual jug, she regaled them with a description of the omens she had received. They smiled and tried to act happy for her, but Galateia was pretty sure they were rolling their eyes inside, thinking she was crazy.

The rest of the day was a blur but not really the magical kind. Galateia stood by while Lampros made sacrifices at the temple of Zeus, and Eurytios, her father, hosted a wedding feast for the couple’s families at his home. Galateia had never met Lampros’ family, and she thought they were delightful but could tell they didn’t have much in the way of resources. To be fair, neither did her family. She admired their ability to remain so positive, even through hardship. After the ceremonial meal, yet another ceremony, a procession, was held to bring Galateia to Lampros’ home, their families following behind. Though neither of their families had enough money for a lavish wedding, Galateia relished the opportunity to show her devotion in ritual after ritual. She wished, though, that she was allowed to lead even one of them. Even the ceremonial removal of her veil by Lampros felt like it had nothing to do with her, because it happened in their new bedchamber with their whole family watching.

That night, after the couple consummated their marriage, Galateia lay next to Lampros, trying her best to forget what just happened and wishing she could sacrifice a thousand oxen to Leto for her immodesty. She steeled her emotions and said, “My love, I am so happy. For years it has been my greatest wish to get married and become a mother. I can already imagine a little one running around this house, giggling and playing.”

Lampros grunted, “As long as it’s not a girl–they’re too expensive. If you have a girl, Galateia, we’re leaving her to the fates.”

Galateia slapped his arm lightly, “Don’t be silly, Lampros. I will love all of my children unconditionally, no matter who they are, won’t you?”

Instead of answering, Lampros grunted again, “And you have to take care of our boy.”

Galateia smiled nervously, thinking maybe he was just drunk from the wedding. “Whatever you say, my love. Goodnight. We can talk about this again in the morning.”

When Galateia awoke, Lampros was already gone from the bed. His missing sandals and shepherd’s staff told her he had left early this morning to tend the flocks. Galateia thought of their conversation last night, trying not to become panicked about her brand new marriage. She spoke a prayer and poured libations to the gods, thanking them again for blessing her with a beautiful new family, trying desperately to convince herself that Lampros would be as loving a father and husband as she had always imagined.

Eventually, she was able to forget her woes, and Galateia spent her day inside, welcoming her friends who were coming to visit the new wife. She was happy to see everyone, mostly female family members and a few girls she had met at temples and on festival days. She tried to forget that, for many of these women, this would be the last time they would be together and part of her family. She laughed and gossipped with the women, the wives telling jokes about life as a married woman and the maidens asking for all the juicy details.

“So, last night, what was he like, you know… in bed?” a girl, one of Galateia’s nieces, asked curiously, a mischievous grin on her face.

At first, Galateia thought of the troubling conversation she had had with her husband the previous night. Then, realizing what the girl meant, she blushed and stuttered, “I-I don’t suppose that’s any of your business, young lady. Is it?”

Her niece huffed. “Don’t talk to me like you’re my mother, Galateia, I’m only one Olympiad younger than you. Why do you have to be so boring, just because you’re married now?”

“It’s unbecoming of a lady, o-of anyone, to ask such questions. When you are in my house, you will speak modestly and with careful consideration.” Galateia didn’t know why she felt so strongly about it, but she did. She also didn’t want to betray the doubts about her marriage that were creeping back up in her thoughts.

Her niece stared at her for a second, mouth hanging open. Then she burst into laughter. She and her companion doubled over and began sputtering out their goodbyes. “Yes, mother,” her niece said in a mocking tone, and they left.

It was getting late, and after that exchange, Galateia hoped those would be her last guests. She closed the door, and was about to go over to the hearth to start dinner, when she heard a muffled voice outside. Reluctantly, she turned around to see if she had just shut the door on another visitor. When she opened the door, however, Galateia didn’t recognize the woman at all. She was old and hunched over, wearing a dark cloak and veil. Her eyes were milky-white, but they somehow had a depth that revealed the possession of overwhelming knowledge.

“Hello.” Even though she was weary from the long day, Galateia knew the value and importance of xenia and proper hospitality customs. Part of her was more weary of the possibility that this woman was yet another goddess who had come to visit her. “May I ask your name? Do you need shelter, ma’am? Or food?” She stepped aside and let the woman enter.

“I…” the woman cleared her throat and momentarily began to cough, “am but a humble seer. I have long forgotten my own name, but they call me Cassandra, after the famed Trojan prophetess.” The woman smiled, though it looked a bit painful.

“How...” Galateia blurted before she could think, “How exactly does one forget their own name?” She was immediately ashamed of herself. She had just reprimanded her niece for asking such questions without permission. “Nevermind ma’am,” she quickly added, “I apologize.”

The woman chuckled. “Oh don’t you worry, my dear.” She tugged on her veil, exposing her gray hair, which was dry as straw. “Leto is not angered by such small transgressions into immodesty. After all, it is natural for a person to want to be seen sometimes.”

Galateia wondered how Cassandra could’ve known about her relationship with the titaness. Such a close relationship was rare for a woman who was not yet a mother, and for once her veil was hanging in the bedchamber. “I-uh… How did you know I worship Leto?”

“Oh, sweetheart, I know many things–about you and about Leto’s plans. After all, before she gave me the power of prophecy, I was a priestess at her temple in Phaistos, but that was long, long ago.”

“Me? Leto’s plans? Prophecy? And exactly how long ago…” Galateia straightened and collected her thoughts. “Lady, uh, Cassandra, are you saying you have a prophecy for me from Leto?”

Cassandra smiled, and this time it didn’t look painful. Instead, it looked full of light and love, like the smiles Galateia’s mother would give her as they sat at the loom together when she was young, before her mother had died giving birth to her youngest brother. “I do, my love. Though I must warn you: what the fates ask of you is going to take a lot of strength, perhaps more than even I could give. But, child, if you stay by Leto’s side and honor the gods, I can guarantee everything will be alright in the end.”

Galateia swallowed hard. At first, she had been excited at the prospect of learning about her future. Now, she worried she wouldn’t even be strong enough to face it. She thought of the morning of the wedding–the blue flowers of the chaste tree and the golden veiled figure who had called out to her. “With the strength of Leto and all of the gods, I will do what I must.”

Cassandra began to hum softly, mumbling a hymn to Leto. Galateia immediately recognized the words. “May I join you?” Cassandra nodded and began to sing a little louder, so Galateia could join.

They sang Leto’s words from the hymn to Apollo, “Now hear this, Earth and wide Heaven above, and dripping water of the Styx, surely Phoibos shall have here his fragrant altar and precinct, and you he shall honor above all.”

Galateia opened her eyes slowly and almost jumped back when she saw Cassandra’s eyes, milky-white and now faintly glowing. She opened her mouth and Galateia recognized the voice that came out as the one she had heard from the golden veiled figure in her vision, “Galateia, my dear devoted child, I must warn you. What Lampros said last night in your marriage bed–he meant it. He meant it so much that it has been woven into his fate to produce only boys.”

For a moment, this almost relieved Galateia. Yes, she may wish she could have a daughter someday, but if having only boys would make Lampros happy, it wasn’t any larger a sacrifice than those which wives made everyday.

“However,” the voice continued, “fate is always tricky. The fates have granted Lampros’ wish for a son, but he is selfish, and his piety must be tested. Should Lampros be unable to love the son he prayed for so dearly, well, then he will fail that test. But I have come to warn you, my dear. Although you are a modest and devoted worshipper, your new husband’s fate has become entangled in yours. You will also have to prove your love for the gods and for your son. If you do well, he will be honored in Phaistos and throughout all of Krete, and you will be heralded as his great mother.”

Slowly, the glow faded in Cassandra’s eyes, and she started to blink again. “Well, Galateia?” she said with a twinkle in her eye, “What do you have to say to that?”

Galateia’s thoughts were so jumbled, she didn’t know what to think, much less say. She still couldn’t believe Leto had spoken directly to her–well, through Cassandra. Still, she had pretty much no idea what any of it meant. All Galateia knew for sure was that she was going to have a son soon. Finally, she would be a mother. She started to answer Cassandra, but by the time she could think straight enough to see, she realized Cassandra had vanished. Galateia washed up and then made dinner and sat down to wait for Lampros.

He didn’t return until well after dark, and by that time Galateia could barely keep her eyes open. She quickly ran her fingers through her hair. “Good evening, honey.” She yawned, then smiled sweetly. “How was your day? Tell me everything you did.”

Lampros snorted. “You wouldn’t understand–even if I wanted to explain myself to you.” Galateia wondered what it was about her that made him think he could treat her this way–only one day into what was supposed to be a lifelong commitment.

“What wouldn’t I understand, what it’s like to stand around in a field all day with sheep and goats?” Galateia asked innocently. Lampros sneered. She knew she was pushing it, but Leto’s words had confirmed one thing: Lampros was going to need to learn a lot if he wanted to pass his test. “A female seer came to our house today,” she said quickly, half-hoping Lampros wouldn’t hear her–or would just tune her out.

“Excuse me?” Lampros said with an angry edge. He took a deep breath. “First, this is my house, woman. And second, why would you want to talk to a female seer? Did you want to get scammed by all that hysterical mumbo jumbo they spout?”

Lampros’ reaction didn’t surprise Galateia. It was exactly what she expected. She called on all the strength Leto had given her and, as calmly as she could said, “She said that you would have a son.” Lampros’ eyebrows raised, a disgusting grin beginning to pull at his lips. “She also said that the gods think you’re selfish, and that the fates are testing you.” Then, Galateia pushed past Lampros, not even staying to see his face, and went to their bedchamber to get a long night’s sleep.

Galateia stood wearily at the altar, having just given her daily offerings to Hestia, Leto, and the twins. Selene had gone through her cycle nine times since Galateia’s wedding to Lampros, and she had been pregnant for about as long. As excited as she was to be a mother, Galateia was worried. She hadn’t seen Cassandra since the night after the wedding and had received no clear signs from any of the gods. Part of her wondered if she had imagined the whole thing with Cassandra–or perhaps Lampros was right and it was all just a bunch of hysterical mumbo jumbo. Galateia had to believe, though, that she had heard the voice of Leto. She didn’t know if Lampros would pass his test when she had her son any minute, but she did not intend to fail the gods.

That morning, Lampros had gone off to tend his flocks and said he wouldn’t be back for three nights. That was fine with Galateia. In the short time they had been married, she had already grown tired of Lampros’ constant griping, his insistence on blaming everything on Galateia’s foolishness, his refusal to participate in festivals and honor the gods. In fact, if Lampros was to stay gone, it might make Galateia happy–if it weren’t for the fact she’d have no way to care for herself or her son, at least not til he was old enough to tend the flocks himself.

Galateia sighed contentedly, as she imagined watching her son grow up. Suddenly, she felt water trickling down her legs. There was a sharp pain in her abdomen, and Galateia realized the moment she had been waiting for, literally just waiting for, had come. Only then did she wonder how she was going to get help. Lampros was gone, and their nearest neighbor was half-an-hour’s walk away. Galateia frantically tried to think of what to do, when her vision started going blurry, and she collapsed back onto their bed. Just before her eyes closed and she went unconscious, Galateia saw the face of a young woman leaning over her. She was dressed in a maidenly peplos which glittered in the light, and at first Galateia thought she might be Artemis. Then she saw that the woman was holding a torch, shadows flickering across her face, shifting between the face of a carefree young girl and one screaming in agony, in the throes of childbirth. Eileithyia, Galateia thought. Then, her vision went black.

Galateia dreamed that she was sitting at her mother’s loom. She ran her fingers across the threads. She could smell honey cakes cooking over the hearth. Even though it was obviously a dream, Galateia hadn’t expected to see her mother, so when she appeared in the doorway, the air was sucked from Galateia’s lungs. “Mother?” she asked breathlessly.

Her mother smiled brightly and glided in Galateia’s direction. “My sweet Galateia,” she said, “My honeybee.”

Galateia blushed. It had been so long since someone had called her honeybee that she'd almost forgotten the nickname completely. “I- Where- Are you… real?”

Her mother laughed softly and kissed her on the nose. Galateia was starting to get tired of being laughed at by magic visions and old seers. “Was that kiss real, my honeybee?”

“Okay so you’re real,” Galateia said. “That doesn’t explain how or why I’m here, or why this is the first time I’ve seen you since my brother was born.” Galateia’s face felt hot. She never got this angry, but something about her mom showing up, right now when she was in labor, felt like a cruel joke–like the cosmos was picking the absolute worst time to remind her of how her mother had died.

Galateia’s mother looked at her with concern and stroked the side of her face. “I promise I am not here to cause you pain, my honeybee. I know it might seem that way, but you have to trust me when I say that the time wasn’t right. This anger that you are feeling is natural, but if you had felt it years ago, I’m afraid you would never have forgiven me. Now that you are becoming a mother, I think you understand that.”

“Why are you here then?”

“To remind you of Leto’s warning, my honeybee. It’s very important that you listen to everything I say.” She looked at Galateia with firm eyes. “Can you do that?”

“I will try my best, mother,” Galateia said, with as much courage as she could muster, “to do everything in my power to bring honor to you and to the gods.” Her mother smiled. “What do you need to tell me?”

“Whatever happens,” she started, “you must remember that this child is your son. You must be willing to die for him, as I did for your younger brother. That is why we are modest. Not just because we have been taught to hide, but because we have learned that to love someone unconditionally, as all human beings should, we must put others first, stepping aside so as not to dim their shining light. Leto, most demure of all the gods, created Apollo, the most brightly shining. To do what’s best for our children, we must lend them our light, so that they can emerge from our darkness, shining brighter than we ever did.”

Galateia waited. She wasn’t quite sure what to say. She was astounded at the wisdom of one mother–one titaness, and she wasn’t sure she could ever be as wise or as loving as her mortal mother, much less her divine one.

Galateia’s mother smiled and kissed her on the cheek. Then, she began gliding back toward the door. Just before she reached the exit, Galateia said, “Mother! Wait!”

“Yes, my honeybee?”

“Do you think I’ll be able to pass Leto’s test?”

“Just remember what I said, Galateia. This child is your son. You must accept this, no matter what Lampros or anyone else says. That is the test.” She turned back toward the door and disappeared from Galateia’s sight.

Galateia ran to the doorway to catch one last glimpse of her mother, but when she got there, the only thing outside was a beautiful white stallion, grazing, his white coat shining in the sunlight. Galateia didn’t remember looking away from the horse, but suddenly, she was just awake, holding a baby in her arms, swaddled in the same glittering fabric as Eileithyia’s peplos. She looked down at her son’s smiling face. “Hello, Leukippos, my little colt.”

It was already the next morning after Lampros had left, meaning he would be back the day after tomorrow. At first Galateia worried he might yell at her for having the baby while he was absent, but what was she supposed to do? She thought about trying to explain to him everything she had seen–Eileithyia, the ghost of her dead mother. Galateia shivered. Then, Leukippos made a noise that instantly told Galateia he would need to be washed very soon. “Tsk-tsk,” she joked. “What are we going to do with you, Leukippos?”

She found another piece of cloth to swaddle him, and started unwrapping the soiled one. It wasn’t the shimmery magic cloth from Eileithyia, but it would do. When Galateia looked down at naked little Leukippos, suddenly, all the warnings–Leto’s, Cassandra’s, her mother’s–became perfectly clear.

A thousand thoughts began flying around Galateia’s head. Funnily enough, none of them were Oh look, a daughter. Instead, Galateia’s mind flew immediately to Lampros. If he found out… She didn’t want to think about it. She began running through all the possibilities in her head. Part of her thought about fleeing right then, but she thought better of it. How selfish would it be for her to take away Lampros’ opportunity to pass the gods’ test. Of course, she didn’t have much faith that he could, but it was only fair he got a chance to try. Then Galateia had another thought. “What if we just don’t tell him?” she asked Leukippos. Galateia didn’t know why she expected him to answer. Maybe she’d just had so many visions lately that she just assumed he’d open his mouth and start speaking in Zeus’ voice. Regardless, Galateia decided not to tell Lampros. She figured if she could just hide it for long enough, Lampros could learn to love the child and pass the test. And then what? She thought. He’d just magically become a good man because he didn’t disown his child? Galateia shook it off. There were so many things to think about, but Galateia decided she couldn’t make a big deal out of it. If she seemed too nervous, Lampros might start asking questions. Besides, this was her son. End of story. Galateia’s only job now was to love him until she died.

Before Galateia knew it, Lampros was back home, and the charade had begun. When he walked into the house to find his son had been born, he just grunted. “Had the kid, eh? Well, I just walked twenty miles, so I’m going to sleep. He better not wake me up with his crying.”

Galateia had been holding her breath since he walked in. She swallowed and half-whispered half-squeaked, “Y-yes, dear. Of course.”

The next few days went by without a hitch. Slowly, days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and months into years. Every day when she woke up, Galateia was certain it would be the day Lampros found out and disowned them both–or worse. However, her job was a thousand times easier thanks to Leukippos. The boy was a good kid. In fact, he was an amazing kid. Not once did he disobey Galateia, or argue when she snapped at him to put some clothes on before his father got home. The two were inseparable. Although, being at home all the time, it wouldn’t have been easy to separate if they wanted to.

One night, when Leukippos was about eight years old, Lampros asked him, “Son, how would you like to come with me to the pastures tomorrow?”

Leukippos looked hopefully at Galateia. “I know we were going to do laundry tomorrow but, may I, mother?”

Lampros looked angry. “Don’t ask your mother, boy. You’ll be a man soon enough, and then you’ll have to stop looking to women for your orders.” He glared at Galateia.

Galateia laughed nervously. “Um, yes, my little colt. That should be fine. Just be extra careful.” She gave Leukippos a pointed look, letting him know exactly what she meant.

The next day, Lampros came in the door huffing, with Leukippos just behind him, a skip in his step. “So? How was your day, boys?” Galateia asked.

Leukippos glanced at his father. “It was, uh, fun.”

Lampros growled, “Yeah. Lot’s of fun,” and stormed off to get in bed.

Later, when Galateia asked Leukippos about it, he simply said that shepherding wasn’t his thing, and that he didn’t think he would be going out to pasture with his father anymore. That worried Galateia, but when a few more months passed without them being caught, she began to relax again.

As he got older, Leukippos started to become intrigued by the city. In all his years, Galateia had always been too nervous to allow Leukippos to go to Phaistos unaccompanied, and she was afraid if he went with Lampros, his father would come back alone, and she would never see him again. He also started to take more of an interest in religion. Since he wasn’t allowed to go to the city on festival days, and Lampros never did the proper sacrifices for the oikos, Leukippos’ only knowledge of the gods came from watching his mother’s daily rituals. He would sit quietly, sometimes for hours, as his mother prayed, gave offerings, and sang praises to the gods.

“Which one is your favorite?” he asked one day.

“What do you mean, my little colt?”

“I mean the gods. Do you have a favorite?”

Galateia thought for a moment, though she didn’t have to. Eventually she said, “Leto, my little colt.”

“Who’s that?” he asked.

“The best mother in the cosmos,” she replied.

“Like you!” Galateia’s heart melted.

Things went like this for about twelve years. By then, Galateia thought they might make it. Just a few more years, and Leukippos would be an adult. They wouldn’t have to worry about angering Lampros, because they could protect each other. However, just when Galateia began to let her guard down, Leukippos began to grow in beauty.

At first he was just handsome, but then his chest and hips started to grow. His hair formed perfect ringlets which framed his soft and un-angular features. His lips were more plump, his eyelashes longer, and his brown skin gave off a warm bronze glow. Lampros started making comments like, “You need to stop spending so much time at the loom. You’re getting so dainty, I might mistake you for a nymph.” Leukippos seemed to take this as a compliment, but Galateia could hear the hatred and disgust in Lampros’ voice.

In their bedchamber one night, Lampros said, “I swear. It looks like the boy is growing breasts of his own. And his voice–it’s so high, he might become one of the muses. I don’t know what you’ve done wrong, but I was told the gods were giving me a son–not… that.”

Galateia was trembling under the blankets. “I-It’s probably just a phase, dear. He’s just… growing into himself. It happens to all boys, right?”

Lampros just grunted as usual, obviously not satisfied with her explanation.

The next morning, after she heard Lampros leave, Galateia went to wake Leukippos. As she stood over Leukippos’ sleeping form, she looked at him, and for the very first time, Galateia thought about what it would be like if Leukippos was her daughter. She knew immediately that the time had come when she could hide her secret no longer. For years, she had hid with him in their tiny house, miles away from Phaistos and any neighbors with prying eyes. But even Lampros, however unloving and inattentive a father he was, would not be fooled any longer. Fooled. Galateia hated that word. Leukippos wasn’t fooling anyone. She began to get angry. Galateia had told Lampros that she had given birth to a son. That wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t a trick, and Galateia would not allow anyone to make her feel like she didn’t know who her child really was. She loved Leukippos and knew him better than anyone in the world. He was her son, and that was the end of discussion. “My precious little colt,” she said softly, “you will always be my son. We have not fooled anyone,” she reassured him, touching his forehead with her lips.

Leukippos’ eyes fluttered open. “Good morning, mother,” he said with a drowsy smile. Then, he looked past Galateia, at the doorway to his bedchamber. He shuffled so he could sit up straighter, “G-Good morning, father.”

Galateia spun around and met Lampros’ eyes. “My… my dear, I thought you had left to tend the flocks.” She prayed to every god she knew that he hadn’t been standing there long.

“Mhmm,” he said lazily, staring intently at their son, “and what’s all this about fooling people?” Leukippos looked down at his feet, sticking out from under the blanket.

Galateia’s mind was racing. “Oh that was nothing, my love. You know… just a bit of hysterical mumbo jumbo, am I right?” His eyes narrowed. She forced a smile and tried to change the subject. “Well, since you’re here, why don’t we all have breakfast together?”

“I don’t th–” In the blink of an eye, Leukippos had leapt out of bed at his father and knocked him to the ground. They struggled for a second, and Leukippos managed to sit on top of him, straddling his stomach.

“Go, Mother!” he said. “Run!”

Galateia ran out of the room, but she wasn’t going to leave Leukippos alone. She went to the hearth and lifted the biggest piece of wood she could carry. Then, she sped back to Leukippos’ room. The father and son were on the floor wrestling, and Leukippos was doing surprisingly well, especially for a boy who’d never had the chance to wrestle with friends. “Get out of the way, my little colt!” Galateia yelled. Then she dropped the block of wood about two feet onto Lampros’ head, hoping it would only be enough to knock him out. As soon as they heard his head hit the ground, they got out of Leukippos’ room.

Leukippos had begun to cry. “W-Where will we go mother?”

Galateia stopped long enough to embrace her son and wipe the tears from his eyes. “Don’t you worry, my little colt,” she said, “If we can make it to Leto’s temple in Phaistos, we will be safe. I promise.”

Before they left the house, Galateia collected her veil from their bedchamber and a small jug of water. Leukippos quickly threw on a peplos and sandals, and then they ran.

Galateia approached the steps of the temple of Leto. She pulled her veil over her head and braced herself to enter. When she looked back, she saw Leukippos staring in awe at the massive structure, painted with bright colors that were dulled by Night. “Come on then, my little colt,” she said softly, reaching out to take his hand.

“Mother, I’ve never seen anything like this place. Is it safe to go inside?”

Galateia smiled. “My love, of course it’s safe. Inside that sanctuary is the safest place in the world–the cosmos, even.” He took her hand a little reluctantly, but Galateia knew she was right. She was as sure that Leto loved her as she was about her love for her son. She opened the heavy door, thanking Zeus it was unlocked.

When they got inside, Galateia reverently approached the statue of the goddess–head down, eyes averted, and veil pulled forward. Once she was close enough, she stood straight up in front of the altar with her hands raised above her head, palms facing toward the sky.

“Mother, why don’t we kneel when we approach the gods? Isn’t it a sign of respect?”

Galateia looked over her shoulder. “Come,” she said, “stand with me and reach toward the heavens.” Leukippos did. “See, don’t you feel that? We stand this way to direct our prayers up to Olympus.”

The boy straightened and reached his fingertips up as high as he could. “Now what?”

“We begin by pouring a libation for Hestia, as she is the goddess of the hearth and present at all sacrifices. We must offer to her first and last, because she was the first born Olympian, child of awful Kronos and red-flowing Rheia, and the last to be disgorged when father Zeus gave Kronos the mixture of mustard and wine.” Galateia poured the libation and thanked Hestia for presiding over the rites.

“Now what?” Leukippos asked.

Galateia chuckled. “Now we sing our praises to Leto, my little colt.” Galateia faced the altar and started her prayer, “O Leto Koiogeneia, I come to you as a supplicant and a modest woman, a mother and her child, in desperate need of your divine protection. I have only a libation of water to give, but if ever I have sacrificed to you, despite having little, I beg of you to transform my son, just as happened to the Kretan Siproites, so that his father’s anger may be assuaged” When Galateia had finished, she poured libations of water upon the altar, one for Leto and one for Hestia, and began to weep, giving in to the grief and fear she felt for herself, but mostly for her son, and her tears fell upon the altar.

A second passed, then Leukippos gasped. “Mother, look!” Galateia raised her eyes and was nearly blinded by the statue, which was shining as brightly as Phoibos Apollo. She quickly pulled the veil over her eyes and covered Leukippos’ own eyes with her hand.

“Do not fear, my child,” said a new voice. The voice was soft and demure yet still commanding like a mother’s.

“M-my lady,” Galateia stammered, “I-I don’t–”

“Watch, child,” the voice urged.

Slowly, Galateia pulled off her veil, revealing only the skin of her face. She was reluctant to uncover Leukippos’ eyes, but then her arms went limp with shock. The shimmering figures of two women and two men had appeared, seemingly from the image of the goddess. When the light faded, the statue itself had been transformed into a woman wearing a golden veil. The veil fell away, exposing the goddess’ skin, as dark as Night and sprinkled with bright white freckles, which shifted, forming and reforming constellations on the body of the goddess.

She smiled. “Galateia, my pious daughter. I have heard your prayers.” The glittering figures stepped forward. “These are Kaineus, Siproites, Hypermnestra, and Teiresias,” Leto did not elaborate or specify who was whom, but Galateia knew it didn’t matter. A good mother’s love for the children she protects should be unconditional, like the love Leto felt for the figures and all her children, and Galateia for Leukippos.

Galateia finally spoke, “You have heard my prayers, divine mother, but will you grant them?”

Leto looked toward the boy. “That depends. Do you wish to be transformed in this way, my child?”

Galateia held back tears. She knew Leto would do what was right, but she hadn’t given much thought to how Leukippos felt until now. She just knew she had to keep him safe–from Lampros and the whole world.

Leukippos spoke for the first time, confidently, “Yes, O Leto! Just like Apollo, I am my mother’s son, and that will never change.” Galateia sobbed with relief and pride.

“Save your tears, dear Galateia. What you ask shall come to pass. Your son is safe. Thanks to you.” Leto smiled, and then, in a flash, she and the shimmering figures disappeared, replaced by the gold-and-ivory statue of the goddess, looking down at Galateia and Leukippos with love.

Almost ten seconds passed before either of them moved. Galateia could hardly believe the titaness’ words. Your son is safe. Galateia could hardly imagine what that meant.

“Mother,” Leukippos reached out and touched his mother’s arm, “you have given me my very life. You have allowed me to grow up with love and acceptance. Not everyone like me is lucky enough to experience unconditional love like yours–not even everyone who isn’t like me. I won’t pretend to understand the plans of the fates, but if your test was to prove your love for me, you have passed with flying colors every day for the past twelve years.”

Galateia couldn’t speak. She felt like a weight had been lifted and her soul was floating away, into the cloudy skies of heaven–the realm of the gods. She didn’t even think about having to return home to Lampros. It’s not like he could punish them now. Leukippos was now no different than any “normal” son he might’ve had, but he hadn’t changed a bit. Galateia wasn’t even sure they’d ever return home, as long as they were together. They curled up together on the temple floor and slept until morning.

When they opened the doors to the temple, they were met by thousands of sets of eyes staring up at them from a crowd at the bottom of the steps. Galateia hurriedly pulled her veil over her head. To their left, a woman spoke. Galateia almost fainted. It was Cassandra. “Oh, Galateia,” she chuckled, “your days of modesty are over.” Then she spoke louder so the crowd could hear, much louder than any old woman should’ve been able to, “You have passed your test, and, as promised, you, Galateia, and your son Leukippos, shall be honored in all of Phaistos and throughout the island of Krete.”

The crowd waited silently for her to say something. “Thank you, Cassandra,” Galateia said as loudly as she could, “but it is not me you should honor. Leto… Phytie. Leto the Grafter. She is the one who saved my son from Lampros. I have simply loved him, as any mother should.”

The crowd cheered. Leukippos, who had never seen more than three people in a room, looked frozen in shock. As the crowd sang their praises to Leto, Leto the Grafter, Galateia asked, “How- How did you all know we were here?”

Cassandra winked. “That was quite the light show Leto put on for you two last night.”

Galateia couldn’t help it. She laughed. “Yes, Cassandra. It was.”

“And what about you young man?” She put emphasis on the word man, not because he had changed in form, but because he had changed in age and maturity. “How do you feel after last night?”

Leukippos smiled at Galateia and took her hand. “I feel… loved.”

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