Antheia tells her story

“I was very young when I married Agenor, your father. While he was much older than me, I knew he came from a good family that is prominent in the region. We were hoping to have a large family. Many sons to help with the farm and serve the city and many daughters to train in the arts of the house and train in administering the temple.

“We were disappointed when I did not get pregnant after two or three years of trying. We sought help from doctors and midwives. We traveled to Epidauros to seek help from the medics at the sanctuary of Aesclepius but they could not help us either. I began to pray often in the Heraion, leaving the goddess many votives in exchange for her blessing for a child.

“One evening, we were at the temple. I had just left some golden jewelry I owned as a votive prayer and asked the goddess ‘If I may never be destined to carry my own child, allow me to at least raise a child of another.’

“I remember distinctly, when I had finished my prayers, a gust of wind swept into the temple, causing the fires to flicker. I looked to the statue of Hera, and she seemed to smile at me. I was filled with joy, for I knew that my prayer had been heard.

“That evening as your father and I were walking home from the temple, we met a young woman, her face shrouded by her cloak. She was a carrying a baby, you, Diocles. She told us that she had been instructed by the goddess to give you to us. I cried when I saw you. The woman placed you in my arms. Agenor tried to ask the young women more questions, who she was, if she was your mother, or from where you had come. The young woman, only said that she had to leave, and that you were to be named, Diocles: the glory of Zeus. The woman left us then and we have never seen her since that day. We have been marking that day as your birthday ever since.”

Antheia finished her story. Diocles had listened silently to her. He was still processing all that she had said. At first, he had been shocked at her news, but as he had watched her, he remembered all that Antheia, his mother had done for him through the years. She had been the best mother anyone could have asked for, a role she had dedicated herself to. What did it matter that she had not given birth to him? She was his mother.

Diocles climbed onto the bed next to Antheia and leaned in to hug her. “Thank you for telling me this, mother. And thank you for being my mother.” He smiled as the relief washed over her face. Fresh tears came to both of their eyes. They embraced again.

“Diocles, please sleep here tonight…like when you had nightmares as a child.”

Diocles nodded and they lied down. Diocles shifted to lie on his back, his mother tucked herself next him, laying her head on his shoulder. Diocles listened to her breathing get heavier as she drifted back to sleep.

Sleep eluded Diocles however. Despite acknowledging that Antheia was and will always be his mother, he tried to shift through the many questions her story had raised. Who were his actual parents? Was that young woman his mother? It seemed strange and significant that she appeared after his mother’s offering to Hera and prayer for any child to raise. And that he should be named Diocles. Were the gods somewhere involved in these circumstances?

Diocles stifled a laugh. It seemed that he was describing the myth of some hero. He always enjoyed those stories recited by his parents and tutors, or play acted with friends. But those things weren’t real. I am no hero. Surely, some young mother, scared to have a child, must have overheard Antheia in the temple and realized a solution to her problem.

He looked at his mother sleeping on his chest. He squeezed her with his arm around. Whoever she was, she left me with the best mother I could ever have had. He kissed her head and finally closed his eyes to sleep.