Artemis didn’t just have an affinity for animals—she was the huntress who held dominion when it came to wildlife, including both prey animals and predators. Goddess of the hunt, queen of the wilderness, and the administrator of all things untamed, she made no apologies to those who trampled upon her domain and were doled out punishment for their transgressions. After all, the rules of the wild are stark and unforgiving. Artemis had a whole entourage of sacred creatures and a penchant for turning followers and foes alike into one. A stag, a bear, a sacrificial deer—there was a roulette wheel of options for the great goddess to turn to.
Lions and Tigers and Bears, Oh My!
Artemis wasn’t just a divine huntress—she was the queen of the wild, ruling over creatures that ranged from majestic to absolutely beastly. Most steles and statues depict her with deer and hunting dogs, but the bigger, toothier beasts also fall under her dominion. Lions? Check. Bears? Absolutely. Snakes? Certainly.
And, much like these creatures that hunted and roared their dominance over the land, Artemis was known to be rather ruthless. For example, the way she treated Callisto was less than merciful. Callisto was one of Artemis’s devoted handmaidens, which was a rather freeing setup for an ancient girl who didn’t want to marry and raise a family—until Zeus and his wandering eyes got involved. He seduced Callisto by disguising himself as Artemis.
When the real goddess of the hunt found out, she was quite irritated. Since Callisto had broken the sacred vow of chastity (though the stories clearly state the handmaiden had absolutely no say in the matter), Artemis transformed her into a bear and banished her to the wilderness. It was a harsh punishment, but Artemis played by strict rules. Her inner circle was made up of maidens and creatures of the wood only. Callisto was no longer one of those categories, so she was transformed into the other.
Callisto’s story is indeed tragic, but she wasn’t the only carnivore closely related to Artemis’s mythology. The goddess herself had a strong association with lions, as seen in a stunning 6th-century BCE Greco-Persian seal. The carving depicts Artemis—wings spread, commanding two lions before her. She grips each lion’s tail as they rear up on their hind legs with jaws open, looking back at her as if they know exactly who’s in charge. This little artifact is quite telling. It serves as proof that Artemis wasn’t seen by devotees as just a hunter—she was a warrior, a force of nature who could handle the most fearsome beasts nature could make.
Also of note is the goddess’s penchant for pelts. Artemis was often depicted wearing the skin of a lion, a sharp reminder that she, not the king of the jungle, was the apex predator. Though this habit may bring to mind Hercules, who wore his lion pelt as proof of his success in his trials, Artemis didn’t need the validation—she wore it because she could. She was the goddess of the wild, the untamed, and the fiercely independent. That meant draping herself in the remnants of a once-mighty lion, a fashion statement for the greatest of all huntswomen.
Whether she was turning people into bears, taming lions, or rocking a big cat fur coat, Artemis didn’t just rule over animals—she mastered them. Her mythology is proof that in the wild, power belongs to those who are willing to wield it. In Artemis’s case, she wielded it with a bow, a no-nonsense attitude, and a kind of aloof respect for the creatures she both protected and conquered.
Artemis and the Doe
Artemis had a signature animal, and it was the doe. While modern thinking classifies deer as gentle, skittish creatures, Artemis’s deer were lithe, swift, and glorious. In fact, there were times when her bounding does were downright untouchable—particularly the Ceryneian Hind, a creature so legendary that even Heracles struggled to get his mighty hands on it.
According to myth, the golden-antlered hind wasn’t just some regular woodland creature—it was a sacred blessing. The nymph Taygete, one of the Pleiades, had a very bad time when Zeus set his sights on her (sounds like Callisto’s story?). To escape his unwelcome advances, she called out to Artemis for help. The goddess, in her usual no-nonsense fashion, turned Taygete into a cow to keep Zeus at bay. Later, when Taygete regained her true form, she gave Artemis a doe in gratitude—a very special doe, with golden antlers and hooves of shining brass. Artemis, who had a thing for collecting powerful and symbolic animals, accepted this offering of thanks.
The Ceryneian Hind was so fast it could outrun an arrow in flight, which made it the perfect emblematic badge for a huntress deity. It was also untouchable—literally. Killing it was a surefire way to enrage Artemis, which Heracles found out the hard way during his Twelve Labors. Ordered to capture the hind, he spent a full year tracking the beast through Greece before finally subduing it.
Even in his temporary victory, he had to tread carefully. He knew Artemis would not take kindly to him harming her sacred creature, so he tried to pass off the whole affair as a misunderstanding. The fact that he survived the encounter suggests that either Artemis believed him—or she just respected a good chase, so long as it didn’t end in the death of her prized hind.
This divine connection to deer was immortalized in ancient art. Roman statues often depicted Artemis with a deer by her side, like the image now housed at the Met in New York. In this particular bronze, Artemis stands poised and regal, her hunting attire perfectly draped, as if she’s just stepped into view for a divine epiphany. A deer looms comfortably beside her, reinforcing her role as the goddess of the wild.
Other artworks, like an ancient Greek oil jar attributed to the Oreithyia Painter, show Artemis cradling a spotted doe while holding a phiale, a vessel likely used for ritual activities. This wasn’t just decoration—it was a visual reminder of Artemis’s dominion over both the hunt and the creatures who fell within her holy purview.
Even the Romans, who rebranded her as a more grown goddess version of the huntress, Diana, kept the deer close to her mythology. Her most important sanctuary at Aricia, near Lake Nemi (nicknamed the “Mirror of Diana”), was a place where deer roamed freely. Whether as an untouchable beast, a divine companion, or a sacred offering, the doe was always at Artemis’s side—a reminder that, in all her fierceness, she was the guardian of the untamed wild.
Goddess of Snakes
You’d think a goddess known for running through the woods with a bow and a pack of wild animals wouldn’t have a great love of snakes—but Artemis was full of surprises. She’s best known as the goddess of the hunt, but she also has a snaky side.
Ancient writers like Pausanias described Artemis as breathtakingly beautiful, but not in the fragile, wispy way of other Olympian goddesses. She was a force of nature, draped in deerskin or a lion pelt, armed with a quiver of arrows, and—since regular weapons weren’t intimidating enough—carrying a torch and two live snakes in her hands. This association with serpents would later tie her to Hecate, the eerie, enchantment-crafting goddess of witches, ghosts, and the general creeping dread of the unknown.
While Hecate leaned into the whole underworld vibe, Artemis had a different relationship with snakes—one that involved divine protection, monstrous guardians, and the occasional giant serpent baby. Snakes, in the ancient world, were related closely to the myth of dragons, and what is a dragon if not the lion of the serpent world?
Take, for example, the Drakon Ophiogeneikos, or the Dragon of the Serpent-Born. This wasn’t your average snake slithering through the underbrush—it was a massive, fear-inducing beast that guarded Artemis’s grove in Mysia.
Just like the very king of the gods was known to do, the serpent apparently took a liking to a young woman. She was named Halia, and she just wanted to visit the shrine of the maiden goddess. However, after the encounter with the dragon, she gave birth to Ophiogenes, whose name literally means “Serpent-Born,” and this child went on to found an entire tribe. This story mostly serves to reinforce that when it came to Artemis’s sacred spaces, snakes were part of the package (and that, whether it be a massive dragon, a swan, or a bull, women of the ancient world could never trust the sudden appearance of an animal).
Artemis inherited this whole snake-wrangling aesthetic. She might’ve gotten it from her mom, Leto. According to myth, while pregnant with Zeus’s twins Artemis and Apollo, Leto had a stalker—a massive serpent that followed her around throughout the length of her entire pregnancy. Not ones to easily offer mercy or forgiveness, Artemis and Apollo wasted no time hunting the thing down once they were born, filling it with arrows and ensuring it never shadowed Leto’s steps again. Similarly, when the giant Phokis decided to be deeply inappropriate toward Leto, Artemis, and Apollo tag-teamed him into an early trip to Hades. Clearly, lusting after Leto led to an early and painful death.
So, while Artemis wasn’t just a snake goddess, the connection is there. She wielded the slithering beasts like accessories, kept them in her sacred spaces, and had no problem putting them down when they crossed the line. Snakes, much like Artemis herself, were wild, untamed, and dangerous when provoked.
Offerings and the Sacrificing of Her Animals
Artemis might have been the ultimate minister of wild animals, but ancient Greeks were nothing if not pragmatic. Worshipers didn’t just admire her creatures from afar—they sacrificed them in her honor. It is the kind of divine irony that would make a small family farmer nod in understanding. You can care deeply for an animal, even nurse it through its adolescence, and still recognize its place in the grander cycle of survival. Animals, to the ancients and their gods, were resources; valuable, yes, but still a commodity.
Excavations at her temples—particularly the massive sanctuary at Amarynthos in Greece—have uncovered layers of buried ash and striated bones, physical proof of the sacrificial rites done in the goddess’s name. Ancient devotees would lead animals, mostly deer or goats, in a procession to the altar, where they were ritually slaughtered and (some bits) burned as offerings. Specific parts were set aside for the goddess, while the rest of the meat was typically shared among the worshippers in a sacred feast or festival.
The process wasn’t just about spilling blood—it was an act of devotion, a way to honor Artemis as both the protector and the hunter. In many ways, it was the worshipers’ polytheistic version of tithing.
In ancient Greece, people didn’t view sacrificing animals as a brutal act but as a necessary exchange—giving Artemis her due in return for her help with successful hunts, fertile lands, and safe childbirth. One of her roles, perhaps strangely for a virgin goddess, was as a patroness of labor and delivery. Maybe, however, it’s not so strange. Never are women more in the wilderness, more at the mercy of the rhythms of their own bodies, than while in the midst of childbirth. Artemis, guardian of all things wild and untamed, wouldn’t have turned away from the blood and pain of the birthing room.
In addition to full sacrifices, Artemis also received symbolic offerings made from animal bones, horns, and hides. Archaeologists have unearthed these relics at various temple sites, suggesting that some worshippers chose to leave tribute without outright slaughter. Others crafted small votive figurines in the shape of Artemis’s sacred animals—tiny stags, dogs, and even bees—which was perhaps a more practical way of offering their devotion without losing a valuable farm animal.
Unfortunately, we know of sacrifice-making to Artemis that didn’t involve animals but, instead, a princess. Agamemnon’s ill-fated decision to sacrifice his daughter, Iphigenia, to appease Artemis before the Trojan War was one of the most famously shocking tales of her demand for appeasement via bloodshed. Yet, even here, Artemis subverted expectations—at the last moment, she whisked Iphigenia away and replaced her with a deer, reminding everyone that while she might require sacrifice, she wasn’t predictable in her rare benevolences.
Ultimately, Artemis embodied the balance between reverence for nature and the inevitability at the end of survival. The Greeks understood this—and glorified her not only with the blood but with the bones, carvings, and whispered prayers left behind in her temples that honored her with the likenesses or essences of her sacred animals.
