Episode 52: The Many Loves of Nintoku

November 1, 2021 Joshua Badgley

The Eurasian Wren, or *Sazaki*, the namesake of our current sovereign in the stories. THat said, though the Kojiki clearly names him as Ōsazaki, the Nihon Shoki uses the character for “suzume”, or sparrow, though likely at the time it jsut meant a small bird of some kind. Other translators have suggested the term “wagtail”. Photo detail from a public domain photo found on Wikimedia Commons.

This episode is mostly going to just be stories from the Chronicles about the many loves of Ōsazaki no Mikoto, aka Nintoku Tennō. Some of the most interesting parts of this, to me, are, for one, the use of songs and poetry to tell the stories. I really think this hearkens back to some kind of tradition of oral history. Also, the fact that many of these songs and poems occur in the same or different parts of the Chronicles, often dealing with similar subjects. While the dating for this period seems to be way off, I find it highly likely that, at least by the 8th century, many of these stories were well known enough, and the different chroniclers were drawing from the same sources when compiling these histories.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is Episode 52: The many loves of Nintoku.
Welcome back.
Before we get started I wanted to give a quick shout out to Chad who joined as a supporter over on Patreon. We had been toying with the idea and after hearing that some people would prefer it we decided to give it a shot. If you want to join him, just look up Sengoku Daimyo over at Patreon.com. We’ll also stay up on Ko-Fi and we’ll be looking into a few other options—if you have thoughts on a preferred donation mechanism, feel free to drop us a line!
That said, let’s get into the actual content.
This episode we are continuing with the story of Oho Sazaki, aka Nintoku Tennou. Last time, in episode 51, we went over some of the stories that seem to contribute to Oho Sazaki’s reputation as a virtuous sovereign, worthy of the throne on which he sat. We discussed how after several natural disasters, he halted taxation and conscription by the government so that the people could rebuild, allowing his own palace to fall into ruin in the process. This was seen as the hallmark of a ruler who cares for his people, that he was willing to take on such hardships for their sake.
Meanwhile, as virtuous as he may have been towards his people, his home life seems to have been a different issue.
Before we get into this, I do want to acknowledge, as I have in the past, that the morals of ancient Japan were not necessarily the same as what we might hold today. For example, we know that polygamy was common especially among the elites, where marriage alliances seem common. It should be noted that these arrangements were typically one man and multiple women, without much evidence for the opposite practice of one woman to multiple men. In fact, this gendered imbalance goes back to the time of Himiko, if the Wei Chronicles are to be believed, so this may not have been directly tied to the waves of misogyny that were coming over from the continent about this time, though there definitely was a strongly patriarchal bent to the narrative.
And I bring this up in part because we have to remember that this is not an unbiased history, so we can’t always assume that the views of the authors match those of the time they are writing about any more than an author today will have the same biases as someone from the 16th or 17th century. So, for instance, it is hard to know how accurate the position of the women being described might be. Iwa no Hime, whom we will talk quite a bit about, is described as the Queen, and this terminology often gets interpreted as meaning the primary wife of the sovereign, more or less, but was that all? Or did she maintain some power and authority in her own right? Unfortunately, since all the stories are filtered through an 8th century, Confucian inspired lens, it is hard to say. Certainly there were women in the 7th and 8th centuries who became sovereigns in their own right and held power equivalent to any male sovereign even as the place of women was changing with greater and greater adoption of continental norms and culture.
And finally, I just want to note again that the morals of the past often aren’t those of our own. Adultery, rape, and murder pop up again and again in the narrative, even committed by individuals otherwise coded, explicitly or otherwise, as virtuous. That such things were not a blemish against these legendary figures may speak to a different set of moral judgments that were being made at this time.
Let me be clear: I am not suggesting that we fall into the trap of moral relativism. Just because people of the time may have considered Oho Sazaki’s actions as virtuous and proper does not mean that we necessarily need to come to the same conclusion. Humans are complicated creatures—much more complicated than most narratives will allow for. However, part of our goal will be understanding, as best we can, what sort of ethical and moral compass was guiding the people of these ancient times to help us get a better understanding of what people did and why. That doesn’t mean we need to condone their actions.
With that said, let’s take a look at the love life of our virtuous Oho Sazaki no Ohokimi, and we’ll start, actually, back in the reign of his father.
You may recall that in the reign of Oho Sazaki’s father, Homuda Wake—aka Oujin Tennou—there was the beauty Kaminaga Hime, who arrived in truly awe-inspiring fashion in boats crewed by sailors all fitted out in deerskins with the antlers attached. Oho Sazaki was smitten by her as soon as they clasped eyes on one another, and though she was meant for his father, the lovesick Oho Sazaki was able to make his feelings known such that they were eventually married and she became one of his wives.
However, when he ascended to the throne as Oho Kimi, or Great Lord, it was not Kaminaga Hime who became his queen but rather another woman, whom we have also mentioned in passing, named Iwa no Hime.
We previously mentioned Iwa no Hime because, despite being the mother to several future sovereigns, she doesn’t seem to have had the credentials one might expect of a queen. Primarily she doesn’t have a clearly royal lineage. Rather, she is the daughter of Katsuraki no Sotsuhiko. As we mentioned several episodes back, talking about Sotsuhiko and Takechi no Sukune, he was only ever mentioned as a vassal of the Yamato sovereign, but there are some clues that he may have been more. He may have been some sort of sovereign in his own right, and for that matter, what did that mean for his daughter? What was up with her?
We aren’t really given any details as to how Iwa no Hime and Oho Sazaki met, but one can assume that it was through her father’s connections. But what political benefit was there in marrying the daughter of a vassal?
On the other hand, if Katsuraki no Sotsuhiko was a ruler in his own right, then his daughter may have been just the thing to help bring their domain or kingdom together with Yamato, perhaps further strengthening an alliance into something more. If this were the case, I have to wonder what Iwa no Hime’s status was. It is possible she was simply a pawn, bartered away on the political stage, and certainly there were many women in the elite families for whom this was their ultimate fate. On the other hand, we know that women held considerably more power back in the earliest times, and we’ve seen the stories of Okinaga Tarashi Hime, who was also related to the Katsuraki family. So it also strikes me as possible that Iwa no Hime may have also have had some political and administrative clout of her own.
She was certainly strong-willed, according to the Chronicles: despite the apparent cultural norm of a man keeping multiple wives, Iwa no Hime put her foot down, and would try to fight it tooth and nail. Of course, it may be that she had little choice in any wives that Oho Sazaki took before she was elevated to the rank of Queen, but after that point she really seems to have laid down the lawn.
The Chronicles claim that this stemmed from an innate jealousy. Even mentioning other women of the palace in her presence was enough to set her off. And so we see this theme throughout the stories we are told.
Now, going back to Oho-Sazaki’s first documented crush, Kaminaga Hime, we hear very little about her after the reign of Homuda Wake. We know that she produced several sons, but for the most part she seems to have faded from the story, her part in it complete.
There were plenty of other women, however, that caught Oho Sazaki’s eye, much to the chagrin of his principal wife and queen, Iwa no Hime. For example, in the Kojiki we are give the story of Kuro Hime.
Now Kuro Hime was the daughter of the Amabe no Atahe of Kibi, and, as is so often the case in these stories, her beauty “was of great renown.” Though the rumor mill version of Yamato Tinder sounds rather single-minded, I suspect that it went beyond merely the physical, even if that is what the chroniclers themselves were concerned with. After all, beauty might be shorthand for <<insert clip of “huge tracks of land”>>. Kibi, as we’ve discussed before, was quite powerful and populous in its own right, building kingly tombs that rivaled those of Yamato, so there was much for someone like Oho Sazaki to desire, and so he summoned her to his court, apparently with the intention of marrying her.
So Kuro Hime packed her bags and sailed over to Naniwa and the court. Once there, however, she started to hear rumors. Confidants in the Yamato court warned her about Iwa no Hime and her jealousy. Rather than risk Iwa no Hime’s ire, Kuro Hime decided that Oho Sazaki wasn’t worth it, and she threw her things back in the boat and prepared to head back home.
Oho Sazaki was apparently heartbroken. Watching out from a high tower he sang a song:
“In the offing / The small boats are stretched out in a row; / In one of them, / Masazuko, my beloved, / Goes down to her native land.”
As sentimental as he might have been, what Oho Sazaki wasn’t was quiet. Iwa no Hime heard his composition, and she became enraged. She sent out people down to the Bay and had them hound Kuro Hime out of her boat, her ride home, and forced her to walk back to Kibi on foot. That might have taken several days, possibly a week or more, depending on the quality of the roads and pathways.
And as arduous and incredible as that journey might have been, what really draws my attention is the power of Iwa no Hime. Her jealous tantrums were not merely biting commentary—she sent people out to physically hound and harass Kuro Hime. And where was Oho Sazaki in all of this? Why wasn’t he standing up to Iwa no Hime?
I guess that the narrative could be explained by the trope of the hen-pecked husband, which seems to be the tack that the stories take. Personally, I like to think that it demonstrated that, at least in Iwa no Hime’s mind, she and Oho Sazaki were equals. But perhaps that is just wishful thinking.
Regardless of why, Oho Sazaki was not one to oppose his wife. Well, not directly, at least. He still longed to see Kuro Hime, and so he went with one of the classic husbandly lies so trope-worthy that from the 8th century to today it is still being used. He told her he was just going out shopping, and he definitely wasn’t going down to the local pub to have a pint with his mates.
Well, okay actually he told her that he was going to Awaji, the island just off of Naniwa that had long been site of royal hunting grounds, where sovereigns had gone to participate in their more leisurely pursuits. He certainly said nothing about heading out from Awaji to Kibi. After all, what his wife didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
Standing on Awaji, looking out across the Seto Inland Sea, Oho Sazaki once again encapsulated his feelings in poetry:
“Setting out / from the point of Naniwa / Of the glittering waves, / I view the land / and behold the island of Awa, / The Island of Onogoro / the Island of Ajimasa / And of Sake tsu Shima.”
On its own, this probably was just a poem about kunimi, or viewing the country, a common ritual of kingship demonstrating hegemony over the land. But if you add an unspoken line, as suggested by Phillipi: “But nowhere do I catch sight of my beloved.” Well, then the whole thing takes on a different tone, one more fitting for the circumstances. And it is likely that this was the unspoken feeling one was supposed to deduce, even if it wasn’t directly stated.
It was certainly the unspoken feeling that was acted upon as Oho Sazaki set out to Kibi, where he found Kuro Hime, who took him to the mountain foothills and fed him there.
At that point, the narrative gives us several poems, or more likely, based on their structure, songs that were meant to be set to music of some kind. Phillipi points out how these poem-songs repeat certain words over and over, and many of these appear in both the Kojiki and the Nihon Shoki, but not always in the same places. That would seem to indicate that the songs were probably well known, passed down as part of a strong oral tradition, but that the actual context of the songs may have been lost. One of the songs is only found in the Kojiki, but then it is also recalled in the Tango Fudoki, but this time in the mouth of a supernatural woman of the Urashima legend. These were songs that the people likely knew well, and so it was easy to slot them in, much in the way that a modern television program might choose well known songs rather than creating a totally original soundtrack.
Looking back at our story, we aren’t really told how Iwa no Hime reacted once Oho Sazaki returned, though presumably she noticed something was off. Most importantly, however, Kuro Hime appears to have stayed in Kibi, and we don’t really hear any more of her. Iwa no Hime’s position remained secure, despite her husband’s dalliance.
In fact, it seems reasonable to conclude that Oho Sazaki may have learned his lesson, for the Nihon Shoki contains a story not about Kuro Hime of Kibi, but rather of Kuga Hime, a lady of the palace. Now Oho Sazaki, like a moth drawn to the flame, lusted after Kuga Hime, and desired to show her his affection—bidden or otherwise. But before going so far as to send her a basket of eggplants and a not so subtle invitation to visit him in his chambers he did something a bit uncharacteristic at this point. He paused.
It seems that his wife’s legendary jealousy had left an impression on Oho Sazaki, and he began to think through what his personal desires might mean for poor Kuga Hime if he actually acted on them. After all, he would be spared, but Kuga Hime would have to bear the brunt of Iwa no Hime’s wrath. On top of that, there is no way that she could ever be considered a queen, such as Iwa no Hime was.
And so, with apparent consideration for her age and not wanting Kuga Hime to waste the best years of her life, Oho Sazaki decided that he could do something better than bringing her into his harem. Instead, he could play matchmaker, himself. Of course it goes without saying that Kuga Hime had no real say in this un-asked-for good deed.
Thus, Oho Sazaki sang out a poem, presumably at a banquet where all the most eligible bachelors were gathered, asking if anyone would be willing to “nourish the daughter of the Omi, who sweeps along the bottom of the water.” The response to this question came from Hayamachi, the ancestor of the governors of Harima, who formed his response in the thirty-one syllable style, known as Tanka, that would eventually become the default for off-the-cuff poetry at the court. In this case, the poem was rather straightforward, stating simply: “I, Hayamachi of Harima / Where the dreadful tides are / though full of awe / like rocks tumbling down / I will nourish her.”
And with that, no doubt quite pleased with himself, Oho Sazaki simply gave Kuga Hime to Hayamachi.
It seems though, that Kuga Hime, who had not been consulted in any of this, had other plans. Even though Hayamichi went to Kuga Hime’s house to collect her, she would not comply. He insisted, however, on approaching her curtained space—a reference to the way that the large, generally open floor plans of early Japanese noble architecture would often be separated with curtains of fabric or reeds, often delineating between the male and female spaces, as well as public and private. In later eras, even when it was customary for women in the summer time to wear little more than an almost transparent gauze robe, it would be scandalous for a man to catch a glimpse of a woman’s uncovered flesh—even if it was just a hand reaching out beyond the curtain.
In the 5th century, however, it is unclear just how sensual such an act might be seen, but the 8th century writers are nonetheless conveying that separation between them—a physical barrier representing, at the same time, an intangible one. For Kuga Hime insisted that she would die husbandless, and that she could therefore not become Hayamichi’s wife.
Well, when Oho Sazaki heard of all of this, he certainly had egg on his face. For all the trouble he had gone through, and he had, in fact, promised Kuga Hime’s hand to Hayamichi. And so, believing this marriage to be for the best—or perhaps simply to avoid the embarrassment he felt—the sovereign, Oho Sazaki, commanded Kuga Hime to go with Hayamichi to Kuhada, where they would be married. However, it was not to be. Kuga Hime’s declaration proved to be prophetic—she tragically passed away during the journey and never made it to Kuhada. Thus, as she said, she died husbandless.
And so we get a glimpse of Oho Sazaki and his relationship with women in his life, but there is one more that stands out above the rest. It is found in both the Kojiki and the Nihon Shoki, with many of the poems showing up in both of them, though occasionally in slightly different parts of the narrative. I’ll try to weave the two accounts together as best I can.
Oh, and before I go much further, I should introduce the new woman in Oho Sazaki’s life. Although she isn’t exactly a new woman. In fact, we mentioned her several episodes back when we talked about the tug of war between Oho Sazaki and his brother, Uji no Waki Iratsuko, over who wouldn’t have to sit on the throne after dear old dad passed away. She was the woman given to Oho Sazaki by Waki Iratsuko on the moment—or even slightly after—his own death. Her name was Yata no Waki Iratsume, aka Yata Hime, Oho Sazaki’s own half-sister.
As you may or may not recall—we honestly didn’t spend too much time on it back then—Yata no Waki Iratsume was given to Oho Sazaki to take on as a wife because her full brother, Waki Iratsuko, had taken his own life. Remember that siblings were only considered to be truly blood relatives if they shared the same mother, and thus the ancient chronicles saw nothing strange in this arrangement. In fact, many would no doubt see it as strengthening the royal lineage, a concept that was popular in many places, not just Japan, leading to tragic things like, well, the Hapsburgs, for one.
Inbreeding aside, despite the fact that she had been granted to Oho Sazaki when he had taken the throne—or so we are told—she remains out of the picture for about 2 decades. Presumably, during this time, she was being well kept, but she was not Oho Sazaki’s queen—she wasn’t even one of his secondary wives. And one of the reasons for this may have been Iwa no Hime.
The Nihon Shoki claims that Oho Sazaki told Iwa no Hime that he wanted to take Yata Hime as his wife, but Iwa Hime would not allow it. Oho Sazaki tried to change her mind with poetry, but Iwa no Hime was just as quick witted, and clearly his equal. As translated by Aston, the exchange goes something like this.
Oho Sazaki sang: “As a means of raising up / Dear ones: / As a spare bowstring / To supply a vacancy / I would place her along with thee.”
But Iwa no Hime wouldn’t have it: “In the case of garments / To double them is well, / But my Lord who would set in a row / The couches of night- / I wonder if he is wise.”
Oho Sazaki persisted, however: “Like the shore of Narabi / Of Cape Naniwa / That projects (into the sea) / It must have been solely to be thy comrade / That the child came into being.”
Still, Iwa no Hime continued to object: “Like the summer insect, / The insect that seeks the fire / Wearing double garments, / That the palace precinct should be thus, / Nay! It is not good.”
Nonetheless, Oho Sazaki would not take a hint: “Even the traveller, / Who with unbared tears / Toils over the little pass of Hika / in Asatsuma - / Well for him had he a companion.”
Iwa no Hime could see he wasn’t going to let up, but neither would she give in, and so she finally just refused to keep going. She refused to answer him, and refused to give her consent.
And that might have been the end of it. The Nihon Shoki tells us that eight years went by, and apparently Oho Sazaki didn’t bring it back up, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t have thoughts.
One day, according to both the Kojiki and the Nihon Shoki, Iwa no Hime left the palace and made an excursion down the Kii peninsula. There she was looking for a special set of leaves, which came in clusters of three and which could be used as drinking cups for certain ceremonies. She was planning to host a lavish banquet, and we are told that she had an entire boatload of these leaf cups that she was bringing back with her.
It was during her absence that Oho Sazaki’s rebellious streak kicked in, and despite the Iwa no Hime’s clear refusal eight years prior, Oho Sazaki finally went ahead and married Yata Hime. They then apparently did what married couples do, and word got around. In fact, as Iwa no Hime’s retinue was returning with her to Naniwa, a common laborer approached one of her handmaidens. He began to give her the latest hot goss, talking about the scandalous way that the sovereign was disporting himself day and night with his newest bride.
Upon hearing this, the handmaiden, who had been in one of the boats near the back of the procession, urged her sailors to row faster, until she caught up with her mistress, Iwa no Hime. There the handmaiden told her everything that the laborer had said, and Iwa no Hime lost it. In a fit of rage she enacted her own table flip, dumping all of the leaf-cups into the ocean—perhaps one of the first great examples of an angry “table clearing”, which Hollywood directors love so much. She then gave the decision not to stop in Naniwa, but instead to sail on by and up the canal towards Yamashiro. She sailed by Naniwa, where her husband, Oho Sazaki, sat on shore, watching with no doubt a confused look on his face as her boats did not put in as expected, but rather continued up river. It was here that she sang:
“As I ascend / As I ascend the river, /The Yamashiro River / Of the connected mountain peaks,
On the bank of the River / There is growing / A Sashibu / A Sashibu Tree
Underneath it / There is growing / A wide-leaved / Sacred camelia tree.
Like its flowers / Shining Brilliantly, /Like its leaves / Wide and calm / Are you, my great lord.”
And so singing, she went on by.
As she arrived around Narayama, she again composed a song, found in some form in both of the chronicles:
o “As I ascend,
As I ascend towards the palace
Up the Yamashiro River
Of the connected mountain peaks,
o I pass by Nara
Of the blue clay
I pass by Yamato
Of the little shields;
o The country which I long to see
Is Takamiya in Kazuraki
Where my home is.”
And by this we can assume she was headed back to her family. Remember, she is the daughter of Katsuraki no Sotsu Hiko—Sotsu Hiko of Katsuraki—so going back to Takamiya, the high palace, may have been a reference to her going back to the site of her family’s territorial seat of power. However, we are told that on the way she took a detour, stopping in the house of one Nurinomi, a man of Kara who lived in Tsutsuki. Or that’s what the Kojiki tells us. The Nihon Shoki claims that she built her own palace on the south side of Tsutsuki Hill, with no mention of Nurinomi.
Now while all this was happening, Oho Sazaki was not exactly standing idle. First, he sent an attendant named Toriyama, once more with a line of verse to tell him what to do, but it appears that Toriyama was unsuccessful. And so he turned to another of his vassals: Kuchiko—or possibly just Kuchi—of the Wani no Omi.
Now Kuchiko was a loyal vassal, and it was apparently no secret where Iwa no Hime was staying. We are told that he went out to deliver a message from Oho Sazaki, but Iwa no Hime refused to hear it. Even though the rain was coming down hard, Kuchiko prostrated him in front of the house, until Iwa no Hime left and went to the rear quarters, at which point he ran around the outside of the house—after all, nobody had invited him in—and he prostrated himself, again, in the wet and the mud, by the back entrance. Iwa no Hime, her own stubbornness by now legendary, simply went back to the front of the building, and, once again, Kuchiko prostrated himself again in the yard.
All this time, the rain kept pouring down on poor, loyal Kuchiko. He had been given a message by the Sovereign, and he had to deliver it, but at the same time, he couldn’t exactly force Iwa no Hime to listen to it. And so he stayed there, in the rain, even though the courtyard was starting to flood, so that the waters were at his waist, and a red cord that he had began to bleed, staining the blue fabric of his clothing and turning it red. Still, Iwa no Hime did nothing.
Now it just so happened that Kuchiko’s younger sister, Kuniyori Hime, was serving in the retinue of Iwa no Hime, and when she saw the poor state that her brother was in, and realizing the futility of his mission, she started to weep for him.
And the rocky exterior of Iwa no Hime seems to have cracked, just a little. She asked her maiden why she was so upset, and Kuniyori Hime said to her: “I am moved to tears / At the sight of my brother / Speaking his message / At the Palace of Tsutsuki / of Yamashiro.”
She then said quite plainly that it was her brother and she felt bad for the situation he was in. Iwa no Hime, moved by Kuniyori’s grief, agreed that Kuniyori Hime could talk to him, even though she would not. And so Kuchiko was apparently brought inside—and hopefully given some dry clothes—and he conferred with his sister and with the master of the house, Nurinomi.
Here, it is the Kojiki that tells us what apparently happened. According to that version of events, the trio of Kuchiko, Kuniyori, and Nurinomi agreed to tell the sovereign that Iwa no Hime had simply come to visit Nurinomi and to see the silkworms that he cultivated. Of course, by this time, silkworms were likely well known on the continent, but I’m not sure how commonly known their lifecycle was. And thus it was possibly believable that Iwa no Hime might go to visit and see the process.
With this little white lie they apparently hoped to put off the sovereign and his curiosity—after all, it seemed as if there was no way that Iwa no Hime was going to change her mind. And for a little while it worked. But only a little while. A month went by, and Oho Sazaki was apparently beginning to wonder. He made his own way up the river towards Yamashiro, eventually reaching the palace in Tstusuki where Iwa no Hime had apparently put down some roots.
Once there, Oho Sazaki called out to her, with yet more poetic verses, asking that she come back with him, but it was no good. She refused to go with him and essentially told him that as long as *that* woman was still in the palace, she would never return to the palace.
Dejected and empty-handed, Oho Sazaki returned to Naniwa. We are told that Iwa no Hime kept her word, and they never saw each other again. According to the Nihon Shoki, Iwa no Hime would die five years later, leaving several heirs to the throne.
As for Yata Hime—she and Oho Sazaki continued to live in the palace, and several years after Iwa no Hime’s passing, Yata Hime was made Queen.
It is said that Oho Sazaki and Yata Hime would often spend their days and nights in one of the high towers, because the weather was so hot one autumn. While they were up there, they could hear the hauntingly musical cry of a deer out on the nearby Toga moor, and they would feel great pity for the animal. One evening, about mid-month, the moor went silent, and they both wondered what might have happened. The next day, a man of the Saheki-be showed up with an offering—a buck that head taken out on the Toga Moor. Oho Sazaki immediately deduced that this was likely the deer they had been hearing, and he was suddenly filled with resentment, even though, logically, he knew there was no way for the man to have known. Still, he had him banished from the royal presence, such that he was not allowed to approach the royal palace and he would be removed to Nuta.
There is an accompanying story in the Nihon Shoki about a man who went to Toga and spent the night on the moor. As he was out there, two deer, a buck and a doe, came and laid down beside him. In the morning, the buck miraculously spoke up, telling the doe about a dream he had had, where he was covered in white mist. He wondered what it could mean. The doe said that it must meant that if he went out that day, he would surely be shot. The white mist would be like the salt that would cover his body to help preserve the meat. Nonetheless, the buck went out, and sure enough there was a hunter on the moor, and he shot the buck, just as the dream had foretold. Thus there is a saying: “Even the belling buck follows the interpretation of a dream.”
Now Yata Hime and Oho Sazaki seem to have loved one another very much, but despite this, Yata Hime was never able to bear him any children. And here we get an interesting note from the Kujiki, which we should remember, was very keen not just on the royal lineage, but on the lineage of the once-powerful Mononobe clan, whose fortunes had declined somewhat by the 8th century. It tells us that because she was childless, the sovereign basically selected an attending minister, Mononobe no Oho Wake no Muraji, to be set up as a prince, the adopted son of the Queen, Yata Hime. Her name, “Yata” was turned into a surname, a new Uji, or clan group, and she was made the Uji no Miyatsuko and given the title of Yatabe no Muraji. This seems to be confirmed by the Shinsen Shoujiroku, who claims that the Yatabe no Muraji descended through Ikaga Shikowo, as Oho Wake was a descendent in the fourth generation.
There is one more story that I’d like to leave you with, for it turns out that even the sovereign had rivals, and he was not always lucky in love. This story comes to us in two versions, from the Kojiki and the Nihon Shoki.
Now it came to be that Oho Sazaki wished to marry his half-sister, Medori no Miko, the sister to his wife, Yata Hime. And so he sent as an intermediary one of his younger brothers, a man by the name of Hayabusa Wake no Miko. Now the Kojiki places this story sometime during the reign of Iwa no Hime as queen, for Medori no Miko was concerned. She feared that, for all of his prestige, Oho Sazaki was not a good match because of the arrogance—or jealousy—of his wife, Iwa no Hime, which had even kept him from marrying Yata Hime for so long. Instead, she decided to marry Hayabusa Wake, instead. They got married in secret, and, perhaps unsurprisingly, Hayabusa Wake decided not to return to the palace. After all, what was he going to say? “Sorry bro, I know I was supposed to chat her up for you, but, like, we got married, instead. Cool?”
Not hearing back from his intermediary, Oho Sazaki went to the place where Medori no Miko was staying. He stood at the doorsill while she was at a loom, weaving. He called out to her with a poem:
“For whom is intended, / The garment being woven / By my lady / Medori.”
Medori Hime must not have known that it was Oho Sazaki who stood at the door, because she replied:
“It is a cloth for a coat / for the high-flying falcon, / Hayabusa Wake no Miko”
Having heard her reply, Oho Sazaki, whose name means the “Great Wren” or “Great Wagtail”, realized that her heart belonged to Hayabusa, whose name means “Falcon”. According to the Nihon Shoki’s account, Oho Sazaki decided to just let it go at first. After all, there was no need to stir up trouble, and Medori was, after all, sister to his wife, Yata Hime.
Later, however, there were stories that started to drift out about Hayabusa Wake starting to get various ideas, and a song that his own attendants were heard singing:
“ The Falcon / Ascending to Heaven / With soaring flight-- / Let him seize the wren / On top of the Tsuki trees.”
Well, given their names, this seemed like a clear claim of rebellion. Oho Sazaki had been patient, for his wife’s sake, but he couldn’t let a private quarrel develop into full blown rebellion, and so he decided to nip the entire thing in the bud. Medori Hime and Hayabusa Wake heard about the plans for them, however, and they fled.
As soon as Oho Sazaki heard they had fled, he sent Kibi no Honchi-be no Wofuna and Harima no Saheki no Atahe no Aganoko to pursue and kill the couple. Before they left, however, Yata Hime stepped in. Though she recognized her sister’s error and the need for her to be punished, she asked the generals to help her, nonetheless, maintain some dignity. It was not uncommon, at that time, for the defeated to be slain and for their goods to be divvied up amongst the victors. Yata Hime asked for an exception in the case of her sister, requesting that she remain covered up, with some dignity, even in death.
Sure enough the two generals, Wofuna and Agonoko, caught up with the lovers around Uda, but the two escaped over Mt. Soni. Eventually they were caught and slain on the Komoshiro moor in Ise. Despite the orders, Wofuna searched the princess and took her jewels and then buried the princess and Hayabusa on the bank of the Ihoki River. The generals then returned and gave their report—conveniently skipping over what happened with the jewels.
Time went by, and later in that same year it came time for the Festival of First Fruits. During this festival, Yata Hime noticed some familiar jewelry on the hands of a couple of the women. She immediately asked where they had gotten them, and they pointed out that they had received them from Aganoko. When questioned more directly, Aganoko eventually came clean, admitting that he had stolen the jewels against the orders he was given.
The sovereign was furious, and the charge would normally have been death for Aganoko, but instead Aganoko offered up all of his own lands to the throne. Because they had been forfeit due to the jewels, or Tama, that Aganoko had stolen, these lands were known as “tamade”.
And that was the story of the Falcon and the Wren, and the last of our stories about Oho Sazaki’s love life. I hope you have enjoyed them. Next we will probably talk about some of the more miraculous and unbelievable tales from this reign.
But that’s all for now, so until next time, thank you for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us on iTunes, Spotify, or wherever you listen to podcasts. If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate through our KoFi site, kofi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the link over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode.
Also, feel free to Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page. You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com. We would love to hear from you and your ideas.
And that’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

Ō, Yasumaro, & Heldt, G. (2014). The Kojiki: An account of ancient matters. ISBN978-0-231-16389-7
Bentley, John. (2006). The Authenticity of Sendai Kuji Hongi: a New Examination of Texts, with a Translation and Commentary. ISBN-90-04-152253
Chamberlain, B. H. (1981). The Kojiki: Records of ancient matters. Rutland, Vt: C.E. Tuttle Co. ISBN4-8053-0794-3
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4
Philippi, D. L. (1968). Kojiki. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press. ISBN4-13-087004-1

Episode 51: Flood Control and Refrigeration

October 16, 2021 Joshua Badgley

Daisen Kofun (大仙古墳), part of the UNESCO World Heritage Mozu-Furuichi tomb group (百舌鳥古市古墳群), traditionally believed to house the body of Ōsazaki no Sumeramikoto, aka Nintoku Tennō. It is not only the largest kofun in Japan, but one of the largest tombs in the entire world, at least twice the size of the Great Pyramid of Giza. Photo copyright © National Land Image Information (Color Aerial Photographs), Ministry of Land, Infrastructure, Transport and Tourism.

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Ice Houses of Ancient Japan

Himuro (氷室) in Tenri city, Nara. Photo by うぃき野郎, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons

One of the more surprising features of the narrative this time around might be the mention of an ice house, or himuro (氷室). A “muro” is a type of pit dwelling, and “hi” means ice. Now storing ice in covered pits goes back to at least 3~4,000 years ago, with perhaps the oldest reference being to one in Mesopotamia. But it is still rather incredible. By digging down into the earth, you end up using the natural cooling effects of the earth itself to help insulate the ice, and while they couldn’t necessarily make ice during hot months, they could certainly store ice from the winter months. There is even a shrine in Nara called “Himuro Shrine” that claims to go back to at least the 8th century as being dedicated to a kami of ice houses. Apparently they were on the hook to supply the court and the royal family.

Of course, ice would still have been something precious, at least in the summer months, so it was likely only ever accessible by the aristocracy, but it was something that they had, which is pretty neat. Consider, also, that as you sip on your ice water on a hot summer’s day, you are the envy of so many of our ancient ancestors around the world.

Daisen Kofun

The supposed resting place of Ōsazaki is Daisen Kofun, and you can see a photo of it, above. The truth, however, is that we don’t know who rests in the main chamber. Recently, the Imperial Household has given permission to do rare excavations of portions of the tomb, but mostly it remains off-limits as it is considered a sacred resting place.

That said, there have been people inside the main burial chamber. In the Edo period there were people who went in and catalogued what was there, and another exploration took place in 1876. Some of the items from the tomb are on display in local museums, including the haniwa, and we have an old drawing of the interior. However, none of that definitively identified the occupant.

Drawing of the inside of the main tomb chamber.

Drawing of the sarcophagus inside the tomb.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is Episode 51: Flood Control and Refrigeration.
So before we got interrupted in our narrative by last episode’s diversion into new DNA evidence about Japanese populations, we were about to get into the reign of Ohosazaki no Mikoto, also known as Nintoku Tennou.
As you may recall from Episode 49, when Oho Sazaki no Mikoto’s father, the previous sovereign, Homuda Wake, aka Oujin Tennou, passed away, he left three possible heirs. The eldest brother, known most popularly as Oho Yamamori, though he also seems to be conflated with a prince Nukada—who may or may not be the same person--had been given command of the mountains and forests. Oho Sazaki no Mikoto, the middle brother, had been put in charge of the administration, assisting the Crown Prince, the youngest of the three brothers, known as Uji no Waki no Iratsuko. What should have been a straightforward succession, though, turned into a bit of a muddled mess. Waki Iratsuko didn’t want the job and thought that Oho Sazaki no Mikoto should take it. Oho Sazaki no Mikoto may or may not have wanted the job, but didn’t want to go against his father’s wishes, and so he refused it. Oho Yamamori actually *did* want the job, but nobody else thought he should have it. Oho Yamamori tried to take it from Waki Iratsuko, who turned the tables on him and sent him to sleep with the fishes, quite literally. Then Waki Iratsuko and Oho Sazaki both refused to take up the role of sovereign, which went on for several years, or so we are told. Finally, Waki Iratsuko committed suicide in order to force his brother’s hand, even going so far as to come back from the grave to briefly give his brother his blessing.
And if you don’t believe a word of that whole mess, don’t worry, you are in good company. In all likelihood this story has been twisted, taken apart, and put back together several times over as we are still in a confusing period. Some archaeological evidence points to there being co-rulers, but the narrative says only one, and the lengths of these reigns—those of Homuda Wake and Oho Sazaki no Mikoto—have been generously expanded in order to link Homuda Wake’s mother, Okinaga Tarashi Hime, aka Jinguu Tenno, with the reign of Queen Himiko.
There are little hints here and there, though, as to different underlying truths, particularly in the way that some stories are told in the reigns of different sovereigns, depending on the source. For instance the story of the Karano is given in the Nihon Shoki during the reign of Homuda Wake—that incredibly fast ship that eventually become rotted out and roasted for salt. Well, in the Kojiki the Karano was built during the reign of Oho Sazaki, and the burning for salt happens on his watch. Of course, it is possible that memories simply fade and the exact details of any given activity can’t truly be traced, but there is also the possibility that if Ohosazaki – Nintoku-tenno – and his father Homuda Wake – Ojin Tenno - were in reality acting as co-rulers of some kind, then the Chroniclers were struggling with which events should go under which sovereign.
Despite all of that confusion, however, we can still draw some conclusions. First off, it is very clear that succession at this point was not a settled tradition. It wasn’t necessarily the oldest son who inherited, and so one can only imagine how easily disputes must have arisen upon the death of a sovereign as various factions formed behind one candidate or the other. I’ve seen it suggested that perhaps this was de rigeur for the times, and that the death of a sovereign would have often led to periods of fighting and even civil war as people asserted themselves in the power vacuum.
Eventually, however, Oho Sazaki no Mikoto was the only one left, or at least according to the stories, and so he reluctantly took on the title of Oho Kimi, the Great Lord, or Sovereign.
We’ve talked about 3 brothers, but Oho Sazaki was actually the 4th child of Homuda Wake by a woman known only as “Naka tsu Hime”, or “The Middle Lady”. However, we are told that she was the granddaughter of Ihoki Iribiko, who himself was the son of Oho Tarashi Hiko, aka Keiko Tenno, reinforcing the concept that it was just as important for the maternal line to be of royal blood as it was for the paternal.
Speaking of which, there was one more prince of royal blood that gets mentioned, but isn’t part of all of this ruckus. In the Chronicles he bears the moniker of Futamata no Miko, and at this point in the story we don’t get much other than a strange bit of genealogy, but we’ll get back to him in a future episode. For now, just realize that he is also prioritized in the story, despite a plethora of other sons and daughters listed in those long rolls of begats that all of these sources loved so much.
But for now let’s get back to our main character, the new sovereign. I have to say, some of the information we have on Oho Sazaki no Mikoto feels like pure propaganda. For instance, when he finally took the throne the land was in pretty bad shape, and no wonder, when you think about it. After all, how long had things been going on without a central authority? If there is any truth to the stories, after all, Oho Sazaki and his brother Waki Iratsuko had been playing keep-away with the kingship for a long time. It is likely that quite a few things had been neglected in that time—though presumably they at least had buried dear old dad before they descended into their squabbling over just who wouldn’t sit on the throne in his absence. But now it seems that things weren’t looking too good.
One of Oho Sazaki’s first orders of business was to build the new palace building. As we’ve seen during this time, it was common to build a new palace as the seat of the court when a new sovereign came to the throne. This would continue for the next several centuries. This may have had to do with the belief that the previous court buildings were polluted with the death of the previous sovereign, which is the most common explanation we have. Truth be told, though, there are a lot of questions, including the actual location of the various court buildings. This practice could also have just been practical—in the same way that the shrine at Ise was, and continues to be, rebuilt every 20 years, it may be that by the end of a given reign the palace would have that much more age, with possible structural issues that just couldn’t be easily repaired, and building it anew, in a different location, may have been a way to keep things relatively fresh. No doubt much of the materials would be recycled if they could be.
Still, for whatever reason, we are told that Oho Sazaki no Mikoto established a new palace in the Naniwa area, but that he did so quickly—more quickly than was typical. The Nihon Shoki tells us that his palace was built “without plaster or paint” and that the thatching was “uneven”. The plaster and paint may reference later architectural features—I don’t know if that was being done at the time—but I think we get the general impression that things were a bit slapdash, and they didn’t take the time to ornament the palace as usual. This was in order to spare the workers for the fields. After all, the communal nature of the harvest meant that it was more or less all hands on deck at certain parts of the season, and pulling people away for other projects, even projects for the court of Oho Kimi, risked them not being available for their agricultural duties. It sounds like things were already pretty bad.
In fact, there is another part of the record that claims Oho Sazaki climbed up to a high place—possibly a mountain—and viewed the country. We’ve talked about this in past episodes, where sovereigns real and mythical would climb to high point and perform kunimi, or a viewing of the countryside. This seems to have been an important aspect of rulership, and Phillipi notes that it may have practical roots in looking out from a high place to help determine which fields needed to be planted or harvested and helping to generally direct the activities of the surrounding area. Of course, later this activity would become more of a diversion, as the role of the sovereign changed. Mizoguchi notes how the elites gradually changed from the time of the Yayoi, when they were actually valued for their skills in performing work for the community, whether administrative or spiritual, to an attitude in the Kofun period where the elites came to see themselves as generally deserving of their position based on the nature of their birth rather than any specific work they were doing. This was part of a general slide away from the more egalitarian society of independent groups to a more centralized model with more despotic tendencies, a process that the archipelago was still in the midst of, in many ways.
Anyway, as Oho Kimi was performing this ritual-slash-royal field trip to the mountains, he was crestfallen to note a distinct lack of smoke rising up from the valley. This was extremely puzzling, as it meant that there was a dearth of activity.
Now this may not be something we all immediately see. After all, smoke and smog are so often things we hope not to see in the world, especially given what we now know about the state of the climate. But back in the Kofun era, smoke would have been a key indicator of human activity. From casting terracotta figures to smelting metals, to simply cooking food, one would normally expect to see a good deal of smoke. But if the hearth fires weren’t operating, that meant that there were problems.
Sure enough, we are told that there was a severe drought that affected the crops. Without food to cook, why build a fire? And while we know that in the Jomon period people had been able to live off the land, the Yayoi and Kofun populations had already grown well beyond what hunting, gathering, and basic horticulture could sustain. They needed their agricultural harvests if they were to feed their people.
And this was likely one reason for the less than glorious construction of the palace, but it went even further. We are told that Oho Sazaki excused forced labor for three years, and he let the palace and other administrative buildings fall into disrepair. This wasn’t just for Kawachi and neighboring Yamato provinces, but for all of those who submitted to Yamato hegemony. He is even said to have rationed his own food and that of the court. Though not everyone agreed with his actions, he felt that it was the role of the sovereign to provide succor to the people in times of need so that they could deal with the situation and get back on their feet.
And sure enough, it seems to have worked. Three years later, Oho Sazaki went back to look out over the land and the smoke was rising up once more, indicating that the people had something to cook. Realizing that his people were flourishing once again, he returned to the palace, satisfied that he and his people were prosperous once more.
Of course, not everyone felt quite the same way, and one of the more vocal opponents to Oho Sazaki’s position was actually his own queen: Iwa no Hime.
Now Iwa no Hime is someone we’ve mentioned previously, as her father was none other than the famous Kadzuraki no Sotsuhiko. In fact, it is her place as the official queen that make people wonder if there wasn’t more to Sotsu Hiko himself than we are really led to believe.
Iwa no Hime could hardly believe her husband. Here he was, rejoicing at how prosperous they were all because he saw some smoke. Perhaps he might have been a little too close to the wrong kind of smoke, though, if you know what I mean. After all, their palace was so dilapidated that it could not even be repaired—they were going to have to completely rebuild it. The roof leaked, they were still rationing their food, and their belongings had become worn out and threadbare. She was the Queen, dammit; she was supposed to be living in luxury and having people wait on her. They were supposed to be the upper crust—the elite. Instead they were barely any better off than the farmers who grubbed around in the dirt! How could Oho Sazaki claim that they were at all prosperous?
But to all of these accusations, Oho Sazaki merely replied that as the sovereign, if the people are prosperous, then the ruler can’t help but be prosperous as well. And even though the provincial administrators were starting to petition the court to once again allow them to start collecting taxes in goods and labor so that they could repair their administrative buildings, still, Oho Sazaki held off for just a little bit longer to give the people time to fully recover. Eventually, though, with life back on track, he did reinstate policies of forced labor and taxation, roughly six years after he first noticed the problem.
I may not need to mention this, but this whole thing seems quite dubious an account, and it is filled with language that is very continental in its outlook and thinking. Clearly later Chroniclers were placing into Oho Sazaki’s mouth a very Sinified explanation for his actions, describing him in terms that well-read scholars would recognize as aspects of the coveted sage-kings of old, following the Way of Heaven. It is possible that this was just the 7th and 8th century language for describing the way that Oho Sazaki no Mikoto was adored as a wise ruler. It is also entirely possible that he was dealing with things like drought and famine, but perhaps not for six years—that may be an exaggeration to just fill in some of the dates.
Whatever the facts may have been, the Truth that the Chroniclers wanted to convey was just how much he earned his posthumous name of “Nintoku”. The first character, “Nin” actually means duty or responsibility—literally carrying a burden. The second character, Toku, is the same one seen in the name “Tokugawa”, as in the Edo period shoguns, and it means “virtue” or even “benevolent”. Duty and Virtue—that is the name that later generations would ascribe to this sovereign based on the stories that were told about him.
Stories of his virtue weren’t limited to the austerity measures he imposed on himself in times of need for his people though. The Chronicles also talk about his projects and great works. For instance, the water-slash-irrigation works he had performed, such as building a channel in the plains north of the palace. Now, granted, this seems to be fairly common stuff for a ruler and a modern day comparison might be, I don’t know, something along the lines of a large infrastructure project. Where we might invest in roads, electricity, and broadband, back then it was more often than not an investment in water. Either ponds, to hold water, or channels to help get water from point A to point B, thus opening up more land for cultivation. Since land—and the rice it produced—was wealth, this was directly contributing to the bottom line of his people.Of course, it doesn’t hurt that continental sage kings were also praised for the ways in which they tamed the waters. In their case it was usually the Yellow River or the Yangtze, whose banks would regularly overflow and flood the surrounding areas if not kept in check, but nonetheless I think we can safely assume that the focus on water projects was anything but accidental.
Now this period likely had plenty of water works to focus on. You may remember how I mentioned that Kawachi province was once the home to a large bay that stretched from the mountains to a small strip along the inland sea shore between the areas of the modern Yamato and Yodo Rivers. This bay emptied out around the port of modern Ohosaka, where it joined the Seto Inland Sea. Over the centuries, however, it silted in, and the shallow, estuarine bay likely became more of a lake by Kofun times. This process continued as it likely became more of a swamp, and eventually a marsh and then dry land. No doubt as that happened, workers would, on the one hand, be needed to convert the new lands into rice fields, but there would also need to be works to help move the water, draining swampy areas and irrigating those that were too dry, while also preventing unexpected or excess flooding.
All that to say that controlling the water was more than just an ancient form of virtue-signaling: It was dealing with a real problem. And some times things required a little extra intervention.
For example, one of the problems that the Kawachi plain no doubt had as it silted up was that it was still extremely low-lying terrain. Since it silted up it was likely just at or even slightly below sea level. And so it no doubt wouldn’t take much flooding along the Yodo river to spill over and down into those low-lying areas. Given the numerous tributaries that feed into the Yodo River before it dumps out into the Seto Inland Sea, it is easy to understand how this may have been a quite thorny problem. And so a decision was made to build up an embankment along the river to help keep it from spilling over. This was called the Mamuta embankment, and tradition seems to indicate that it went from Neyagawashi, in the north, down to somewhere around the Asahi district of modern Ohosaka. A portion of this embankment is even thought to lie behind the main shrine building of Tsutsumine Jinja—“Tsutsumi” meaning “embankment” in Japanese.
Work on the embankment seemed to be going well except for two areas where they had continual problems, as no matter what they did the embankment kept rupturing. Workers and overseers on the project were at a loss for what to do and turned to Oho Sazaki no Oho Kimi to figure something out.
And here is where Oho Sazaki used decidedly traditional methods to solve the problem. After giving the matter some thought, he apparently slept on it. And the next morning he awoke refreshed, but also with a potential answer to this thorny problem, as apparently he had been visited at night by the spirit of the river. Of course, the River Kami didn’t bring a new form of hydrological engineering, nor did it promise to hold back the flood waters itself. No, rather the kami demanded a sacrifice. And not just any sacrifice, mind you—you couldn’t just ride over to the nearest village, find a couple of unlucky stiffs and throw them into the river. No, these two were specific, named individuals. The first was Musashi no Kowakubi—aka Mr. Strong Neck of Musashi province. The other was a local man, Kawachi no Mamuta no Muraji no Koromo no Ko—aka Mr. Garment Child of the noble Mamuta clan of Kawachi.
I know we’ve talked about this rather morbid practice before, known as hito-bashira. It was the idea that, in extreme cases, a human being might be sacrificed in order to help prop up or protect a building or location. Of course, it should be noted that many of those locations eventually were identified as being haunted by the very spirits of the people who had been sacrificed in the first place, so I’m not sure that one could say this was in any way a sound architectural practice. Furthermore it is unclear just how often this practice was actually carried out vice simply stories that it happened. Still, that appears to be a part of the tradition that we see here.
Now Musashi no Kowakubi was a devout and loyal individual, from all we can gather, and he appears to have accepted his fate with some amount of acquiescence, grace, and dignity. They say that even though he wept, he jumped into the waters himself and drowned. That was in the area of the Asahi district of modern Ohosaka, or so tradition states, and there is a rock and a sign back in one of the neighborhoods there commemorating the incident at what is called Kowakubi no Taema—Kowakubi’s Gap.
Meanwhile, it seems that Koromo no Ko was a bit more hesitant. He apparently was not convinced by the sovereign’s dream and demanded proof of the River Kami’s divine nature. He made the claim that whatever kami had whispered in the ear of the sovereign as he was dreaming it was not actually the kami of the river. And so when we was called to sacrifice himself he showed up with a couple of calabash gourds.
Now no doubt the officials who were there to oversee the ritual were a bit confused, but Koromo no Ko quickly explained his logic. The gourds were not meant, as one might initially assume, as some kind of ancient floatation device to help him stay afloat when he went in. Rather the two gourds would be his test to ensure that it really was the river kami who demanded his sacrifice. He said to those that were gathered there: “If this river-god is a true god, then it will sink these calabashes, and I will enter of my own accord. But if they do not sink, then this kami is not a true god and why would I waste my life in vain?”
And so saying he threw the two guards into the river. Immediately a whirlwind formed, and it seemed that some force was trying to pull or perhaps push the gourds under, but it was no use—they eventually floated away on the wide waters. Given the evidence before them, the officials agreed to let Koromo no Ko go free and then they eventually did finish the embankment without need for further sacrifice.
The area where Koromo no Ko was going to be sacrificed be came known as Koromo no ko no Taema and is traditionally held to be around the site of modern Taema bridge in Neyagawa.
Of course, beyond just the implications for how the water works fit in with Oho Sazaki’s status as a continental style sage-king, this story really has some fascinating details. First off, there appear to have been no recriminations against Oho Sazaki for getting it wrong. They don’t even touch on the fact that he almost sent a man to his death. Apparently that is just how things worked and sometimes you got a sign that didn’t work out as it should have. His reputation seems untarnished by this incident.
Second, it is notable that there seems to be no particular blame or questioning of Kowakubi’s sacrifice. If anything, I would suggest that his sacrifice was probably considered the cultural norm—or at least the cultural norm that the court wanted to emphasize. If your sovereign called you to do something dangerous and foolhardy that might require you to give up your own life, it was perfectly acceptable—even admirable—to be loyal to a fault. The tragedy of the possibility that such a sacrifice wasn’t actually needed doesn’t really play into the narrative as far as I can tell, which memorializes both men equally.
And that’s the other side of the coin. Despite the fact that Koromo no Ko appears to have proved Oho Sazaki wrong, his cleverness is rewarded, and he is able to continue living. He even gets a section of the embankment named after him, just as Kowakubi did.
Of course, I think I know who I’d rather be in this particular story, but I still wonder how people of the time saw it.
For these projects, Oho Sazaki conscripted local labor, but also foreigners—as in previous reigns we see Men of Silla, supposedly part of a diplomatic envoy, conscripted and put to work on the Mamuta embankment. Again I have to wonder about just how much of a “diplomatic” mission this really was or if these were more captives—people enslaved during raids on the peninsula.
Other works included canals, such as the one in Kurikuma in Yamashiro. But it wasn’t just water that was important. The Nihon Shoki mentions a variety of public works and infrastructure projects: bridges, roads, irrigation, etc. Oho Sazaki even established granaries at Mamuta for the first time—possibly taking advantage of land reclaimed by the embankment.
An interesting note is that the vast majority of all of this building activity takes place quite specifically in the Nihon Shoki—perhaps the most Sinified of the Chronicles. The Kojiki, built as it was around the performance of these tales at court, seems much more focused on the torrid love affairs, the likes of which would no doubt make for near perfect daytime TV serials. Meanwhile, the Kujiki runs through the story with an almost montage-like pacing, providing highlights of a few of the key stories, but still skipping over a lot of the public works projects that the Nihon Shoki enjoys so much.
Much of this preference in the Nihon Shoki only seems to further emphasize its authors’ preference towards a certain type of Continental narrative. While they all clearly praise Oho Sazaki’s virtues, and many pull from the Big Book of Confucian Cliches to demonstrate it, only the Nihon Shoki seems to translate so much of it into the kind of work that would be expected of a continental sovereign. Unfortunately, that also brings into question just what sources were they drawing on for this information, and how much of it was just propaganda stuck in there to fill up pages—and decades—with material is hard to say.
Likewise, the Nihon Shoki doesn’t just focus on the internal issues that Oho Sazaki was dealing with, but also with the external foreign relations as well. There were raids on Silla, and the so-called tribute—probably just the normal diplomatic gifts that were part of the international trade system—from a variety of places. They even claim that there was tribute from Goguryeo and from the Jin court itself.
Many of these stories are fanciful, and don’t really say much about Oho Sazaki no Mikoto. For example,at one point, in the Nihon Shoki’s account of this reign, we are given the story of Lord Chyu, grandson of the King of Baekje. We discussed this in the episode on Katsuraki no Sotsuhiko. Lord Chyu had been extremely disrespectful to Ki no Tsuno no Sukune, and was sent back to Japan with Sotsuhiko in chains. Of course, rather than going to the court he made his escape and sought refuge with Nishikoro no Obito no Koroshi, where he claimed that he had been pardoned and asked to be taken in for “maintenance”. Eventually the sovereign forgave him.
One day a strange bird was caught and offered up to Oho Sazaki no Ohokimi, but nobody seems to have known what it was. Lord Chyu, however, identified it as what he called a “kuchi”, which was swift and could easily be tamed. And so Oho Sazaki gave the bird—which may have been a goshawk, or taka—to Lord Chyu to train, and this seems to be the first account of falconry in the archipelago. Eventually they set him up at the village of Takaama. Now Aston translated this as “Hawk” and “Sweet”, but I can’t help but notice that our fishermen from previously were also called “Ama”. So is this then the village of “Hawk Fishermen”? Regardless of the precise etymology, Lord Chyu is held as the founder of the Takaama-be, the group presumably set up to supply falconers for the court, though for a long time it seems that the very best falcons themselves were imported from the continent.
Some of these stories we may put in a later episode, telling the exploits of various individuals and some of the wonders from the period, but for now let’s keep an eye to the works of Oho Sazaki no Ohokimi, the sovereign of Yamato.
Perhaps one of the more surprising things from this account is the mention of a type of storehouse, but not one for grain. Rather, it is in this account that we get the first mention of an early icehouse. It seems that one of the royal princes, Nukada no Oho Naka tsu Hiko, who was apparently conflated in other stories with the late royal brother, Oho Yamamori, was out hunting in the country of Tsuke when he looked down from top of a mountain or hill onto a nearby moor where he noticed a shape like a hut. He sent a messenger to go take a look at it and the messenger told him it was some kind of muro, which is to say a pit dwelling. Specifically it was an ice-muro. The people of that land had learned to dig a deep hole—over ten feet deep, compared to a normal muro which was typically only several feet deep—and over that giant hole they had placed a thatched roof, which from ground level made it look just like any other hut. In the winter time they would lay down thick layers of reed grass on dirt floor and then ice would be stacked upon the mat. Doing so, they found they could keep ice even through the heat of the summer months, and during the hottest months of the year they could take the ice and place it in water or sake to create cool drinks. News of this was taken straightaway to the court, and Oho Sazaki instituted his own ice muro and rules to always store ice from the last month of winter until the second month of spring, when the ice would melt away.
This is really incredible when you think of it—we so often equate ice in our drinks with technology like refrigeration and here they had ice for their drinks back in at least the 8th century. Pretty remarkable if you think about it.
And there is one last major work that we are told Oho Sazaki no Ohokimi instituted, and that was to choose the size of his own tomb. He is said to have sited it at Mozu, or Mozuno. The Nihon Shoki says that construction started in the 67th year of his reign, and that he died twenty years later.
Now it is quite probable that the dates are an exaggeration, but the idea that he was responsible for his own tomb, not so much. After all, as tombs grew larger and more elaborate, it must have taken more and more time to build them. Timber and labor that a future sovereign may not wish to lavish on his predecessor, regardless of his filial piety. It makes a lot more sense to build your own tomb, so you have it just as you like it.
And, if tradition is correct, he certainly got his money’s worth. Many believe Oho Sazaki, aka Nintoku Tennou, to be buried in Daisen Kofun, which is not only the largest kofun in Japan, but it is one of if not the largest manmade burial structures on the planet. Because of its shape, it may not seem as large in some contexts, but it is only three meters shorter than that great pyramid of Giza, and over twice as long. It stands with the Great Pyramids and the tomb of the Emperor Qin Shihuangdi as one of the three largest tombs in the world.
It must have been quite the site, and a bit of memento mori, being erected, as it was, during Oho Sazaki’s own lifetime. It isn’t exactly sitting directly outside of Naniwa palace itself, but it was still likely a well known landmark pretty early on in its construction.
However, very little is actually known about Daisen Kofun—we aren’t even sure if it is the tomb mentioned in the Nihon Shoki or not. It is possible that it belongs to one of the other sovereigns of the era. Unfortunately, as the supposed burial site of one of the ancestors of the Imperial Family of Japan, the site has been off-limits to any but the most cursory of surface examinations. Nonetheless, excavations do occasionally occur, often as part of some kind of repair, and recently teams have been given the green light to perform new excavations on the tomb, though don’t expect them to be opening up any treasure rooms. From what I can tell, the excavations seem focused on the structure of the tomb, which is still largely covered in the forest that has grown up on it over the centuries, and it will examine some previously discovered features, such as rock pavement and possible looking for more haniwa, or clay figures. I haven’t seen any indications that they are actually going to disturb the burial chamber, however—whoever lies interred in that monumental structure shall continue their slumber unhindered.
Still, this is really fascinating, and we’ll be waiting to see what is found. It is unlikely that anything will directly state “Oho Sazaki sleeps here,” but one can hope. More likely they’ll be looking to get greater insights into the construction of one of the most massive man-made structures of the pre-industrial era. Good luck to all of those working on the project!
With that, I think we will bring this episode to a close. I wanted to focus on Oho Sazaki and some of those things that helped garner him a reputation as a wise and virtuous ruler. There are still plenty more stories to tell from this period, though. For one thing, we hardly touched on the drama in the “hinter palace”, and it certainly seems that love and lust were high on the list of things people were interested in knowing about the ancient sovereigns. And no doubt the nobles’ own desire for a genealogical link to the royal family only helped fuel interest.
And then there are the fantastical and heroic stories and tales. Many of these are focused on other players, and the sovereign and the court is merely the backdrop. There are numerous stories of wars, fighting, magic, and revenge from beyond the grave. So we’ll get into that as well.
But that’s all for this episode, so until next time, thank you for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us on iTunes, Spotify, or wherever you listen to podcasts. If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate through our KoFi site, kofi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the link over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode.
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And that’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

- (2020). Website: 仁徳天皇陵古墳百科. Last visited 14 October 2021. 文化観光局博物館学芸課. https://www.city.sakai.lg.jp/kanko/hakubutsukan/mozukofungun/kofun.html
Ō, Yasumaro, & Heldt, G. (2014). The Kojiki: An account of ancient matters. ISBN978-0-231-16389-7
Bentley, John. (2006). The Authenticity of Sendai Kuji Hongi: a New Examination of Texts, with a Translation and Commentary. ISBN-90-04-152253
Chamberlain, B. H. (1981). The Kojiki: Records of ancient matters. Rutland, Vt: C.E. Tuttle Co. ISBN4-8053-0794-3
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4
Philippi, D. L. (1968). Kojiki. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press. ISBN4-13-087004-1

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Ice Houses of Ancient Japan

Daisen Kofun

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