Episode 59: Urashima Tarō and Other Stories

March 1, 2022 Joshua Badgley

Detail from a late 16th century or early 17th century scroll depicting the story of Urashima Tarō, depicting him entering the undersea palace in the Land of the Immortals. The original is from the The Bodleian Library, Oxford and is used here under CC BY 4.0.

Three Stories…

This episode focuses on three stories in the Nihon Shoki—fantastical stories about ghosts, shapeshifting bandits, and the famous Rip van WInkle of Japan: Urashima Tarō.

The write-up here is going to be pretty short, but we hope that you enjoy these more lighthearted tales. I’m sure I’m not the only one who could use a distraction given everything going on as this comes out at the start of March, 2022.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is Episode 59: Urashima Taro and other stories.
First, thanks to Lauren for supporting us over on Ko-Fi.com, and a belated thanks to Gaijin Historian for supporting us on Patreon. If you would like to join them, go check out SengokuDaimyo on either platform, or see the links on our own home page at SengokuDaimyo.com.
With that out of the way, a quick apology: this episode is a little short. I had intended to jump into the life of our current sovereign, Ohohatsuse, aka Yuryaku Tenno, but there is still a lot of information I’m trying to get through, and I’d rather make sure that I have as much as I can before I start jumping into all of that, because it is a lot. But I don’t want to leave you hanging, and there are a few fun stories that don’t really impact the overall story, so I thought I would pull on those.
To be honest, these stories would probably fit better in a Halloween episode. They are full of ghosts and werewolves and fantastical stories—and some of them you may even know. They hearken back to some of the stories we’ve already heard: from the isle of the immortals to stories about the great Homuda Wake, aka Oujin Tennou, and I think they also help tell us a few things as well.
For one thing, it is interesting that they exist at all. For the most part the Nihon Shoki was compiled as a dynastic history, telling the story of the royal family. Rarely do we get glimpses of others unless they are directly involved, somehow, in the royal lineage. Most of the time the stories of the fantastical are built around the stories of the sovereigns themselves—and certainly we have those stories in this period, too.
Of course, stories of ghosts and magic can’t exactly be taken at face value, and it does make us wonder about the rest of the narrative. We can’t even be sure that these stories are set in the proper time. Were these stories that were being told in the 5th century? Or did they come about later, and just get added in here? Certainly some of the stories of continental exploits seem like they may actually be more appropriately attributed to an earlier sovereign, so while we can probably start to make some assumptions as to the accuracy of some dates, other events may have simply been placed in the time that seemed to best suit the lesson that was being communicated. Either way, we can’t necessarily claim that these are actual fifth century stories—what we really know is that they existed by the eighth century and were well-known enough to have been written down in the compilation that became the Nihon Shoki.
The three stories I want to focus on each deal with slightly different themes and events. To start with, perhaps it may be best to talk about the ghostly horse from the tomb of Homuda Wake, aka Oujin Tennou. As you may recall, his reign was credited with the arrival of the first horses from the Korean peninsula, along with their keeper, Ajikki.
Next, we’ll dive into something of a werewolf story. Well, kind of—it may not exactly be a Lon Chaney style story, but there is definitely the idea of fantastical shapeshifting, which is almost its own genre in traditional Japanese stories.
Finally, we’ll touch on what I suspect is the most famous of the stories—perhaps one of the most famous stories in Japan. That is the story of Urashima Taro, or, as he is known in these early stories, Urashima-ko, the Child of Urashima. This is Japan’s own Rip van Winkle story, and it also shares a fair amount with some of the earlier stories of the Nihon Shoki, during the legends of the very first heavenly descendants. This early version also relies on the use of the famous Peng Lai, or Isle of Immortals, from stories of the famous Qin dynasty.
All of that, and perhaps a little bit more, in this episode. Let’s get into it, shall we?
Our first story in today’s triple feature comes, we are told, from the reports from the Kawachi area as recorded in the Nihon Shoki. If the Chronicles are to be believed, one of the earliest purposes for writing in the archipelago was to collect information from around the countryside and relay it back to the central government. Reports like this—the later fudoki—often give us intriguing insights into life outside the center, and can be quite illuminating.
The report from Kawachi tells of a man in Asukabe named Hakuson of the Tanabe no Fubito. Hakuson—and that name is odd, as it doesn’t look like a Japanese name, but I’ll touch on that later. Anyway, Hakuson had a daughter, and she was married to a man named Karyu of the Fumi no Obito. Together, they lived over in Furuichi, just a short distance away, across the Ishi River.
Anyway, as he was on his way home that night, the moon shining bright in the night sky, he was passing by Ichihiko Hill—better known as the tumulus of Homuda Wake, the great-grandfather of our current sovereign. As he passed the giant mound, he saw a rider mounted on a red courser, which was dashing along light a dragon in flight. Hakuson became envious of such a horse, and he whipped his own piebald horse into a gallop and brought him along side, until they were riding bit to bit. But then the red courser sped up, like a little Nash Rambler to Hakuson’s Cadillac. Pretty soon, Hakuson realized there was no way that he’d be able to catch up, and he was about to give up, when the other rider slowed and turned back around.
He realized that Hakuson had been coveting his ride, and the stranger agreed to swap horses with him. Hakuson was overjoyed and couldn’t believe his luck. He thanked the stranger, and then he quickly made his way back home, in Asukabe. There he tied his new horse up in the stables and went to sleep.
The next morning, Hakuson woke, no doubt with a spring in his step. He had never seen a horse like the one from the previous night, and now it was his. He went straight to the stables to take in his newly acquired equine.
One imagines that he might have brought others from his house to take a look, or perhaps he wanted to bask in his fortune alone. Alas, his good mood was not to last—and perhaps you know where this is going. For when he got to the stables, there was no horse to be found—or at least not in the stall where he had placed the red courser. Instead, the only thing he found, standing there in the light of day, was a clay horse statue, made of the same red clay used for funerary statues.
A chill swept over Hakuson, who suddenly realized what had happened. He loaded up the clay horse and he took it back to Ichihiko Hill. Climbing the tomb mound, he found his own piebald horse, sitting there, amidst a gathering of haniwa horse statues, placed there for the spirit of the long dead sovereign. Respectfully, Hakuson took back his piebald horse, and left, in its place, the haniwa statue of the red courser that he had apparently ridden all the way home the prior evening.
This story does, I guess, at least mention the ancient ruler, Homuda Wake, and so may make some sense in the narrative, but otherwise it just feels like a kind of cool story that was put in, maybe the break up the monotony, otherwise.
It does seem to mention the continued influence of Homuda Wake, though whether this was part of his connection to the Hachiman cult or not is unclear. Certainly, the Nihon Shoki seems to be attributing to that ancient 4th century sovereign some miraculous powers if he’s able to ride about at night on the back of his clay haniwa horses.
Of course, there is a connection with Homuda Wake, as it is his regime during which Baekje is said to have sent horses to the archipelago, along with Ajikki, whose knowledge of both animal husbandry and continental literature were equally admired. We talked about him back in Episode 43.
Now there is some question about this. If Homuda Wake died in the early 5th century, it is possible that his tomb was surmounted by horses. Haniwa, which means “clay cylinder”, were originally just that, clay cylinders, sunk into the ground, some of which may have been surmounted by pots or other vessels, possibly for containing some kind of ritual offering. In the 4th century, we see some early sculptures starting to be added, such as houses and boats. In the 5th century, however, the technique had evolved to the point where both humans and animals were being depicted. Depending on when and where Homuda Wake was buried it is possible that there were haniwa horses on his tomb, though I suspect this entire story is a bit anachronistic. It does appear to be the case that horses make up the largest percentage of animal figures found at ancient tomb mounds, and so it would have made sense to anyone listening at the time that horses would have been there, but it isn’t actually clear that they were.
This also brings up a question of just where the tomb actually was. While there is certainly the kofun next to Konda Hachimangu has been traditionally identified as Homuda Wake’s grave in more recent times, most of those designations came about in the Edo period or later, as scholars tried to piece together just which tombs were being discussed in the ancient histories. Though people had lived in the area, not everyone recalled just what one pile of earth was supposed to be as opposed to another, especially after various centuries of strife and warfare, during which some times the people were just struggling to get by. And so we cannot be entirely certain of the modern designation as the tomb of Homuda Wake.
Kishimoto Naofumi provides an alternate hypothesis, suggesting that Homuda Wake’s tomb was actually a late 4th century tomb known as Tsudo-Shiroyama. This is known as the oldest of the kingly tombs in the Furuichi area, and if Homuda Wake really was the first sovereign of his dynasty in the Kawachi area, then it would make sense that it could be his. Of course, that runs us into some other chronological issues, such as the events on the Gwangaetto Stele, which may then have actually happened during the reign of Homuda Wake’s apparent son and heir, Ohosazaki, aka Nintoku Tennou.
Unfortunately, neither of these tombs appear to have haniwa horses, from what I can tell. Tsudo Shiroyama did have haniwa swans, however, and so it is possible that there were horses that just were destroyed before archaeologists could find them, but so far I have not seen evidence of horses back quite that far. It then begs the question as to whether or not the “Ichihiko Hill” could have been identified, at least by the eighth century, and whether or not there were haniwa horses on it that perhaps have not survived into modern times. Unfortunately, there are just too many questions.
And speaking of questions, these names, am I right? Hakuson and Karyu neither look nor sound like any of the Japanese names in the Chronicles so far. It is entirely possible that they were simple sinographs to record the sound of the name in the record, and as such may have been mangled in one way or another through transliteration from one source ot another. It is also possible that these originally were not ethnic Japanese at all, and that these were the names of individuals of Baekje or similar continent descent. Certainly the Kawachi area had a fair number of individuals from all over the Korean peninsula, and possibly the rest of mainland east Asia. As such, it may be that these individuals were being subtly identified by their names. Or it could just be a scribal artifact.
Hakuson, it should be noted, is considered by some to be the founder of the Tanabe house. At the very least he is the first person mentioned in conjunction with it by name.
And so that is our first story: The ghost horse of Ichihiko Hill.
Our next takes a slightly more martial tone. It takes place, or so we are told, in the latter months of the year 470, some five years after the encounter with the ghost horse. Now at that time, there was a man in the area of Miwikuma in the land of Harima, which lay to the west of modern Ohosaka, and bordered the land of Kibi, one of Yamato’s early rivals in power and prestige. This man was a bandit and a pirate, and quite strong, and he was known far and wide as Ayashi no Womaro. He robbed people both at land and in the water as they passed through the Seto Inland Sea. He was accused of committing robberies, preventing traffic, plundering merchants, and, last but not least—not paying his taxes. And, come on, we always know that the government is going to get you on your taxes, so what was he thinking?
Anyway, the court had had enough of this scoundrel, and Ohoki, of the Wono no Omi family of Kasuga, was sent out at the head of 100 fearless soldiers to deal with this threat to archipelagic commerce. The soldiers marched out and surrounded Womaro’s house, and, rather than risking men fighting the bandit, they simply set fire to his house and waited outside to either cut down or arrest anyone who came out.
Suddenly, from inside the midst of the flaming house, a giant beast burst forth. It looked like a white dog, but it was as large as a horse. The giant beast went straight after Ohoki, who was leading the government forces, but Ohoki held his ground. Drawing his sword from its sheath, he cut down the giant monster, which fell to the ground.
As it lay there, dying, the giant dog’s form began to shift, and suddenly they saw it was no dog at all, but instead it was the bandit, Ayashi no Womaro.
Now, okay, it may be a bit of a stretch to really consider this a true werewolf tale. After all, they specifically said he had turned into a dog, not a wolf, and there is no indication that this was a regular occurrence. It could have been some supernatural event that happened just at that time. More likely, I suggest that it was simply a narrative tool to dehumanize the antagonist and thus remove any ambiguities about the righteousness of Ohoki’s—and by extension, the court’s—actions in this matter.
Of course, how such a story gets started is not entirely clear. Was this just a story that got modified over time until it was downright ridiculous? Or was there some grain of truth in it to begin with, which then grew more and more fantastical as time went on? Who can say for certain.
There definitely is a connection with traditional Japanese myths and legends, however, as shapeshifters are quite common. In fact one of the words for ghosts and other monsters, “bakemono”, specifically references their ability to change shape. Foxes, or kitsune, as well as the raccoon dog, known as tanuki, are both thought to possess shapeshifting abilities, though they each tend to use them in different ways. Even cats and other animals can sometimes get in on the action.
As for why this merited a place in the Nihon Shoki, I’m not entirely clear. I guess, yes, technically Ohoki was dispatched by the sovereign, so that may have been enough. Furthermore, he may have been an important figure in some later courtier’s family tree, but he doesn’t appear to show up in the rest of the narrative about Ohohatsuse, aka Yuryaku Tenno.
The story does suggest a few things for us, though they may be things we already know from previous books. For example, we can see that bandits were still a problem, both on land and on sea. We’ve talked about the issue with the Seto Inland Sea before, and how it makes up for its seemingly calm waters with many possible coves and islands in which pirates could potentially lurk. Furthermore, I highly doubt that it was simply a single man who was causing all of these problems. It was probably him and his band, but that often gets translated as though it was just one man of exceptional strength.
And so that is the story of Wono no Omi no Ohoki and the werewolf—so to speak—of Miwikuma, in the land of Harima.
And that brings us to the main tale of the evening, the tale of Urashima Taro. It goes a little something like this.
In the year 478, the child of Mizunoye no Urashima, a man from Tsutsukawa in the district of Yosa in the land of Tamba—which is to say modern Kyoto Prefecture, decided to shove off from land in a boat to go fishing. There he caught a turtle, which eventually changed itself into a beautiful woman. The child of Urashima—also known as Urashimako—fell in love with this turtle-woman, and made her his wife. Togetehr, they went down into the sea, where they reached the mythical Mount Hourai, aka the Land of the Immortals, Mt. Penglai, where they saw many kami.
Now it may be more accurate that this man’s name was actually Shimako, from Midzunoe no Ura—the shore of Midzunoe—but this isn’t certain.
In the Nihon Shoki, this story ends rather unsatisfactorily with the note that the rest of the story is in another book, though we are not told which and I highly suspect it is no longer extant. And so we are left with a fragment of the story, like a television series cancelled just after the big cliffhanger ending. Fortunately, this was apparently a popular story, and so it has cropped up in a few other places. Notably, we have two other sources from around the same time that give us details. The first is the Man’yoshu, a collection of thousands of poems, in which we get this story, told in poetic form, including notes about Urashima-ko’s eventual return from the land of the immortals some three years later—or at least three years for him.
The other ancient source for this story is fragments of the Tango Fudoki, which was actually which was ordered to be compiled in 713, some seven years before the Nihon Shoki was published.. The Tango Fudoki itself is no longer extant, but some passages, including the Urashima legend, were recorded in the “Shaku Nihongi”, a commentary on the Nihon Shoki compiled in the Kamakura period.
In the fragments of the Tango Fudoki we are told that Mizunoe Urashima no Ko, also known as Tsutsukawa no Shimako, was not only a fine looking man, but he was an ancestor of the Kusakabe no Obito. As with the Nihon Shoki’s version, the Tango Fudoki agrees that this took place during the reign of the sovereign Ohohatsuse, identified here by his palace of Asakura no Miya. Urashima no ko went out fishing in a small boat, and he was out there fishing for three days and three nights, but didn’t catch any fish. He did, however, catch a strange looking turtle.
Urashima no Ko woke the next day to find that the turtle had transformed into the most beautiful woman Urashima no Ko had ever seen. As they were talking, the woman told Urashima no ko her story, saying she was from a heavenly, immortal place. She then told him to go to sleep.
When he awoke, it was a marvel. They had arrived at a big island, but not like any island Urashima no Ko had heard of, for this island was under the very sea itself. When they entered the gates of the palace there, he saw two groups of children—seven on the one hand, and eight in the other. They claimed to be the stars of Subaru and Amefuri—the constellations known to the Greeks as the Pleiades and the Hyades cluster—the latter in the larger constellation known as Taurus.
The family of the woman welcomed Urashima no Ko, and during the entertainment, she told him about the differences between the human world and the world of immortals. And so he stayed there with them for three years.
After a while, however, he began to get homesick, yearning for the mundane world.
His wife gave him a tearful goodbye, handing him the gift of a jeweled casket, warning him that if he ever wished to return to the land beneath the waves he should never open it.
When he arrived back at his village, things had changed, so that he didn’t recognize it. He found a man in the village, and upon inquiring as to what had happened he was told the story of Urashima no Ko, who went to sea but never came back.
Urashima no Ko eventually opened the jeweled casket, and it was as if something flew out into the clouds. Urashima no Ko realized that what he had been told was true, and that he would never be able to go back and meet his beloved beneath the waves in the land of the immortals.
There is one more book, from the Kamakura period, which tells us that Urashima no Ko’s return was in the year 825—in other words, while three years had passed in the realm of the Immortals, some three hundred had passed in the human world, above the waves.
This story has since been told many times, changing as it went. Instead of Urashima no Ko, which means the Child of Urashima, he would eventually be named Urashima Tarou—literally the eldest son of Urashima. And the land of the immortals was eventually equated with the palace of the Dragon King.
Of course, that last bit is hardly surprising. If you remember the story of Hiko Hohodemi and his brother, which we visited back in Episode 23, one notices more than a few similarities. In both cases they end up descending beneath the waves, and they both find women who are daughters of the lord of that land beneath the sea. They are both welcomed in and entertained. And in both cases—at least in some of the stories—they tire of their paradise in three years, each wishing to return to the land.
Of course, that is largely where similarities end. After all, Hiko Hohodemi returns, bests his brother, and ends up continuing the Heavenly line. Urashima no Ko, on the other hand, finds himself tossed three hundred years into the future. Everyone he knows has passed away, and he eventually disobeys what his wife and her family told him and loses any hope of returning to the Island of the Immortals.
Speaking of which, that seems a nice continental touch, referencing the ancient island of Mt. Penglai, which I talked about back in Episode 10. This mountain was said to be far in the Eastern Sea, and during the reign of Qin Shihuangdi there were attempts to find it and the herb that grew there, which was said to grant immortality. Of course, some equated that island with Japan itself.
It is interesting how these various elements, both local and continental, can be found time and again in these stories. I suspect that tropes like these provided storytellers a kind of shorthand with which to better remember and record details. By drawing on similar experiences, there were actually fewer unique details to remember, and even the audience would find familiarity in what was going on and what was happening. Still, it makes me wonder whether these were evolutions of some ur-story, which developed differently in different parts of the archipelago, or if they were simply borrowing common elements from stories at the time.
But that concludes our stories for now. I have to admit that the first story, about Homuda Wake’s ghost horse, is probably one of my favorites. That may simply be the idea of the haniwa horse, however, which I particularly enjoy. Regardless, I’m glad for all of them—a bit of something different to break up what is going on. Of course, it is quite likely that these stories are not actually related to the fifth century, but rather come from a much later period, when the time of Ohohatsuse no Ohokimi was the ancient past—which in and of itself says something about Wakatake’s reign.
Speaking of Waketake, we *will* be touching on him more next episode. I’m still working out in just what way, but have no fear, he will be making an appearance. And you, yourself, can judge his actions—or at least those we have been told about.
Until then, thank you for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts. Ratings do help people find the show, and thus is one way to share it with others. 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

Kishimoto, Naofumi (2013). Dual Kingship in the Kofun Period as Seen from the Keyhole Tombs. UrbanScope: e-Journal of the Urban-Culture Research Center, OCU. http://urbanscope.lit.osaka-cu.ac.jp/journal/pdf/vol004/01-kishimoto.pdf
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4

Episode 58: The Five Kings of Wa

February 16, 2022 Joshua Badgley

Detail from a replica of the sword found in the Inariyama Tumulus, where you can see the date claiming it was made in a Xinhai year.

RSS

Archives

The Five Kings of Wa

The five kings of Wa in the Song Shu are shown below, with potential sovereigns from the Chronicles. Dates for the sovereigns are the traditional dates from the Chronicles and may be as much as 120 years off, as has been discussed in previous episodes.

讃 (Embassy in 421 and 425)

Modern Japanese: SAN
Middle Chinese: /t͡sɑnH/
Later annals use 「賛」
Titles conferred: None
Potential Sovereigns: Homuda Wake (Ōjin Tennō, r. 270-310), Ōsazaki (Nintoku Tennō, r. 313-399), Izaho Wake (Richū Tennō, r. 400-405)

珍 (Two embassies, no dates—Younger Brother of SAN)

Japanese: CHIN
Middle Chinese: /ʈˠiɪn/
Later annals use 「彌」
Titles conferred: “General and Pacifier of the East”, “King of the Land of Wa”
Potential Sovereigns: Ōsazaki (Nintoku Tennō, r. 313-399), Midzuha Wake (Hanzei Tennō, r. 406-410)

濟 (Embassy in 443 and 451)

Japanese: SEI
Middle Chinese: /t͡seiH/
Later Annals use 「齊」
Titles conferred: “General and Pacifier of the East”, “King of the Land of Wa”, “Military Governor of Wa, Silla, Nimna, Kara, Jinhan, and Mahan
Potential Sovereigns: Woasatsuma Wakugo (Ingyō Tennō, r. 413-453)

興 (Embassy in 462; heir to SEI)

Japanese: KŌ
Middle Chinese: /hɨŋ/
Titles conferred: “General and Pacifier of the East”, “King of the Land of Wa”
Potential Sovereigns: Anaho (Ankō Tennō, r. 453-456), Ichinobe no Oshiwa, Ōhatsuse Wakatake (Yūryaku Tennō, r. 456-479)

武 (Embassy in 478; younger brother to KŌ)

Japanese: BU
Middle Chinese: /mɨoX/
Titles conferred: “Regional Military Governor of Wa, Silla, Nimna, Kara, Jinhan, Mahan”, “Great General and Pacifier of the East”, “King of Wa”
Potential sovereigns: Ōhatsuse Wakatake (Yūryaku Tennō, r. 456-479), Shiraga Takehiro Kunioshi Waka Yamatoneko (Seinei Tennō, r. 479-484)

Kishimoto Dual Kingship Lineage

According to Kishimoto Naofumi, he suggests the following two lineages of co-rulers. There is a Sacred and Secular lineage, and in some cases he assigns to each one different kofun than are traditional, and death dates that may be different from traditional death dates.

Subsidiary Line

?? - Sakurai-chausuyama
?? - Mesuriyama
Ōtarashi-hiko - Shibutani-mukaiyama (Keikō-ryō)
?? - Saki-misasagiyama (Hibasu Hime-ryō)
?? - Saki-Ishizukayama (Seimu-ryō)
Homuda Wake (d. 394) - Tsudōshiroyama (Tsudō sankōchi)
Izaho Wake (d. 427) - Kamiishizu-misanzai (Richū-ryō)
Midzuha Wake (d. 437) - Konda-gobyōyama (Ōjin-ryō)
Ichinobe Oshiha Wake - Ichinoyama (Ingyō-ryō)
Wakatakeru (d. 479) - Oka-misanzai (Chūai-ryō)

Main Line

Himiko - Hashihaka Kofun
Toyo - Nishitonozuka Kofun
Mimaki Iri Biko - Andon’yama (Sujin-ryō)
Ikume Iri Biko - Hōraisan (Suinin-ryō)
??? - Gosashi (Jingū-ryō)
Ōsazaki (d. 432) - Nakatsuyama (Nakatsu hime ryō)
Oasazuma (d. 454) - Daisen (Nintoku-ryō)
Kinashikaru - Haze-nisanzai (Higashi-mozu sankōchi)
Shiraga - Maenoyama (Hakuchō-ryō)

Episode 58
Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is Episode 58: The Five Kings of Wa.
Before we get started a quick shout out to Lyndon for donating to support the show over on Patreon! You can join Lyndon on Patreon or contribute via Ko-Fi—just look up SengokuDaimyo or check out our links on our podcast web page at sengokudaimyo.com/podcast. Every little bit helps us keep this thing going.
And with that, let’s move on with the show!
In the last episode we talked about the chaos that followed the death of Woasatsuma Wakugo, aka Ingyou Tennou. We talked about Prince Anaho, aka Ankou Tennou, who defeated Crown Prince Karu to take the throne, but was later killed by the son of Prince Ohokusaka, Mayuwa, who learned that Anaho had killed his father and then married his mother. Using this pretense, Ohohatsuse Wakatake went on a rampage, murdering his own brothers, as well as Mayuwa, and eventually even killing the new heir presumptive, Prince Ichininobe. Only his two sons, Oke and Woke, seem to have avoided the carnage, largely by fleeing to Harima and disguising themselves as regular servants.
All of this was happening in the mid to late 5th century, and brings us up to this episode’s topic. Up to this point we’ve been using the Chronicles, with some evidence from the Korean annals, to try to figure out just where we really are—though, admittedly, we haven’t seen much correlation with the Korean annals since the days of Homuda Wake. There are, however, a couple of more pieces of evidence that can help us situate everything.
To start with, I want to talk about a discovery made back in the late 70s. It was an iron sword, and technically it was found in 1968 in a tumulus in the Saitama prefecture. The tomb was known as Inariyama Kofun, and it was one of several tombs that are part of the Saitama Kofun group in Gyoda, some 64 kilometers northwest of Tokyo proper, at the confluence of the Kyushinobu and Shinshinobu Rivers. And though they found the sword in 1968, it wasn’t until about a decade later that they realized its true value. You see, as they started their preservation work, it became apparent that there was writing along the entire length of the long, straight iron blade. The front had 57 characters, and the back had 58, for a total of 115 characters total.
Now, as you may recall, this isn’t the first sword—or at least, sword like object—that we’ve found with some sort of writing. We previously talked about the seven branched sword that was discovered in the treasure house of Isonokami shrine in the Nara basin. That sword appears to have been commissioned on the continent by the rulers of Baekje as a gift for their allies on the archipelago. In the case of the Inariyama Kofun sword, the writing on the sword had a slightly different purpose. We are told that the inscription was written in the seventh month of the “Shikai” (or “Xinhai”) year, and it gives the name of its owner, Wowake no Omi, a distant descendant of Oho-Hiko. You might dimly recall that name , Oho-Hiko, as having been given to one of the four generals under Mimaki Iribiko back in the 3rd century—perhaps some two hundred years before the sword was created. Oho Hiko had been responsible for subduing Koshi and the eastern provinces, at least according to the Chronicles. As we mentioned before it could be a name, or just as easily be referring to some generic title, just as the sovereigns were known as Oho-Kimi. Either way, the connection between this Isonokami sword and this eastern commander seems intriguing, especially given the rest of the inscription, which goes on to describe Wowake’s own children, and makes the claim that their family were the sword bearers for the sovereigns. Quite specifically they are noted as the sword bearers—the Jintoujin no Kashira—who served the court of one “Wakatakiru Ohokimi” when he dwelt in the Shiki palace.
Now let’s break down this inscription a little more. First, we are told this inscription was written in a Xinhai year. “Xinhai”, colloquially known as the year of the Metal Boar in the system of the 10 heavenly stems and 12 earthly branches, only occurs every 60 years, much as how we just recently, in 2022, entered the year of Water Tiger. Specifically, “Xinhai” could refer to the years 291, 351, 411, 471, 531, or 591, in the western calendar. The dating of the tomb seems to place everything in the later 5th century, and so our best guess for which Xinhai year the sword mentions is our year 471.
Next, we are told that the sovereign was dwelling in the Shiki palace—in this case likely referring to the fact that he was in the Nara basin.
Finally, the name Wakatakiru no Ohokimi feels remarkably close to Wakatakeru no Ohokimi—the personal name and title of Ohohatsuse no Wakatakeru, which is sometimes transliterated as simply Wakatake.
And so it seems, through this artifact, we have actual confirmation of the name of one of the sovereigns of Yamato, and it matches up quite conveniently with the name of a sovereign said by the Chronicles to have been living in the late 5th century. This is further confirmed on another sword of this time, this one found across the archipelago on the island of Kyushu. It is known as the Eta Funayama sword, taking its name from the tomb mound in Kumamoto where it was discovered. Originally excavated in 1873, it dates to the 5th century, much like the sword found at the Inariyama tomb, and it also has an inscription, this one burned into the sword in silver characters. Unfortunately, there are plenty of places in that inscription where characters are missing or illegible. Nonetheless, there is mention of the Ohokimi, or sovereign, and the characters would appear to be consistent with those found on the Inariyama sword, naming the Great King, once again, as Wakatakiru.
The Eta Funayama sword inscription is, overall, shorter, but still has some interesting points that we may wish to take note of. First off is the fact that the sword appears to have been made by someone named “Itaka”, which appears to be a local smith of some kind, but the individual who wrote the inscription is listed with characters that seem to most likely refer to the name Zhang An—likely an individual of Han Chinese descent. So then, was an individual of Han descent living in Kyushu and helping people with their writing requests? Was this some early form of the JET program, but for sinographic writing, instead? Or did they send away for their inscription, like a mail order request, to the continent somewhere?
Personally, I think it makes the most sense that he was probably there, resident in or around the area of Kumamoto, possibly serving the local administrators there.
Besides the insight this gives us on who was actually doing the writing, it also gives us an idea of the influence of the Yamato court. While we may debate the amount of authority that it exerted, it seems clear that the Great King, or Oho-Kimi, was recognized from Kyushu to Kanto—and presumably in between. This is big for looking at how the state that we will come to know as Japan was shaping up.
Now I wanted to take a look at these archaeological finds because they really help to tie a bow on the idea that there really was a sovereign in the 5th century known as none other than Wakatakiru no Ohokimi. The only strange feature here is that the name on both swords is spelled out phonetically, with what appear to be the same characters in each case, though for the Eta Funayama sword we only have the first and last characters of the name. This isn’t entirely strange—the Kojiki often spells things out phonetically while the Nihon Shoki often opts for characters more associated with the name’s meaning than for its pronunciation. Here, however, none of the readings in the Nihon Shoki nor the Kojiki appear to use the characters found on the swords.
This could simply be due to the continuing evolution, at this time, of sinographic characters and their use in the archipelago. It is possible that centuries afterwards, different characters were now in common use. Regardless, it seems odd to me that two inscriptions, found at such a distance from one another, would match so well with each other.
And yet there is one other thing that we have to consider in all of this, and that is the account in the book of the Southern Song—sometimes known as the Liu Song—about the so-called “Kings of Wa”.
Now the Liu Song dynasty was so called to differentiate it from the later, more well-known Song dynasty of the tenth to thirteenth centuries. This Liu Song arose at the beginning of the 5th century.
The Jin dynasty had suffered numerous setbacks in the 4th century, leading to a period known to some as the period of 16 kingdoms, though the exact count is somewhat debated. The actual Jin court was pushed south and east, becoming the Eastern Jin. Meanwhile, various states arose in the northern areas of what is today the modern state of China. The Eastern Jin pushed back, with attempts to retake the north, as well as other breakaway states. There were constant struggles, and by the end of the 4th century, the Jin emperor had even fallen into the hands of a rebel, who had set himself up as regent.
There were campaigns by Jin loyalists to put down this rebellion, and one of the most successful generals of these campaigns was Liu Yu. He helped put a stop to the rebellion and then took his place as regent as he helped reconquer many of the areas that had been lost to the Jin, bringing them back and consolidating power. By 420, he had consolidated power, and he eventually deposed the emperor and took the throne as his own, thus replacing the Jin dynasty with the Liu Song dynasty.
This state of Liu Song controlled the areas of the Han heartland along the Yangtze river, but never really managed to reconquer the northern, Yellow River territories, which eventually consolidated under the northern Wei. Nonetheless, they had control of the eastern seaboard from the northern edge of modern Vietnam up through their capital near modern Shanghai, all the way to the Shandong peninsula.
Now, throughout all of this turmoil, the Wa, Baekje, Silla, and others had continued to send the occasional embassy to the Jin, even as the court’s home had moved east, and I doubt that they would have stopped just because of a change in management. After all, if it is true that Yamato’s influence was manifested largely through their dominance of trade with the continent, it was less important who was in charge than that the goods kept flowing. Besides, from the sounds of it, there was likely little change to the basic administrative features of the empire, just a new man in charge.
From reading the Chronicles, it would be easy to wonder just what contact was happening. After all, we’ve had a dearth of entries recording embassies of any kind since the reign of Ohosazaki no Mikoto. For the reigns of Izaho Wake, aka Richu Tenno, through his brothers Midzuha Wake and Oasatsuma Wakugo, aka Hanzei and Ingyou Tenno, all the way to Prince Anaho, aka Ankou Tennou, we’ve had little to no mention of the continent besides embassies from the nearby Korean peninsula—primarily Silla. And yet, the Chronicles from the Liu Song dynasty – the other side of the exchange – tell us a different story.
In those Chronicles, the Song Shu, written in 488, there is mention of some eight or more embassies sent from the various kings of Wa between the years 421 and 478. These were from a variety of sovereigns, over different reigns throughout the entirety of the Liu Song dynasty, which was founded in 420 and ended in 479, and, perhaps most importantly, they recorded the names of the sovereigns that interacted with them.
Well… kind of. You see, here’s where we run into a big of a snag. There are five kings of Wa that are noted in the Liu Song chronicles, but for the names, each ruler is given a single sinographic character. Traditionally, these monarchs are known in Japanese by the on-yomi readings of these characters, so San, Chin, Sei, Kou, and Bu. Now, I’ll probably use these terms, but just so that you’re aware, it appears as though the Middle Chinese readings were something like “Tsan”, “Tchin”, “Tsei”, “Hing”, and “Mio”, though that isn’t exactly clear. Either way, there is a question as to how these could possibly relate to any of the sovereigns mentioned in the Chronicles.
The only one that seems somewhat clear is the last one, “Bu”. That character is also read as “Take”—as in our “current” Sovereign, Wakatake, aka Yuryaku Tenno. In fact, it is the same as the character used in his name in the Nihon Shoki, though the Kojiki uses a different character, as do the sword inscriptions mentioned earlier. But given the character and the timing, it sure seems like it refers to Wakatake.
As for the others, there is significant debate on just who they were. At one end of the debate is the attempt to match them, one for one, with the successive rulers in the Chronicles that we’ve been talking about for the past few episodes. That would make San equivalent to Izaho Wake, aka Richuu Tennou, and map the remaining generations onto the sovereigns mentioned in the Chronicles up to Wakatake, aka Yuryaku Tenno. On the other side there are some scholars who eschew any connection with the Yamato dynasty whatsoever. They claim that these were actually some other group of ethnic Wa kings—possibly based in Kyushu—with no relationship to the legendary kings of the Chronicles.
To explore this some, let’s take a look at what the Song Shu has to say about these kings of Wa and their relationship to each other.
The first of these was San of Wa, offering so-called tribute to the Song Liu dynasty in 421, just a year after they had come to the throne, and about seven years after the erection of the Gwangaetto stele in 414. Much as with previous Wa rulers, I suspect that this was hardly coincidence, and they may have specifically sent a mission upon hearing that the area of the Yangtze river was under new management. We have another embassy just four years later, in 425, when San sent an ambassador, whose name might be read as Shiba Sotatsu. So we have our first king reigning from before 421 to some time around 425—I’d suggest that more likely we could say between 420 and 424, since we’ve already seen that it could take a while for an embassy to actually make the trek from Yamato to the Chinese court.
We are told that some time after this, San died—we don’t know when—and his brother, Chin, came to the throne and started sending tribute. So this claims that San and Chin were brothers. Chin didn’t just send tribute, though, he proclaimed himself the military governor for the countries of Wa, Baekje, Silla, Nimna, and even Jinhan and Mahan, as well as the King of Wa, specifically. It is interesting that they claim Jinhan and Mahan, and I have to wonder if Silla and Baekje had truly not consolidated their rule over these areas, or if, perhaps, this was an archaic way to include all of the territories of the Korean peninsula. Regardless, Chin requested that the Song court recognize his authority. Initially they seem to have refused, only granting him the titles of “General”—as opposed to “Great General”—"and Pacifier of the East” and “King of Wa”, seemingly indicating Chin’s authority merely upon the archipelago. Chin would try again later, however, and asked for titles of “Pacifier of the West”, “Vanquisher of Barbarians”, “Great-General”, and “General who supports the state” to be given to Zui of Wa and some twelve other individuals. Apparently these titles were recognized, I suspect because they did not call out specific countries and make claims of sovereignty over them.
Massimo Soumare suggests that the fact that this second request was for titles for Chin’s vassals, rather than for the sovereign himself, may have been to bolster his own position, both at home and at with the Song court. After all, if Yamato’s position relied on their ability to acquire prestige goods from the Continent, perhaps these titles and positions were similar to the mirrors of earlier times—status symbols from the continent that not only recognized their own authority, but then provided similar continental honors on those who supported the sovereign, both boosting his own position while helping to keep other local lords dependent on him for their own status. This likewise demonstrates the continental courts’ own use of titles as a prestige good of their own, which they could give out in return for goods in the form of tribute, which again boosted their own position. It was a win-win for both sides.
Now, unfortunately, we don’t get dates for Chin, and even the name of “Zui of Wa” gives us little to go off of, but we do know that in 443 there was yet another sovereign from Wa sending an embassy, so presumably Chin reigned sometime between 424 and 443.
This third sovereign was Sei, and he was also granted titles of his predecessor, being pronounced the General and Pacifier of the East and King of the Land of Wa. Eight years later, in 451, he was also appointed as the regional military governor for the countries of Wa, Silla, Nimna, Kara, Jinhan, and Mahan, as well as keeping his previous titles. In addition, 23 people were appointed as “district general”.
I would note that of the six countries listed for military governorship, “Baekje” is conspicuously absent, having been replaced by Kara, instead. The reason is unclear, but I suspect had to do with the shifting political realities at the time. Also, the fact that there were now 23 individuals being granted titles along with the sovereign would seem to indicate the growing power of Yamato in the archipelago.
Sei would die at some time after this, and was followed by Ko, who is specifically named as Sei’s heir. Ko sent tribute in 462, so we know that Sei must have ruled sometime between 451 and 462. Ko was likewise granted the titles of General and Pacifer of the East as well as King of Wa. Unlike previous reigns, however, there was no follow up mission to request titles for his subordinates. This may be because Ko died before he could follow up, though when he died is, once again, not clear from the Song Shu, which focuses merely on the dates when the embassies arrived at court.
The next ruler to come to the throne, and the final one in the Liu Song chronicles, was Bu—whom we have already identified as Wakatake no Ohokimi—and he is said to have been the younger brother to Ko. In 478, he is said to have taken for himself the title of regional military governor for the lands of Wa, Bakeje, Silla, Nimna, Kara, Jinhan, and Mahan, as well as claiming the title of Great General and Pacifier of the East and King of the Land of Wa. It sounds as if he assumed these as hereditary titles, rather than titles that would need to be validated by the Song Court. It is also interesting that he had elevated himself from General to Great General, as well as assuming control of Baekje, which does not appear to have been previously granted.
Bu’s entry is perhaps the most loquacious of all of them, and in the Song Shu’s recreation of Bu’s missive he talks about how he and his ancestors donned armor, traveled and crossed mountains and rivers, conquering the fifty-five countries of the so-called “hairy people” in the east—possibly referring to the Emishi—and then the 66 countries of the barbarians of the west—perhaps referring to groups like the Kumaso and the Hayato of Kyushu, though it is not clear. He also claims that they extended control over the “ninety-five countries” of the Northern Sea—presumably talking about their claims on the peninsula.
He then goes on to claim that Goguryeo continued to attack them, and though the Wa were on the brink of responding, Bu suddenly lost his father, Sei, as well as his older brother—presumably Ko—forcing him to stop to mourn for a time, but yet he promised to continue his father’s vision and prosecute the fight against Goguryeo.
In response to this long and moving missive, the Song court confirmed him as military governor for six of the countries—Wa, Silla, Nimna, Kara, Jinhan, and Mahan—once again leaving off Baekje, whom I suspect had their own tribute missions to the court. He was also confirmed as Great General—not just General—and pacifier of the East, and King of Wa.
Now I don’t want to get too far into the story of Wakatake, as we’ll be getting more into that later down the road, but all of this does seem to make it hard just how to look at him and the other kings in this list. But let’s try and see if we can find some evidence to link them together.
As we do that, I’d ask you to remember something we had discussed, previously, and that is the familial ties of the various sovereigns, which may have been less concrete a lineage than the Chronicles would have us believe. So brothers may or may not have been truly related, and we aren’t even always certain that one sovereign following another were necessarily related. Then there is the complexity of the dual kingship model, which is not exactly mentioned in the Song Shu, unless, in passing, names like Zui of Wa might refer to someone such as a co-ruler. I do find it interested that they are known in this fashion and not by some phonetic transcription—though this may be because their name was relayed in writing and not directly known to the Song court.
And I should quickly note that even our initial foundation, the identification of Bu as Wakatake, while generally accepted is not without its detractors. Kishimoto, writing in 2013, references Kuranishi’s work from 2003 in which she had assigned Wakatake to “Ko”, who sent the embassy in 462. This is due in part to the dates given for Wakatake in the Nihon Shoki, which have him coming to power in 457 and then dying in 479—just a year after the embassy of Bu, and, coincidentally, the same year as the fall of the Liu Song dynasty.
Kishimoto notes that Bu’s missive talks about how he has been in a period of mourning over the loss of his father and brother. If this was Wakatake, was he mourning his brother, Prince Anaho, and his father, Woasatsuma, who had presumably died around 454, some twenty years later, or was he making note of that occurrence?
On the other hand, Prince Shiraga, who would, spoiler alert, succeed his father is definitely listed in the Nihon Shoki as Wakatake’s son, not his brother, leading us to question just what aspects of the Nihon Shoki do we accept and what do we discard?
If Bu were Wakatake, and Ko were, instead, Anaho, then the brotherly relationship would be maintained between them, and that would suggest that Sei would be Woasatsuma, which could be reasonable regardless, as his dates in the Nihon Shoki, where he reigns from about 413 to 453, conveniently align him to the dates of Sei’s embassies, though if that is the case, it is possible that he actually came to power not in 413, but perhaps closer to 443, turning an incredible reign of some 40 years into a reign of only 10 years, which is still plenty of time to have an impact.
Ko as Anaho is suggested by Soumare as the character “Ko” might be a variation of the last character of Ana-ho. Likewise the character for “Sei” can be seen as a variant for a character also read as “Tsu” found in the name Woasa*TSU*ma. I have to admit that all of this seems somewhat tenuous, and yet the dates do seem rather convincing.
Now Sei, as you’ll recall, took over from Chin after he passed away. Chin is not directly noted as being related to Sei, though there does seem to be a presumed father-son relationship. It is possible that the lack of a direct connection is due to the intervening sovereigns, who perhaps were too embroiled in intra-archipelago conflicts to send missives to the mainland. Or perhaps, as seen by some, Chin and his predecessor, San, were actually part of another line, which was replaced by Sei.
Certainly the Song Shu indicates that San and Chin were brothers. The only pair that seem to fit that mold in the Chronicles are Izaho Wake and Mizuha Wake. The “Za” of Izaho could be where we get “San” and there is some suggestion that the character for “Chin” was a mistake for the character used in the Nihon Shoki for the “Mi” of “Midzuha Wake”.
On the other hand, some have suggested that the character “San” is related to the character for “Homu”, as in Homuda Wake, but that would drag Homuda Wake from a death in or around 394 and up to 425 and possibly later. Meanwhile, there are those who also suggest that Chin might indicate the “Oho” of “Ohosazaki”, Homuda Wake’s successor. And yet Ohosazaki is said to be Homuda Wake’s son, and not his brother.
In all of this, Soumare points out that it is also possible that the characters used in the names may not be related in any way to the personal names that were handed down to us in the Chronicles. Rather, they may have been given by the Song court based on characteristics that they attributed to the kings themselves. This kind of name-giving may have been yet another part of the complex system by which the court handed out their titles. If that is the case, then all of the speculation around connecting the characters in the names with specific individuals may be worthless.
On top of everything else, Kishimoto’s dual-kingship theory continues to raise its head. He also takes into account the five kings, and suggests that there is actually significant overlap in some of the reigns, at least from the time of Homuda Wake through Prince Shiraga. This could be explained if Homuda Wake, aka Oujin Tenno, did not simply raise up Uji no Waki-iratsuko as his heir, but rather made him his direct successor while making Ohosazaki the new secular ruler. In this scenario, Izaho Wake and Mizuha Wake, aka Richu and Hanzei Tennou, would have continued in the main line, while Woasatsuma might have inherited his position through Ohosazaki. According to this hypothesis, the line from Mizuha Wake actually continued to Ichinobe no Oshiwa Wake and then to Wakatakeru, aka Yuryaku, while the line of Ohosazaki, aka Nintoku, continued through Oasazuma, aka Ingyo, to Prince Kinashi Karu and then Prince Shiraga.
And that is probably a lot to take in. I’ll try to lay some of this out on the podcast website if I get the chance, but it is quite confusing. The fact that none of these entries in the Chronicles bother to talk about asking for—let alone receiving—any kind of titles from the continental courts makes it even more confusing.
Personally, I think it makes some sense that San and Chin might relate to Izaho Wake and Mizuha Wake, who definitely appear to be named similarly and to have likely come from the same line, even if they were not, as the Chronicles suggest, brothers. Sei might then, indeed, be Woasazuma, who may have been a brother or, much like Prince Ohokusaka, he may have been of a different lineage altogether that then got added in more firmly at a later date.
That leaves us with the possibility that Ko and Bu are Anaho—or possibly even Ichinobe Oshiwa-wake—and Ohohatsuse Wakatakeru, but it could also be that Ko is Wakatakeru and that Bu is actually his successor.
Does your head hurt yet?
Regardless of exactly which king represents whom in the lineage, I think we can see a few things here that we should remember—things that the Japanese Chronicles aren’t talking about, for whatever reason.
First, the Wa clearly had relatively close contact with the mainland, especially given the timing of their visits and with their request for titles. Second, that request for titles and recognition from someone outside of the Japanese archipelago and the Korean peninsula really does seem to have been important, and it may be that, at least for a while, these “virtual” titles replaced the physical bronze mirrors that had heretofore been so popular as burial goods.
Finally, we can see that the state is coming together, and that it isn’t all peace and love, but seems equally to be built on the back of armed conquest—and some of that fighting was likely still going on over on the peninsula, despite the lack of mention of it in our sources—or at least in anything prior to Wakatakeru. You might recall, listeners, how we had some similar gaps in the record around the time noted on the Gwangaetto Stele.
And so we’ll continue to move forward, but I just wanted to make sure we covered this piece of intriguing historical data—even if it may just end up leaving us with more questions than answers. I do think that we can be fairly confident from this point on that our dates are getting significantly more credible, the further we continue in our story.
And so we’ll look more into the life of Ohohatsuse Wakatake, aka Yuryaku Tenno, next episode, and we’ll see what else that tells us. At least we have some confidence that he actually existed, even if there are still some questions about how he fits into the overall historical picture.
Until then, thank you for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts. Ratings do help people find the show, and thus is one way to share it with others. 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
Kishimoto, Naofumi (2013). Dual Kingship in the Kofun Period as Seen from the Keyhole Tombs. UrbanScope: e-Journal of the Urban-Culture Research Center, OCU. http://urbanscope.lit.osaka-cu.ac.jp/journal/pdf/vol004/01-kishimoto.pdf
Osawa, et al. (2008). ワカタケルの剣　「図説日本の古墳・古代遺跡―決定版 (歴史群像シリーズ)」pp 134. ISBN:978-4-05-605064-6.
Soumaré, Massimo (2007), Japan in Five Ancient Chinese Chronicles: Wo, the Land of Yamatai, and Queen Himiko. ISBN: 978-4-902075-22-9
Bentley, John. (2006). The Authenticity of Sendai Kuji Hongi: a New Examination of Texts, with a Translation and Commentary. ISBN-90-04-152253
Piggott, J. R. (1997). The emergence of Japanese kingship. Stanford, Calif: Stanford University Press.
Chamberlain, B. H. (1981). The Kojiki: Records of ancient matters. Rutland, Vt: C.E. Tuttle Co. ISBN4-8053-0794-3
Shichirō, M., & Miller, R. A. (1979). The Inariyama Tumulus Sword Inscription. Journal of Japanese Studies, 5(2), 405–438. https://doi.org/10.2307/132104
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 57: Blood and Chaos

February 1, 2022 Joshua Badgley

Artist interpretation of Ankō Tennō, successor to Ingyō Tennō.

RSS

Archives

Who’s Who

Previous Sovereigns

Homuda Wake, aka Ōjin Tennō
Ōsazaki, aka Nintoku Tennō (Son of Homuda Wake and Naka tsu Hime)
Izaho Wake, aka Richū Tennō (Son of Ōsazaki and Iwa no HIme)
Mizuha Wake, aka Hanzei Tennō (Son of Ōsazaki and Iwa no Hime, and brother to Izaho Wake)
Oasatsuma Wakugo, aka Ingyō Tennō (Son of Ōsazaki and Iwa no Hime, and brother to Izaho Wake and Mizuha Wake)

Sons of Oasatsuma Wakugo and Osaka no Ōnakatsu Hime

Kinashi Karu
Sakahi no Kurobiko [aka 黒彦, the Black Prince]
Anaho
Yatsuri no Shirobiko [aka 白彦, the White Prince]
Ohohatsuse Wakatake

Prince Ōkusaka

Son of Ōsazaki and Kaminaga Hime—mentioned as a possible heir after the death of Mizuha Wake.

Kusaka no Hatahi no Hime

Daughter of Ōsazaki and Kaminaga Hime. Wife to Izaho Wake and, later, Ōhatsuse Wakatake. Mother of Nakashi no Himemiko.

Nakashi no Himemiko

Daughter of Izaho Wake and Kusaka no Hatahi no Hime. Wife of Ōkusaka, with whom she had a son, Mayuwaka. Later married to Anaho.

Important Court Nobles

Ōmahe no Sukune of the Mononobe

Sheltered Prince Kinashi Karu, but eventually convinced him to give up. Later would be made Ōmi.

Ne no Omi

Minister under Anaho, sent to request Hatahi Hime for Ōhatsuse Wakatake

Tsubura no Ōmi

Great Minister (Ōmi) under Anaho, who sheltered princes Mayuwaka and, possibly, Kurobiko

Warning: Spoilers! If you need it, though, here is a chart of some of the family relations from Ōsazaki to the current generation in our stories.

Poetry Between Anaho and Ōmahe no Sukune

When Anaho surround Ōmahe’s residence, it is said that he called out:

Ōmahe / Womahe Sukune ga / Kanato kage / Kakutachi yora ne / Ametachi yamemu

To Ōmahe / Womahe Sukune’s / Metal-gate’s shelter, / Thus let us repair, / And wait till the rain stops

And then, Ōmahe no Sukune replied:

Miyahito no / Ayuhi no ko suzu / Ochiniki to / Miyahito to yomu / Satobito mo yume!

Because the courtier’s / Garter-bell / Has fallen off, / The courtiers make a noise: / Ye country-folks also beware!

Clearly there are a few things that I am not necessarily pulling out of this, but it is full of allusions that no doubt meant something to an 8th century audience.

The Oshiki Crown

The Oshiki Crown is one of the more interesting aspects of this story, in part because it seems to fit with something that we know from the archaeological record. Gold or gilded crowns from Silla and Gaya in the 5th century bear a striking resemblance to similar crowns found in tomb mounds in the archipelago, leading many to conclude that Korean style crowns had become fashionable in the archipelago around this time. See the gallery below for several examples from the Tokyo and Seoul National Museums (photos by author).

5th C Gilt Bronze Crown, Japan

Gilt bronze crown found at the 5th century Eta Funayama Kofun

5th C Gold Crown, Silla

5th century gold crown from Silla.

5th C Gilt Bronze Crown, Japan

Another gilt bronze crown from Eta Funayama Kofun

5th C Gold Crown, Gaya

Example of a gold crown from the Gaya (or Kara) region.

5th C Gold Crown, Silla

This crown remains a national treasure of Korea.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is Episode 57: Chaos and Bloodshed.
Content warning: Along with the violence typical throughout human history, this episode also contains mention of rape and misogyny, as well as suicide.
Last episode we ended with the death of Woasatsuma Wakugo, aka Ingyou Tennou, the last of the sons of Ohosazaki no Mikoto, aka Nintoku Tennou, and Iwa no Hime, daughter of Katsuraki no Sotsuhiko. By now we are reaching the middle of the 5th century, or so it would seem. Now one thing that we didn’t focus on in that last episode was just how prolific Woasatsuma and his wife, Osaka no Ohonakatsu Hime, really were. He certainly didn’t die childless, that’s for sure. In fact, they had at least nine children—five of them male. And so for princes you have Prince Kinashi Karu, Prince Sakahi no Kurobiko, Prince Anaho, Prince Yatsuri no Shirobiko, and Prince Ohohatsuse Wakatake. They also had several daughters, including Nagata no Ohoiratsume, Karu no Ohoiratsume, Tajima no Tachibana no Ohoiratsume, and Sakami.
And no, there won’t be a test. Some of these names will get more air time than others, but I just wanted to give you an idea of the number of individuals here, and, well, you may hear about them later.
By the way, quick side note, did you catch the names Kurobiko and Shirobiko—literally black prince and white prince? I honestly have no idea what’s up with that—are those actual names or is something else going on? After all, we do see names like “Kuro Hime” in the record. At the same time, something seems fishy to me, but whatever. That is what we have to work with.
That said, they are going to be important to the story later, but for now we’ll just leave them here as Chekov’s Princes.
Now, the sovereign Woasatsuma, aka Ingyo Tenno, was dead, but during his life he had, in fact, named an heir. This was Prince Kinashi Karu—or sometimes just Prince Karu.
And all might have gone smoothly—well, alright who am I kidding. I think we are maybe about 50/50 on the named heir actually taking the throne at this point, at least ever since Homuda Wake came to power.
Still, this wasn’t your average succession issue. You see, as Crown Prince, Karu came pre-loaded with a scandal, at least according to the Nihon Shoki. In modern times we might say that he had been cancelled. But what was it that had earned him such approbation? Well it might not be what you expect.
You see, Kinashi Karu, Crown Prince of Yamato, was accused of the most dishonorable activity: Incest.
Alright, now, hear me out. I know this may have many of you furrowing your brows and wondering just what I mean. After all, hasn’t incest been a hallmark of the royal line up to this point? We’ve seen brother and sister marry in the past, and nobody has raised a fuss, not to mention all of the relations between cousins, nephews, nieces, step-relations, etc. As I’ve noted before, the Royal Family Tree is perhaps more of a saguaro than an expansive oak.
So why weren’t those considered incestuous? Well, you see, it all comes down to the definition of lineage in Yamato. Because it wasn’t enough to just have the right father, but matrilineal descent was also key. And so children of the same father and mother were considered true siblings, but as long as you weren’t full siblings—that is, if you had at least one parent different—then it was no longer considered incest by Yamato standards, bringing a whole different meaning to “kissing cousins”.
Now we are told that Kinashi Karu was fair to look upon, and the people apparently used to love him. The problem came about because of his sister, Karu no Ohoiratsume, who was equally as beautiful, and for whom Kinashi Karu had lustful desires, but for a long time he avoided taking any action. However, eventually he failed to control himself, and he met with his sister, secretly uniting with her—that is, they had sex. And, to be honest, it isn’t clear that this was consensual. In fact, the Kujiki actually accuses him of rape. As too often happens, it seems that the chronicle only focuses on the male heir to the royal line, and pays scant attention to anyone else—especially the women. Not to mention, even had she consented, the power dynamics were such that one has to ask: could she have refused if she wanted to?
And you know, he might have gotten away with all of it had he kept their forbidden union secret, but Prince Karu had to shout from the rooftops what they had done, bragging about the event in song. If they’d had Instagram or TikTok I can only imagine what he would have put out there.
Fortunately for him, his father Woasatsuma wasn’t exactly following the latest streams, apparently. In fact, it wasn’t until a year later that something happened to raise his awareness. As the sovereign sat down to his meal, his soup suddenly froze—a curiosity to be sure. A divination was held to determine what was going on, and it was determined that there was a “domestic disorder”, by which they meant some form of incest. On further investigation, someone spilled the beans about Prince Karu and his own sister, Karu no Ohiratsume.
Well, this put the royal family in something of a pickle. Apparently there were no real punishments for the Crown Prince—I suspect that the sovereign could have designated someone else, but for whatever reason, he didn’t. Instead he decided to have his daughter punished, instead—so, both great parenting and a dash of misogyny. Awesome.
And so Princess Karu no Iratsume was banished to the land of Iyo, on the western edge of Shikoku. They figured that as long as the two were separated, nothing more could come of the union.
But that didn’t fix the problem with the members of the court, who knew all too well what had happened. And when Woasatsuma Wakugo died, the court decided that they didn’t exactly want Prince Karu to take the throne. The Nihon Shoki gives as the reason that he was guilty of “debauching a woman”, and says the ministers would not follow him.
As I mentioned earlier, the Kujiki goes further. Though it doesn’t give the details of the Nihon Shoki, it claims that Prince Karu was cruel and accused of rape, which is why nobody would follow him.
Whatever the exact details of the case, the ministers refused to follow him. Rather, they looked to another of Woasatsuma’s progeny—and since he had a proper bench to choose from, they had plenty of options. Of all those heirs available, the ministers chose Prince Anaho, and sided with him.
Kinashi Karu was incensed. He secretly went about raising an army, planning to take his rightful place on the throne by force, but Anaho and his ministers were ready for him, and they prepared themselves for battle as well. Here we get a small glimpse, perhaps, at the changes that were still happening in the 5th century. We are told that the forces of Prince Karu were using an older style of bronze arrowhead, while Prince Anaho’s forces apparently used arrowheads made out of precious iron. Thus, arrows with bronze heads were known as Karu arrows, while arrows with iron heads were known as Anaho arrows, which probably also tells you something about the way this whole thing is going down.
Eventually, Prince Karu realized his forces were not enough, and he fled to the home of Ohomahe no Sukune of the Mononobe. Interestingly, the Kojiki names Mononobe no Ohomahe no Sukune as Oho-omi, or Prime Minister, but the Kujiki, who focuses strongly on the Mononobe lineage, suggests that he did not achieve such rank until a later reign.
Prince Anaho and his forces surrounded Ohomahe no Sukune’s house—possibly amidst a hail storm—and he called out a verse which, along with its response by Ohomahe, is recorded, but abstract enough that I am not sure it is worth getting into here, exactly. I may put that up on the podcast page for anyone who is interested in the exchange.
Anyway, after the exchange—which may have been poetry, or that may simply have been the way that people remembered the story later on—Ohomahe no Sukune begged some time from Prince Anaho and his forces, while he talked with the Crown Prince, Kinashi Karu. They agreed, and Ohomahe returned inside.
We don’t know what was said, but one assumes that Ohomahe got Prince Karu to realize that his case was hopeless. There was no way he was getting out of this alive, and the only question was this: how many people would he take with him?
Whatever Ohomahe actually said, it worked, and Prince Karu, resigned to his fate, ended up taking his own life in the house of Ohomahe no Sukune. When they learned of what he had done, both armies wept at his fate.
Or at least that is one story. The Kojiki, along with what we are told is another record, the “Criminal Register”, which is no longer extant, contends that he gave himself up, and since the court didn’t exactly have a concept of a prison, he was exiled, instead, to the land of Iyo. Presumably, he was then united with Princess Ohoiratsume—assuming that was something she wanted—though there is some confusion on this as it may be that the banishment of Kinashi Karu and of Karu no Ohoiratsume is confused in the Chronicles.
Either way, whether through Karu’s death or banishment, the war was over, and Prince Anaho ascended the throne. The Chroniclers then gave him the name of Ankou Tennou, which is how he is more popularly known, today.
Anaho is said to have dwelt in the Anaho palace at Isonokami. And here is where I suspect Anaho might not actually be the Prince’s given name. You see, most of the early sovereigns are known, particularly in records like the Fudoki, are known by their palace names. So we get the “Sovereign who ruled at the Toyora Palace at Anato”, or the “Sovereign who ruled at the Hishiro Palace at Makimuku”. Some of the legendary sovereigns are simply known by a location, like Iware Biko, but up to this point, I don’t know if I can really think of any other case where the Chronicles claim that the name of the prince and their palace are the same like they are here, especially without giving some other personal name with it, leaving me to wonder just what is going on.
Now after securing the throne and setting up the court, Anaho was left with his mother as Queen Dowager, but no queen of his own. However, before he went looking for love himself, he was approached by his brother, Wakatake no Miko.
At first we are told that Wakatake wished to marry his cousin, the daughter of Midzuha Wake, uncle to Wakatake and Anaho, and previous sovereign himself—the one known as Hanzei Tenno. However, Wakatake was rebuked. His cousin, the princess, said that he was prone to violence, and she did not feel he would appreciate them. Then she claimed that she was neither beautiful enough nor witty enough to be satisfy him.
Undaunted, Prince Wakatake then asked the newly crowned sovereign for the hand of Hatahi no Himemiko, the younger sister of Ohokusaka no Miko. She had previously been married to the sovereign Izaho Wake, or so we are told, and their daughter, Nakashi Hime, apparently married her uncle, Ohokusaka, or at least that’s what it looks like. Yeah, this is all more tangled than a string of lights that’s been
Now, Prince Ohokusaka, you may recall, was the only remaining son of Ohosazaki no Mikoto. He was from a different maternal lineage than the previous three sovereigns since—Izaho, Midzuha, and Woasazuma—and by the rules we’ve been given so far should not have been a contender for the throne, but that does seem to be somewhat in doubt. After all, he seemed to be mentioned after the death of Midzuha Wake as a possibility, at least until Woasazuma was convinced to take up the royal mantle.
And so one imagines Ohokusaka’s sister, Hatahi, would have been a prestigious bride, hence why she had been married to Izaho Wake, previously.
Unlike his brother’s previous marriage request, Anaho no Ohokimi apparently didn’t have any problems with this one – so he sent Ne no Omi to request Hatahi’s hand for his brother Wakatake. Now it turns out that Ohokusaka was ill—quite possibly because he was not only of their father’s generation, but possibly even their oldest uncle. And yet he had kept his sister safe and unmarried, presumably looking for a good match for her, worthy of her royal bloodline.
The Kojiki claims that Ohokusaka made many bows and humbled himself, but both the Nihon Shoki and the Kojiki agree that he not only submitted his daughter’s hand for marriage, but also that he sent in a special present to assure the sovereign of his willingness: a jeweled headdress, called in the Chronicles the “Oshiki” crown—possibly indicating that it was made with pressed wood of some kind, though this may have been something else. It may have been a crown in the Korean style, examples of which we see in tomb mound mounds and are known from the 5th century onwards. How it came into Ohokusaka’s possession is not quite clear, but it was definitely something special, despite his own insistence that it was an inconsequential object of no value whatsoever. Even today, this kind of traditional deprecating phrase might accompany gifts in Japan when people describe something as “tsumaranai mono”—literally a “dull” or “boring” thing. And so the crown was sent along with Ne no Omi.
Now, as he was returning to the capital, Ne no Omi coveted the crown, and he decided to steal it, and keep it for himself. And so when he reached the capital he made no mention of it. In fact, he slandered Ohokusaka, and told Anaho that Ohokusaka had refused his orders to send his sister. According to Ne no Omi, Ohokusaka had rebuked the offer, saying “Is my younger sister to be the sleeping mat for an equally ranking family?”
That line, from the Kojiki, only emphasizes the idea that Ohokusaka was probably more legitimate as an heir than the Chronicles let on.
Now the sovereign had no reason not to trust the word of a trusted minister, and so he grew angry at this supposed insolence. He immediately raised an army and sent it after Ohokusaka. They surrounded Ohokusaka’s house and slew him. Ohokusaka had servants of the Hikaka family, the Kishi of Naniwa, in the center of modern Ohosaka, where Homuda Wake and Ohosazaki had their capitals. These servants gathered up his head and legs in hand and wept, for they knew the truth and knew that he had died without committing any crime.
They then said they would not be true servants unless they followed their lord in death, and so they slit their own throats.
The army of the sovereign, Anaho, saw this and wept. It is perhaps the first account we have in the Chronicles of junshi, the act of willingly following a lord in death—a concept that would later take hold amidst the romanticism of warrior culture, to the point that it was specifically outlawed in the Edo period, yet it occasionally still occurred.
With Prince Ohokusaka’s death, the sovereign took Ohokusaka’s wife, his cousin Nakashi Hime, as one of his own consorts, and Ohokusaka’s sister, Kusaka no Hatahi, was finally given to Wakatake no Miko.
Now there is a lot going on here, but let’s briefly step back from some of the blood and death and take a look at what might be going on. Of course the story itself is violent enough, and seems somewhat plausible, except that there had been other examples where someone refused the sovereign and the answer typically wasn’t to raise an army and go kill them. I suspect that there was something deeper at play here.
For one thing, we know that Ohokusaka was a senior male heir to Ohosazaki—or at least he would have been if not for his mother’s supposed position as simply another consort, and not the actual Queen. And yet, even that is unclear—was there actually such a requirement for determining succession? He was, after all, named as one of two potential heirs to the throne on the death of Midzuha Wake, and even the Kojiki’s slander works generally because he would have had to at least conceive of the idea that his lineage was just as grand as Anaho’s—perhaps even more so. After all, this was not yet a period of primogeniture—inheritance did not automatically pass down the paternal line to the eldest son, but rather seems to have been passed along horizontally within the same generation. And so it seems reasonable to assume that Ohokusaka had a viable claim to the throne.
This could also provide another explanation for what was going on. It is quite possible that Ohokusaka's death was part of an active succession dispute, and only later was he declared completely illegitimate. At the very least, this could possibly explain the desire by members of the new generation of rulers for marriage to Ohokusaka’s sister and even his wife, to further strengthen their claims to the throne.
And of course, we shouldn’t forget that for all that the Chronicles make this out to be a dispute kept inside the royal family, there is plenty of speculation that the relationships were not so concrete. There is no guarantee that Anaho was the son of Woasazuma, and if he was, then was Woasazuma actually a son of Ohosazaki, and brother to the previous sovereigns? That all makes some sense, and may be accurate, but there is enough archaeological evidence to suggest that things were much more complex than all of that, and so what we are seeing is an attempt to fit these bits of memory into a story that worked with the prevailing Truth (with a capital T) that Ohoama and his descendants wanted to show.
Regardless, what we have to go on for now are these stories, and this one isn’t quite finished, yet.
I mentioned above that when Anaho’s brother came to him with marriage requests, Anaho didn’t yet have a queen of his own. And so, also as mentioned above, after Ohokusaka’s death, and after Wakatake was betrothed to Kusaka no Hatahi, the sovereign also decided it was time to take a wife – and he took Ohokusaka’s wife, Nakashi Hime, as his own. Of course, she had been married previously, and not only that, but she and Ohokusaka had a son: Prince Mayowa. And when Anaho took Nakashi Hime for his wife, he took Mayowa and had him raised in the palace. The Kujiki mentions that he was “not punished”—something of an odd phrasing, possibly referring to the generous treatment he had, or possibly talking about the fact that he was allowed to live. Either way, he was allowed free range of the palace.
Now we are told that Mayowa was just a boy, maybe as young as 6 or 7 years old, though possibly older given some of what we learn. And it seems he was not even fully aware of the circumstances behind his father’s death. And that worried Anaho. As time went on, he started to worry more and more about just what would happen if Mayowa were to discover the truth.
One day, Anaho and the court had gone up into the mountain palace to enjoy the local hot springs. He was there with his wife, Nakashi hime. In the Kojiki they say he was on the royal bed, taking his mid-day siesta, and in the Nihon Shoki he was up in a tower of the palace looking out at the beauty of nature while ordering up sake for a banquet. In either case, he decided to confide in his wife the worries he had for her son, Mayowa. More and more he worried that Mayowa would grow up and learn that Anaho had been the one to have ordered his father, Ohokusaka, killed. If that were to happen, would not some evil start to form in his heart?
As he said this, no doubt believing it to be in confidence, he did not realize that Prince Mayowa was actually quite near. He had gone underneath the palace, which must have been built up off the ground, and he was playing by the pillars, and he heard Anaho’s confession. That night, when the sovereign was fast asleep, the young prince took the sword from the sovereign’s side and slit Anaho’s throat with it. He then ran away from the palace.
Now to quickly recap where we are—and we are only halfway through and I warn you that there is plenty of blood to come. So first, we had the Crown Prince Karu, who was rebuked by the court, who backed Prince Anaho. Anaho defeated Prince Karu. Later—possibly because of a misunderstanding—Anaho defeated and killed Prince Ohokusaka, the last of his father’s generation of potential heirs. But then, Prince Mayowa, Ohokusaka’s own son, had killed Anaho, to get revenge or his own father’s death.
Are you with me so far?
Word must have spread quickly about the sovereign’s death, and one of the first to hear of it was Wakatake, younger brother to Anaho, and the guy who had requested the hand of Kusaka no Hatahi and thus possibly kicked off the whole bloodbath with Ohokusaka. It’s actually not the first time we’ve heard of Wakatake, either: before that he was the one who had punished and tortured the Silla envoys when he thought they had been misusing the women of the court. Now he was fired up, and determined to find justice for his older brother. Or at least, that’s what he said—one can hardly doubt that he must have realized that there was suddenly a power vacuum, one he would have to work quickly to exploit.
And so Wakatake put on his armor and girded his sword, claiming that he was worried that his elder brothers might try to start something—though I highly suspect that if he felt this way, it was probably more than a little bit of psychological projection.
What happened next is a little different in the different Chronicles. The Kojiki tells it with relative simplicity: Wakatake went to the house of his older brother, Kurobiko, the Black Prince, and he asked what was to be done about Mayowa, who had just killed their father. Kurobiko seemed unphased and indifferent, however, which merely enraged Wakatake, who scolded him, saying: “How can you be so lazy on hearing that the sovereign, your brother as well as mine, has been killed?”
Then in a fit of rage, he grasped his older brother by the collar, pulled out his sword, and killed him.
He then stormed off to the house of his other brother, Shirobiko, the White Prince, but his other brother was likewise unconcerned, which just made Wakatake more angry. He had Shirobiko placed in a pit on the Owari fields and buried upright. When Shirohiko was buried up to his waist, both of his eyes popped out of his head, and he died.
And might we pause for a moment to notice what was going on? According to the Kojiki, Wakatake was upset about his brother’s death and so he… killed his brothers? Yeah, that doesn’t exactly add up. Not that he killed them, but his supposed reasoning.
In the Nihon Shoki it is told a little bit differently. There, Wakatake approached Shirobiko first, bringing a large army. He started interrogating his brother, but Shirobiko knew right away that Wakatake was just looking for some kind of an excuse, and so Shirobiko remained silent and refused to say anything. Finally, Wakatake had had enough, and in this version it is Shirobiko whom he ran through with his sword. He then went on to Kurobiko, where the same thing happened but, for whatever reason, he didn’t kill Kurobiko. Instead he traveled on to Mayowa and interrogated him. Mayowa claimed that he never wanted the throne, he just wanted revenge for the death of his father, Prince Ohokusaka.
While Wakatake was apparently deciding what he should do with the two of them, Kurobiko passed a message to Mayowa, and they both ran away together, taking shelter with Tsubura no Oho-omi—who, by his title, appears to have been the Prime Minister, as it were, of his day.
Here is where the narratives come together, mostly. In the Kojiki, you see, Mayowa had already run off to Tsubura no Ohoomi.
Wakatake raised an army and surrounded the house of Tsubura no Ohomi. He sent in a messenger to talk to Tsubura no Ohomi and to ask him to turn over the Princes he was protecting. Tsubura no Ohomi apologized, however, as he could not comply. As he explained, in antiquity there were plenty of times that an Omi or a Muraji might take shelter in the house of a prince, but a royal prince hiding in the house of a vassal, well wasn’t that unheard of? And he was mostly correct, at least if you don’t count Prince Karu hiding in the house of Omahe no Sukune, but hey, what’s a plothole or two between friends?
In this case, though, Tsubura no Ohomi was not Omahe no Sukune. Where Omahe had given up Prince Karu, Tsubura no Ohomi was not about to give up the princes under his care. Instead, he came out and tried to bargain.
He offered up his own daughter, Kara Hime, as well as the granaries of Kadzuraki. But he could not give up the Princes. The Nihon Shoki places in his mouth the words of no other than the venerable Confucius himself as Tsubura no Ohomi said that “The will of even a common man cannot be taken from him.”
Wakatake took the tribute, but he was not appeased. He had his men burn Tsubura no Ohoomi’s home to the ground, along with everyone inside, including the Minister and both of the Princes. As it was still burning, apparently one of Kurobiko’s servants, Nihe no Sukune, the Muraji of the Sakahibe, ran in and took the Prince’s still burning corpse in his arms, and so also burnt to death. Later, the Sakahibe would attempt to sort out the bones, but they could not, and they were all deposited together in a single coffin and buried together.
And with that, Wakatake suddenly found himself the only remaining heir to the throne—funny that.
Or, well, at least, he was the only heir from Woasazuma’s line. There was at least one more prince we are told. Ichinobe no Oshiwa no Miko of Iwazaka was the son of Izaho Wake and Kurohime. When his father had passed away, the throne went to his uncle, Midzuha Wake, perhaps because his mother was not considered a queen, but I figure it is more likely that succession at this time was more likely to run to the next head of the household—typically from brother to brother—before it went to the next generation. It could also have just been the case that Ichinobe no Oshiwa was too young at the time of his father’s death.
Whatever the reason, apparently Anaho, who had no children of his own, had named Ichinobe no Oshiwa as the Crown Prince, should anything happen to him. So that meant that technically, for all of the blood he had spilt, it was almost meaningless, since none of the other brothers were actually in line for the throne. Technically, for all that his brother, Anaho, had succeeded their father, it looked like the line was reverting back to a previous branch of the family tree.
Of course, this was a bit of a fly in Wakatake’s ointment. He had successfully disposed of most of his rivals—also known as “family”—but there was one more left. And so he came up with a plan. He sent a servant to invite Ichinobe no Oshiwa on a hunting excursion to the land of Afumi, where a local lord had told him the deer were particularly plentiful.
Now I don’t know about you, but if I was the next in line to the throne, and my ambitious cousin had just killed all of his family and potential rivals, before then inviting me to do a bit of hunting… well, I like to think that I might have had an inkling something was up. But perhaps Wakatake had come up with a really good explanation for all of that, or perhaps Ichinobe just hadn’t received word of the fratricide that had recently taken place. I also have to wonder whether or not Ichinobe had actually taken the throne, though the Chronicles don’t mention anything about that. But if he was the sovereign, I supposed it could be entirely possible that Wakatake had pledged his loyalty to him in some way.
Whatever the reason, Ichinobe trusted his cousin, and together they went out on the moors, hunting for deer.
As they rose to go hunting, Ichinobe no Oshiwa rose first and called for his cousin. He then headed out on the moors ahead. Wakatake, on the other hand, girded himself in armor under his clothing—not exactly the kind of get up one usually dons when going hunting, unless you are, perhaps, hunting the Most Dangerous Game.
Sure enough, Wakatake spurred his horse onwards and eventually overtook Ichinobe no Oshiwa, and as soon as they were side by side, Wakatake drew back his bow and shot his cousin. Then, in a particularly gruesome display, he had the body chopped up and added to the feedbuckets of the horses—I guess they didn’t have any pigs handy, yet. Whatever remained was unceremoniously buried in the ground, without even a small mound to mark the would-be-sovereign’s memory.
When word got back to Ichinobe’s house of what had happened, his two sons, Oke and Woke—yes, those are their names as given—fled, fearing for their lives. They ended up in Harima and hid as servants, so that they would not be found.
And with that, the way was clear. Ohohatsuse no Wakatake had no more rivals to contend with. In a pageant of blood, he had wiped clear any opposition, and as such we are told that he ascended the throne. Later Chroniclers would name him Yuuryaku Tennou, and his cruelty would be legendary.
But that is a legend that we will relate at a later date. In addition, next episode, I’d really like to get into some of the interesting evidence we have that may be direct references to Wakatake no Ohokimi in Continental sources as well as in archaeological evidence found in the archipelago itself—evidence that many believe refers directly to this sovereign by name. All of that we will discuss in our next episode.
And, so, until then, 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
Kawagoe, Aileen (2009). “Uji clans, titles and the organization of production and trade”. Heritage of Japan. https://heritageofjapan.wordpress.com/following-the-trail-of-tumuli/rebellion-in-kyushu-and-the-rise-of-royal-estates/uji-clans-titles-and-the-organization-of-production-and-trade/. Retrieved 1/11/2021.
Confucius, ., & Legge, J. (2008). The Analects of Confucius. Adelaide: The University of Adelaide Library.
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 56: What's in a Name?

January 16, 2022 Joshua Badgley

North gate of Ichinoyama Kofun traditionally identified as the resting place of Oasatsuma Wakugo, aka Ingyō Tennō, though Prof. Kishimoto’s analysis suggests that Oasatsuma may have actually been buried at Daisen Kofun—traditionally associated with Oasatsuma’s father, Ōsazaki, aka Nintoku Tennō. Photo by Saigen Jiro and available through Wikimedia Commons.

RSS

Archives

Much of this episode focuses on the idea of names. Nadia Kanagawa, in a Zoom talk she gave in December, 2021, used the term “designator” for the various ways in which people are called, and I tend to agree that is a good way of looking at this. It isn’t just about a person’s name, but it is what those various names, or designators, say about them.

Many of the earliest names we have appear to be designators of one kind or another—often titles. Even a name like Iware Biko can be broken down into “Iware”—which is a place—and “Biko” (or “Hiko”), meaning “child of the sun”, aka a Prince. The name of the famous “Himiko” herself is likely just this kind of title.

Sometimes we see names that are not necessarily titles. For example, Ōsazaki, aka Nintoku, whom we’ve discussed previously. He is often Ōsazaki no Mikoto, where “Mikoto” is a title or honorific, but we don’t immediately have an explanation for his name other than what is given in the Chronicles. Likewise with the fisherman we discuss later, “Osashi”.

On the other hand, many times we only know people by their title. So “Sotsuhiko” is likely just “Lord of [the land of] So”. It has been transformed into a name in how we use it, but it is unlikely that this is how his parents would have known him. Likewise we see things like “Naka tsu Hiko” or “Naka tsu Hime”, which mean little more than the “Prince” or “Princess” of the Middle—possibly indicating their birth order amongst several siblings or some other feature about where they were.

By the way, for those Japanese speakers out there, think of “tsu” in many of these names as an old equivalent to “no”, which itself can be seen almost like adding “ ‘s” to the end of word. So Yamato no Atae would be “Yamato’s Atae”, or “[the] Atae of Yamato”. Because of the way these names are constructed, I find it difficult to see just what is a title or position and what is a name.

There would be a parallel of this in the Edo period, when many people would take court titles as part of their name. So someone named naninani-no-suke isn’t necessarily claiming that they are a “no-suke” of some actual place or office. Likewise the various “Uemon” and “Saemon” aren’t really saying they work in the court guards of the right or left gatese.

And for the most part it doesn’t matter, though it is useful to keep in mind that the “names” by which people are remembered are likely not how they referred to themselves with their close friends and family, but we usually have little more to work with beyond how they were remembered to history.

Now over time, we see the tradition of designators that are not directly tied to your rank, position, or even where you are from, but rather it is more about the group that you belong to. This appears to start with the idea of the “-Be” (部) groups. For instance, the Umakaibe (馬飼部), the Horse-keeper’s ‘-be’, means literally just that, and likely comes from what they were supposed to do. Others may not be so easily recognizable, with their names seemingly related to a particular location or a family.

There is some thought that it is through these kinds of organizations of individuals, membership in the organization being continued through familial lines, that the families themselves began to develop. These large groups, often considered clans, as they claimed to be related through ancestors back in the legendary past. Groups like the Wani, the Katsuraki, the Yamato, and the Izumo all appear to be using locatives—that is to say surnames derived from placenames. This would have been a natural transition: “Katsuraki no XXXX” is still “Katsuraki no XXXX”. Others, like the Mononobe (物部) and Imbe (忌部) appear to have arisen directly from the corporate “-Be” groups themselves. And then there are groups like the Nakatomi (中臣), whom we will see more prominently in later centuries, whose name appears, at least to me, to derive from their position as “middle ministers” (naka tsu omi).

Added to these names are various titles, honorifics, etc. Some of these appear to be titles or honorifics that are no longer remembered as such—thus a lot of the -mimi titles we see early on. Others, like Iribiko and even Tarashi seem to be recognized as titles, but are still unclear. The title of “Wake” is often seen, and there is an explanation that it indicates and individual of royal blood who has been otherwise separated (wakeru) from the royal lineage. This seems to be a false etymology, however, and the most we can say is that they appear to be of elite status.

These early titles do not all appear to be equally distributed, geographically, in the Chronicles, with some elements being found more commonly in certain areas of the archipelago. But over time, the designators do seem to coalesce, likely as the influence of Yamato and the idea of a central authority also grew. And so around the 5th century we are seeing some things with some regularity. “Sukune” appears to be a personal designator, indicating a person of considerable rank in the court. Meanwhile “Mikoto” is reserved for sovereigns and kami. Titles such as “Miko”, meaning Prince, and “Iratsume”, indicating a woman of royal blood, are more frequent as well. Hiko and Hime also appear, but with seemingly less authority than in days past.

Some titles appear to move from a personal title to a familial one. Thus we get things like Omi and Muraji. “Omi”, in particular, seems to indicate a minister in court, but later we see that there are entire families designated as “Omi”, and it is highly unlikely that everyone in that family was a minister. Instead you get the Ō-omi and the Ō-muraji, who appear to be the heads of their respective clans and also hold a position of authority at court.

And that is key. As Omi, Muraji, Atae (later Atai), and other kabane are formalized, they tend to apply not just to the individual, but to everyone in their clan. So if the clan rises in prestige, and if they were given a more prestigious kabane, then everyone is lifted by such a pronouncement. This likely indicated the work that individuals could do in the court, as well, and how far they would rise. Your own place in society was determined by not just your deeds and what you did, but by your entire family—including your extended family.

We’ll see more of this in a later episode, where we will get a more formal definition of the kabane at the court. For now we see them, but they haven’t really been explained in the narrative. Most of the 8th century authors and readers would likely have already been familiar with the concept, so they may not have felt the need to explain it here.

I will mention one more thing that may be worth noting, though, and that is the tendency for titles and ranks and even surnames in the narrative to be more than a little anachronistic. There are cases where people are noted not as members of a particular clan, but simply as their ancestors. In that way they are connected, but it is not directly indicated that they used the uji, or clan name. Where we do see an uji used, though, it is sometimes used with a kabane that actually wasn’t awarded until some later point in time. So just because someone is named XX no Omi or XX no Muraji does not mean that such was their rank during the events that are being described. Most of the time this isn’t an issue, but occasionally it does make one wonder if knowing the actual ranks at the time wouldn’t help us to better identify the trends and what was happening around this time.

Free Diving for Pearls in Ancient Japan

A Japanese woodblock print showing men and women in boats along the shore with women diving into the water. In the mid- and backgrounds are the shoreline. In the foreground is shown rocks underwater and a woman prying a shell off with a small knife — Women diving for abalone—and their pearls—in an 1830s woodblock print by Utagawa Kunisada and published by Yamaguchiya Tobei. Image in the public domain courtesy of the Cleveland Art Museum.

One of the other stories in this episode focuses on the idea of pearl diving. Now it does strain credulity that someone in that period dove down 100 meters or more to pull up an abalone and made it back to the surface, but it is not necessarily impossible. As we mention in the episode, people have been known to free dive to more than 100 meters—and assisted free dives even further, using weights and other such things to go down and come back up. Furthermore, free diving doesn’t come with quite the same risks of the “bends” that you get with, say, SCUBA diving, where you are taking in pressurized air—though there are dangers for those who do continuous dives, but overall the risk seems much lower.

So the idea that someone was able to dive down exceptionally deep, get an abalone, and then would make it back up is not entirely far fetched.

Black and white image of the inside of an abalone shell. The shell is round, with three natural holes visible in the upper left. Even in black and white the inside of the shell displays the smooth glossy mother-of-pearl finish . — Inside of an abalone shell.

This is a practice that goes back to the earliest writings about the archipelago. Even the accounts in the Weizhi appear to reference this very feat, and we see examples of it straight through to modern times, where we have the tradition of ama pearl divers, though much diminished, still practiced by a handful of individuals. While the ama today are traditionally women, it is unclear if it was limited to that in ancient times. By the name, Osashi (男狭磯), which starts with the character “man”, we assume that we are talking about a male fisherman, but it is quite possible—even likely—that those characters were assigned well after the event had happened and was being passed down orally. Without other markers, I don’t know that I could definitively say if they were actually a man or a woman,

A collection of abalone pearls, showing irregular forms, from square to conical and even teardrop shaped. They range in hue from cream to blue-green and even purple and orange. — Examples of abalone pearls. Photo by Worldexplorer82, CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons

Now the pearls they were bringing up were very likely more along the lines of the abalone pearls. Abalone only have a single shell, that spirals outward. Technically they are a gastropod, and a type of marine snail, though you might know notice that at first glance. As a consequence of their biology, the pearls they generate tend to be less spherical and are more likely to be irregular. However, they also have an iridescent sheen similar to the inside of their shells, which gives them their own beauty, which over the years has sometimes been prized more highly than the spherical, white pearls generated by oysters and similar bivalves.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is Episode 56: What’s in a name?
Now before we get started I have a few shoutouts this episode as I want to thank Pedro, Thaddeus, Lyndon, and Lewis for supporting the show and the rest of the work that we are doing here at Sengoku Daimyo. If you’d like to join then, you can go over to our Ko-Fi site, Ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo or check us out on Patreon. Every dollar goes back into the show and to keeping the website up and running, so thank you so much.
And with that, let’s move on to the episode itself.
Now, in the last episode—before the New Year’s recap—we were talking about Woasatsuma Wakugo no Sukune no Mikoto, aka Ingyou Tennou. He was the brother of the previous two sovereigns, Inaho Wake, aka Richuu Tennou, and Midzuha Wake, aka Hanzei Tennou. All three of them were sons of Ohosazaki no Mikoto, aka Nintoku Tennou.
We talked about how Woasatsuma had been injured by disease, so that he couldn’t, or at least he had trouble, walking, and how his attempts at a cure through somewhat dubious methods had invalidated him to succeed to the throne in the eyes of his parent and siblings. And yet, by tradition he seems to have been the last man standing, as it were, at least of the offspring of Ohosazaki no Mikoto and his primary wife and queen, Iwa no Hime. The one other possible male heir—and I stress male because the Chroniclers seem to just ignore most of the women—was Ohokusaka no Miko, the son of Ohosazaki no Mikoto and Kaminaga Hime.
Despite the court’s apparent insistence that Woasatsuma take the throne, he kept pushing it off, saying that it couldn’t be him, until finally his wife, Osaka no Ohonakatsu Hime, stepped in, and almost died for her trouble.
Of course, there are all sorts of questions here. It seems that the Chroniclers really wanted to point out the presence of Ohokusaka no Miko, even though we hadn’t honestly heard anything about Kaminaga Hime since the reign of Homuda Wake, and almost nothing about her progeny. It seems telling that the Chroniclers specifically make mention of him as one of two sons of Ohosazaki no Mikoto who are left.
In the end, however, Woasatsuma Wakugo no Sukune did indeed take the throne, and he made his wife, Osaka no Ohonakatsu Hime, queen. And lest we forget, Osaka no Ohonakatsu Hime was quite likely his senior, as she was the daughter of Woasatsuma’s grandfather, Homuda Wake, and the princes Kaguro Hime. So yes, in true royal fashion, Woasatsuma had married his own aunt, though since they weren’t related through maternal connections it was okay, I guess?
Anyway, Woasatsuma, to show his love, is said to have created the Osaka-be. We may have touched on this before, but these “-be” are often referred to as corporations. They were individuals gathered up and placed into a group, often for an express purpose – either the production of a particular type of good for the court, or a group whose production went to the support of a given individual, family, or institution. These “-be” corporations were hereditary, and they operated as an extended family, with actual or fictitious familial bonds, all gathered under a particular name.
All of that gets to the heart of one of the events I want to discuss this episode. You see, by at least the 6th century, if not earlier, names and relations were rather important. The ancient kabane system, for instance, often applied rank and status to an entire family or at least to a cadet branch, as well as to particular individuals. This is the oldest form of titles and ranks that we know of in the Chronicles, and it is unclear to me just what came about, when. I suspect it is entirely possible that there are titles that pre-date the kabane system, and that different areas of the archipelago may have even had or used titles slightly differently, as there is no evidence that cultural and linguistic elements were homogenized prior to the spread of the round-keyhole tombs. What were the differences between terms like Wake, Hiko, Mimi, Sukune, Atahe, Agatanushi, Kimi, etc. throughout the centuries, and why did some titles attach themselves to individuals while others were more familial? Some titles even seem to have faded into little more than name elements well before the system was properly codified. At some point, soon, I’ll try to address all of that, but for now it is enough to know that it exists.
And because they had these titles—and because the rank and title often applied to the entire family, not just an individual. Then, as they say, a rising tide lifts all boats. It is easy to see why someone would want to make a claim to a prestigious family background.
Now, of course, from generation to generation, people likely had a good idea of where the family lines went, but it wasn’t that difficult for people to insinuate themselves into a lineage. After all, does everyone really remember how many kids that great-grandfather had and where they ended up? And how much more difficult out in the countryside. Someone showing up in Kochi and claiming to be related to a well-connected family in Harima, you might not even question it. If your lineage wasn’t quite as shiny as you’d like it to be, just add in a few prestigious ancient ancestors that nobody was likely to have heard of, and suddenly you can gain some unexpected honor and prestige.
And, in fact, that is a lot of what we see going on in the Chronicles. Not only is it about the lineage of the royal family and making sure that they are connected to all of the right personages back to time immemorial, thus creating the image of an unbroken chain, but it is also about the various court nobles and families trying to make sure that their ancestors—whether real or imagined—are properly accounted for and, where possible, tied into the royal family in an official record.
That was all happening in the 8th century, however, when the Chronicles were actually being written, and presumably many different people had input into just exactly what was being recorded. In the 5th century, remember that reading and writing had really just come over in the past few generations. Prior to that, lineages were likely remembered through oral traditions passed down from family to family. Also, as we’ve seen, many characters were simply remembered by their titles—the lord or lady of this or that—rather than by some personal name. Even family names are recorded in the Chronicles as a relatively recent thing in the archipelago, likely borrowing from continental tradition.
And so, perhaps it is little wonder that we see a complaint in both the Kojiki and the Nihon Shoki about the “disorder of names”, and both chronicles put this complaint in the reign of Woasatsuma. The Kojiki puts this argument in the mouth of Woasatsuma himself, when he proclaims that “the titles of various families,” by which they mean the uji and the kabane by which they were ranked, and “the names”—or ‘Na’—“of the people” were confused. The Nihon Shoki claims this as the reason there wasn’t good government, which seems a bit of a stretch, to my mind. Nobody is, I guess, talking about the fact that nobody apparently wanted to run the government in the first place? And of course the royal family and the court don’t exactly take any blame for this on themselves.
The Nihon Shoki goes on to claim that some people had taken surnames that were not theirs in order to claim high position. And so it was up to the sovereign to put everything back in order, and to quote-unquote “correct” the names, all of which suggests, to me, a few things.
First: As we’ve already mentioned, at some point groups of supposedly related individuals were taking clan names, known as uji. The term “clan” is often used here, as members in an uji were only notionally related, usually through some common mythical ancestor. It isn’t clear that they were necessarily all blood related. Later, these uji would break up into cadet families, known as “ie”. While the Uji came to be regulated by the court, the cadet family names were under much less strict controls.
Prior to the development of these Uji names, individuals are mentioned as the ancestor of this or that family, but they really aren’t identified as having an uji, per se. However, we do see some proto-Uji in the form of placenames, since many of the Uji were derived from just this kind of construction. And so where Izumo no Yebito might have originally meant “Yebito of the land of Izumo”, later the same name might be interpreted as “Yebito of the Izumo family”—a slight but important difference.
Aston, in notes to his translation of the Nihon Shoki, claims that at this point the uji themselves still didn’t exist, but we do see what appear to be clan names on a few items from around the mid to late 5th century.
Now there are different theories as to where these clan names actually came from. Early Japanese scholars provided a variety of theories based on proposed etymologies for the word “uji” itself. Others claim that the first formal familial groups came from the Korean peninsula. In fact, some even suggest that they came from the idea of the corporate “-be” familial groups, which we discussed earlier in this episode. I suspect that there was not a small number of individuals who also brought their own tradition of family from the continent in one way or another.
Second: This suggestion in the Nihon Shoki that people were taking names to take on powerful positions emphasizes the idea that lineage carried with it influence, as individuals were taking names in order to claim a high position. This is something where the archipelago would differ slightly from many continental traditions. In Confucian influenced systems there was at least the nod towards a meritocracy—that one’s position and rank should be based on one’s individual skills and moral character. In the archipelago, lineage and family were still quite important factors.
And that brings me to the third thing: The way that the families and ranks were tied together provided another means of Yamato extending its grasp over the entire archipelago. Early on, we talked about the power that local elites had consolidated power over various settlements and then spread their influence, creating a kind of hub and spoke system of related communities, tied together in one way or another, but exhibiting similar cultural traits in the archaeological record.
I suspect, based on what we have seen, these elites tied themselves together with a combination of elite trade goods, marriage alliances, and shared rituals. In fact, control of particular ritual sites may have been another important factor in the influence of groups like Yamato. And of course there was also plenty of military action that took place, based on what we see of weapons and armor, and the stories don’t have it confined to action on the peninsula.
Eventually, however, if Yamato really was to consolidate power, it would need a means of administration beyond the center. The various elites and the newly created lineage groups provided a decentralized form of administration across the archipelago. These family groups—the uji—had charge of various resources, such as rice land, granaries, mountain areas, etc., recognized by the court, who provided prestige in a novel way that went beyond just access to continental prestige goods. The system of titles that were handed out—the kabane—also provided a carrot that the court could use. And later, it would become a stick—much as in the case when the queen, Ohonakatsu Hime, had someone stripped of their titles and busted down in the rank system, as mentioned in episode 55.
Thus we can see the importance of insisting that the uji owed their position—even their very existence—to the court and, more specifically, to the royal family. Now how far this authority actually extended is something I would wonder about—I suspect that plenty of uji existed outside of formal recognition, especially the farther you went from Yamato proper. We see an example of this in the late Heian period with the Osshuu Fujiwara—a clan in the Tohoku region that claimed Fujiwara lineage and set up their own rule in the northeast partly on the basis of those claims. It wasn’t until the court in Heian-kyo got wind of it that they sent people out to investigate what was going on.
Which all comes around to another point to be made about the current topic, to ensure that the names of the people were correct, and that is the continental flavor of all of this. I’m actually reminded specifically of the Confucian concept of the Rectification of Names. This comes from the Analects. As translated by James Legge:
If names be not correct, language is not in accordance with the truth of things. If language be not in accordance with the truth of things, affairs cannot be carried on to success. When affairs cannot be carried on to success, proprieties and music do not flourish. When proprieties and music do not flourish, punishments will not be properly awarded. When punishments are not properly awarded, the people do not know how to move hand or foot. Therefore a superior man considers it necessary that the names he uses may be spoken appropriately, and also that what he speaks may be carried out appropriately. What the superior man requires is just that in his words there may be nothing incorrect.
Now on the one hand we may see here that “names”, in this instance, might just as easily be described as “words”—that is, it seems not to simply refer to the names of people, or families, but to the names given to anything at all—from something as simple as an apple to something as philosophical as justice. However, on the issue of governance it seems that it often fell squarely onto the idea of names, ranks, and titles, and ensuring that the people of the “hundred names” were well ordered.
By the way, quick side note, even that phrase, the “hundred names” is a very continental reference to the names found in the various regions of China, referring to the various family surnames that were commonly used, and often used as a reference to the entire citizenry. In the Nihon Shoki it is used in this same way, which is another indication that they were also drawing very much on continental ideas and sources.
And so we get at the heart of the control and assignment of names as a legitimizing act—something that is done by good sovereigns to keep order in the realm. There may indeed have been a need to ensure that people weren’t abusing the system by falsely claiming a lineage that they did not have, but it also feels like an exercise in authority. Because for all of the local power that a family might hold, a sovereign able to invalidate their name and title would have a significant lever against the various families. Whether or not the court actually originated the concept of the uji and the kabane or not, gaining control no doubt further strengthened the central government’s control over the archipelago.
In fact, we’ll see similar edicts in later reigns.
One last thing to throw out here is the curious fact that these names and designations only affected a certain portion of the population: the nobility. Commoners had no family names nor rank—though they may have belonged to a group, like the corporate -be structures we discussed. On the other end of the spectrum, however, there is no family name given for the sovereigns or the rulers, either. In some cases they have been referred to as the “Yamato” dynasty, but “Yamato” was never their surname. In fact, there were nobles identified as Yamato—like the Yamato no Atae—but they weren’t any more connected to the royal line than anyone else. Rather, the royal line seems to have had no need for a surname, as their titles were enough to identify them as separate and apart.
Now in the case of Woasatsuma Wakugo no Ohokimi and rectifying the names of the people during his reign, the Kojiki claims that he was able to handle it all through divination—specifically using kukabe divination pots and requesting the assistance of specific deities, through which he established the families and ranks throughout the kingdom.
In the Nihon Shoki, the process was a little more in depth. First, he garnered the assistance of the various ministers, and they worked on a plan. Three weeks later, they came up with a solution that was much practical than simple divination. Well, at least it was more participatory. The solution that they set up was not exactly a calm debate or pouring over ancient stories or records. What they actually came up with was a bit more, well, medieval.
They decided the best way to test people’s claims to parentage was to put them through an ordeal: Trial by boiling water.
Each person was to purify themselves, practice abstinence, and then plunge their hands into the boiling water. If they were claiming a surname that wasn’t theirs, then the kami would judge them and burn them. Otherwise, they would make it through unscathed.
This is not exactly the only time such an ordeal was used. For example, there was one where mud, rather than just plain water, was boiled, and person was supposed to stir it around with their bare arms. In another version, an iron axe head was heated up to glowing red hot and placed in the palm of the hand. In both cases, there was an idea that the kami would protect the innocent.
These are all frighteningly similar to ordeals that people were put through over in Medieval Europe, and likely just as effective, were they actually ever employed. For reasons I feel are quite obvious it is unlikely that everyone in the various uji—or even just the various family heads—would have been subjected to such tortuous and inhumane treatment. That said, there does appear to have been some belief in its efficacy, at least in extreme circumstances.
Whatever the actual reckoning methods that were used, the outcome was that the court did acquire, by hook or by crook, some authority over the various uji. Eventually—perhaps not quite in the 5th century—they would gain complete control of the uji, including the authority to create new ones. And this continued – this was the case, for example, with the creation of the Toyotomi, in the 16th century. Of course, this power would not stop new families from arising, and many cadet branches of powerful uji would simply form their own houses, or “ie”, maintaining ties to the uji. This was, in fact, something being lamented during this part of the Chronicles, meaning that at least by the 8th century this was already a factor complicating some of the relationships.
Now, Woasatsuma’s reign wasn’t just about names, and there were a few other things that happened during this reign.
For one, we are told there was an earthquake. Now this shouldn’t be much of a surprise. We’ve talked about Japan’s place on the ring of fire, and earthquakes could not have been a too infrequent occurrence. Even in recent years, the area around modern Nara averages over 9 earthquakes a year that people can sense—that’s between a 3 to a 5 on Japan’s “shindo” scale, a slightly different measurement from the Richter scale people may be familiar with. So it is almost more remarkable that we don’t hear about them more often.
In fact, the only reason this one merits a mention at all appears to be what happened around it. You see, apparently Midzuha Wake, the previous sovereign, had not yet been buried. We’ve talked about this practice of mogari before, where the body lay in state, possibly in a temporary burial or even exposed to the elements—perhaps in little more than a temporary hut or enclosure. This could go on for weeks, months, or even years.
For Midzuha Wake, his body was still lying in this state of temporary burial, which was overseen by Tamada no Sukune, who was either the son or grandson of the late Katsuraki no Sotsuhiko. Sotsuhiko was, of course, also the father to Iwa no Hime, and thus grandfather to both Midzuha Wake and Woasatsuma Wakugo.
On the evening of the earthquake, Aso, of the Owari no Muraji, went to examine the shrine of the temporary burial. There he found everyone that was expected to be there except one: Tamada no Sukune, the man who was supposed to be in charge of the whole thing. Long story short, Aso set out to find him, and when he did he discovered that Tamada no Sukune was at home hosting a revel.
Aso found Tamada no Sukune and explained what had happened—and how he had basically been caught pulling a Ferris Beuller and shirking his duties. Of course, Aso would need to go back and report all of this to the court, and that got Tamada no Sukune’s attention.
Taking Aso aside, Tamada no Sukune offered him a fine horse if he could just forget this whole episode. He could tell the court something else—anything other than the truth that Tamada no Sukune had gone AWOL to throw a bender with some of his friends. And it seemed to have worked. Aso agreed, and took the horse, but Tamada was paranoid, and didn’t trust that Aso would follow through on his end of the bargain. After all, why should he? He had the horse, what was to really stop him from denouncing Tamada to the court? And so he quickly sent his own men out and they caught up with Aso and cut him down on the road.
Then, Tamada no Sukune made himself scarce, hiding out in the area around Takechi no Sukune’s tomb, presumably hoping the whole thing would just blow over. Of course, it didn’t, and word did reach the court of Aso’s death, though the details were apparently still a bit fuzzy, and the sovereign called for Tamada no Sukune to try to figure out what was going on.
When Tamada no Sukune responded to the summons—I guess hiding out just wasn’t an option anymore—he was more than a bit nervous. Woasatsuma saw how he was acting and also noticed something else. Tamada’s clothing didn’t seem to fit quite right—there was something underneath. Curious as to what was going on, Woasatsuma had one of his handmaidens—known as “uneme”—go check it out. Sure enough, Tamada had come dressed in a suit of armor underneath his clothing, presumably in case he had to fight his way out. Immediately he found himself surrounded, but his armor worked and Tamada fled back to his home. There, soldiers from the Yamato court surrounded his house and eventually found him and put him to death.
And you thought your boss was strict about timecard fraud!
There’s one last story that I want to hit on this episode, and that takes place in what should by now be a somewhat familiar setting for us: The Island of Awaji. As so many had done before him, Woasatsuma Wakugo no Ohokimi decided to take part in the royal sport of hunting, a common pastime of the sovereigns of Yamato. And as he and his retinue walked the island it should have been an epic haul. There were animals everywhere: Deer, monkeys, wild boar, you name it.
And yet, no matter how many arrows were shot, spears thrown, or traps set, they couldn’t catch a single thing. All of their efforts were for naught. Now I’m sure that everyone has a bad day, but this was apparently epic levels of fail, such that they called off for the day to regroup and figure out just what was going on.
And if you are going to ask questions, then who better to ask questions of then the locals? By which I mean the local kami. Yup, they performed a divination to try to figure out why they felt like Elmer Fudd on a bad hare day.
Sure enough, they performed the rituals and the kami of the island, none other than Izanagi himself, answered their call. He told the sovereign and his band that it was through his actions that no beast was caught. He demanded a tribute of sorts—there was a large pearl at the bottom of the sea of Akashi—which is to say the area of the Seto Inland Sea just north of Awaji.
Now the Seto Inland Sea is generally described as shallow, which it is when compared to the nearby Pacific Ocean, but it can be deep enough. In the area where the pearl was located the waters are over 100 meters deep. This was too deep for most people to dive. In fact, most people rarely go more than 6 or 7 meters on their own, and even for trained ama, the famous Japanese pearl divers, it is rare that they go more than 25 meters deep. Modern recreational SCUBA diving rarely goes below 30 meters. Even in modern free diving—the art of diving without assistance, such as scuba gear—the deepest someone has gone without assistance appears to be just over 120 meters. Part of the problem is just the logistics of the amount of time one can hold their breath, even with training to regulate their metabolism. Many of the world record holding divers to get to that depth took three to four minutes to complete the dive. While people have been known to hold their breath for longer—10 to 11 minutes, with some world records claiming 20 to 24 minutes—that time would have likely been shortened due to the sheer exertion of getting down and coming back up. And that’s just for the dive, let along the time to find and retrieve something. Just to get down to the bottom of the Seto Inland Sea would have likely required an amazing athlete.
Fortunately, they had one on hand: a fisherman named Wosashi from Nagazato in the province of Awa, over on Shikoku. And he excelled at what he did. He tied a rope to his waist and dove down to the bottom, coming back up after some time. We aren’t told how long, but he had to have time to not only go down, but have a look around, which would have been a feat in and of itself, as he would not have had access to any artificial light sources, so seeing things would have been its own issue. Regardless, he reported that he had found a huge abalone—a primary source for the kinds of pearls that were mostly used at that time. Abalone pearls, you see, are often not as symmetrical and round as oyster pearls, and they can be much more opalescent, since they are made from the same coating as the inside of the abalone’s shell. To acquire them, the abalone has to be pulled away from the rock, which can be quite a feat in and of itself, not to mention the dive down and back.
So after locating where the abalone was, Wosashi was determined to go down and get it. He tied a rope to his waist and dove down again, likely with a knife or some other tool to help him pry the abalone from its rocky home. He was down there for a long time—longer than before. No doubt people were getting worried he would not make it back up.
But then, suddenly, they saw him, rising up through the waters, the abalone in his arms. He finally made it to the surface, but he was no longer breathing, and they say he died just as he reached the surface, sacrificing his life for that abalone. Later, they would lower a rope down where he had gone and they measured the depth at 60 jin, or 360 shaku, which is roughly 110 meters, by my calculations. Regardless, it was an amazing dive.
Inside the abalone they found a pearl the size of a peach, we are told. That may be an exaggeration—or else peaches were much smaller back then—but the point is made: it was big. And more importantly, it was big *enough*. Izanagi was satisfied with the offering, and from thenceforward the hunt was successful.
They did not forget about the sacrifice of Wosashi, however. Although he was simply a common fisherman, it was determined that he should be buried in style, and so a proper tomb was built for him. Tradition holds that you can go and visit that tomb to this day by going to Ishinoneya Kofun on the island of Awaji.
Woasatsuma’s reign continued to be successful. He and his wife had many children, and the land appears to have prospered. When he finally died in what the Nihon Shoki claims was the year 453—not an unreasonable date from what we know, so I’m willing to go with it—he was well respected at home and abroad. It is said that even Silla sent a tribute mission, with eighty tribute ships and eighty musicians of all kinds. Upon arriving in Tsushima they let out a great wail of lamentation, and they did the same when they arrived in Tsukushi. In Naniwa, they put on garments of pure white—the color of death, and they brought articles of tribute and proceeded to the capital in Asuka, in the southeast corner of the Nara Basin. As they traveled they sometimes wept and wailed, sometimes danced, and finally they assembled at the shrine of his temporary burial—which we discussed earlier regarding the temporary burial of Midzuha Wake.
Now it is unclear just when this actually would have happened—let alone if it even did. After all, we haven’t exactly seen great relations between Silla and Yamato, and there is nothing in the Silla annals to suggest that relations had improved much. This could just be trying to show that Silla was a dutiful vassal state, which could be nothing more than Yamato propaganda. That said, there is a lot going on that we don’t see in the annals or the Chronicles, so it is possible that we’ve just missed a lot of key moments.
Either way, the time to learn about the sovereign’s death, gather the musicians, and coordinate such a parade likely took some time, and one wonders if it didn’t happen a year or two later—possibly in the reign of another sovereign.
Which may be the case, and it could be that this is more important for regarding a later sovereign’s foreign relations, and this has to do with what happened when the envoys were headed home.
You see, as the Nihon Shoki tells it, on their way back, the envoys passed by the holy mountains of Unebi and Miminashi. So they yelled out: “Uneme Haya!” and then then “Mimi haya!”
This caught some of the Yamato officers off-guard. Specifically, a member of the Horse-keepers, the Yamato no Umakahibe, thought that they were yelling obscenities about having sex with the Uneme—the handmaidens at court. Shocked and appalled, he made the embassy turn around and return to the court. There they told Prince Ohohatsuse about the Embassy’s supposed improprieties. Prince Ohohatsuse was understandably shocked in turn, and had the embassy thrown into prison, where he then questioned them. Imagine the egg on his face, though, once he realized that it was all just a translation issue, and that they were actually complimenting the two mountains. Well, the Prince released the embassy, but the damage was done, and relations with Silla soured after that.
And we may come back to all of that during a later reign, but for now, this brings the reign of Woasatsuma Wakugo, aka Ingyou Tennou, to an end. Of course, you can probably guess some of what is coming next—after all, Woasatsuma was the last son of Ohosazaki and Iwa no Hime, but he had plenty of his own sons, and even a designated heir. So I’m sure that will just work itself out—you know, like it has in the past. But that can wait for now—come back next episode and see just what happens!
And, 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

Kanagawa, Nadia (2021). Zoom Talk: The Name Game in Nara Japan: Immigrant Origin and the Court Status System;
Ō, Yasumaro, & Heldt, G. (2014). The Kojiki: An account of ancient matters. ISBN978-0-231-16389-7
Kawagoe, Aileen (2009). “Uji clans, titles and the organization of production and trade”. Heritage of Japan. https://heritageofjapan.wordpress.com/following-the-trail-of-tumuli/rebellion-in-kyushu-and-the-rise-of-royal-estates/uji-clans-titles-and-the-organization-of-production-and-trade/. Retrieved 1/11/2021.
Confucius, ., & Legge, J. (2008). The Analects of Confucius. Adelaide: The University of Adelaide Library.
Bentley, John. (2006). The Authenticity of Sendai Kuji Hongi: a New Examination of Texts, with a Translation and Commentary. ISBN-90-04-152253
BAKSHEEV, Eugene S. (2001). THE MOGARI RITE THROUGH THE HISTORY OF JAPANESE CULTURE; Japan Penomenon: Views from Europe: International Conference; http://ru-jp.org/yaponovedy_baksheev_01e.htm
Chamberlain, B. H. (1981). The Kojiki: Records of ancient matters. Rutland, Vt: C.E. Tuttle Co. ISBN4-8053-0794-3
Steinkraus, W. E. (1980). Socrates, Confucius, and the Rectification of Names. Philosophy East and West, 30(2), 261–264. https://doi.org/10.2307/1398850
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

New Year's 2022 Recap

January 1, 2022 Joshua Badgley

The traditional rooves of the shrine at Ise Grand Shrine, the primary shrine to Amaterasu.

RSS

Archives

This episode we’ll recap what we talked about in the past year, 2021, and the various episodes. Hopefully this will bring back reminders of a few of the things that happened, but it won’t be everything, so check out the Archives for more. Below I’m including as many of the references as I can from the episodes this past year.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan, and from all of us here:
Akemashite Omedetou Gozaimasu!
May you all have a bright New Year!
As we release it is the start of 2022, and this episode we are taking a short break from our regularly scheduled programming. We’ll be back next episode with the continuation of the Chronicles, but I figured we could celebrate the new year with a quick recap of some of the highlights of the past year’s episodes, which have taken us from the latter half of the third century into the mid-5th century. Our earliest stories are legendary accounts of ancient heroes, set during the fairly opaque events of the early kofun period. As time progressed, we start to see greater correlation with external historical sources, and some idea of what may have been happening.
This past year started by finishing up the story of Ikume Iribiko, the second sovereign in the Iribiko dynasty in the Makimuku region, aka Suinin Tennou. If Ikume actually existed, he probably lived some time in the late 3rd century, during the height of the Makimuku court, in Yamato, at the foot of the holy Mt. Miwa. Many traditions claim an origin during this time, from court ritual to sumo and even the founding of Ise Jinguu.
We also see some interactions with the continent, but they are more about individuals bringing in specific goods, rather than any kind of real state-to-state relations.
Of course, following Ikume Iribiko we get Ohotarashi Hiko Oshiro Wake no Mikoto. Although he’s generally included with Mimaki and Ikume as part of the Iribiko dynasty, some have suggested that Ohotarashi more properly belongs to another dynasty—possibly one based out of Tsukushi, aka Kyushu. Certainly many of his military conquests were in that area, fighting groups like the Kumaso, the Hayato, and the Tsuchigumo—or earth spiders.
Ohotarashi Hiko’s campaigns in Kyushu are later echoed in the tale of the legendary warrior, Yamato Takeru, who was the subject of Episode 34 and 35. Many doubt that Yamato Takeru was an actual person, suggesting that he was a composite hero-figure whose exploits were a mélange of other warrior figures. Nonetheless, his story persisted throughout history.
Of course, it wasn’t all about conquest. Many of the stories are about family relations, and that’s important, even if it isn’t always as immediately exciting. While these relationships are often portrayed as sexual conquests by the sovereign, it nonetheless gives us an idea of other types of political connections that were being built between the elites around the country.
Now, while the Chronicles focus on the lives of the sovereigns—real or otherwise—we do get the occasional look into the lives of other important figures. One such figure is Takechi—or Takeuchi—no Sukune. He is the first prime minister, or Oho’omi, of the Yamato court, and we first met him back in Episode 38. He was supposedly born in the reign of Ohotarashi Hiko and was a trusted advisor for the next four or five sovereigns. Not only is it interesting to see an individual of such renown outside of the royal line in these old stories, but it also gives us some possible bounding around the dates for their reigns, which were likely much shorter than the dates the Chronicles tend to give them. In all likelihood he was prominent around the mid to late 4th century.
These early years, from what we can tell, saw increased contact with the continent, and various expeditions throughout the archipelago. While Yamato may have spread the Miwa faith throughout the islands, through which they exerted influence, the archaeological record shows that we are still a far cry from what we would call an actual state, despite the grandiose language of the Chronicles. Rather than a single state, there were various proto-states expanding their influence in various regions, such as up north in Izumo, and in the nearby region of Kibi.
Meanwhile, similar processes were at work on the Korean peninsula, but with a few different influences. For one thing, the peninsula stood at the edge of the Jin empire, and the commanderies that had been set up there in the Han dynasty had maintained a presence in the region. This both brought many of the technological and bureaucratic developments to the peninsula while at the same time impeding the growth of other polities. In the early 4th century, however, the Jin had become weakened by internal strife, while Goguryeo was growing. Goguryeo forces eventually overwhelmed and conquered the commanderies, ending direct influence by the Jin dynasty.
With the fall of the commanderies, we see the growth of new states on the peninsula. Perhaps the most notable are Silla and Baekje. Silla’s early state appears as a confederation of about six city-states that eventually formed a locus of power around the area known today as Gyeongju, while Baekje nobility likely descended from individuals who had fled the Goguryeo court for some reason and then consolidated the individual polities of the Mahan confederacy.
As these states form, we start to see greater and greater interaction with the Wa, the people on the archipelago. It seems clear from the various stories that the Wa people were skilled navigators with ships that could easily raid up and down the coast of the Korean peninsula. Of course the Japanese Chronicles portray these attacks as conquest, and we examined much of that in Episode 40, as we discussed Tarashi HIme and her so-called “Conquest” of Korea.
It should be noted that many doubt the existence of Tarashi HIme, aka Jingu Tennou, but it nonetheless seems clear that ties between the archipelago—whether directly through the Yamato court or as individual polities—and the peninsula were a mix of diplomacy, piracy, and everything in between. Events at this time set up the general relationships, with Baekje allied with Yamato, and Yamato often raiding Silla, though the social and political exchanges were much more fluid and complex.
Meanwhile, back at home, things were not going too well. There was no system of primogeniture in Japan, and so when a sovereign died there was no guarantee that his designated heir—if he had one—would be the one to assume the throne. The war to secure the throne for the young Homuda Wake was just the first such succession dispute to be had, and, as we would see, it would become more or less the norm for the death of a sovereign to lead to some form of chaotic situation.
At the same time, we started seeing some actual ties to history. For example, in Episode 42 we talked about the Seven-Branched sword that was found at Isonokami Shrine, and which seems to match up with a gift from Baekje recorded in the Chronicles. It gives us a date of about 369 to 372, and matches up with some of the entries in the Nihon Shoki referencing the Baekje Annals: history from Baekje that had been part of the works drawn upon to compile the Nihon Shoki in the first place. Of course, there are still many questions as to just who the sovereign actually was at this time, not to mention differences between the Korean and Japanese stories about the period, but it does seem to lend credence to diplomatic ties of some kind, and to the idea that the “Wa” may have actually referred to Yamato—or at least confederation of Yamato and its allies—more often the not.
It isn’t just decorative swords that came over during this period. We also see other continental advancements, including domesticated horses and writing. Now it is true that we find writing in the archipelago from much earlier, but as David Lurie has pointed out, it doesn’t exactly indicate any kind of actual literary tradition or culture. But with scholars from Baekje we are told that they started teaching people to read and write, which also means that they could start writing down their history. Of course, we don’t know how much of that written history survived for the Chroniclers to use, but we can start to see a change in the tone and tenor of what is being written down.
Still, however, some of our most reliable information for this period comes from outside of the archipelago itself, and as we turn the corner into the early 5th century. It was at this time that a stele was erected at the tomb of Goguryeo’s King Gwangaetto the Great, who reigned from 391 to 413, and which we talked about in Episodes 44 and 45. In it, the Wa are mentioned numerous times, and it gives another view of the relationship between the Wa, Baekje, Silla, and Goguryeo. Important at this time is the story in both the Baekje and Japanese chronicles that Prince Jeonji of Baekje was actually sent to the Yamato court as a sign of friendship, and possibly to protect him from Goguryeo and any enemies he might have had in the Baekje court as well. He would eventually return to Baekje with an honor guard of Wa troops who would help ensure he took his rightful place on the throne.
Of course he wasn’t the only prince sent to the Yamato court, and another famous prince, Misaheun of Silla, was also sent, though seemingly under a bit more duress. Misaheun’s eventual departure was on much less amicable terms than that of his Baekje counterpart.
During all of this, we learn about Katsuraki no Sotsuhiko, a powerful figure who shows up in many of these stories. Sotsuhiko is described by the Japanese sources as merely a vassal of the sovereign, but there are indications that he was more independent than that. Given that his daughter, Iwa no Hime, would eventually marry into the royal line and produce heirs to the throne—something that was otherwise restricted to women of royal lineage—it would seem that he was a bit more than just a vassal.
Most of this takes place during the reign of Homuda Wake, better known as Oujin Tennou, though there is some confusion, especially between what is happening in Homuda Wake’s reign and what is happening in the reign of his mother, Tarashi Hime, likely indicating that many of these were stories unmoored from a specific year that the Chroniclers had to figure out how to place in something resembling chronological order.
This may also have been further confused by the assumption by the Chroniclers in the 8th century that kingship had always been in the same model—that there was a single sovereign and that rulership went back in an unbroken line to the original progenitor. However, there are several things that suggest that rule under a singular autocrat was a more recent development.
First off, there is the fact that despite plenty of evidence for female sovereigns, from Himiko in the Wei Chronicles, to Tarashi Hime and then the women rulers from the start of the 7th century onward. Many of the early stories are about pairs of elites—either an elder and a junior or else a male and a female.
On top of all of that, Kishimoto Naofuji pointed out that the kofun themselves show evidence of at least two separate but chronologically co-incident lineages of elites. This suggests, in part, that there were two “co-rulers” at any given time—one that handled ritual and spiritual matters while the other may have been involved in more administration and bureaucracy. If that is the case, it could mean that some of the rulers were actually co-ruling together, which would certainly explain how it could be hard to pin some events down to a single reign.
Of course, that also means that some co-rulers may have been dopped from the lineage completely, especially female rulers who may have been portrayed merely as the wife of the sovereign rather than the dynamic and politically active figures that they likely were.
Now following Homuda Wake’s death, there was another period of chaos. The throne went empty for years as brothers fought over just who would sit in it. For more on this somewhat bizarre dispute, and more references to Kishimoto’s theories, see Episode 49.
Eventually, however, the throne went to Ohosazaki no Mikoto, aka Nintoku Tennou. During his reign, we see famine, public works, and the one of the earliest ice houses. There are the obligatory stories of his love life, but also many other stories about various events, which honestly could have happened just about any time, and there is very little to actually tie it to this sovereign. Still, we can learn a lot. For one, the public works were often about things like irrigation and flood control—building canals, ponds, etc. Wet paddy rice agriculture relies a lot on regulated seasonal flows. Too much, and the paddies can be washed away, but not enough, and they dry up.
We also see disputes over “rice land”, a concept that would be key to the country’s eventual economic basis. The idea that control over the rice-producing land, and that certain lands were dedicated to produce rice or equivalent goods for a given elite or institution, is an idea that would be critical in later centuries. Likewise, being given charge of such land would come with certain benefits in terms of remuneration.
This is also about the time that we see a term pop up in the Chronicles for the sovereign: “Oho-kimi”. Often translated as “king”, which is actually the sinographic character used in the Chronicles, this appears to have been the ancient title for sovereigns. We know that “Kimi” often shows up as a kabane, or ancient title, for a person or family who were in charge of a large land or country, and so it seems that “Oho-kimi” would logically be an extension of that term, though it isn’t exactly clear that the two are correlated. There are a lot of these old terms, such as “Wake” and “Hiko”, which often show up as though they are name elements when in reality, they were probably ancient titles.
The other title used for the sovereigns throughout is “Sumera no Mikoto”, aka “Tennou”, but this is a term that wouldn’t actually come to be used until the 7th or 8th century, and as such is entirely anachronistic, and I try to avoid it. In fact, as I’ve mentioned in the past, I try to avoid the common term, “Emperor”, because that is an English translation for “Tennou” from a very different period and for very specific reasons that doesn’t necessarily describe the kind of rulership that we are seeing develop in the archipelago. Even “King” may be questionable, as rulership was not necessarily analogous to the kings and queens of Europe and their surrounding environs. As such, you’ll notice I try to rely on “Sovereign” where I can.
Now when Ohosazaki no Mikoto passed away, we are told that we was buried in a grand kofun. Modern tradition states that this is Daisen kofun, the largest kofun in the world and one of the three largest mausoleums in the world—larger than the great pyramids in Egypt and on par with the tomb of Qin Shihuangdi in modern Xi’an. This past year – aka 2021 – they even began new studies of Daisen kofun and its construction, and even if it isn’t the tomb of Ohosazaki, it dates from around the correct period, making it an important clue about what was happening in the 5th century. These giant tombs likely took years to build, and were probably started during the sovereign’s lifetime. While today they are typically covered in trees and forest, when they were new they were likely barren, covered with rocks and sand and rimmed with round clay haniwa. Some of these clay cylinders may have even been topped with bowls and various statuary of boats, houses, and more—though actual human figures would only just start to get popular in the 5th century.
From Ohosazaki no Mikoto, the lineage continues with another period of chaos and the reigns of Izaho Wake and then his brother, Midzuha Wake, aka Richu and Hanzei Tennou. After Midzuha Wake’s death, the throne went to Oasatsuma Wakugo, aka Ingyo Tennou. Oasatsuma is intriguing for several reasons, not the least of which is that he is said to have been unable to use his legs due to a disease in his childhood. He is said to have initially refused the throne, but the ministers at court actually pressed the issue. He did eventually take it, however.
And with that, we are caught up. In the next year we will continue on our journey. In the coming year, well, I honestly don’t know everything that we’ll talk about, but I can hazard a few guesses. First, I know we will talk about the Five Kings of Wa mentioned in the Book of Song, and how they map onto the sovereigns as we know them, but to do that we have at least one more reign to talk about. I also suspect we will start talking more this year about the continent and what is happening. In the 4th century, Buddhist teachings had already made it from India to Korea, and in the 5th and 6th centuries, the trade routes north and south of the Taklamakan desert would become conduits for further teachings to travel across, eventually making their way all Japan—officially in the 6th and 7th centuries, but possibly even earlier. Before that happens, we’ll start to get a better idea of what is going on as the state of Yamato as it consolidates its rule and traditions across the archipelago. We’ll pay attention to the formation of the kingship in Yamato and what would eventually be termed Japan.
And that is just a few of the places we’ll go. Next episode, we’ll finish up Oasatsuma Wakugo’s reign. Until then, thank you for all of the support that you have given this podcast. It is really just something that I started in part to satisfy my own curiosity and I’m touched that others find it of interest as well. The past couple years have been rough on many of us, and has been nice to have this project to keep me going. Also, a special shout-out to my wife, who has not only put up with all of this, but who helps to edit the scripts I type up, often on short notice. Her assistance and help has been invaluable.
Finally, a special thanks to all of those who have donated to support us and help keep this thing going. Dvery little bit helps to keep this running without the need to resort to advertising or something similar, so thank you. And I do hope to keep it going for many years to come.
And so, with that, may I wish you a bright and auspicious New Year from all of us here at 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
太田蓉子. (2020)「葛城」を詠んだ万葉の歌. http://www.baika.ac.jp/~ichinose/o/20211125ota.pdf
Yōko, I. (2019). Revisiting Tsuda Sōkichi in Postwar Japan: “Misunderstandings” and the Historical Facts of the Kiki. Japan Review, (34), 139-160. Retrieved April 24, 2021, from https://www.jstor.org/stable/26864868
Barnes, G., & Ryan, J. (2015). Armor in Japan and Korea. Encyclopaedia of the History of Science, Technology, and Medicine in Non-Western Cultures, p. 1-16. DOI: 10.1007/978-94-007-7747-7_10234
Lee, D. (2014). Keyhole-shaped Tombs and Unspoken Frontiers: Exploring the Borderlands of Early Korean-Japanese Relations in the 5th-6th Centuries. UCLA. ProQuest ID: Lee_ucla_0031D_12746. Merritt ID: ark:/13030/m52j7s88. Retrieved from https://escholarship.org/uc/item/7qm7h4t7
Ō, Yasumaro, & Heldt, G. (2014). The Kojiki: An account of ancient matters. ISBN978-0-231-16389-7
Scheid, B. (2014). Shōmu Tennō and the Deity from Kyushu: Hachiman's Initial Rise to Prominence. Japan Review, (27), 31-51. Retrieved August 10, 2021, from http://www.jstor.org/stable/23849569
Kim, P., & Shultz, E. J. (2013). The 'Silla annals' of the 'Samguk Sagi'. Gyeonggi-do: Academy of Korean Studies Press.
KISHIMOTO, Naofumi (2013, May). Translated by Ryan, Joseph. Dual Kingship in the Kofun Period as Seen from the Keyhole Tombs. UrbanScope e-Journal of the Urban-Culture Research Center, OCU, Vol.4 (2013) 1-21. ISSN 2185-2889 http://urbanscope.lit.osaka-cu.ac.jp/journal/vol.004.html
Yoshie, A., Tonomura, H., & Takata, A.A. (2013). Gendered Interpretations of Female Rule: The Case of Himiko, Ruler of Yamatai. U.S.-Japan Women's Journal 44, 3-23. doi:10.1353/jwj.2013.0009.
Vovin, Alexander (2013). “From Koguryo to T’amna: Slowly riding to the South with speakers of Proto-Korean”, Korean Linguistics 15:2, University of Hawai’i at Mānoa
Kim, P., Shultz, E. J., Kang, H. H. W., & Han'guk Chŏngsin Munhwa Yŏn'guwŏn. (2012). The Koguryo annals of the Samguk sagi. Seongnam-si, Korea: Academy of Korean Studies Press.
Kawagoe, Aileen (2009). “Did keyhole-shaped tombs originate in the Korean peninsula?”. Heritage of Japan. https://heritageofjapan.wordpress.com/following-the-trail-of-tumuli/types-of-tumuli-and-haniwa-cylinders/did-keyhole-shaped-tombs-originate-in-the-korean-peninsula/. Retrieved 8/24/2021.
Bentley, John R. (2008). “The Search for the Language of Yamatai”. Japanese Language and Literature (42-1). 1-43. Retrieved from https://www.jstor.org/stable/30198053
Jeon, H.-T. (2008). Goguryeo: In search of its culture and history. Seoul: Hollym.
Rhee, S., Aikens, C., Choi, S., & Ro, H. (2007). Korean Contributions to Agriculture, Technology, and State Formation in Japan: Archaeology and History of an Epochal Thousand Years, 400 B.C.–A.D. 600. Asian Perspectives, 46(2), 404-459. Retrieved June 18, 2021, from http://www.jstor.org/stable/42928724
Barnes, G. (2006). Women in the "Nihon Shoki" (4 parts). Durham East Asia Papers, No. 20.
Bentley, John. (2006). The Authenticity of Sendai Kuji Hongi: a New Examination of Texts, with a Translation and Commentary. ISBN-90-04-152253
Best, J. (2006). A History of the Early Korean Kingdom of Paekche, together with an annotated translation of The Paekche Annals of the Samguk sagi. Cambridge (Massachusetts); London: Harvard University Asia Center. doi:10.2307/j.ctt1tg5q8p
Lee, Jaehoon (2004). The Relatedness Between the Origin of Japanese and Korean Ethnicity. Florida State Univeristy Libraries, Electronic Theses, Treatises and Dissertations. https://fsu.digital.flvc.org/islandora/object/fsu:181538/datastream/PDF/download/citation.pdf
Shultz, E. (2004). An Introduction to the "Samguk Sagi". Korean Studies, 28, 1-13. Retrieved April 11, 2021, from http://www.jstor.org/stable/23720180
Iryŏn, ., Ha, T. H., & Mintz, G. K. (2004). Samguk yusa: Legends and history of the three kingdoms of ancient Korea. Seoul: Yonsei University Press.
Allen, C. (2003). Empress Jingū: a shamaness ruler in early Japan. Japan Forum, 15(1), 81–98. https://doi.org/10.1080/0955580032000077748
Allen, C. T. (2003). Prince Misahun: Silla's Hostage to Wa from the Late Fourth Century. Korean Studies, 27(1), 1–15. https://doi.org/10.1353/KS.2005.0002
Piggot, J. R. (1999). Chieftain Pairs and Corulers: Female Sovereignty in Early Japan. Women and Class in Japanese History. Edited by Hitomi Tonomura, Anne Walthall, and Wakita Haruko. Center for Japanese Studies, The University of Michigan. ISBN 1-929280-35-1.
Aoki, Michiko Yamaguchi (1997). Records of Wind and Earth: A Translation of Fudoki with Introduction and Commentaries. As published at https://jhti.berkeley.edu/texts19.htm
AKIMA, T. (1993). The Origins of the Grand Shrine of Ise and the Cult of the Sun Goddess Amaterasu Ōmikami. Japan Review, (4), 141-198. Retrieved December 25, 2020, from http://www.jstor.org/stable/25790929
Ishino, H., & 石野博信. (1992). Rites and Rituals of the Kofun Period. Japanese Journal of Religious Studies, 19 (2/3), 191-216. Retrieved August 16, 2021, from http://www.jstor.org/stable/30234190
Naumann, Nelly (1992). ‘The “Kusanagi” Sword’. Nenrin-Jahresringe: Festgabe für Hans A. Dettmer. Ed. Klaus Müller. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1992. [158]–170. https://freidok.uni-freiburg.de/fedora/objects/freidok:4635/datastreams/FILE1/content
Edwards, W. (1983). Event and Process in the Founding of Japan: The Horserider Theory in Archeological Perspective. Journal of Japanese Studies, 9(2), 265-295. doi:10.2307/132294
Chamberlain, B. H. (1981). The Kojiki: Records of ancient matters. Rutland, Vt: C.E. Tuttle Co. ISBN4-8053-0794-3
Bender, R. (1979). The Hachiman Cult and the Dōkyō Incident. Monumenta Nipponica, 34(2), 125-153. doi:10.2307/2384320
Hatada, T., & Morris, V. (1979). An Interpretation of the King Kwanggaet'o Inscription. Korean Studies, 3, 1-17. Retrieved June 18, 2021, from http://www.jstor.org/stable/23717824
Shichirō, M., & Miller, R. (1979). The Inariyama Tumulus Sword Inscription. Journal of Japanese Studies, 5(2), 405-438. doi:10.2307/132104
Bender, R. (1978). Metamorphosis of a Deity. The Image of Hachiman in Yumi Yawata. Monumenta Nipponica, 33 (2), 165-178. doi:10.2307/2384124
Takeshi, M. (1978). Origin and Growth of the Worship of Amaterasu. Asian Folklore Studies, 37(1), 1-11. doi:10.2307/1177580
Ledyard, G. (1975). Galloping along with the Horseriders: Looking for the Founders of Japan. Journal of Japanese Studies, 1(2), 217-254. doi:10.2307/132125
Brazell, Karen (tr.) (1973). The Confessions of Lady Nijō. Stanford University Press. ISBN0-8047-0930-0.
Kiley, C. (1973). State and Dynasty in Archaic Yamato. The Journal of Asian Studies, 33(1), 25-49. https://doi.org/10.2307/2052884
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
Hall, John W. (1966). Government and Local Power in Japan 500 to 1700: A Study Based on Bizen Province. Princeton University Press. ISBN978-0691030197

Episode 55: Reluctant Kings and Vengeful Queens

December 16, 2021 Joshua Badgley

19th century artist’s conception of the sovereign posthumously known as Ingyō Tennō.

RSS

Archives

This episode we’ll take a look at the extremely short reign of Mizuha Wake, aka Hanzei Tennō, and then on to the succeeding reign of Ingyō Tennō. There may be some slight spoilers in here for the episode (but, again, it is history, so do spoilers really exist?) so I recommend you listen to the episode first. Below you should find some explanations of the various individuals involved and I’ll try to lay out their family connections as best I can.

An important thing to note is that this period is still highly questionable. We’ll get into the continental sources in a bit—probably in another episode or two. Once we do, and we bring this all together, I think it will both help with some context but will also likely muddy the waters a bit more.

Chart of lineages demonstrating a few of the relationships from Homuda Wake to Oasatsuma. — A chart demonstrating some of the apparent relationships shown in the Chronicles demonstrating how interconnected the royal family supposedly is. Click for a larger version.

Midzuha Wake

We met Midzuha Wake back during the reign of his brother, Izaho Wake, and really there is little to say about him here. When he finally comes to the thrown he reigns, peacefully, for five years. That’s about it.

Oasatsuma Wakugo no Sukune

The youngest son of Ōsazaki no Mikoto and Iwa no HIme, making him the full brother to both Izaho Wake and Midzuha Wake. He was struck ill in his youth and we are told in the Nihon Shoki that he lost command of his limbs. Later he would recover thanks to continental medicine.

Ōkusaka no Miko

Another son of Ōsazaki no Mikoto, but through Kaminaga Hime rather than Iwa no Hime. His sister, Kusaka no Hatahi, had been married to Izaho Wake and Ōkusaka would eventually marry their daughter, his niece, Nakashi Hime, but apparently that was all well and good by the standards of the day.

Osaka no Nakatsu Hime

Supposedly a daughter of Homuda Wake and one of his many wives, Kaguro Hime, if the lineage in the Chronicles is to be believed one suspects she was nearly old enough to be Oasatsuma’s mother, despite the fact that they were married. It is quite possible that her lineage was changed so that she could be queen and thus her offspring could inherit the throne.

Sotowori Hime

Also referred to as “Oto Hime”, but that really just means “younger princess”, she was the younger sister to Osaka no Nakatsu Hime, we are told. Her name is supposedly an epithet describing her radiant beauty, though it may have also referred to how she was living outside, or “soto”, from the palace.

Nakatomi no Ikatsu no Omi

Ikatsu is referred to as a toneri, meaning a palace servant. As such, we can assume that the “Omi” in his name was a family kabane, rather than marking him as a literal minister. The Nakatomi family would eventually become known as powerful ritualists at court and eventually a branch of that family would break off and become the Fujiwara. It is unclear if the “Omi” kabane was actually something that Ikatsu would have used at this time, and that may be an anachronism.

Yamato no Atae no Agoko

We’ve already met Agoko in previous reigns, and though he doesn’t have much of a part, here, it is still interesting that he makes even a cameo appearance.

On Poetry

This episode we see the use of poetry—specifically tanka—used in wooing a woman. The format that we see, where a man goes and secretly listens to a woman, and then responds to her poem with one of his own, feels particularly trope-filled. This is the kind of thing that filled the various romances of the Heian period, around the time of the Tale of Genji, and it is interesting to see the format so long ago.

I would note, however, that poems from this period of the Chronicles can still be rough, and 5-7-5/7-7 meter that one might expect is not always present. It is possible this is an error in the transcription of some of the poems, but it is also the case that this meter was not always adhered to strictly, with oral flourishes of one kind or another likely making up for it in the reading by either combining multiple morae or lengthening them appropriately.

6th century haniwa figure of a man playing the zither, or *koto,* found in Ibaraki. From a private collection, on display at the Tokyo National Museum. Photo by author, May 2008.

The Koto

At one point, we are told that the sovereign is playing the koto, a type of zither—a horizontal stringed instrument usually played while seated. Modern koto are very similar to the Chinese guzheng, though the latter has more strings. An earlier version also existed, known later as the wagon (和琴), and I suspect that this is the instrument that is being referenced in the Nihon Shoki. It was apparently smaller than a modern koto, and had even fewer strings, but it was still a very similar instrument.

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 54: Here We Go Again

December 1, 2021 Joshua Badgley

19th century artist’s conception of the sovereign posthumously known as Richū Tennō.

RSS

Archives

The following may contain minor spoilers for the episode. Granted, this is history, so technically it has all been spoiled already, but still - with Ōsazaki no Ōkimi’s death the throne ended up once more in a perilous situation. Below are some of the players involved.

The Princes

While there were many princes of Ōsazaki no Ōkimi, only three of them stand out to us: Izaho Wake no Mikoto, Suminoye no Naka tsu Miko, and Mizuha Wake no Mikoto.

Izaho Wake no Mikoto

He was the eldest of the three, and the designated successor to Ōsazaki no Ōkimi, for all that meant. At one point “Wake” seems to have been a title, indicating lordship over some territory, but it is unclear if that is still the case by this period.

Suminoye no Naka tsu Miko

He was the middlest brother of the three. Perhaps that is what is meant by his name, “Naka tsu Miko” — the Middle Prince. Granted, in later names “Naka” shows up as a common enough name element. Sometimes he is referred to as “Prince Naka”.

Midzuha Wake no Mikoto

The youngest of the three, he nonetheless plays a large role in the events that take place. Also, I will apologize ahead of time for those trying to make out “Izaho Wake” and “Midzuha Wake” in the spoken word—I can understand how the two can sound remarkably similar without the visual aids.

The Courtiers

Achi no Atae

Achi no Atae also seems to be referred to as “Achi no Omi”. In this case, I suspect that Atae is the kabane of the family of Achi and Omi is literally the post of the minister, but it is hard to understand, well. It does seem as though this person is meant to at least be related to Achikki, who came over from Baekje with the first horses. It is possible it is the same individual, but all of that is unclear.

Heguri no Dzuku no Sukune

He is referred to several different ways—sometimes just as Dzuku no Sukune and once as Heguri no Tsuka no Sukune, but they all appear to reference the same individual, born at the same time as previous sovereign, Ōsazaki no Ōkimi

Kuro Hime

Daughter of Hata no Yashiro no Sukune, we know very little about her, other than that she was a point of contention between the royal brothers. Even her name, “black princess”, likely just refers to her hair or complexion, and may not have been her actual name.

Sashihire, aka Sobakari

This individual is said to be a Hayato, one of the ethnic groups of Southern Kyūshū. His name is radically different between the Nihon Shoki and the Kojiki, probably do to the fact that it was recorded phonetically. He is said to have been a servant of Suminoye no Naka tsu Miko.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is episode 54, Here we go again.
The palace in flames. Brother fighting brother. And the establishment of the Inner Treasury. These are a few of the things we’ll talk about in this episode. Content warning up front, there will be discussions of violence, death, and assassination. Welcome to history!
Now, of course, last episode we saw the death of the sovereign Oho Sazaki, aka Nintoku Tennou. He probably reigned in the first quarter or so of the 5th century, and tradition holds that his kofun is Daisen kofun, one of the largest mausoleums in the world. The Nihon Shoki shows him reigning for an impressive 87 years, though in reality it may have only been 30 years or less—which would still be an impressive reign for most sovereigns around the world. 87 years isn’t impossible, of course—many sovereigns have come to the throne as children or even infants—but we also see him taking wives 31 years before he takes the throne. So that would be at least 118 years or so. Assuming he was 14 or so when it happened you are talking about 132 years of age, which is already well beyond the oldest verifiable person known to have been alive, today.
Still, we know that there was *someone* important around in the fifth century, as evidenced by the immense size of Daisen Kofun. The power and hegemony of Yamato on the archipelago was continuing to grow, and the state was still developing. Certainly ritual remained at its heart, as I suspect that was a key factor of Yamato’s influence across the archipelago, but they were also continuing to develop the administrative apparatuses that would allow governance of a much larger region. That this growth happens seems incontrovertible—after all, spoiler alert, we already know that Yamato would eventually grow into the state we know, today, as Japan—but when and through what means is a little less clear.
Take, for example, the almost throw-away line in the Chronicles about the establishment of the treasury. It occupies a single line in the Nihon Shoki, and only slightly more in the Kojiki. We are told in the Chronicles that Nintoku’s successor, Richuu Tennou—which is, of course, the posthumous name given to him by the 8th century chroniclers. Well Richuu, created the Treasury and that he gave charge of it to Achi no Atahe. Aston provides us some further sources, noting that the later commentaries in the Shokuin Rei, part of the Taiho Ritsuryo law codes enacted at the very start of the 8th century, give us a little more information. That source differentiates between the sacred treasury and the inner treasury, and identifies this new administrative structure as the Inner Treasury, built to house those material items that had been gifted to the court as a part of complex political trade networks that Yamato was engaged in with the continent. Fabrics, jewels, gold, silver, and objects of art might be kept in the Inner Treasury. The Sacred Treasury, on the other hand, is noted as a much older institution, housing those items dedicated to the kami—which likely were the sacred mirrors and other ritual items from which the ancient elites had once demonstrated their authority.
I can’t help but see this as part of a larger centralization of the government, and a move away from the importance of the ritual position of the individual elites. While ritualists still held considerable authority through their ties to various deities, particularly in local regions, more and more individuals were deriving their authority from the court itself and the administrative power thereof. After all, from the court came appointments over granaries and rice fields, which provided an economic incentive for individuals to partake in the system, as well as another type of recognition separate from ritual. Creating a treasury that wasn’t directly connected to a particular cultic site or deity feels like further growth of the administrative state.
This goes hand in hand with another proclamation, placed around the same time in the Chronicles, that sent literate recorders out to the various provinces. Their job was to write down statements and send communication back to Yamato. On the one hand, this was a great innovation that would help increase the speed at which news and facts could travel. On the other hand, it eroded the autonomy of local authorities, providing greater scrutiny and accountability by the central authority.
Returning, however, to the Treasury—the Taiho Code further provides two individuals who were to oversee this new Treasury. The first was, as we’ve mentioned, Achi no Atahe. The second was Wang’in. If those names sound somewhat familiar, you may be recalling the names of Achikki and Wang’in, the two Baekje scholars sent over, we are told in the reign of Homuda Wake. And here we see where time once again folds neatly in on itself. Because the entry for this record in the Nihon Shoki is 405, which is exactly 120 years, or two 60 year cycles, off of when they say Wang’in arrived in the islands. While we should still remain skeptical of any of the dates in the Chronicles, this would seem to generally support our previous attempts to correct the dates from Okinaga Tararashi Hime forward. However, it brings up another question: whose reign is this happening in? Is it really in Richuu’s reign? Or did it happen some time earlier.
There really is no good way to know, but here’s my current historical head canon: Baekje likely sent scholars over, possibly in 405 CE, and they brought with them the latest continental knowledge of statecraft. From that continental learning, which included reading and writing, Yamato was able to start to develop some of the organs of statehood. As such it was quite likely that this all was occurring during the early 5th century. One might even assume that the reigns of Homuda Wake and Oho Sazaki were much shorter than we are led to believe—possibly no more than 10~20 years per reign. As such, it is quite possible that Achi no Atahe—either Achikki or one of his descendants—was, indeed, put in charge of the Treasury at the beginning of Richuu Tennou’s reign, and if our next story has any truth to it, this would seem to be entirely understandable.
But for that, we need to roll back a bit to just after Oho Sazaki’s death, and to the matter of succession.
Now we are told that it was Izaho Wake, Oho Sazaki’s eldest son, who was made Crown Prince by his father. His mother was Iwa no Hime, daughter of Katsuraki no Sotsuhiko, whom we discussed in some detail back in episode 47, making him likely the successor to more than just the Yamato throne. However, as we’ve seen in the past, succession was rarely a simple process, especially when there were other claimants. And while they hadn’t been named as successors, we know that Izaho Wake had several younger brothers, including Suminoye no Naka tsu Miko and Midzuha Wake. Since, as we’ve seen, primogeniture was not necessarily the rule in ancient Yamato, they all had fairly decent claims to the throne, themselves.
But as we pointed out, there was a designated successor, Izaho Wake, so when Oho Sazaki died, it should have been a simple process of Izaho Wake taking the throne. But things are rarely that straightforward, especially at this point in the Chronicles, and so, as the episode title says, here we go again. It seems there is always something that comes up to throw a wrench into the works and in this case it all started, or so we are told, with a woman.
According to the Chronicles, after mourning the death of his father, the designated Crown Prince, Izaho Wake decided to take Kuro Hime, the daughter of Hata no Yashiro no Sukune, as a consort—one of his many wives. Presumably, this is a *different* Kuro Hime than the one mentioned back in Episode 52 during the reign of Oho Sazaki. That was the daughter of Amabe no Atahe of Kibi, and likely no relation. He made all of the arrangements with her family, and all that was left was to determine an auspicious day for their marriage—essentially explaining when he would come and they would consummate the marriage together. Once that was determined, he asked one of his younger brothers, Suminoye no Naka tsu Miko, to go and give notice to her family.
Now it turns out that this had all been arranged in absentia, and it seems Suminoye took advantage of this fact. In fact, he took Izaho Wake’s name and seduced Kuro Hime in the sovereign’s stead. Presumably it was dark, and she never quite saw his face, but they consummated the marriage. As he lay with her, one of his wrist bells—an apparent fashion at the time—came off, and when he left, likely under the cover of darkness in the early morning, he left it behind.
Shortly thereafter, Izaho Wake, believing his younger brother to have acted faithfully, arrived at Kuro Hime’s chambers himself. Entering her chambers, he drew aside the curtain and sat down upon the jewel-couch—a raised platform for sitting or sleeping on. As he did so, he heard the telltale tinkling of something metal. Sure enough, a bell had come dislodged and rolled out. Since this was apparently a man’s ornament, Izaho Wake’s mind was suddenly filled with questions. He asked Kuro Hime whose bells they were, and she was completely perplexed. After all, weren’t they his from when he visited her the other night?
At that point, Izaho Wake put two and two together, realized what had happened, and left in silence, no doubt leaving poor Kuro Hime wondering at what had just happened.
Now Suminoye, knowing that his elder brother must have realized something was up, began his own preparations, and as they say: “The best defense is a good offense.” After all, Izaho Wake had not yet taken up the throne, and therefore, technically, he wasn’t the Great King, or Oho-Kimi, just yet. In fact, other than the fact that the Chronicles claim he had been named Crown Prince, we can’t actually be sure that this was even the case—that may be an assumption by the Chroniclers. And so, Izaho Wake’s claim on the throne was not absolute and we have already seen, time and again, where it wasn’t necessarily the eldest son who inherited. So Suminoye gathered his forces, and decided to take action.
Fortunately for him, he had a golden opportunity. Before he could deal with his younger brother, Suminoye, Izaho Wake had matters of state ritual to attend to. In fact, it is unclear whether he was planning to take any action at all as he prepared to celebrate Ohonihe—the festival of first fruits—with a traditional state banquet. And so he went about with the preparations and got everything ready.
Now while there was, no doubt, some parts of the ritual that were staid and formal, it was, still, a banquet. That meant that the sake flowed freely, and by the end of the night Izaho Wake was deep in his cups. When it was all over, the Crown Prince headed to his chambers and fell into a deep, drunken slumber.
It was at that moment that Suminoye decided to make his move. He gathered his forces and surrounded the palace in Naniwa. The ministers of the court, including men of influential families such as Heguri no Dzuku no Sukune, Mononobe no Omahe no Sukune, and Achi no Omi all tried to warn Izaho Wake of the danger, but he was fast asleep, and nobody could wake him. Finally, as Suminoye’s troops set fire to the buildings, Achi no Omi, also called in the Kojiki Achi no Atahe, picked up Izaho Wake’s limp body, threw him on the back of a horse, and together they made their escape.
Izaho Wake didn’t regain consciousness until they hit Hanifu hill, at which point they looked back and saw the palace in flames.
Izaho Wake was suddenly homeless, having woken up on the road, and trying to figure out what to do next. Meanwhile, Suminoye was consolidating his own position and reaching out for allies, likely trying to make sure that he dealt with any opposition to his sudden coup and ensure that Izaho Wake and any supporters were entirely eliminated. He reached out to close political allies in an apparent attempt to lock down the capital region.
Thus it was that as Izaho Wake was fleeing towards they came to Mt. Asuka, where they found a young woman, who gave them critical insights into the state of their enemies. She told them that Suminoye’s allies were all over the local hills, and that the only safe way would be to go by way of the Tagima road.
Izaho Wake and his allies realized they would need men of their own, and they quickly raised a force amongst the local people of the district there, around Mt. Asuka, then they took their forces cautiously along the Tagima Road, by way of Mt. Tatsuta. This route likely headed south, through the mountains near where the Yamato River exits the Nara Basin.
As they were moving their forces cautiously, on the lookout for the opposing team, they noticed a group of men heading towards them. And so Izaho Wake had his men hide and sent out a single scout to go find out what they were about. This man went down and inquired as to just who the men were and they told him they were fishermen—and of course, what we know of “fishermen” of this time that probably wasn’t all that far away from “pirate” and “raider”, like all of those who had been plaguing the Korean peninsula. These particular fishermen were from Nojima on the island of Awaji, conscripted by the Adzumi no Muraji no Hamako, who sent them out on behalf of Suminoye to pursue Izaho Wake.
Upon hearing this, the scout alerted Izaho Wake’s troops, who sprung up from where they were hiding and took the fishermen by surprise and captured all of them.
Of course, it wasn’t just conscripted fishermen that Izaho Wake was up against. Suminoye had plenty of friends, and one of those was another familiar face in the narrative: Yamato no Atahe no Agoko. We discussed Agoko back in Episode 49 and last episode, Episode 53. He was the one who helped sort out the legal dispute over the granaries after the death of Homuda Wake. He also was the one who traveled to Toutoumi and oversaw the work to build a boat out of the giant tree that had floated down the river, sailing it around the Kii peninsula. Now, however, he had apparently sided with Suminoye, out of what we are told was his deep affection for the prince. He even had been privy to the original conspiracy to burn down the palace. And so he raised several hundred choice troops in Yamato proper, at Kurusu in Kakibami district, and arrayed them in opposition to Izaho Wake’s advance.
Now Izaho Wake did not immediately know where Agoko and his forces were, and so he and his men were actually several leagues from the mountains, out on the plains, when they saw Agoko and his forces. Cautiously, Izaho Wake sent forward a messenger, who asked whose army it was that they had stumbled across. Agoko told the messenger who he was, and then he asked about the other forces. The messenger told them that it was the Crown Prince, Izaho Wake, at which point Agoko was suddenly faced with something of an existential crisis. Despite raising hundreds of men, he had no idea just how big Izaho’s army might be. To see a small force out on the road, in the open, he feared that it was some kind of trap and he suddenly became worried. Thinking quickly, he told the messenger that he was actually there looking for the Crown Prince, because he wanted to join him.
At this point, Izaho Wake was more than a little suspicious. He’d had plenty of people try to kill him already, and he likely knew something of Agoko’s close relationship with his brother, Suminoye. Perhaps he figured that Agoko might be willing to stay out of the conflict, but it seemed too much that Agoko was willing to raise troops to help Izaho Wake, even if he was the designated Crown Prince. That said, Izaho Wake did allow them to draw closer, and then he suddenly attacked, seizing Agoko and attempting to kill him.
Agoko, fearful that he was going to die, pleaded with Izaho Wake, and even offered up his own younger sister, Hi no Hime, if only Izaho Wake would pardon him. And so, Izaho spared his life, but kept him close.
With no further impediments, Izaho Wake continued on to Isonokami shrine, which, as you may remember, was an ancestral shrine of the Mononobe, holding many sacred objects, including an entire arsenal of swords and other weapons that had been donated over the years. There, Izaho Wake fortified himself, setting up his court in absentia, while working out just how he was going to get out of this whole thing.
And so there they were: Izaho Wake in Isonokami and Suminoye presumably sitting in Naniwa and attempting to solidify his own power base. But as you may recall there were at least three eligible brothers around at this time, and Midzuha Wake had yet to make an appearance.
Now the Chronicles tell us that Midzuha Wake was a true brother of Izaho Wake. He was the youngest of the three, but no slouch. We are told that he was an impressive nine feet 2 and ½ inches tall—and even though a Japanese foot, or shaku, was probably a bit less than an imperial foot, it is clear that he was rather tall. Even his teeth were well-proportioned, like beads strung on a cord—likely quite the feat in an age before modern oral hygiene.
In all of the chaos that had suddenly arisen, Midzuha Wake had gone searching for his eldest brother. But when he found him, there at Isonokami Shrine, Izaho Wake was more than a little suspicious of his motives. After all, even someone like Agoko had been supporting their brother, Suminoye, so it is little wonder if he had become a bit paranoid.
Midzuha Wake asked just what it would take to gain his brother’s trust again, and Izaho Wake claimed it would only happen if Midzuha Wake killed Suminoye, killing off the threat to Izaho Wake’s life.
Midzuha Wake, with a bit of bravado, laughed off Izaho Wake’s concerns. He told his brother that Suminoye’s support back in the court was extremely tenuous, as nobody really cared for him nor what he had done. Midzuha Wake himself had known that something was up, but he didn’t take action because he hadn’t received word from his brother, Izaho Wake, to do anything, so he figured his big bro had it taken care of.
But if Suminoye’s death was what his brother’s trust required, Midzuha Wake would see to it. However, he did ask for one thing: a witness. After all, why should his brother trust that the deed was done? This is before the later samurai custom of cutting off heads on the battlefield to prove that you had killed someone. What would happen if he came back and Izaho Wake didn’t believe him? No, this job called for independent verification.
Enter Dzuku no Sukune.
Dzuku no Sukune was a trusted member of the court, and was old enough to be father to both Izaho Wake and Midzuha Wake. You see his father was Takechi no Sukune, the first Prime Minister, from back in the time of Okinaga Tarashi Hime, and he was born around the same time as the previous sovereign, Oho Sazaki. In fact, his name was actually intertwined with that of Oho Sazaki, because when he was born a wren, or sazaki, had entered the parturition hut where his mother was giving birth, while into Oho Sazaki’s hut flew an owl, called “dzuku”. Homuda Wake and Takechi no Sukune thought this was such awesome parallelism that they each named their sons for the bird that had flown into the other one’s hut, thus subtly tying them together.
Of course, that whole story seems a bit suspect, but it gets at the fact that Dzuku no Sukune was considered trustworthy—if he said that Midzuha Wake did the deed, then it was true.
And so the two left Izaho Wake and his court at the shrine of Isonokami to go find a way to kill their other brother, Suminoye no Naka tsu Miko.
Now, despite all of his bravado with Izaho Wake, Midzuha Wake was clearly conflicted. After all, Suminoye was also his older brother, and now he would have to choose: whom should he actually obey? Whom should he oppose? Working through this dilemma we are told that he eventually decided that he must obey the righteous and destroy the unprincipled. Since Izaho Wake was the rightful heir, and Suminoye had tried to have him killed, Izaho Wake was in the right, and therefore he would be the one that Midzuha Wake decided to obey. I mean, kind of late to be worried about it, right? He took the kings shilling and all that.
Personally, I suspect this bit of introspective moralizing was an insertion by the Chroniclers in an attempt to rationalize Midzuha Wake taking a stance against either one of his brothers, but there you have it.
Back in Naniwa, Suminoye wasn’t really giving much thought to Izaho Wake. From his perspective his brother had fled, leaving the throne vacant. Sure, he had his allies on the lookout, but his focus was less on his brother and more about acting the part of the sovereign. Supposedly he had moved the remaining court to his own palace or something similar, where he had his own staff of servants to help take care of him.
One of these servants was a Hayato, a member of one of the ethnic groups of southern Kyushu, who went by the name of either Sobakari or Sashihire—the Kojiki and the Nihon Shoki vary on this point, but I’ll go with Sashihire for now. Anyway, Midzuha Wake was able to get Sashihire alone, and he promised him great rewards, and even promotion to Prime Minister, or Oho-Omi, once Izaho Wake took the throne. Sashihire was appropriately tempted, and he agreed to the terms.
Thus it was that he took a spear and he waited until Suminoye went out to the privy. There, as Prince Suminoye was at his most vulnerable, Sashihire thrust the spear and assassinated him. And like that, the would-be reign of Suminoye no Naka tsu Miko, aka the Middle Prince of Suminoye, came to an end before it ever got started.
As for Midzuha Wake and Dzuku no Sukune, they started heading back to Isonokami to report the news to Izaho Wake, and they took with them Sashihire, who was convinced he would be greatly rewarded. Dzuku no Sukune, however, pointed out to Midzuha Wake the inherent problem, however. After all, if Sashihire had been so easily tempted into turning against and killing his own lord, how could he be trusted at all?
Mizuha Wake thought on this. What would be best? Was there some way to ensure his loyalty so that Sashihire would never betray him or Izaho Wake?
Finally, he came up with a plan. As they came to the great slope of Ohosaka, leading towards Yamato, Midzuha Wake made a pronouncement. Why wait for the inevitable? As brother to the Crown Prince, he would make Sashihire Oho-omi, the Great Minister, right then and there, binding him through their promise and reward. And so they stopped and quickly put together the trappings for a proper state banquet at the foot of the mountains, even building—or possibly converting an existing structure into—a proper temporary palace.
Sashihire was overjoyed—this was everything he could have hoped for. He eagerly participated and could hardly wait for his new status. Mizuha Wake, for his part, performed the required rituals with appropriate solemnity. He even obtained a large bowl—larger than his own head—and he had it filled with sake, proclaiming: “I will drink wine with the Oho-omi from the same cup.” This tradition of sharing a single cup of sake, while perhaps not the most hygienic of traditions, would continue to show up throughout Japanese history and in a variety of ways, all to help reinforce the bonds between individuals.
And so Mizuha Wake took a long sip from the bowl, and then handed it to Sashihire. And as Sashihire held up the bowl to drink from it, its enormous size completely covered his face. At that moment, Mizuha Wake, who had come to the decision that there was, in truth, no way he could ever truly trust Sashihire, drew out a sword which he had secreted under a nearby mat, and he stabbed Sashihire through his neck, killing him.
And that was the end of Sashihire. Presumably, Mizuha Wake and Dzuku no Sukune spent some time to clean everything up, but then they were both back on the road, eventually arriving at Isonokami, There they informed Izaho Wake that the “Mission of Pacification” had been completed, and they told him everything that had transpired.
With no further threat to the throne, Izaho Wake formally took up the mantle of sovereign, and he got back to the business of governing. It was, indeed, Izaho Wake whom the later Chroniclers would name as Richuu Tennou.
As one of his first duties as uncontested sovereign, Izaho Wake rewarded Midzuha Wake with the Mura-awase granaries, and later would make him his own Crown Prince, despite the fact that he had children of his own. He would also remember those who had helped him—which is perhaps how the Achi no Atahe came to be the ones in charge of the Inner Treasury.
Of course, it wasn’t all about the rewards. For those who had sided with Suminoye, they were punished, but in many cases their sentences were commuted. For instance, the Hamako, the Muraji of Adzumi, whose fishermen had come out to find Izaho Wake, was tattooed above the eye with a tattoo that would let people know of his crimes. Likewise, the surviving fishermen themselves were put to work as laborers at the granaries of Komoshiro, there in Yamato.
A new palace was, of course, required, and rather than rebuilding it in Naniwa, he built it, instead, in Iware, in the Nara Basin. There it was near a mountain that had an out-of-season bloom of Sakura, or blossoming cherry trees, and so it was known as the Wakazakura Palace.
He also finalized the arrangements and formally married Kuro Hime, installing her as his queen. She would go on to give him several sons and daughters.
He also set up four ministers to help oversee the affairs of state. These were Heguri no Dzuku no Sukune, Soga no Manchi no Sukune, Mononobe no Ikofutsu no Ohomuraji, and Tsubura no Oho-omi.
Now, of course, this whole sordid mess still has a lot of holes. The story I’ve given you blends together details from both the Kojiki and the Nihon Shoki, and seems to fit with what some scholars have said about the chaos following the death of a sovereign, and it even parallels, to some extent, the problems that Oho Sazaki had in coming to the throne—proving once more that there was no guarantee on succession.
It is easy to see how a story like this might have evolved from multiple elites vying for power in the vacuum leftover when a ruler passed away. Were they all brothers, or even the sons of the previous ruler? Who is to say.
On the other hand, it is also interesting that the Sendai Kuji Hongi, aka the Kujiki, leaves it out. For the most part this source has been pretty big on providing pre-ascension details, but here it is oddly silent. Is this because the Kojiki and Nihon Shoki were drawing from texts not available to the compilers of the Kujiki? Or did they just not feel that it was part of their mandate? Perhaps they saw it as unimportant? Whatever the reason, it wasn’t included.
There are some differences between the Kojiki and the Nihon Shoki, as well. Most of excuse for the conflict—that being Kuro Hime and Suminoye no Naka tsu Miko seducing her—is only really found in the Nihon Shoki. The Kojiki merely mentions the burning of the palace, a point on which both are pretty clear. The Nihon Shoki also has more names and a few alternate stories, such has having Ohomae no Sukune picking up the sovereign and throwing him on a horse rather than Achi no Omi, aka Achi no Atahe. The Kojiki, in general, is much more abridged, and focuses more on the fight between the brothers and does not bring in as many outside characters.
Still, many things are the same. For instance, in both Chronicles they meet a woman who warms them of the dangers and suggests they take the Tagima Road. The idea of a woman as an oracular figure, giving advice to the sovereign and warning them of danger, is something that we’ve already seen in the Chronicles, and may go back to some of the shamanistic aspects of early religious belief in the archipelago, but it is never so clearly stated. It is unclear if this was something that happened or simply a common storytelling device for the time.
I also wonder about the encroachment of the Chroniclers’ own contemporary politics. Of course, the actions of Izaho Wake and Midzuha Wake are both suspect, in a way, as they are both heirs to the throne. It is also interesting that Suminoye no Naka tsu Miko is given a name that seems to merely translate as the “Middle Prince of Suminoye”, or something along those lines, while both of the other two brothers are mentioned with their names and the title of “Wake”. Was the Middle Prince truly named as such, or is that just a descriptor of an antagonist whose actual name has been lost, possibly deliberately so.
I also can’t help but notice the fact that Suminoye’s treacherous manservant is identified as being Hayato. The “Falcon People” of Kyushu were both an important part of court ritual, with their dances and traditions, but they were also frequently in rebellion against Yamato. In the 8th century I suspect that the fact that Sashihire was Hayato would have been a telling point for the audience, falling in line as it did with contemporary stereotypes.
We also see here the idea of tattooing as a criminal punishment. This is something that continued right up until the modern day, with tattoos still often associated with criminal elements. That said, we know that tattoos were not always a punishment. For example, back in the sections on Yamate in the Weizhi, tattooing is mentioned as a not uncommon form of bodily decoration. And we also have a story from this reign that further supports it.
According to the Nihon Shoki, Izaho Wake went hunting on the island of Awaji, as was common for sovereigns to do, and he took with him a member of the Umakahi-be, or the Horse-keeper’s Be. Now before heading out, Umakahi-be had been tattooed in the face, and his wounds hadn’t yet healed. It is said that a hafuri—a medium for the kami—approached and spoke with the voice of the god Izanagi no Mikoto, who claimed that he could not a endure the stench of blood. Trying to figure out what this meant—after all, this could put a real damper on future hunting expeditions—a divination was conducted and it was determined that the deity’s complaint was specifically about the blood from the wound caused by the tattooing , which was apparently something that every member of the Umakahi-be went through—at least up until then. To appease the kami, Izaho Wake declared that from that day forth, the Umakahi-be would no longer be tattoed.
Clearly this kind of a mark was not one indicative of criminal activity, but rather seemed to demonstrate belonging to a group. Whether other families and groups operated in similar ways I’m not sure, but I suspect this was not an isolated case, and it very well may have been that many people had tattoos of various types indicating their affiliations and other factors.
Speaking of the Kami, while Izaho Wake had largely settled things as far as human administration, there were still issues that came up with the kami. And at one point the Three Deities of Tsukushi—or perhaps their representatives and mediums—appeared in the palace, complaining that they had been robbed of their people, and because of this they would curse the sovereign. By the “Three Deities of Tsukushi” one imagines that they meant the deities of the various shrines of Munakushi, in Fukuoka, and the islands out to Okinoshima—the children of Amaterasu—though it is never clearly stated.
Of course, with such an ominous pronouncement, divinations were done, but here we see that they were not always successful, as nobody had any idea what the kami were talking about. Izaho prayed, but his prayer was not answered. For some time, things went on as normal, but there may have been a feeling as though a Sword of Damocles was hanging over the court.
Sure enough, one day a great voice spoke on the wind, warning the Inheritor of the Divine Sword—aka the sovereign, Izaho Wake—that the “Younger sister of bird-frequented Hata” had gone to be buried at Hasa. Sure enough, shortly thereafter a messenger arrived with word that Kuro Hime, the daughter of Hata no Yashiro no Sukune, had died.
Izaho Wake immediately headed back, but there was nothing he could do. Kuro Hime was dead, apparently from the curse of the Three Deities. Izaho Wake immediately started taking measures to find out who was at fault. He investigated as best he could and finally he learned that the Lord of the Cart-Keepers, Kuruma-mochi no Kimi, had recently traveled to Tsukushi and reviewed all of the Cart-Keepers down there. During his review, he took into his service men who had been previously dedicated to the deities, apparently under the belief that all of the Cart Keepers should report to him, first and foremost.
In learning all of this, Izaho Wake brought the Lord of the Kuruma-mochi up on two charges. First was that he had arbitrarily appropriated subjects of the sovereign. Here we see the centralization of authority over people and what they are doing. Second, was that he had assigned people to the Kurumamochi *after* they had been dedicated to the service of the deities.
As punishment, Kuramamochi no Kimi was first fined the articles for a ritual ceremony for the expiation of evil and the expiation of good. This means he had to produce the ritual items required and effectively pay for the ritual to be completed, so it was essentially an economic fine. Second, the members of the Kurumamochi of Tsukushi were removed from his service and reassigned back to the deities they were supposed to serve.
That appeased the deities, and there is no more mention of the curse.
Perhaps more practically, this demonstrates, again, the extended reach of Yamato. As these various organizations, known as “-be”, which were generally organized to support some activity or another, grew more powerful, they seem to have assumed some authority of their groups’ members. This no doubt conflicted with other, traditional forms of authority, who had their own claims on the labor of certain individuals. In the end, it sounds as if the shrine complained, but the fact that they complained to the court in Yamato—possibly in the form of a medium—would seem to be indicative of the centralization process we continue to see developing during this period.
Beyond the kami and politics, and more, there was one other story that stood out in the life of Izaho Wake, and it may seem a bit anticlimactic, but does demonstrate that Yamato rule was not absolute.
Now, of course, Izaho Wake took many wives, most of whom we might best classify as consorts. These were likely political marriages, but their offspring, while royal, did not hold the same place as those of the designated queen. Two of these consorts were sisters, and when they arrived, they were mourning, for they missed their brother. Izaho Wake asked about this brother they were missing, and they described a man of tremendous exploits who could literally leap tall buildings in a single bound. Well, at least they claimed he cleared an 8-fathom house with a running leap and then went away. His name was Washizumi no Miko.
Izaho Wake was eager to get this talented man to join his team, as it were, and he sent numerous invites out to him, but none of them were returned. Instead, Washizumi continued to reside in the village of Suminoye. Eventually Izaho Wake just let the matter drop and went on to other things.
Washizumi is said to have been the ancestors of Miyakko, or governors, of Sanuki and the Wake of Ashikuhi in Awa. These are the two easternmost of the four countries that make up the island of Shikoku, situated across the Seto Inland Sea from Honshu.
I suspect that this story isn’t just about one individual, but may indicate that Yamato influence was not absolute, and even though they may have been in a superior position, and able to command various marriage alliances. That fits my understanding of a state that was still growing and testing the limits of what they could do.
Now for all of this that happened, Izaho Wake’s reign was not extremely long. The Nihon Shoki claims he only reigned for about five years, and the year of his death may have bene around 432 if the sexagenary cycle is to be believed. It is certainly one of the more reasonable examples of regnal periods.
But that’s it for Izaho Wake. Next we’ll look at his brother and successor, Mizuha Wake.
Until then, 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 through Patreon, 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 53: [Insert Name of Monarch Here]

November 16, 2021 Joshua Badgley

RSS

Archives

This episode we will talk about a lot of little stories. A few of the characters we mention, down below.

The Iron Shields of Goguryeo

There are actually two iron shields that are part of the treasures of the Isonokami Shrine (http://www.isonokami.jp/about/c4.html), one of which is on permanent loan to the Tokyo National Museum. They are of peninsular manufacture, probably late 5th to early 6th century—suggesting that they were not presented in the time of Ōsazaki, and they may not be the shields referenced in the story, but they are likely similar. Iron shields like this seem impractical, given their size and assumed weight, but they were still quite impressive.

Individuals referenced:

Tatebito no Sukune (盾人宿禰) [Literally “Lord Shield Person”], and later it is Ikuba no Toda no Sukune (的戸田宿禰), [Toda no Sukune of the Target]. Later we see Toda no Sukune spelled as (砥田宿禰), but given that he is listed as the founder of the Ikuba no Omi (的臣) and he’s sent traveling with Sakashi-nokori no Omi, who had been granted his rank at the same time, it seems a fair bet that these are one and the same person.
Sakashi-nokori no Omi (賢遺臣), formerly Sukune no Omi (宿禰臣) [This is a weird mixing of kabane]

The story of Tamichi

Takahase (竹葉瀬), ancestor of the Kozuke no Kimi (上毛野君)
Tamichi (田道), his younger brother who went off to attack Silla with him
Harbor of Ishimi (伊寺水門), where Tamichi was killed

The story of the Giant Tree of Tōtōmi (遠江國)

The country—later province—of Tōtōmi was named for Lake Hamana. It was the far (遠) lake (江): Tohotsu Afumi. Meanwhile, Chikatsu Afumi, the “near lake” referred to lake Biwa.

Yamato no Atae Agoko (倭直吾子籠) - this is the same individual whom the brothers went to to help clarify ancient laws. While this story of a giant log doesn’t seem like much, it gives us another view of this particular courtier.

Water torture in the Harima Fudoki

A couple notes. FIrst, Hōki was earlier pronounced Hahaki (伯耆), and along with Inaba (因幡), it sits on the Japan Sea side of the main island, just east of Izumo and north of Harima and Yamato. These are areas that seem to have originally been part of the Izumo sphere of influence, but they adopted the Yamato style round keyhole tombs earlier, possibly indicating a move away from Izumo and towards Yamato.

Kaguro of Hōki (伯耆加具漏) and Oyuko of Inaba (因幡邑由胡) are the two wealthy lords who are basically accused of being overly prosperous and disrespectful.
Una hime (宇奈比賣) and Kuha hime (久波比賣) - daughters of Miso of the Hatori no Muraji and Arasaka HIme. They were likely wives, possibly political marriages to the two wealthy men.
Miso no Hatori no Muraji (服部彌蘇連) - a powerful member of court. Normally his name would be more like “Hatori no Muraji no Miso”, but it seems this may have been a way of giving him greater respect by his daughters’ statement.
Arasaka Hime (阿良佐加比賣). The wife of Miso no Hatori no Muraji, she is said to be the daughter of the Kuni no MIyatsuko of Inaba (因幡國造), though to be honest, the original text does not clearly state that and you could just as easily read it that she was the Kuni no Miyatsuko of Inaba. It wouldn’t be the first important female ruler of that area if we go back and look at some of the Izumo stories, but the general consensus seems to be that she is just the daughter.
Sai no Muraji no Sayo (狹井連佐夜). His name is given in the more standard format. However, this is still perhaps the only real mention of this individual so far.

Sukuna of Hida

This is perhaps the first real mention of Hida (飛騨), the mountainous area north of modern GIfu.

Sukuna (宿儺) - His name resembles a corruption of Sukune—perhaps this was a typo and he was originally of “sukune” rank. Or it was just an example of using similar Chinese characters to make the proper sounds.
Naniwaneko Takefurukuma (難波根子武振熊). This extremely long name seems to start with a title: Naniwaneko. There has been some thought that the “neko” in earlier sovereigns names was a type of title, so that they were “Yamatoneko”. Here it is clearly referencing Naniwa instead of Yamato. The rest of the name is similarly interesting. For instance, should the “Take” be part of the previous title, meaning “brave”? Is any of this an actual name? Perhaps Furukuma?

The Pool of Agatamori

This takes place in Kibi (吉備), modern Okayama area. An “agata” (縣) is a district, and “mori” (守) means to protect, and usually used to indicate a governorship of some kind. Later it would be the “no-kami” of many names, such as “Ise-no-kami” (伊勢守), a title that later became name, indicating that one was nominally in charge of Ise province, though this would lose much of its meaning in later eras.

Kawashima (川嶋) literally means “river island”

Shiratori Tomb

Meki (目杵), the guard who was trasformed.
Hashi no Muraji (土師連), the family who eventually received conservatorship of Shiratori kofun.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is episode 53, Insert Name of Monarch Here .
Before we get started, a quick shout-out to Joe for helping to support the show. If you want to join him, you can find us on our recent Patreon page—just look up Sengoku Daimyo—or you can also donate through KoFi, at Ko-Fi.com/sengokudaimyo.
Also, a quick content warning: some of these entries contain things that may be disturbing. Specifically, this episode we will be referencing a suicide, however briefly.
This is probably going to be our last episode on the reign of the Great Wren, Oho Sazaki no Ohokimi, aka Nintoku Tennou. We’ve gone over the story of how he came to power, of his many loves, and several other stories—including how early elites were getting brain freezes in the summer thanks to their private slushee stash.
This episode is going to be about many of the other stories from his reign—those I didn’t cover previously. I’d generally categorize them in two different ways: First there are stories relating to the mainland, specifically to the Korean peninsula and our favorite cast of characters over there—mostly Silla and Goguryeo. Then there are stories from the archipelago itself. But the big thing that seems to unite these stories, in my mind, and why this episode has the title it does, is the fact that the sovereign’s place really isn’t defined or required for most of them. While the sovereign may, indeed, be referenced, and though some of the stories do seem to fit with other events, the truth of the matter is that it could be any sovereign, and how and why these stories are particularly tied to Oho Sazaki is not immediately clear, at least not to me.
For those stories referencing the continent, I suspect that a large part of that narrative is being driven by stories in things like the Baekje Annals, which the chroniclers were clearly pulling from. As we’ve seen, though, the dates don’t always line up, and it’s possible that some of these stories were added in simply because of the dates—which are still wildly inaccurate in this time period—and not because of a clear connection with Oho Sazaki’s reign.
On the other hand, the stories from the archipelago feel, to me, like local stories, not dissimilar to what we find in the later Fudoki. They are probably set in the 5th century, but as for whether or not they were explicitly set during the time of Oho Sazaki’s reign is unclear.
What does seem clear is that there was a very important fifth century ruler of some import—hence the presence of Daisen Kofun, which we discussed in episode 51 – as a reminder, this is the largest kofun in the archipelago, and one of the largest mausoleums in the entire world. Its construction likely took years, and untold numbers of laborers, crafters, and more. Whether the individual interred there was actually known as Oho Sazaki or not, their reign was no doubt a marker for later generations, and I suspect that, between the reigns of Oho Sazaki and his father, there may have been numerous stories that were attributed to them, particularly if they took place some time early in the reigns of their particular dynasties. And so the stories all get woven together and start to settle into a timeline. As things get written down, they obtain a kind of canonical position in the histories.
So with that understanding, let’s get started!
We’ll begin with the stories regarding the continent. Here we see the continued evolution of the complex relationships between the emerging nation-states of the peninsula and the archipelago. This isn’t as simple as stating that it was Baekje and Yamato—and possibly the states of Kara—against Silla and Goguryeo.
For instance, at one point it seems that Yamato’s relationship with Goguryeo had improved, at least since the days of Gwangaetto the Great. To illustrate this, a Goguryeo embassy is said to have arrived, bringing a gift of two iron shields. These caused quite the stir in a land that had iron armor but seems to have largely still been using shields made of wood. Not a month after the embassy had brought them, the ambassadors were being entertained at the court and people started shooting arrows at the shield. Rather predictably, the shields did as expected, and the arrows seem to have bounced off. Nobody could pierce them, unlike, one presumes, the wooden shields of the time.
Nobody, that was, until one man, Tatebito no Sukune. He stood up and took aim and he must have had quite the draw weight on his bow, as his arrow pierced the target. In recognition of such a feat, Oho Sazaki bestowed on him a new name. While he was previously known as Tatebito, a name that could be translated as “shield person”, he was given the name of Ikuba no Toda, where “Ikuba” means “target”.
Later Toda no Sukune—whose name is spelled differently, but who is claimed as an ancestor of the Ikuba no Omi—was made an ambassador himself, along with Sakashi-nokori no Omi, who gained his title at the same event where Ikuba no Toda no Sukune was given his name for piercing the shield. These two were sent to the mainland because, at least as the Nihon Shoki puts it, Silla had not been sending expected tribute. I mean, it kind of makes sense that you would send a guy who can shoot an arrow through an iron shield as an ambassador to a misbehaving tributary nation, right?
Toda and Sakashi-nokori showed up and were offered—and I use that term in the loosest of meanings—a quite specific one thousand four hundred and sixty pieces of tribute, including silk and various objects. In total it was 80 shiploads—probably just the Chronicles’ way of saying it was a heck of a lot—quite the haul for anyone at that time, however it may have actually been acquired.
Of course, this wasn’t the only “embassy” to Silla. At one point Takahase, who is said to be an ancestor of the lords of Kodzuke, the Kodzuke no Kimi, was sent to Silla, again because of this perceived failure by Silla to send tribute to Yamato. As he started out, though, before he left the islands, he spotted a white deer, a presumably auspicious sign, so he broke his journey and took the deer and returned to the sovereign. He then chose another day and left to travel across to the peninsula.
Shortly after Takahasa had left, Oho Sazaki decided he wanted a little insurance that the mission would be successful, and so he sent Takahase’s own brother, Tamichi, to follow after him, commanding him that if Silla refused to pay up then he should raise up an army and invade. Heck, this is looking more and more like some medieval gangster type shakedown. I can just see Don Sazaki saying something like “leave the sword, take the cannolis.” Or whatever the equivalent sweet of the day might have been.
Now it seems that Silla was, indeed, recalcitrant. They offered battle daily, rather than pay – I mean give - the Yamato forces what they wanted. But Tamichi made strong fortifications, and he refused to leave them. One day, as the siege dragged on, the Yamato forces captured a Silla soldier who was questioned—and probably not in a very nice way—and eventually gave up details of Silla’s order of battle. It seemed that Silla’s strongest forces were typically concentrated in the right van of their forces for some reason, and when Tamichi heard of this he knew what to do. The Yamato forces did go forth to do battle, and as they did so, Tamichi saw the hole in Silla’s left flank, just as the soldiers had said. He took a force of swift men—the chronicle says cavalry which might be an exaggeration, though we do see horse equipment from this period—and he bore quickly down into the gap. Once the left side of the Silla army collapsed, the Yamato soldiers were able to roll up the rest and rout them. In the end we are told they ended up taking—read “enslaving”—four villages worth of prisoners back to Japan, where they were no doubt resettled and put to work for Yamato.
This must have been a huge victory, and Tamichi was no doubt lauded for it, but his story doesn’t end there. For some time after his victory in Silla he was sent to the northeast, as the Emishi were rebelling. Unfortunately he did not fare as well in this campaign, and it would prove to be his last. Tamichi was slain at the Harbor of Ishimi. One of his soldiers was able to obtain his tamaki—an armlet apparently made of beads and bells tied together with a string—and they brought that back to his wife, who used it to strangle herself, thus joining her husband in death . This act moved even the hardest of the soldiers to tears.
At some later point—we aren’t told when, other than it was after Tamichi had been buried and a tomb erected—the Emishi once again rebelled and made as though to carry off many of the people. At the same time they dug up Tamichi’s tomb, presumably somewhere up in the Kozuke region, to loot the grave, and when they did so a giant serpent came out of the tomb. Its poison was potent, and all but two of the Emishi died. Thus it is said that Tamichi was able to get his revenge, even from beyond the grave.
As I mentioned above, these stories seem less about the sovereign, and more about notable individuals, such as Toda no Sukune and Tamichi, and their war-time heroics. Similarly, other stories seem to be about various people and places.
For example, there is the story of the giant tree of Toutoumi, which is to say, the western lands of modern Shizuoka province, around Lake Hamana, formerly known as Tohotsu-a(f)umi, from which the province got its name. Now whether there were particularly torrential rains or a massive earthquake—or just that nature took its course—we aren’t told, but what we are told is that the Kokushi, or provincial governor, of Toutomi reported that a huge tree had fallen along the banks of the Ohowigawa, floating downstream until it got stuck, firm as the Evergiven in the Suez Canal.
Now this wasn’t just some log, but it must have been a massive old-growth tree, likely hundreds of years old. It was 10 “girths” in size—in other words it was an incredibly big tree—and split in two at the very end. This was such an incredible find that the court sent Yamato no Atahe no Agoko himself to take care of things. Now, you may or may not remember Agoko—we mentioned him back in Episode 49 when Prince Oho-yamamori—or perhaps Nukada no Ohonakatsu Hiko—took the rice-lands and granaries from Ou no Sukune during the interregnum, while Oho Sazaki and his brother were still bickering over who would be sovereign. Even though Agoko had been off on a mission on the Korean peninsula at the time, the court tracked him down to help resolve the dispute, since apparently nobody knew the courtly traditions quite like he did. His ruling saw the land and granaries returned to Ou no Sukune and fueled the murderous rage of Oho Yamamori, who tried and failed to kill his own younger brother and take the throne for himself.
Here we see Agoko’s return to the forefront—he traveled to the land of Toutoumi, had the giant tree made into a boat, and then he sailed it back to Naniwa by way of the Southern Sea—in other words he sailed down south, around the Kii Peninsula.
A minor historical note here—this story, besides giving us more evidence of Agoko’s competence, is the earliest story we have that references the person overseeing a land or province as “kokushi”, which might well be termed something like provincial governor. Of course, much like the mention of horses during Yamato Takeru’s campaigns, this could just be an anachronism thrown in by later chroniclers. Nonetheless it could also be an indication of the structural changes occurring in the political make-up of the islands. Certainly Yamato’s hegemony appears to have hit a zenith at the point that Daisen kofun was built, so it may be that they were, in fact, exerting greater and greater control over the provincial leaders.
There are also a number of stories out of the Fudoki—largely from the Harima Fudoki. Many of these are simply etymologies for various place names. For instance, Ikahino, which literally translates to something like “the fields for keeping wild boar” claims that the area was given by the sovereign to keep a wild boar consecrated to Amaterasu. Sawoka, on the other hand, which means rice-planting hill, was named after the annual rice-planting festival that was held there. There is also Kurusu, named after a local chestnut grove, supposedly started from peeled chestnuts presented by the sovereign.
While some of these are interesting, and provide some tidbits on the operation of the court and various beliefs and onomastics, most such entries don’t have the depth that we’d really like. Though there is one with a bit more flair. It is recorded in the entry about Mikazuki Hara—the soaking fields.
We are told that there were two men who were so extravagant that they washed their feet with fine, clear sake. These two men were named Kaguro of the country of Houki and Oyuko of the country of Inaba—both areas on the Japan Sea side of western Honshu. The Yamato court considered that their conduct was excessive and disrespectful, and it sent out Sayo of the Sa(w)i no Muraji to bring them in and face punishment. Accordingly, Sayo went out and arrested all of the members of their households. And since there was no due process nor concepts of “innocent until proven guilty”, on the way back, Sayo tortured his prisoners, dunking—or soaking—them in water.
During the journey, there were two women who wore jewels on their wrists and ankles—not the kind of thing you’d expect to find on a servant, even one in a crazy rich household like that of Kaguro and Oyuko. In fact, after Sayo dug into it a little while he found out that they were, in fact, Una and Kuwa, the daughters of Miso of the Hatori no Muraji and his wife, Arasaka Hime, who herself was the daughter of the kuni no miyatsuko, or lord, of Inaba.
Now Miso was apparently a rather influential man at the court, and Sayo likely had a moment of panic as he realized just who it was that he had been treating as common criminals. He immediately released both of the women and sent them on their way. The place they were released was known as Farewell Hill, or Mi-oki-yama, and the place where Sayo had tortured his prisoners by dunking them in water was Mikazuki Hara, the Soaking field.
Once again, it is hard to exactly place this story in the timeline of Oho Sazaki’s reign, even though the Harima Fudoki does mention that it was the time of the Prince of Takatsu in Naniwa—based on the details, it could have been just about any time. For example, there is no clear evidence for a Hatori no Muraji named Miso, or his influence at the court. Granted, there are few enough individuals mentioned, anyway, and it could be that stories about him just didn’t warrant inclusion in the Chronicles and other records.
Once again, I suspect that this story evolved from some larger conflict the Yamato court had with Houki and Inaba, but what exactly I couldn’t say—just more evidence of the lack of good and reliable records for this period.
There is one thing in this story that would probably be worth noting, however, and that is the use of torture. Now this could be just part of a false etymology given life – finding an explanation for why this given place was called the “soaking field”, but we do see in the archipelago, at least later, that officials were not above using torture to get a confession.
In fact, one might note that the rule of thumb was less “Innocent until proven guilty” but more “guilty until proven innocent.” If you were arrested in ancient times, your guilt was more or less presumed. After all, if you were an upstanding citizen, why would you ever be arrested? Obviously, as we understand the legal system today, this is extremely problematic, but in ancient times it wasn’t uncommon to derive a confession through torture or other means, since that was seen as just streamlining the process. This would be true throughout most of the archipelago’s history, really.
But I digress. Beyond a few details that seem odd, there is nothing too outlandish about the story, overall—well, other than it taking Sayo until after they were tortured to determine that two of the women were actually rather important personages.
But not all of the stories are quite so mundane. While the stories of fighting on the mainland or even just dealing with a literal log jam in Toutoumi, might seem reasonable, the next story is one that seems like it would be more comfortable several reigns back, when Okinaga Tarashi Hime had to deal with literal winged rebels. This is the story of Sukuna of Hida.
Hida, by the way, indicates the area west of the Hida Mountains, in the northern, mountainous areas of what is today referred to as Gifu Prefecture, encompassing the areas of modern Hida, Takayama, and parts of Gero cities. This landlocked area is exactly the kind of treacherous area that was largely uncharted even into modern times. It is also the home of the famous Shirakawa-go and Gokayama villages, where the specialized gassho-zukuri houses have earned the area a UNESCO World Heritage site status. This especially steep-roofed houses were specifically developed due to the deep and heavy snows that regularly inundate the region, indicating the harsh conditions facing anyone in the region, so it may not be surprising that it was the source of some rather fanciful tales.
Which brings us back to Sukuna. We are told that on one “trunk” he had two faces, each turned away from each other. The crowns met, and there was no nape of the necks. Each of the two sides had their own hands and feet, and there were knees, but they were conjoined all the way down the back side. He carried swords on his right and his left side and he used the bow and arrow with all four hands.
Sukuna, who sounds like something out of an episode of He-Man, did not use his powers for good. In fact we are told that he plundered the people, and so the sovereign sent a man named Naniwaneko Takefurukuma, to deal out justice and stop his reign of banditry. Sure enough, Naniwaneko was successful and eventually slew Sukuna, ending his threat to the people.
So let’s break this down somewhat. First off, let’s address the obvious—isn’t it possible that the description we are getting is of conjoined twins? And it probably is possible, but not very likely. I think it is also safe to say that unfortunately, conjoined twins have historically been more at risk of violence from society than threats to it, given that humans can often be cruel and intolerant.
However, I suspect something else may have been going on here, as it seems the much simpler answer is that in the stories about Naniwaneko’s exploits, Sukuna was given monstrous characteristics that would both signal to the audience that he was a bad dude, but it would also make him that much more of a challenge for our hero to overcome. It strikes me as more likely that Sukuna was probably more of a local bandit or warlord, hiding out in the mountainous Hida region, and plundering nearby settlements. Of course, whether he was more of a Blackbeard type or Robin Hood, we cannot know, since we only have Yamato’s side of the story.
In fact, he’s more important, here, as a foil for Naniwaneko, who was an ancestor of the famous Wani no Omi family. We haven’t really discussed the Wani no Omi much, but the stories do mention them over and over, from the stories about Iware Biko, aka Jimmu Tenno, and his march on Yamato, up throughout the narrative. Mostly it is a reference here or there, but given the frequency we can assume that they were a family of some importance. I suspect that stories such as these were likely gleaned from the histories of the noble families, which in turn ensured that they would back the Chronicles as the official history of Yamato.
A similarly fantastical tale is told about another warrior, a man of fierce temper and of great bodily strength. We don’t know his name, but he was the ancestor of the Kasa no Omi and we are otherwise merely told that he was an agatamori—similar to an agatanushi, and likely translated as something like a “district warden”. Now this Agatamori lived in the land of Kibi—that land where it seemed they often rivaled Yamato in their power, or at least in their ability to organize labor and build giant, kingly style round-keyhole tombs.
The Nihon Shoki tells us that there was once a water-snake who sat at a fork in the Kawashima river, in central Kibi—probably the area later known as Bitchuu, in the western area of modern Okayama Prefecture. Travelers who passed by the area where the snake was at were “affected by its poison”, and died. Of course, we aren’t exactly told how they were affected—one assumes it bit them, but there are also stories of snakes effectively belching their poison, like some kind of dragon. Whatever the method it used, it was killing people and needed to be stopped.
The Agatamori went to where the snake was located, and here it seems he tried a diplomatic tack at first, one that seems somewhat at odds with the task at hand. He started by throwing three calabash gourds in the water, telling the water-snake that if he could sink the calabashes then the Agatamori would go away. But if he could not then he would kill the snake.
If this sounds familiar, you may remember a similar test of a water-spirit a few episodes back, when a man who was to be sacrificed to the river to ensure successful completion of a new canal used a similar tactic to prove that the kami was not as powerful as he claimed. In that case, the kami created a whirlwind to try to push the gourds under the water, but in this case the water-snake transformed into a deer and tried to sink them in that form. In both cases, this task proved too difficult, even for supernatural beings to accomplish.
And so, since the water-snake had failed to sink the gourds, the Agatamori raised his sword and entered the water to kill the snake, as well as its kith and kin, which filled a cave in the bottom of the pool. The Agatamori slew them all, such that the river itself ran red with their blood, and the pool became known as the Pool of Agatamori.
Once again, there is nothing in this particular story that is specific to a given sovereign, and it seems that this is more a story of Kibi and of the Kasa no Omi. There are also some curious parallels with other stories, such as the would-be canal sacrifice I just mentioned. It also bears mentioning, here, that kami in the earlier stories often appear as snakes, which in this case would certainly seem to be the implication, given how it could transform itself into a deer and all of that. There are also some intriguing parallels with stories from India and Southeast Asia, where snakes are often connected to rivers and water.
Continuing in the vein of the supernatural, there is one last story that I’ve saved from the Nihon Shoki, and that is the tale of Shiratori kofun, aka the White Bird Mausoleum of Yamato Takeru. We talked about this back in Episode 35—after the death of Prince Yamato Takeru, he was originally buried in a mausoleum over in Ise, where he had died, cursed-slash-poisoned because he had unwittingly disrespected a kami. After his wife and children and come to mourn, we are told that his spirit transformed itself into a white bird—a shiratori—and flew off to Kawachi. When it landed, a second tomb was built to honor his spirit, and it was known as the White Bird Mausoleum.
These kofun were likely more than just giant graves, but rather it seems clear that they were maintained, possibly as worship sites. Some of the features around larger keyhole shaped tombs appear to be built as areas for rituals—either as part of the burial or perhaps for rituals that were held afterwards.
Whatever rituals may or may not have been conducted there, though, the kofun—or at least some of them—were staffed, by guards if nothing else. Well, and a bunch of haniwa, but they were less effective as guards . After all, these giant tombs were not only monuments to the deceased elites of the Archipelago, they were giant treasure chests, filled with treasures of iron and more, just waiting to be opened by some enterprising grave-robbers.
In most cases, no doubt this tomb-guarding was considered an extremely important task, since the kofun contained the remains of the sovereigns and other important personages, but as for Shiratori Kofun, it was more of a memorial—or at least the way the stories were told. Since it wasn’t, technically, the kofun of the actual Yamato Takeru—that was the tomb over on the other side of the Kii peninsula—then when the Yamato court needed more laborers it seemed like a reasonable move to reassign some of the guards from the Shiratori tomb. They determined that their service was no longer required at a quote-unquote “empty” tomb.
However, the spirit of Yamato Takeru—or some other kami—wasn’t too pleased with this bit of bureaucratic reshuffling. Thus it was that one of the guardians-turned-laborers, a man named in the Nihon Shoki as “Meki”, was suddenly transformed into a sacred white deer. When the sovereign heard about this, he apparently had second thoughts, and immediately had the remaining men reinstated as guardians and gave charge of all of them to the Hashi no Muraji.
Of course, I have a few doubts about the whole thing with the transformation into a deer, but there are still a lot of interesting details to consider about the kofun and the way that they operated. I suspect that this story comes from the Hashi no Muraji, and that guardianship of the tombs, much like overseeing a shrine or other sacred place, was as much about the rice-lands and taxes dedicated to its upkeep, as well as possible status for those who were in charge of it. It is stories like this that, looking past the supernatural elements, can really give us a better look into what life was like at this time.
Unfortunately, we’ll have to seek most of these stories elsewhere, as with this episode, we leave behind Oho Sazaki, and start getting into the rest of dynasty and the 5th century.
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 through Patreon, 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
Aoki, Michiko Yamaguchi (1997). Records of Wind and Earth: A Translation of Fudoki with Introduction and Commentaries. As published at https://jhti.berkeley.edu
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 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.

RSS

Archives

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.

RSS

Archives

This episode we start our series on the early 5th century sovereign Ōsazaki, aka Nintoku Tennō. And first off we will talk about that posthumous name given to him at some later date—possibly as late as the 7th or 8th centuries. Nintoku (仁徳) would seem to indicate that this sovereign was seen as a virtuous king. And so we see stories about how he lived in a humble style while there was a drought so that the people could take what little they had and make it through the lean times. He even removed requirements for forced labor.

Once taxes and labor were restored, we see him working on projects to control the waters and hold back the flooding of the Yodo Rivier, which may have been something that happened in this period, but it also feels very much like the kind of thing that would be said about the ancient rulers on the continent, particularly in the Yellow River region.

In fact, there is an early concept of the formation of kingship being largely derived in the various wet rice agricultural societies by those who were able to move water around. This is the so-called “fluvial hypothesis” of state formation. And although more recent concepts of state formation may be focused on a more complex model with multiple different factors contributing to the eventual formation of what we would call a “state”, the movement of water was definitely an important role in agricultural societies. After all, if you are cultivating rice with wet paddy agricultural methods, you have to occasionally flood and drain the paddies. Even today, rice farms in Japan can be seen linked to various irrigation canals so that paddies can be flooded or drained on schedule. And of course that is the key, because if there are any problems, those same irrigation ditches might overflow and floods might occur out of cycle, ruining the crops and destroying entire harvests.

This becomes even more likely when you site your fields near easily accessible sources of water, such as rivers and streams, which might overflow in the heavy rains that can sweep the archipelago. So anyone who could make some claim to control the waters—both through spiritual as well as secular acts—would be important in those societies. Of course, those same individuals were also likely important for organization of military forces, trade, and more.

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.
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

- (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

Three Stories…

Rough Transcript

References

The Five Kings of Wa

讃 (Embassy in 421 and 425)

珍 (Two embassies, no dates—Younger Brother of SAN)

濟 (Embassy in 443 and 451)

興 (Embassy in 462; heir to SEI)

武 (Embassy in 478; younger brother to KŌ)

Kishimoto Dual Kingship Lineage

Subsidiary Line

Main Line

Rough Transcript

References

Who’s Who

Previous Sovereigns

Sons of Oasatsuma Wakugo and Osaka no Ōnakatsu Hime

Prince Ōkusaka

Kusaka no Hatahi no Hime

Nakashi no Himemiko

Important Court Nobles

Ōmahe no Sukune of the Mononobe

Ne no Omi

Tsubura no Ōmi

Poetry Between Anaho and Ōmahe no Sukune

The Oshiki Crown

Rough Transcript

References

Free Diving for Pearls in Ancient Japan

Rough Transcript

References

Rough Transcript

References

Midzuha Wake

Oasatsuma Wakugo no Sukune

Ōkusaka no Miko

Osaka no Nakatsu Hime

Sotowori Hime

Nakatomi no Ikatsu no Omi

Yamato no Atae no Agoko

On Poetry

The Koto

References

The Princes

Izaho Wake no Mikoto

Suminoye no Naka tsu Miko

Midzuha Wake no Mikoto

The Courtiers

Achi no Atae

Heguri no Dzuku no Sukune

Kuro Hime

Sashihire, aka Sobakari

Rough Transcript

References

The Iron Shields of Goguryeo

Individuals referenced:

The story of Tamichi

The story of the Giant Tree of Tōtōmi (遠江國)

Water torture in the Harima Fudoki

Sukuna of Hida

The Pool of Agatamori

Shiratori Tomb

Rough Transcript

References

Rough Transcript

References

Ice Houses of Ancient Japan

Daisen Kofun

Rough Transcript

References