Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is episode 60: The Impulsive Loves of Wakatake no Ohokimi.
Let’s start with a quick recap of where we are—so this is the latter part of the 5th century, and our current sovereign is Ohohatsuse Wakatake—though perhaps Wakatakiru would be more accurate, since we have what appear to be two contemporary inscriptions of that name on swords from different parts of the archipelago, indicating that he was recognized well outside of the core Yamato homelands around the Nara Basin and the Kawachi plains. That said, I think I’ll stick with Wakatake for consistency for now. He is very likely one of the five Kings of Wa mentioned in the records of the Liu Song dynasty—many believe he is the fifth ruler known as “Bu”, as that name uses the same character found in his name, also pronounced “take”, though I suspect that he was probably the 4th ruler, “Ko”, based on both the timing of the entries as well as some of the details provided.
The name “Ohohatsuse” is likely a locative, drawn from the location of his palace in Asakura in the area of Hatsuse, while Wakatakiru seems to have been his given name. He was clearly a sovereign of some import, but his legacy is somewhat marred by stories of violence and cruelty. The chronicles here are clearly divided in the picture they are attempting to paint of him—the Nihon Shoki lays bare episodes of cruelty and capriciousness that often turn the sovereign into little more than a villain, tossing his weight around, often for his own pleasure. He reminds me not a small bit of Peter the Third in Hulu’s series, “The Great”. And yet we also see growth over time.
In many ways, the stories about Wakatake—if you strip the more fantastical elements—come off as a remarkably human experience: the image of a complex, flawed individual with an inordinate amount of power and authority. If the general story is to be believed, it would not seem entirely implausible that he truly helped strengthen the State of Yamato and its hegemony. On the other hand, it is also fairly clear that he was lauded perhaps a bit overmuch. All of the Chronicles talk about how, upon his birth, there was a great light, and he is universally described as strong and handsome, if not necessarily kind-hearted. The Kojiki, in particular, seems to go to great pains to show him in a positive light, leaving out many of the less savory details given elsewhere.
Of course, the Kojiki, in general, tends to often be light on details. It rarely deals with events that were not happening on the archipelago, and even then it seems to prefer stories of sexual and romantic conquest over others. This all makes sense for what the Kojikiclaims to be: a narrative extolling the virtues and lineage of the royal family back to time immemorial. It is meant to be a story, and we tend to want our stories to be more simple and clear-cut.
In contrast, the Nihon Shoki revels in bringing us details from different sources, so of course that’s where we find snippets from the Baekje Annals and various other works. It seems to have been leveraging a much larger corpus from which to draw on, so we get a much richer and darker picture of the tapestry of Wakatake’s reign.
The Kujiki—or at least the Sendai Kuji Hongi—seems to fall somewhere in between, though in this case it seems rather sparse on details. In fact, based largely on the account in the Kujiki, it almost feels as if very little of import happened during this reign. But one should remember that, much like the Kojiki, the Kujiki was more interested in lineages and the basic flow of the royal family—not to mention the Owari and Mononobe families—and often acknowledges that it is skipping over large stories that it felt were not germane to its overall goal.
And all this makes me a little more cautious than usual about what we see during this reign. It seems clear that Wakatake no Ohokimi had some not inconsiderable sway in the archipelago, and certainly there was a lot that was happening in the 5th century in general. What isn’t entirely clear is not just how many of the stories are true, but whether they all belong to the same reign. Certainly some sources, like the Baekje Annals, likely had dates that could fit into this regnal period—and for the most part it does seem like the dates for this reign, which likely started in the 450s and ended around 479, are more concrete than any others up to this point—but how many of the sources that the scribes were drawing from had such information? It is entirely possible that stories passed down in family records simply mentioned the “Ohokimi” without clear mention of which one, and so it would not be too hard to imagine how, if Wakatake were truly remembered by later generations as a figure of some great renown.
To use an American example, think about if a modern movie maker wishes to make a fictional period piece—or even steampunk—and needs a President for some part of the story. Are they more likely to grab Harrison or Taft or will it be a Lincoln or Roosevelt? And that is with an extremely extensive corpus of knowledge from which to choose. Imagine you didn’t have that.
And so I tend to believe that the events and achievements of Wakatake are a bit hard to assign to him or even this time period for certain, but clearly someone in the 7th or 8th century thought that they at least fit this period—so I’m willing to assume that the stories were told as at least having come from this century, sometime around the reign of this particular sovereign.
All of this makes this reign a bit tricky to handle—much like it was for Homuda Wake. But we’ll see what we can do.
Now to start with, let’s go back and take a look at what we’ve already seen about Wakatake before he came to the throne. If you remember back in Episode 56, at the death of Wakatake’s father Woasatsuma, aka Ingyou Tennou, a delegation from Silla came to pay homage. According to the Nihon Shoki, on the way back, they cried out words of praise for Mt. Unebi, but apparently were misunderstood, and it was then Prince Ohohatsuse Wakatake that had them arrested and interrogated. They were eventually let go, but it didn’t help Wakatake’s relationship with the continent. This is a theme we’ll see coming back to us later when we take a look at Wakatake’s dealings with Silla and Korean Peninsula in general.
We next encounter Wakatake during his murderous rampage following the death of his brother, the sovereign of Anaho Palace, aka Ankou Tennou. He waded through the corpses of his own family to eventually take the throne, killing off not only his own brothers, but also his uncle, Ichinohe, the actual heir to the throne and possibly even the sovereign at the time of his death, though he is never accorded that title by the Chroniclers.
Most of that is fairly well agreed upon by the Chroniclers. Even the Kojiki couldn’t really reconcile the deaths in a way that would allow them to place it all in a better light. That said, the Nihon Shoki throws one more body onto the pyre with another prince: Prince Mimuma. It is short, but we are told that Prince Mimuma was heading out to Musa, which belonged to Miwa no Kimi, when he met with forces sent against him by Wakatake around the well of Iwa. He was taken prisoner, and to be executed, but before he was executed he pointed to a well and pronounced that, from now on, only common people could drink from it—no royals would be allowed.
It seems unsurprising that this snippet wouldn’t end up in the Kojiki—Mimuna wasn’t the heir, though I do believe we are talking about Ichinohe’s brother, so it isn’t out of the realm of possibility that he could have made a claim. And yet I wonder if he even existed. This sounds suspiciously to me like one of those stories trying to explain why a certain place has a given name or legend, and it is possible that the death of a Prince just made the most sense here—this is exactly the kind of thing that the Nihon Shoki seems to do a lot of.
Once Wakatake had dealt with his rivals and took the throne, the various chronicles generally agree as to a few things. First off, he dwelt in a palace in Asakura, in Hatsuse—which no doubt explains his moniker of “Ohohatsuse” Wakatake. They also agree that he married Kusaka no Hatahi and that she was crowned queen. The Nihon Shoki claims that Ohohatsuse requested her hand in marriage through his brother, Anaho, who was the sovereign at the time. Of course, that kicked off the whole thing discussed in episode 57 where a slanderous messenger, Ne no Omi, had falsely reported Kusaka no Hatahi’s brother’s Ohokusaka’s acceptance of the suit, because he wanted to keep a crown that Ohokusaka had offered along with the hand of his sister. As such, Anaho had Ohokusaka killed, and eventually Ohokusaka’s son, Mayuwa, sought revenge and assassinated Anaho—which led to Wakatake taking the throne, and making Hatahi his queen.
The Kojiki presents the story of Wakatake’s marriage differently. They tell a story of Wakatake wooing Hatahi, and proceeding to Kawachi over the Tadagoe road of Kusaka—presumably on his way to visit her. As he climbed to the top of the mountain and surveyed the land—which Phillippi suggests was a form of Kunimi or “land-viewing”, something which sovereigns are described as doing a lot of, which would seem to indicate that at this point Wakatake was already in charge—his eyes caught sight of a building with raised logs on its roof—by which they likely meant the cross-wise round logs that can often be seen atop shrine buildings, like the shrine at Ise. Back in this period, though, it seems that this kind of roof decoration was restricted in a kind of sumptuary tradition to only the royal family, so it would have been odd for him to see one like this just sitting out there.
When he inquired as to whose house it was, the locals told him that it belonged to the Oho-agatanushi—a local elite, who likely oversaw at least several other district leaders. Wakatake complained that this scoundrel had built his house like the palace of the sovereign, and so he ordered it to be burned down.
Now, the Ohoagatanushi was afraid and begged forgiveness. He claimed that he had done it by mistake, not realizing it was restricted. He then offered up a white dog, tied up with a cloth and a bell attached, along with one of his own relatives, Koshiwaki, who held the dogs leash. Apparently this—and, one assumes, the dismantling of the roof feature—was enough to get Wakatake to abandon his idea of setting fire to the house.
Later, when he finally arrived at Kusaka no Hatahi’s house, he gave her the dog, telling here that it was “something unusual that I picked up on the road today”, almost as if he had just found it somewhere, tied up to a tree or something. He also specifically offered it as a ”betrothal gift”—tsumadohi no mono.
For her part, Hatahi seems a bit overwhelmed. She told him that it was an “awesome thing” that he would come to her, rather than her coming to him, and she asked that he return back home so she could do it properly. He did, and, sure enough, she made the trip back.
Of course, as usual, the Kojiki adds a song that Wakatake sang for her.
These two stories seem at odds, and of the two, I’m more inclined to go with the Nihon Shoki version, the one with the stolen crown and more murder. As we’ll see, it feels out of character for Wakatake to have just forgiven the Ohoagatanushi just because he offered up a dog as payment.
You may recall that even before the courtship of Kusaka no Hatahi, Wakatake had a reputation for cruelty. It was somewhat glanced over, but when we originally covered the courtship story, about how then Prince Ohohatsuse Wakatake had requested that his brother, Anaho Ohokimi, aka Ankou Tennou, secure for him the hand of Kusaka no Hatahi, he first asked for the hand of his cousin, one of the daughters of Midzuha Wake, aka Hanzei Tennou. He had been rejected, however, because he was prone to violence—a definite trend in the stories. Because of this violent temperament, the princess did not feel she would be appreciated. Of course, this isn’t what she told him—she waived off the betrothal by claiming that it was really about her—that she was not nearly clever or witty enough. It was after this that Wakatake instead asked for the hand of Hatahi hime, instead.
So from early on we can see that he had a penchant for cruel and violent behavior.
Now speaking of the courtship of Kusaka no Hatahi, the Nihon Shoki has a bit of a Chekov’s gun moment in regards to that crown that Hatahi’s brother Ohokusaka had offered up and which Ne no Omi had absconded with. In 470, over a decade and change from that entire incident, Ne no Omi—the crown thief—was appointed to host a banquet for a delegationfrom Kure—the general term in the Chronicles for any of the various dynasties in modern-day China, using the characters for the Wu dynasty. We’ll touch more on these embassies later.
This banquet was held at Takanukahara in Isonokami—which was a stronghold of the powerful Mononobe clan.
Now a toneri—one of the palace attendants, was sent to observe the proceedings, and he reported back that Ne no Omi in particular had worn a headdress that was extremely noble and lovely, and he wore it when receiving the men of Kure. Hearing about this, the sovereign sent for all of the Omi and Muraji—in other words the high ranking elites—who had been in attendance, and he asked them to all wear the clothing they wore to the banquet.
As they gathered at court in their finest, the Queen, Kusaka no Hatahi Hime, saw the headdress that Ne no Omi was wearing and wept, as she recognized it as the headdress of her brother, Ohokusaka. These headdresses, based on what we’ve found in various tombs, were all quite different, made, one assumes, specifically for a given person. So it would be very odd to have two that look exactly the same.
Perhaps Ne no Omi figured nobody would recognize it—it had been more than a decade since he stole it, after all. But when pressed about it, he eventually confessed to what he had done.
And of course, it wasn’t just that he had stolen a fancy hat. He had sown the seeds that led to the death of Ohokusaka and, eventually, Anaho. Of course, Wakatake had then taken care of the rest of the family but, well, details.
Anyway, Wakatake declared that death wasn’t enough for Ne no Omi. He first off stripped Ne no Omi of his rank, and declared that his children, his descendants, and all of his 80 connections—by which I assume was meant any member of his household, blood relatives or no—would be prevented from attaining high court office. Specifically we are told that they would “have no concern with the order of Ministers of the State”. Only then did he order Ne on Omi to be executed, however, he ran away before the order could be carried out. He didn’t get far, however. He built a rice-castle, much as Saho Biko had done, and defended it, but he was eventually slain by the government forces.
Quick aside—I am wondering if there is ever an instance where the rice castle tactic works? So far in the Chronicles we are 0-2, but one assumes that it must have been at least nominally useful or why would people keep doing it?
With Ne no Omi dead, the court rounded up all of his descendants. Half of them were given to the Ohokusaka Be and allotted to the Queen’s service. The others were given to the Agatanushi of Chinu and made into sack-bearers—a job with little description, but I’m not sure it is exactly needed, as I figure it is likely safe to assume from the name that this wasn’t exactly a prestigious posting.
On top of all of this, they sought out a descendant of Hikaka no Kishi of Naniwa. If you go back to the story of Ohokusaka in Episode 57, we talked about how this loyal servant of Prince Ohokusaka had chosen to join his lord in death, rather than live without him. Now, as they were posthumously rehabilitating the Prince and his memory, they chose one of Hikaka’s descendants to lead the Ohokusaka Be, becoming the Ohokusaka Be no Kishi.
Not all of Ne no Omi’s family were willing to take this lying down, including his son, Wone no Omi, whose name is basically “Little Ne no Omi”, or in other words, Ne Junior. Little Ne no Omi was reported to have said that the sovereign’s castle was weak while his own father’s castle was strong. This seems an oddly treasonous thing to say, but it was enough justification for Wakatake to investigate the late Ne no Omi’s house and, sure enough, he found the evidence he needed and, well, I think we know how that likely went.
There is a final note that tells us this punishment wasn’t forever, apparently, as some of Ne no Omi’s descendants apparently founded a new house, the Sakamoto no Omi.
Returning to the question of the Queen, Kusaka no Hatahi Hime, while she is noted as the Queen, she never had any children—or none that the Chronicles acknowledge. In fact, the eventual Crown Prince, Prince Shiraga, had a different mother who is only peripherally mentioned -- her name is Kara Hime, and we actually touched on her back in Episode 57, too. Her father, Tsubura no Ohomi of Katsuraki, had provided shelter for the young Prince Mayowa and, possibly, to Prince Kurobiko as well, when they were both on the run from Wakatake. Tsubura had offered his daughter, Kara Hime, as well as various granaries, in the hope that Wakatake would spare him for sheltering the two princes.
Alas, it was not to be, and Tsubura no Omi perished and Wakatake took his daughter and the various granaries anyway.
But in the end, Kara Hime ended up giving Wakatake an heir, despite the fact that she did not appear to be of particularly royal blood—and therefore not a queen. She is from Katsuraki, though, and that may count for something. After all, that was where Sotsuhiko and his daughter, Iwa no Hime, had hailed from, so the area does have a history with the Royal Family.
Kara Hime’s son, Prince Shiraga, was not Wakatake’s only offspring, however. There was also Prince Iwaki—sometimes read as Iwashiro—and Hoshikawa no Wakamiya, who are both said to be sons of Kibi no Waka Hime, another of Wakatake’s wives.
Waka Hime, for her part, came to the royal line in a bit of a round-about way. You see, when Wakatake came to know of her there was one problem: She was already married. In fact, Wakatake learned about Waka Hime through her husband, Tasa, of the Kibi no Kamitsumichi no Omi—the noble house of Upper Kibi, in the area of modern Okayama prefecture. The two of them, Tasa no Omi and Waka Hime, had been married for some time and had two children, known only as Yekimi and Otokimi, the Elder and Younger lords.
Despite the fact that she was married with children, Wakatake wanted her to himself. And so he called on Tasa no Omi and he appointed him as governor of Nimna, on the Korean Peninsula, and he was to depart at once—without his wife and children, it would seem. And so he made the long and dangerous trip, but shortly after he arrived he received word that, in his absence, Wakatake had taken Waka Hime to be his own wife in the court. Tasa, realizing this was all just a ploy to get him away, must have known that if he went back then he’d have to confront what Wakatake had done, and in all likelihood that would not go well for him. No doubt resentful, but also realizing that Wakatake could always decide that he needed a more permanent option to get him out of the way, Tasa no Omi instead sought out the Silla court, who at that time was also cold on Yamato, and refusing to send tribute, ostensibly because of how Wakatake had treated their envoy to his father’s funeral, though the Silla annals also mention a fair number of continuous raids by Wa forces, so, there was that as well.
Now Wakatake seems to have been unaware that Tasa no Omi had gotten wind of the fact that Wakatake had taken his wife, or else he didn’t care. Some time passed; we know that they had at least one son together. If Wakatake was thinking of Tasa no Omi at all, there is no indication. In fact, he was instead preoccupied with other matters. Primarily—and apparently coincidentally—with the fact that Silla was not sending the expected protection money—I mean tribute—as they had apparently done previously. And so he selected Otogimi, one of Tasa’s sons, as well Akawo of the Ama no Atahe—that is the fishermen—of Kibi to lead an expedition and chastise them, like the warbands of old.
At the same time there were several skilled artisans named Kwan’in and Chiri of the Western Aya—which is to say they were of Baekje descent. They asked to be allowed to tag along with the mission so that they could go to Baekje and bring back more skilled artisans.
And so they all went together, along with a number of soldiers, and headed across the straits to the peninsula. Once there, they headed for Baekje, where Kwan’in and Chiri went about recruiting artisans. Meanwhile, Otokimi was supposed to head over to Silla, but as he entered Baekje he encountered a local spirit in the guise of an old woman. When he asked her if Silla was far or near she told him it was another day’s journey. And apparently, after what was undoubtedly an arduous, multi-day or even multi-week journey to get to the peninsula, another day was just a day too many. And so he decided to heck with it, and he gathered up the newly recruited artisans, who would be added into the Imaki family, and turned the army around.
Otogimi did tarry for a while, however. Perhaps he was thinking of how it would look back home that he failed to actually do his job of getting Silla to send tribute, and so, rather than taking another day to march into Silla he spent several months in Baekje, ostensibly waiting for favorable weather so that they could ensure a safe trip back to Yamato. While he was waiting there, a messenger came from his father, Tasa no Omi, from Silla. Tasa told Otokimi of how he had learned about how the sovereign had treated him—how he sent him away so that Wakatake could marry his wife, Otokimi’s mother, and they even had a son, Prince Iwaki. Tasa no Omi then suggested that together they could get revenge and isolate Yamato from their allies. Otokimi could go back to Baekje and convince them to break off relations with Yamato, while Tasa no Omi would go back to Nimna and use his nominal authority there to likewise break off relations. As Silla had already broken communications, Yamato would be entirely cut off from the peninsula—and thus from the entire continent and the precious prestige goods that it provided.
Otokimi seems to have considered this plan, but his own wife, Kusu Hime, was apparently quite loyal to Yamato. When she heard of the plot to cut off Wakatake and the Yamato court, she could not stand by. She secretly killed her own husband, Otokimi, and then she stayed on Ohoshima with Akawo of the Ama no Atahe and the Imaki artisans.
Eventually, Wakatake began to wonder what had happened to the expedition, since there hadn’t been any word on it in a while, and he sent Hitaka no Kishi Katashiwa and Ko Anjeon to try to find out what was going on. They eventually found Kusu Hime and Ama no Atahe no Akawo at Ohoshima and found out what had happened. After they reported back to the sovereign, he gathered up all those newly-recruited artisans, the Imaki, and settled them in Yamato, and eventually in other locations as well.
Now this whole episode is called into question by Aston. He suggests that this may have been taken from another reign entirely. It certainly shows some internal inconsistencies, the least of which is the fact that Nihon Shoki acknowledges a much simpler story, in which Tasa no Omi was straight up killed so that Wakatake could marry Waka Hime. Later, Otokimi went to Baekje and came back with workmen, tailors, and fleshers—or perhaps a better term would be “butcher”, as in someone to help carve up a carcass after a hunt.
Other inconsistencies abound—such as the question of why Tasa no Omi would depart without taking his wife, despite the fact that he was being posted as governor for an extended period of time. Meanwhile, Kusu Hime is supposed to have just tagged along with her husband on a military excursion to punish Silla? Granted, it may have been that Kusu Hime was also armored up and ready to fight, but still, it doesn’t quite explain why Waka Hime would have stayed home.
And the fact that Otokimi is really just a generic name would seem to make it easy to confuse multiple stories about them.
Finally, though, there is the connection of Tasa no Omi, his son Otokimi, and even Akawo, with the land of Kibi. Kibi was likely still largely independent around this time—they were certainly still quite powerful. And so I would not be at all surprised if there was a concerted effort by Kibi to change the dynamics with the continent. After all, if they were able to capture the trade routes from Yamato somehow, perhaps they would have been able to take Yamato’s place as the chief hegemon within the archipelago. And so perhaps there were some political maneuverings to try to isolate Yamato which are remembered in this particular reference.
Reading through it all, it can be a mess. A few things that I take away, however, is that, (1) Waka Hime—and thus her children, Prince Iwaki and Prince Hoshikawa no Wakamiya—would seem to have ties to Kibi, one of Yamato’s likely rivals on the archipelago for prominence and prestige, and (2) we are getting one more story about Wakatake’s personality and motivation. Or at least we are getting what people believed to be Wakatake’s personality and motivation, which may or may not do justice to the individual, but does help us understand how he was viewed later. Mostly the takeaway seems to be that has little problem doing whatever it takes to get what he wants. Does he want the throne? Sure, he’ll kill his siblings and cousins to get it. What about that beautiful woman? If he needs to get her current husband out of the picture, so be it. Whether these are accurate characterizations or not, it is clear that there were plenty who did not see Wakatake’s character in a positive light.
This makes me think of another courtship story, this one from the Kojiki, and apparently from the early part of the Prince’s life, though the Kojiki is not nearly as detailed as the Nihon Shoki in keeping up with any kind of chronological consistency. As the story goes, Wakatake was walking along the Miwa River when he saw a beautiful maiden on the bank washing clothes. When he asked her name she told him it was Akawiko of the Hiketa-be.
Immediately, Wakatake told her not to take any suitors, for when he returned from his travels he would summon her to the palace. And so saying, he departed.
And here’s where things get messed up. You see, by the time he got back to the palace Wakatake’s fickle memory had completely forgotten Hiketa Be no Akawiko. He went on with life as normal, not thinking a single thing of it. Years went by—the Kojiki says 80 years, but as we’ve seen, that pretty much just means “some number of decades”—and Akawiko heard nothing back. Still, she remained faithful.
Eventually, though, Akawiko found herself an old woman, having given up who knows how many chances. So despite her respect for the throne she grew melancholy, and decided that she had to confront Wakatake and at the very least force him to acknowledge her faithfulness. And so she had hundreds of tables laden with betrothal gifts made up and she took them and presented them to the court.
Of course, Wakatake had no idea what was going on, and demanded an explanation. But as Akawiko laid out her story, explaining all that she remembered, Wakatake was reminded of what had happened. He admitted that he had forgotten about his promise, and then he praised her faithfulness while, at the same time, pitying that she had given up the prime of her life. And then he said that, despite his desire to wed, apparently it could not be, because with her—or perhaps his—advanced age, there was not way to consummate the marriage. He then praised her with two poems, and she returned the favor on the spot. And then he rewarded her in other ways—though the Kojiki doesn’t exactly say how.
Of course, this story—typical of the narrative in the Kojiki—feels much more like a parable about faithfulness than any kind of historical account, and probably could have been placed just about anywhere, but, again, I suspect it conforms with what the people of the 8th century thought about Wakatake in general.
Perhaps more important than the question of some kind of authenticity in the narrative is more the set of four poems or songs that went along with it. Of course, where these poems actually originate is unclear—it is possible that they are actually the crux of what was remembered about this story, and the rest of the details were pulled from the story around them. It is also possible that they come from somewhere else, but were added in later, perhaps affecting some of the story elements. In either case, they seem to fit naturally here, as they are related not just to the story, but to each other:
First there are the two from Wakatake, which Phillipi translates as follows:
Under the oaks / the sacred oaks / of Mimoro // How awesome-- / O oak-forest maiden
And then:
The field of Hiketa / where young chestnut trees grow: / When she was young // Would that I had slept with her-- / But now she is old.
The first of these, talking about the Sacred Oaks of Mimoro—aka the trees of the Sacred Mt. Miwa—could be religious, though one commenter, Tsuchihashi (????), suggested that it was more about taunting the poor Akawiwo for being unapproachable—which hardly seems fair given everything in the story, but there you go.
Akawiko is recorded as responding with two poems of her own, each linked in some way to Wakatake’s own. First:
At Mimoro / They built a jeweled fence, / but left part unfinished: // On whom will you rely, / Courtier of the deity?
And then:
In the bay of Kusaka / Grow lotuses of the bay, / Flowering lotuses: // Ah those in their prime-- / How I envy them
Here, the first poem and its response both mention Mimoro—aka Mt. Miwa. And then the second poem pairs the Fields of Hiketa—after all, Akawiko was said to be of the Hiketa Be—with the Bay of Kusaka, which would have been taken as a reference to Wakatake’s Queen, Kusaka no Hatahi.
Besides the references in each poem to the other, there is also, here, a bit of synchronicity in the structure of the poems, as well, since in the third line of each one they repeat an element of the preceding line. That all four poems should follow that same pattern and that they should be linked to one another certainly suggests that they were known as a set, at the very least, regardless of whether the story around them was originally part of their lore or added in at a later date.
Once again it is also useful to remember that poetry and song were an important part of Japan’s linguistic and courtly traditions, going back to well before these Chronicles were compiled. This tradition continues even today, though perhaps not quite to the same extent.
Now Wakatake’s carelessness with women is hardly unique to the Kojiki, and the Nihon Shoki, while not mentioning at all the faithfulness of Akawiko, nonetheless brings up another woman, who was treated by the sovereign in a less than stellar manner.
Her name was Woguna Kimi, and she was an Uneme in the court of Wakatake. The Uneme, you may recall, were maidens sent by certain families to attend upon the needs of the court. Unlike the queen and various consorts, they had a lower position in the court, but were still members of the nobility in that they had access that was not allotted to common women. I imagine that having a daughter as an Uneme afforded a family a certain amount of political leverage, as she would likely know what was going on in some of the more intimate areas of court, similar to the role of the male Toneri.
Now, while they were not officially considered wives of the sovereign, Uneme were in a particular position, and if they happened to catch the sovereign’s eye, who knows what might develop. So it was that we are told that Woguna Kimi was “given one night”, a bit of euphemistic phrasing that, given the power dyamics, we would consider rape in a modern context. At the very least there was likely little say that Woguna Kimi had in the affair, something that the Chronicles gloss over.
And, of course, soon after this encounter, as will happen, Woguna Kimi became pregnant and she gave birth to a girl, known to us as Kasuga no Ohoriatsume. Now it does seem that Wakatake had his suspicions about all of this, but nonetheless he refused to acknowledge the child nor raise up the rank of her mother. I guess the best that can be said is that neither did he send them away, and so the young girl was brought up in the palace, with her mother.
One day, when the little girl was able to walk, Wakatake was in the Great Hall, talking with one of his more prominent court nobles, Mononobe no Me. We haven’t discussed him, yet, but Mononobe no Me shows up several times in the Chronicles. Anyway, as they were talking, the young daughter of Woguna Kimi walked across the courtyard, and Mononobe no Me asked Wakatake who the father was.
Now this made Wakatake curious. Why would Monoboe no Me ask such a question? Well, according to Me, he was curious because she walked in a way that made her resemble the sovereign, Wakatake himself.
I must say that I hardly would imagine that a young child that was just learning to walk would be so similar to someone that one would call out the parentage at a glance. Rather, I suspect that word had been traveling around the court for some time. Very little in the court would have been truly private, as people were likely stacked on top of each other, and even the sovereign’s private quarters would have been regularly cleaned and organized by lower ranking servants, at least if later court life is any indication. As such, it was likely not a secret that they had slept together, nor that her child had been born only nine months after—people could do the math. Furthermore, it would probably have been known if she had slept with anyone else.
Still, the sovereign balked at such an implication—and here we get into an area that Aston, with his late `19th century upbringing, considered too scandalous for the hoi-polloi, and so he instead transcribed it into Latin.
Wakatake protested: “It seemed unusual that after only sleeping together one night that she should conceive and give birth to a daughter. As a result, I’ve suspected that something else was up, and that she could not be my daughter.”
“Ahh,” said Mononobe no Me, “But on that one night, how many times did you actually have sex.”
“Seven times,” said Wakatake—who was either remarkably virile or at least wanted to seem such.
At that point Mononobe no Me chastised his lord, asking why, if she had been nothing but pure in body and mind, why would Wakatake not trust her and her claims of chastity? “After all,” he added, “I have heard that women who become pregnant can easily conceive even by the touch of the undergarments—and Much more, when spend the whole night.”
Now despite the seemingly juvenile tone of this discussion—women getting pregnant just because of something touching their undergarments is the kind of conspiracy theory I’d expect to hear in a high school locker room or an abstinence-only sex education class—Wakatake was brought around to the idea that this girl was his, and he came to accept that fact. As such, he made the younger girl, Kasuaga, a royal princess—hence the title, Ohoiratsume. And her mother, Woguna Kimi was raised up from an Uneme of the court to an official concubine.
Again we have some rather familiar themes here. First is just the apparent disbelief by royalty that, yes, a woman can get pregnant even if you only slept with her for one night. Of course, assuming ignorance is the generous interpretation: In a time where parentage mattered a great deal it wasn’t just about being a deadbeat dad—in fact, I wonder how much a noble father had to do with raising children until they were of a certain age, and even then, only if the father felt it was important. No, there were also issues of rank and position. I doubt that Woguna Kimi had a warm reception being raised up and given quarters in the women’s area of the palace—someone who had previously been a servant or attendant was now being treated as a full-blown consort. Of course the Chronicles don’t get into this, as they are focused more on the actions of the sovereign.
A theme here seems to be the degree to which Wakatake’s less pleasant moods and decisions would be influenced by those closest to him. We’ll see this time and again, and much of Wakatake’s story appears to be more about him making, well, mistakes in the heat of the moment and, through the counsel of his close family and senior advisors—or simply a particularly moving entreaty by one of his subjects—he would change his mind and reverse his decision. That said, his first impulse is often not what one would expect of a kind and beneficent ruler, and you have to wonder how many stories never made it into print where there wasn’t a calming factor to assuage his more rash decisions.
At the same time, I find this all extremely human, and of the sovereigns we’ve discussed up to this point, Ohohatsuse Wakatake seems like the most human of all of them. He is still depicted as larger than life, but in his decisions, his rage, his ambition, and his interactions it feels like we have a more developed character than just about anyone else, which also lends some additional credence to the idea that this may not all be bluff and bravado from the Chroniclers, which goes along with the rest of the evidence that this sovereign did exist, even if some of the stories attributed to his reign are questionable, and this is likely in about the right timeframe. In fact, it is generally assumed we can take events from this reign at more or less face value when it comes to their dates, at least if it happened after about 461 or so.
But this episode is already a bit on the long side, so I think this is probably a good place to stop. We’ve gotten a picture of Wakatake and his interactions—at least his interactions with the various women in his life. Next episode we’ll talk about more stories of Wakatake’s character, and also about some of the events and dealings between Yamato and the mainland, including interactions with the various courts of what is today “China”, which were all lumped under the designation of “Wu”—or “Kure” in the Japanese reading. But we’ll deal with that in the future.
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