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.

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.

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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.

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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.

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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

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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