Gishiwajinden Tour: Tsushima

June 1, 2024 Joshua Badgley

A view looking out into Sobuaso Bay from Mt. Eboshi. It emphasizes the mountainous terrain and the main bays, islands, and inlets that both made this a poor island for farming and yet a tremendous home for pirates, smugglers, and others who made their living from the sea. Photo by author.

Continuing on our journey along the path mentioned in the Gishiwajinden - the Wa section of the Weizhi. We are now in Tsushima. A border island between the archipelago and the peninsula.

This is the first island attacked by the Mongol invasion, and the last one passed by Japanese raiders headed to the Korean peninsula. It was visited by missions from Tang China, the Joseon Kingdom, and others. It is a rocky, mountainous place, wholly unsuited to the style of agriculture brought over in the Yayoi period, and yet it continued to support a population based on the sea—whether fishing or trading or… other activities.

In the flora and fauna you can see bits of the peninsula, from the wild leopard cat to species of birds and more. Ancient assemblages of artifacts similarly show a duality about them, demonstrating its position in between various cultural spheres.

Today it is perhaps not on everyone’s bucket list, but it is certainly a short stop from Korea, or just a short flight from Kyushu, and it has its own local charms.

Yamaneko Welcome Committee

Plush yamaneko, and other Tsushima critters, welcome visitors at the single luggage carousel in the Tsushima airport.

Torii

Red torii at a small shrine near the trailhead for the Niso Kofungun walk.

Niso Kofun #4

Kofun #4 is one of the first you find following along the shore. It isn't as obvious as some of the others, but its location would have been prominent and visible to those at sea.

Niso Kofun #5

This one has a very distinctive "round-keyhole" shape, though it is much less regular and smaller than the ones in Nara, almost as though it was a copy of the idea. Halfway up, there is a secondary burial of some kind. I have to wonder how much contact they had with Yamato or if they were simply mimicking what they understood to be Yamato fashion.

Stone coffin

The stone coffins on Tsushima are largely created from slabs of local stone.

Niso Kofun #3

Of the five kofun in the group, this was the only one with an obvious "chamber". It is perhaps a round, mounded kofun. The others, even larger, don't seem to show this same kind of structure, from what we could tell.

Bronze mirror

Bronze mirror, indicative of the trade in high end elite goods that have long passed through the island. From the Tsushima Museum.

Kofunakoshi

The inlet on the western side of Kofunakoshi, the small boat portage. Here there was a short enough distance between one side of Tsushima and the other that boats would stop and unload people and cargo and have it carried over to another boat on the other side. This is believed to be where the 9th century Tang dynasty missions did that very thing.

Bairinji Temple

Claiming to be the oldest temple (or at least oldest Buddhist worship site) in Japan, the buildings are relatively new but it claims a history back to 538 CE

Watazumi Shrine

Watazumi Shrine, in Tsushima. This is a shrine to the god of the ocean and to Toyotama hime.

Three Pillar Torii

At Watazumi Shrine there is a three pillared torii. An unusual, but not unique, shape found at some shrines.

Torii of Watazumi Shrine

Fitting, for a shrine to a sea god, the torii of the shrine extend out into the bay. It was these torii that were repaired with help from fans of "Ghosts of Tsushima".

Wako Pirates

Illustration of wako ("Japanese" pirates) from a Ming dynasty scroll. "Wa" pirates became such a trope that just about any pirate group that wasn't clearly known to groups on the mainland became "wako" (or wokou).

Aso Bay

A look at one of the many inlets around Aso Bay. This large bay, roughly in the middle of Tsushima, has numerous inlets where people still make their living off the sea.

Chinese coins

Coins from the continent, from the 12th to 14th centuries. Acquiring goods from the continent--however they were procured--has long been a part of Tsushima's history.

Kaneishi Castle

The reconstructed yagura of the main gate of Kaneishi castle, built up from the fortified manor of the Sou clan. Today, only the castle gardens and stone walls remain.

Banshoin

The gates to Banshoin temple. This temple is specifically mentioned in accounts of the Joseon dynasty missions.

Faked Joseon Seal (Replica)

A replica of the faked Joseon seal made by the Sou clan. Photo by author at the Tsushima museum. Original in the Kyushu National Museum.

Fake Missive from King Seongjo

A replica of the fake document from King Seongjo. The Sou clan would rewrite or outright fake documents in their attempt to control the narrative between Korea and Japan. Photo by author. Original in the Kyushu National Museum.

Court Layout

Document demonstrating the layout of the Ohiroma, the great audience room, at Edo Castle during the Yanagawa incident, when charges were levied against the Sou for faking documents.

Kokubunji Gate

The gates of Kokubunji, built in 1807. The 1811 Joseon mission would have passed here as they were put up in quarters built on the site of the temple.

Izuhara river

The river running through Izuhara seems to have not changed much since the Edo period. Since Izuhara is on the shore, the flow of the river closer to the bay seems to be affected by the tides.

Izuhara stone walls

Some of the old stone walls are still there in Izuhara. Larger stones are often indicative of a wealthier estate that could afford them.

Edo Period Firebreak

Stone walls like this remain across the town, originally erected to stop fires from easily spreading from building to building. Today you can still see them, despite the modern buildings that have sprung up.

Izuhara Stone Walls

In some places the walls are not just intact, but included into the modern construction.

Izuhara Nakamura

Many of the old walls and structures, including the old gates, can still be found in the Nakamura district, which is where many of the samurai lived during the Edo period.

Sunrise

Early morning glow as the sun begins to rise over the bay at Izuhara. Across the water is the ferry terminal, where boats regularly take people to Hakata or Iki.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is Gishiwajinden Tour Stop 2: Tsushima.
As I mentioned last episode, we are taking a break right now from the workings of the Chronicles while I prep a bit more research on the Taika reform. As we do so, I’m taking you through a recent trip we took trying to follow the ancient sea routes from Gaya, on the Korean peninsula, across the islands to Na, in modern Fukuoka. This may have been first described in the Wei Chronicles, the Weizhi, but it was the pathway that many visitors to the archipelago took up through the famous Mongol invasion, and even later missions from the Joseon kingdom on the Korean peninsula.
Last episode, we talked about our start at Gimhae and Pusan. Gimhae is the old Geumgwan Gaya, as far as we can tell, and had close connections with the archipelago as evidenced by the common items of material culture found on both sides of the strait. From the coast of the Korean peninsula, ships would then sail for the island of Tsushima, the nearest of the islands between the mainland and the Japanese archipelago. Today, ships still sail from Korea to Japan, but most leave out of the port of Pusan. This includes regular cruise ships as well as specialty cruises and ferries. For those who want, there are some popular trips between Pusan and Fukuoka or Pusan all the way to Osaka, through the Seto Inland Sea. For us, however, we were looking at the shortest ferries, those to Tsushima.
Tsushima is a large island situated in the strait between Korea and Japan. Technically it is actually three islands, as channels were dug in the 20th century to allow ships stationed around the island to quickly pass through rather than going all the way around. Tsushima is the closest Japanese island to Korea, actually closer to Korea than to the rest of Japan, which makes it a fun day trip from Pusan, so they get a lot of Korean tourists.
There are two ports that the ferries run to, generally speaking. In the north is Hitakatsu, which is mainly a port for people coming from Korea. Further south is Izuhara, which is the old castle town, where the So family once administered the island and relations with the continent, and where you can get a ferry to Iki from.
Unfortunately for us, as I mentioned last episode, it turned out that the kami of the waves thwarted us in our plans to sail from Busan to Tsushima. And so we ended up flying into Tsushima Airport, instead, which actually required us to take an international flight over to Fukuoka and then a short domestic flight back to Tsushima. On the one hand, this was a lot of time out of our way, but on the other they were nice short flights with a break in the Fukuoka airport, which has great restaurants in the domestic terminal. Furthermore, since we came into the centrally-located Tsushima airport, this route also gave us relatively easy access to local rental car agencies, which was helpful because although there is a bus service that runs up and down the islands, if you really want to explore Tsushima it is best to have a car. Note that also means having an International Driver’s Permit, at least in most cases, unless you have a valid Japanese drivers’ license.
As for why you need a car: There is a bus route from north to south, but for many of the places you will likely want to go will take a bit more to get to. If you speak Japanese and have a phone there are several taxi companies you can call, and you can try a taxi app, though make sure it works on the island. In the end, having a car is extremely convenient.
Tsushima is also quite mountainous, without a lot of flat land, and there are numerous bays and inlets in which ships can hide and shelter from bad weather—or worse.
Tsushima is renowned for its natural beauty. Flora and fauna are shared with continent and the archipelago. There are local subspecies of otter and deer found on the islands, but also the Yamaneko, or Mountain Cat, a subspecies of the Eurasian leopard cat that is only found in Japan on Tsushima and on Iriomote, in the southern Okinawan island chain. They also have their own breed of horse, as well, related to the ancient horses bred there since at least the 8th century.
Tsushima is clearly an important part of Japan, and the early stories of the creation of the archipelago often include Tsushima as one of the original eight islands mentioned in the creation story. That suggests it has been considered an ancient part of the archipelago since at least the 8th century, and likely much earlier.
Humans likely first came to Tsushima on their crossing from what is now the Korean peninsula over to the archipelago at the end of the Pleistocene era, when sea levels were much lower. However, we don’t have clear evidence of humans until later, and this is likely because the terrain made it difficult to cultivate the land, and most of the activity was focused on making a livelihood out of the ocean.
Currently we have clear evidence of humans on the island from at least the Jomon period, including remnants such as shellmounds, though we don’t have any clear sign of habitation. It is possible that fishermen and others came to the islands during certain seasons, setting up fish camps and the like, and then departed, but it could be that there were more permanent settlements and we just haven’t found them yet. Most of the Jomon sites appear to be on the northern part of Tsushima, what is now the “upper island”, though, again, lack of evidence should not be taken as evidence of lack, and there could be more we just haven’t found yet. After all, sites like Izuhara, which was quite populated in later periods, may have disturbed any underlying layers that we could otherwise hope to find there, and perhaps we will one day stumble on something more that will change our understanding.
Things change a bit in the Yayoi period, and we see clear evidence of settlements, pit buildings, graves, and grave goods at various sites up through the Kofun period. Unsurprisingly, the assembly of goods found include both archipelagic and continental material, which fits with its position in between the various cultures.
Understandably, most of these archeological sites were investigated and then either covered back up for preservation or replaced by construction – so in many cases there isn’t anything to see now, besides the artifacts in the museum. But some of the earliest clear evidence that you can still go see today are the several kofun, ancient tumuli, scattered around the island at different points.
Most of the kofun on the island appear to be similar, and overall fairly small. These are not the most impressive kofun—not the giant mounds found in places like Nara, Osaka, Kibi, or even up in Izumo. However, to students of the era they are still very cool to see as monuments of that ancient time. One example of this that we visited was the Niso-kofungun, or the Niso Kofun group. The Niso Kofungun is not like what you might expect in the Nara basin or the Osaka area. First, you drive out to the end of the road in a small fishing community, and from there go on a small hike to see the kofun themselves. Today the mounds are mostly hidden from view by trees, though there are signs put up to mark each one. Some of them have a more well defined shape than others, too, with at least one demonstrating what appears to be a long, thin keyhole shape, taking advantage of the local terrain. Most of these were pit style burials, where slabs of local sedimentary rock were used to form rectangular coffins in the ground, in which the individuals were presumably buried. On one of the keyhole shaped mounds there was also what appears to be a secondary burial at the neck of the keyhole, where the round and trapezoidal sections meet. However, we don’t know who or even what was buried there in some instances, as most of the bones are no longer extant.
Besides the distinctively keyhole shaped tomb, two more kofun in the Niso group caught my attention. One, which is thought to have been a round tomb, had what appeared to be a small stone chamber, perhaps the last of the kofun in this group to be built, as that is generally a feature of later period kofun. There was also one that was higher up on the hill, which may also have been a keyhole shaped tomb. That one struck me, as it would likely have been particularly visible from sea before the current overgrown forest appeared.
There are also plenty of other kofun to go searching for, though some might be a little more impressive than others. In the next episode, when we talk about the island of Iki, we’ll explore that ancient kingdom’s much larger collection of kofun.
After the mention of Tsushima in the Weizhi in the third century, there is a later story, from about the 6th century, involving Tsushima in the transmission of Buddhism. This story isn’t in the Nihon Shoki and was actually written down much later, so take that as you will. According to this account, the Baekje envoys who transmitted the first Buddha image to Japan stopped for a while on Tsushima before proceeding on to the Yamato court. While they were there, the monks who were looking after the image built a small building in which to conduct their daily rituals, effectively building the first Buddhist place of worship in the archipelago. A temple was later said to have been built on that spot, and in the mid-15th century it was named Bairinji. While the narrative is highly suspect, there is some evidence that the area around Bairinji was indeed an important point on the island. Prior to the digging of the two channels to connect the east and west coasts, the area near Bairinji, known as Kofunakoshi, or the small boat portage, was the narrowest part of Tsushima, right near the middle, where Aso Bay and Mitsuura Bay almost meet. We know that at least in the 9th century this is where envoys would disembark from one ship which had brought them from the archipelago, and embark onto another which would take them to the continent, and vice versa. Likewise, their goods would be carried across the narrow strip of land. This was like a natural barrier and an ideal location for an official checkpoint, and in later years Bairinji temple served as this administrative point, providing the necessary paperwork for crews coming to and from Japan, including the various Joseon dynasty missions in the Edo period.
Why this system of portage and changing ships, instead of just sailing around? Such a system was practical for several reasons. For one, it was relatively easy to find Tsushima from the mainland. Experienced ships could sail there, transfer cargo to ships experienced with the archipelago and the Seto Inland Sea, and then return swiftly to Korea. Furthermore, this system gave Yamato and Japan forewarning, particularly of incoming diplomatic missions. No chance mistaking ships for an invasion or pirates of some kind, as word could be sent ahead and everything could be arranged in preparation for the incoming mission. These are details that are often frustratingly left out of many of the early accounts, but there must have been some logistics to take care of things like this.
Whether or not Bairinji’s history actually goes back to 538, it does have claim to some rather ancient artifacts, including a 9th century Buddha image from the Unified, or Later, Silla period as well as 579 chapters of the Dai Hannya Haramitta Kyo, or the Greater Perfection of Wisdom Sutra, from a 14th century copy. These were actually stolen from the temple in 2014, but later recovered. Other statues were stolen two years previously from other temples on Tsushima, which speaks to some of the tensions that still exist between Korea and Japan. Claims were made that the statues had originally been stolen by Japanese pirates, or wakou, from Korea and brought to Japan, so the modern-day thieves were simply righting an old wrong. However, Korean courts eventually found that the items should be returned to Japan, though there were those who disagreed with the ruling. This is an example of the ongoing tensions that can sometimes make study of inter-strait history a bit complex.
More concrete than the possible location of a theoretical early worship structure are the earthworks of Kaneda fortress. This is a mid-7th century fort, created by Yamato to defend itself from a presumed continental invasion. We even have mention of it in the Nihon Shoki. It appears to have been repaired in the late 7th century, and then continued to be used until some time in the 8th century, when it was abandoned, seeing as how the invasion had never materialized, and no doubt maintaining the defenses on top of a mountain all the way out on Tsushima would have been a costly endeavor.
Over time the name “Kaneda” was forgotten, though the stone and earthworks on the mountain gave the site the name “Shiroyama”, or Castle Mountain, at least by the 15th century. In the Edo period, scholars set out trying to find the Kaneda fortress mentioned in the Nihon Shoki, and at one point identified this with an area known as Kanedahara, or Kaneda Fields, in the modern Sasu district, on the southwest coast of Tsushima. However, a scholar named Suyama Don’ou identified the current mountaintop site, which has generally been accepted as accurate. The earthworks do appear to show the kind of Baekje-style fortifications that Yamato built at this time, which took advantage of the natural features of the terrain. These fortresses, or castles, were more like fortified positions—long walls that could give troops a secure place to entrench themselves. They would not have had the impressive donjon, or tenshukaku, that is the most notable feature of of later Japanese and even European castles.
Most of the Baekje style castles in Japan are primarily earthworks—for example the Demon’s castle in modern Okayama. Kaneda is unique, though, with about 2.8 kilometers of stone walls, most of which are reportedly in quite good condition. There were three main gates and remains of various buildings have been determined from post-holes uncovered on the site. There is a name for the top of the mountain, Houtateguma, suggesting that there may have once been some kind of beacon tower placed there with a light that could presumably be used to signal to others, but no remains have been found.
The defensive nature of the position is also attested to in modern times. During the early 20th century, the Japanese military placed batteries on the fortress, and an auxiliary fort nearby. These constructions damaged some of the ancient walls, but this still demonstrates Tsushima’s place at the edge of Japan and the continent, even into modern times.
For all that it is impressive, I have to say that we regrettably did not make it to the fortress, as it is a hike to see everything, and our time was limited. If you do go, be prepared for some trekking, as this really is a fortress on a mountain, and you need to park and take the Kaneda fortress trail up.

Moving on from the 8th century, we have evidence of Tsushima in written records throughout the next several centuries, but there isn’t a lot clearly remaining on the island from that period—at least not extant buildings. In the records we can see that there were clearly things going on, and quite often it wasn’t great for the island. For instance, there was the Toi Invasion in the 11th century, when pirates—possibly Tungusic speaking Jurchen from the area of Manchuria—invaded without warning, killing and taking people away as slaves. It was horrific, but relatively short-lived, as it seems that the invaders weren’t intent on staying.
Perhaps a more lasting impression was made by the invasions of the Mongols in the 13th century. This is an event that has been hugely impactful on Japan and Japanese history. The first invasion in 1274, the Mongols used their vassal state of Goryeo to build a fleet of ships and attempted to cross the strait to invade Japan. The typical narrative talks about how they came ashore at Hakata Bay, in modern Fukuoka, and the Kamakura government called up soldiers from across the country to their defense. Not only that, but monks and priests prayed for divine intervention to protect Japan. According to the most common narrative, a kamikaze, or divine wind, arose in the form of a typhoon that blew into Hakata Bay and sank much of the Mongol fleet.
That event would have ripple effects throughout Japanese society. On the one hand, the Mongols brought new weapons in the form of explosives, and we see changes in the arms of the samurai as their swords got noticeably beefier, presumably to do better against similarly armored foes. The government also fortified Hakata Bay, which saw another attack in 1281, which similarly failed.
Though neither attempted invasion succeeded, both were extremely costly. Samurai who fought for their country expected to get rewarded afterwards, and not just with high praise. Typically when samurai fought they would be richly rewarded by their lord with gifts taken from the losing side, to include land and property. In the case of the Mongols, however, there was no land or property to give out. This left the Kamakura government in a bit of a pickle, and the discontent fomented by lack of payment is often cited as one of the key contributors to bringing down the Kamakura government and leading to the start of the Muromachi period in the 14th century.
The invasions didn’t just appear at Hakata though. In 1274, after the Mongol fleet first left Goryeo on the Korean Peninsula, they landed first at Tsushima and then Iki, following the traditional trade routes and killing and pillaging as they went. In Tsushima, the Mongol armies arrived in the south, landing at Komoda beach near Sasuura. Lookouts saw them coming and the So clan hastily gathered up a defense, but it was no use. The Mongol army established a beachhead and proceeded to spend the next week securing the island. From there they moved on to Iki, the next island in the chain, and on our journey. Countless men and women were killed or taken prisoner, and when the Mongols retreated after the storm, they brought numerous prisoners back with them.
Although the Mongols had been defeated, they were not finished with their plans to annex Japan into their growing empire. They launched another invasion in 1281, this time with reinforcements drawn from the area of the Yangtze river, where they had defeated the ethnic Han Song dynasty two years prior. Again, they landed at Tsushima, but met fierce resistance—the government had been preparing for this fight ever since the last one. Unfortunately, Tsushima again fell under Mongol control, but not without putting up a fight. When the Mongols were again defeated, they left the island once again, this time never to return.
If you want to read up more on the events of the Mongol Invasion, I would recommend Dr. Thomas Conlan’s book, “No Need for Divine Intervention”. It goes into much more detail than I can here.
These traumatic events have been seared into the memories of Tsushima and the nearby island of Iki. Even though both islands have long since rebuilt, memories of the invasion are embedded in the landscape of both islands, and it is easy to find associated historical sites or even take a dedicated tour. In 2020, the events of the invasion of Tsushima were fictionalized into a game that you may have heard of called Ghost of Tsushima. I won’t get into a review of the game—I haven’t played it myself—but many of the locations in the game were drawn on actual locations in Tsushima. Most, like Kaneda Castle, are fictionalized to a large extent, but it did bring awareness to the island, and attracted a large fan base. Indeed, when we picked up our rental car, the helpful staff offered us a map with Ghost of Tsushima game locations in case we wanted to see them for ourselves.
As I noted, many of the places mentioned in the game are highly fictionalized, as are many of the individuals and groups—after all, the goal is to play through and actually defeat the enemies, and just getting slaughtered by Mongols and waiting for them to leave wouldn’t exactly make for great gameplay. Shrines offer “charms” to the user and so finding and visiting all of the shrines in the in-game world becomes a player goal. And so when fans of the game learned that the torii gate of Watatsumi Shrine, one of the real-life iconic shrines in Tsushima, was destroyed by a typhoon in September of 2020, about a month after the game was released, they came to its aid and raised over 27 million yen to help restore the torii gates. A tremendous outpouring from the community.
And while you cannot visit all of the locations in the game, you can visit Watazumi Shrine, with its restored torii gates that extend into the water.
Watatsumi Shrine itself has some interesting, if somewhat confusing, history. It is one of two shrines on Tsushima that claim to be the shrine listed in the 10th-century Engi Shiki as “Watatsumi Shrine”. This is believed to have been the shrine to the God of the Sea, whose palace Hiko Hoho-demi traveled down to in order to find his brother’s fishhook—a story noted in the Nihon Shoki and which we covered in episode 23. Notwithstanding that most of that story claims it was happening on the eastern side of Kyushu, there is a local belief that Tsushima is actually the place where that story originated.
The popular shrine that had its torii repaired is popularly known as Watatsumi Shrine, today. The other one is known as Kaijin Shrine, literally translating to the Shrine of the Sea God, and it is also known as Tsushima no kuni no Ichinomiya; That is to say the first, or primary, shrine of Tsushima. Some of the confusion may come as it appears that Kaijin shrine was, indeed, the more important of the two for some time. It was known as the main Hachiman shrine in Tsushima, and may have been connected with a local temple as well. It carries important historical records that help to chart some of the powerful families of Tsushima, and also claims ownership of an ancient Buddhist image from Silla that was later stolen. In the 19th century it was identified as the Watatsumi Shrine mentioned in the Engi Shiki, and made Toyotama Hime and Hikohohodemi the primary deities worshipped at the shrine, replacing the previous worship of Hachiman.
Shrines and temples can be fascinating to study, but can also be somewhat tricky to understand, historically. Given their religious nature, the founding stories of such institutions can sometimes be rather fantastical, and since they typically aren’t written down until much later, it is hard to tell what part of the story is original and what part has been influenced by later stories, like those in the Nihon Shoki or the Kojiki.
Another interesting example of a somewhat unclear history is that of the Buddhist temple, Kokubun-ji. Kokubunji are provincial temples, originally set up inthe decree of 741 that had them erected across the archipelago, one in each province at the time, in an attempt to protect the country from harm, Knowing the location of a Kokubunji can therefore often tell you something about where the Nara era provincial administration sat, as it would likely have been nearby. In many cases, these were probably connected to the local elite, as well.
This is not quite as simple with Tsushima Kokubun-ji. While it was originally designated in the decree of 741, a later decree in 745 stated that the expenses for these temples would come directly out of tax revenues in the provinces, and at that time Tsushima was excluded. Moreover, the Kokubunji on nearby Iki island was funded by taxes from Hizen province. So it isn’t until 855 that we have clear evidence of an early provincial temple for Tsushima, in this case known as a Tobunji, or Island Temple, rather than a Kokubunji.
The location of that early temple is unknown, and it burned down only two years later when Tsushima was attacked by forces from Kyushu. It is unclear what happened to it in the following centures, but by the 14th or 15th century it was apparently situated in Izuhara town, near the site of what would become Kaneishi Castle. It was later rebuilt in its current location, on the other side of Izuhara town. It burned down in the Edo period—all except the gate, which was built in 1807. This gate is at least locally famous for its age and history. It was also the site of the guesthouses for the 1811 diplomatic mission from Joseon—the dynasty that followed Koryeo.
Those missions are another rather famous part of the history of Tsushima, which, as we’ve seen, has long been a gateway between the archipelago and the peninsula. In the Edo period, there were numerous diplomatic missions from the Joseon dynasty to the Tokugawa shogunate, and these grand affairs are often touted in the history of Tsushima, with many locations specifically calling out the island’s deep involvement in cross-strait relations. Relations which, to really understand, we need to probably start with a look at the famous (or perhaps even infamous) Sou clan.
The Sou clan became particularly influential in Tsushima in the 13th century. The local officials, the Abiru clan, who had long been in charge of the island, were declared to be in rebellion against the Dazaifu, and so Koremune Shigehisa was sent to quell them. In return, he was made Jito, or land steward, under the Shoni clan, who were the Shugo of Chikuzen and Hizen, including the island of Tsushima. The Sou clan, descendents of the Koremune, ruled Tsushima ever since, first as vassals of the Shoni , but eventually they ran things outright.
Thus, Sou Sukekuni was in charge when the Mongols invaded in 1274. Despite having only 80 or so mounted warriors under his charge, he attempted to defend the island, dying in battle. Nonetheless, when the Mongols retreated, the Sou family retained their position. Later, they supported the Ashikaga in their bid to become shogun, and were eventually named the Shugo of Tsushima, a title they kept until the Meiji period.
As we’ve mentioned, despite its size, Tsushima is not the most hospitable of locations. It is mountainous, with many bays and inlets, making both cross-land travel and agriculture relatively difficult. And thus the Sou clan came to rely on trade with the continent for their wealth and support. Although, “trade” might be a bit negotiable.
Remember how the early Japanese regularly raided the coast of the peninsula? It was frequent enough that a term arose—the Wakou, the Japanese invaders, or Japanese pirates. In fact, the term “wakou” became so synonymous with piracy that almost any pirate group could be labeled as “wakou”, whether Japanese or not. Some of them that we know about were downright cosmopolitan, with very diverse crews from a variety of different cultures.
Given its position, the rough terrain, and myriad bays that could easily hide ships and other such things, Tsushima made a great base for fishermen-slash-pirates to launch from. Particularly in harsh times, desperate individuals from Tsushima and other islands might take their chances to go and raid the mainland.
In the early 15th century, the new Joseon dynasty had had enough. They sent an expeditionary force to Tsushima to put an end to the wakou. The expedition came in 1419. The year before, the head of the Sou clan, Sou Sadashige, had died. His son, Sou Sadamori, took his place, but had not yet come of age, leaving actual power in the hands of Souda Saemontarou, leader of the Wakou pirates.
Eventually the Joseon forces were defeated by the forces of Tsushima, including the wakou. The Joseon court considered sending another punitive expedition, but it never materialized. What did eventually happen, though, was, oddly, closer ties between the peninsula and Tsushima. Sou Sadamori, who grew up in that tumultuous time, worked to repair relationships with the Joseon court, concluding a treaty that that allowed the Sou clan to basically monopolize trade with the Korean peninsula. Treaty ports on the peninsula began to attract permanent settlements of Japanese merchants, and these “wakan”, or Japanese districts, came nominally under the jurisdiction of the Sou of Tsushima.
The Sou clan maintained their place as the intermediaries with the Joseon state through the 16th century. Messages sent from the Japanese court to Joseon would be sent to the Sou, who would deliver them to the Joseon court, and in turn handle all replies from the peninsula back to the Japanese mainland. And this over time led them to develop some, shall we say, special techniques to make sure these exchanges were as fruitful as possible.
You see, the treaties with the Joseon court only allowed fifty ships a year from Tsushima to trade with the peninsula. But since all of the documents flowed through the Sou, they had plenty of time to study the seals of both courts—those of the Joseon kingdom and those of Japan – and have fake seals created for their own ends. In part through the use of these fake seals, the Sou clan were able to pretend their ships were coming from other people—real or fake—and thus get around the 50 ship per year limit. They also used them in other ways to try and maintain their position between the two countries.
All of this came to a head when the Taikou, Toyotomi Hideyoshi, began to dream of continental conquest. Hideyoshi, at this point the undeniable ruler of all of Japan, had a bit of an ego—not exactly undeserved, mind you. His letter to the Joseon king Seongjo, demanding submission, was quite inflammatory, and the Sou clan realized immediately that it would be taken as an insult. Not only could it jeopardize relations with the continent, it could also jeopardize their own unique status. Which is why they decided to modify it using what in modern computer hacker terms might be called a man-in-the-middle attack – which, with their fake seal game, they had plenty of experience with. The Sou were able to modify the language in each missive to make the language more acceptable to either side. They also dragged their feet in the whole matter, delaying things for at least two years

But Hideyoshi’s mind was set on conquest. Specifically, he had ambitions of displacing the Ming dynasty itself, and he demanded that the Joseon court submit and allow the Japanese forces through to face the Ming dynasty. The Joseon refused to grant his request, and eventually Hideyoshi had enough. He threatened an invasion of Korea if the Joseon dynasty didn’t capitulate to his requests.
Throughout this process, the Sou attempted to smooth things over as best they could. However, even they couldn’t forge the words presented by a face-to-face envoy, nor could they put off Hideyoshi’s anger forever. And thus Tsushima became one of the launching off points for the Japanese invasions of Korea in 1592 and again in 1597. Tsushima, along with nearby Iki, would have various castles built to help supply the invading forces. One such castle was the Shimizuyama-jo, overlooking the town of Izuhara. Some of the walls and earthworks can still be seen up on the mountain overlooking the town, and there are trails up from the site of Kaneishi castle, down below.
Both of these invasions ultimately failed, though not without a huge loss of life and destruction on the peninsula—a loss that is still felt, even today.
The second and final invasion ended in 1598. Both sides were exhausted and the Japanese were losing ground, but the true catalyst, unbeknownst to those on the continent, was the death of Hideyoshi. The Council of Regents, a group of five daimyo appointed to rule until Hideyoshi’s son, Hideyori, came of age kept Hideyoshi’s death a secret to maintain morale until they could withdraw from the continent.
With the war over, the Sou clan took the lead in peace negotiations with the Joseon court, partly in an attempt to reestablish their position and their trade. In 1607, after Tokugawa had established himself and his family as the new shogunal line, the Sou continued to fake documents to the Joseon court, and then to fake documents right back to the newly established bakufu so that their previous forgeries wouldn’t be uncovered. This got them in a tight spot.
In the early 1600s, one Yanagawa Shigeoki had a grudge to settle with Sou Yoshinari, and so he went and told the Bakufu about the diplomatic forgeries that the Sou had committed, going back years. Yoshinari was summoned to Edo, where he was made to answer the allegations by Shigeoki. Sure enough, it was proven that the Sou had, indeed, been forging seals and letters, but after examination, Tokugawa Iemitsu, the third Tokugawa Shogun, decided that they had not caused any great harm—in fact, some of their meddling had actually helped, since they knew the diplomatic situation with the Joseon court better than just about anyone else, and they clearly were incentivized to see positive relations between Japan and Korea. As such, despite the fact that he was right, Yanagawa Shigeoki was exiled, while the Sou clan was given a slap on the wrist and allowed to continue operating as the intermediaries with the Joseon court.
There was one caveat, however: The Sou clan would no longer be unsupervised. Educated monks from the most prestigious Zen temples in Kyoto, accredited as experts in diplomacy, would be dispatched to Tsushima to oversee the creation of diplomatic documents and other such matters, bringing the Sou clan’s forgeries to a halt.
Despite that, the Sou clan continued to facilitate relations with the peninsula, including some twelve diplomatic missions from Korea: the Joseon Tsuushinshi. The first was in 1607, to Tokugawa Hidetada, and these were lavish affairs, even more elaborate than the annual daimyo pilgrimages for the sankin-kotai, or alternate attendance at Edo. The embassies brought almost 500 people, including acrobats and other forms of entertainment. Combined with their foreign dress and styles, it was a real event for people whenever they went.
Today, these Tsuushinshi are a big draw for Korean tourists, and just about anywhere you go—though especially around Izuhara town—you will find signs in Japanese, Korean, and English about locations specifically associated with these missions. And in years past, they’ve even reenacted some of the processions and ceremonies.
Speaking of Izuhara, this was the castle town from which the Sou administered Tsushima. Banshoin temple was the Sou family temple, and contains the graves of many members of the Sou family. In 1528, the Sou built a fortified residence in front of Banshoin, and eventually that grew into the castle from which they ruled Tsushima. Today, only the garden and some of the stone walls remain. The yagura atop the main gate has been rebuilt, but mostly it is in ruins. The Tsushima Museum sits on the site as well. Nearby there is also a special museum specifically dedicated to the Tsuushinshi missions.
Izuhara town itself is an interesting place. Much of what you see harkens back to the Edo period. Much like Edo itself, the densely packed wood and paper houses were a constant fire hazard, and there were several times where the entire town burned to the ground. As such they began to institute firebreaks in the form of stone walls which were placed around the town to help prevent fire from too quickly spreading from one house to the next. This is something that was instituted elsewhere, including Edo, but I’ve never seen so many extant firewalls before, and pretty soon after you start looking for them, you will see them everywhere.
The area closest to the harbor was an area mostly for merchants and similar working class people, and even today this can be seen in some of the older buildings and property layouts. There are also a fair number of izakaya and various other establishments in the area. Further inland you can find the old samurai district, across from the Hachiman shrine. The houses and the gates in that area are just a little bit nicer. While many modern buildings have gone up in the town, you can still find traces of the older buildings back from the days of the Sou clan and the Korean envoys.
Today, Izuhara is perhaps the largest town on Tsushima, but that isn’t saying much—the population of the entire island is around 31,000 people, only slightly larger than that of nearby Iki, which is only about one fifth the size of Tsushuma in land area. From Izuhara, you can catch a ferry to Iki or all the way to Hakata, in Fukuoka. You can also always take a plane as well.
Before leaving Tsushima, I’d like to mention one more thing—the leopard cat of Tsushima, the Yamaneko. This has become something of a symbol in Tsushima, but unfortunately it is critically endangered, at least on the island itself. It is all but gone from the southern part of Tsushima—human encroachment on its habitat has been part of the issue, but so has the introduction of domesticated cats. The yamaneko itself is about the size of a typical housecat, and might be mistaken for one, though it has a very distinctive spotted appearance. Domesticated cats have been shown to outcompete their wild cousins, while also passing on harmful diseases, which also affect the population. Just about everywhere you go you’ll see signs and evidence of this special cat. There is also a breeding program in the north if you want to see them for yourself. Even the small Tsushima Airport is named Yamaneko Airport, and the single baggage claim features a whole diorama of little plush leopard cats wearing traditional clothing and waving hello to new arrivals.
If you like rugged coastlines, fascinating scenery, and the odd bit of history thrown in, might I suggest taking a look at Tsushima, the border island between Japan and Korea.
We only had a few days, but it was a truly wonderful experience. Next up we caught the ferry to Iki island, the site of the ancient Iki-koku, possibly represented by the Yayoi era Harunotsuji site. Of all the places I’ve been so far, this is second only to Yoshinogari in the work and reconstruction they’ve done. They’ve even discovered what they believe to be an ancient dock or boat launch. But we’ll cover that next week, as we continue on our self-guided Gishiwajinden tour.
Until then, thank you for listening and 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. If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode.
Also, feel free to reach out to us at our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page. You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.
Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast.
And that’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

Conlan, Thomas. (2001). In little need of divine intervention : Takezaki Suenaga's scrolls of the Mongol invasions of Japan. Ithaca, N.Y. :East Asia Program, Cornell University,
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4

Gishiwajinden Tour: Geumgwan Gaya

May 19, 2024 Joshua Badgley

The tomb attributed to King Suro of Gaya. The tomb itself has been rebuilt at least once over the centuries. It is unclear how close it was to the original—many of the tomb mounds have since eroded and subsided and are barely or no longer visible as they once were. Photo by author.

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Taking a break from the Chronicles while I pull together some more research, as we are starting to enter much more impactful period with a lot of change. So instead, I’m presenting you a glimpse at a recent tour we did following the old route to Japan mentioned in the “Gishiwajinden”, or the Wa records from the Weizhi. This described the 3rd century journey from the Korean peninsula down to “Yamatai” (probably “Yamateg/Yamato” at the time), and includes relatively clear directions from “Guyahan” to “Tuma” to “Iki”, then “Maturo”, “Ito”, and “Na”. These have all been largely agreed upon as being part of the western edge of Kyushu.

Gimhae National Museum

The national museum here is clearly focused on the history of Gaya.

Ceramic Building

A ceramic example of a building, helping us to know what they may have looked like based on more than just the empty post-holes in the ground. This is considered a particular treasure of the museum.

Barding and Horse Equipment

Example of the barding and horse equipment found in the tombs.

Reconstructed Armor

Reproduction of solid iron armor, known in Japan as "tanko", made up of various iron plates bound together by leather or rivets, found on both sides of the straits.

Iron armor

Solid iron armor from the Gaya tombs.

Iron armor, detail

Decorative iron guards around the neck on the solid iron armor from the Gaya tombs.

Iron armor (rear)

Rear view of solid iron armor from the Gaya tombs.

Sword pommel

Pommel of an iron sword, similar to some of those found on the archipelago.

Wooden boat piece

Wooden remnant of an ancient boat that appears to be similar to ceramic examples.

Ceramic Boat

Ceramic boat found in the Gaya graves, similar to haniwa examples on the archipelago.

Tomb of King Suro

Supposedly the tomb of the legendary King Suro, from the first century. However, it is unlikely that a tomb from that period would remain as prominent and the reconstruction of the tomb mound may have been based on others, like the royal tombs in Silla. The location was based on a passage in the Samguk Yusa.

Gimhae Shell Mound

This hill is actually a shellmound, made up of centuries worth of shells, bones, and broken ceramic piled up in a giant mound.

Shellmound, interior

A look at the interior of the Gimhae shellmound. This is what a cross-section of it would have looked like during excavation.

Raised Wooden Building

Conjectural example of what a raised wooden structure at the village might have looked like.

Gaya Pit Building

Conjectural example of the kind of pit building at a Gaya village.

Ground-level Building

A conjectural example of a ground-level building, neither dug into the ground, nor raised up on posts.

Watchtower

Conjectural reconstruction of an ancient watchtower. Sometimes the post-holes are so large that it is assumed that they must have been much larger, and probably for something more like a tower than a regular building.

Daesong-dong Tomb Ridge

A diorama of the Daeseong-dong ridge where many of the Gaya royal tombs have been found.

Ancient burial

Example of the workers prepping an ancient grave.

Lamellar armor

Reconstruction of a lamellar armor, known as "keiko" on the archipelago, found in the Gaya tombs. It is often associated with mounted cavalry.

Bunsanseong Fortress

Bunsanseong fortress, seen from the city. It is not uncommon for fortresses on the peninsula to utilize the natural contours and features of a mountain, hill, or ridge.

Daeseong-dong tomb

The site of tombs on Daeseong-dong ridge no longer have mounds, but the rectangular burial chambers are marked off with low shrubs to see where they are.

Stone burial

Stone detritus from a stone chamber burial at Daeseong-dong.

Double Burial

Example of a burial chamber that intersects another, older burial. You can see how there are multiple layers. It is unclear why this happened. Did they not know about the previous tomb?

Confucian school

Part of the Confucian school (or hanggyo) in Gimhae.

North Gate of Gimhae

The restored northern city gate of Gimhae.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is Gishiwajinden Self-Guided Tour: Geumgwan Gaya.
For the next several episodes we are taking a bit of a detour from the narrative of the Chronicles. After all, with the coup of 645 that we covered a couple of episodes ago, we are about to dive into the period known as “Taika” or “Great Change”. Prince Naka no Oe and Nakatomi no Kamako were not just assassins—they had plans that went beyond just cutting the head off the powerful Soga house. It’s an eventful time, with a lot of changes, though some of those would take time to really come to fruition and before I get into all of that there is a bit more research that I want to do to figure out the best way to lay that out for you.
And so I figured we would take a little detour for a few episodes, to share with you a special trip that Ellen and I recently took, reproducing – in a modern way – some of the earliest accounts we have about crossing over to the archipelago: the Gishiwajinden, the Japanese section of the Weizhi. We talked about this chronicle back in episode 11: it describes all the places one would stop when leaving the continent, from kingdoms on the peninsula and across the smaller islands of the archipelago before landing in what we currently call Kyushu.
And Ellen and I did just that: we sailed across the Korean straits, from the site of the ancient kingdom of Gaya in modern Gimhae, to the islands of Tsushima and Iki, then on to modern Karatsu and Fukuoka, passing through what is thought to be the ancient lands of Matsuro, Ito, and Na. It was an incredibly rewarding journey, and includes plenty of archaeological sites spanning the Yayoi to Kofun periods—as well as other sites of historical interest. It also gets you out to some areas of Japan and Korea that aren’t always on people’s list, but probably should be.
So for this first episode about our “Gishiwajinden Jido Toua” – our Gishiwajinden Self-Guided Tour – we’ll talk about the historical sites in Gimhae, the site of ancient Geumgwan Gaya, but also some of the more modern considerations for visiting, especially on your own.
By the way, a big thank you to one of our listeners, Chad, who helped inspire this trip. He was living on Iki for a time and it really made me think about what’s out there.
This episode I’ll be focusing on the first place our journey took us, Gimhae, South Korea. Gimhae is a city on the outskirts of modern Pusan, and home to Pusan’s international airport, which was quite convenient.
This is thought to be the seat of the ancient kingdom of Gaya, also known as “Kara” in the old records. In the Weizhi we are told of a “Guyahan”, often assumed to be “Gaya Han”, which is to say the Han—one of the countries of the peninsula—known as Guya or Gaya. This is assumed to mean Gaya, aka Kara or Garak, and at that time it wasn’t so much a kingdom as it was a confederation of multiple polities that shared a similar material culture and locations around the Nakdong river. This is the area that we believe was also referenced as “Byeonhan” in some of the earliest discussions of the Korean peninsula.
By the way, while I generally believe this area was referred to as “Kara”, “Gara”, or even “Garak”, originally, the modern Korean reading of the characters used is “Gaya”, and since that is what someone will be looking for, that’s what I’ll go with.
History of the Korean peninsula often talks about the “Three Kingdoms” period, referencing the kingdoms of Baekje, Silla, and Goguryeo. However, that is a very simplistic view of the ancient history of the archipelago. Numerous small polities existed without a clear, persistent overlord outside of those three larger polities, and even they were not always quite as grand as the later histories would like to make them out to be.
Gaya is often referred to as the “Gaya Confederacy” by modern historians, at least for most of its existence, and refers to a number of polities including Daegaya, Ara, etc., and may also include “Nimna”, though where exactly that was is a topic of great debate, with some claiming that it was just another name for what later was known as Geumgwan Gaya, and other suggestions that it was its own polity, elsewhere on the coast. This isn’t helped by the nationalist Japanese view that “Nimna” was also the “Mimana Nihonfu”, or the Mimana controlled by Japan, noted in the Nihon Shoki, and used as the pretext for so many of the aggressions perpetrated on the continent by Japan.
These all appear to have been individual polities, like small city-states, which were otherwise joined by a common culture. Although the Samguk Yusa mentions “King Suro” coming in 42 CE, for most of its history there wasn’t really a single Gaya state as far as we can tell. It is possible that towards the 5th and early 6th centuries, Geumgwan Gaya had reached a certain level of social complexity and stratification that it would classify as a “kingdom”, but these definitions are the kinds of things that social scientists would argue about endlessly.
Evidence for a “Kingdom” comes in part from the way that Geumgwan Gaya is referenced in the Samguk Sagi and other histories, particularly in how its ruling elite is referred to as the royal ancestors of the Gimhae Kim clan. Proponents also point to the elaborate graves, a large palace site (currently under excavation and renovation), the rich grave goods found in the tombs thought to be those of the royal elites, etc. Other scholars are not so sure, however, and even if there was a nominal kingdom, it likely did not last very long before coming under the rule of Silla in the 6th century.
Unlike the other kingdoms—Baekje, Silla, and Goguryeo; the “Samguk”, or three countries, of the “Samguk Sagi”—Gaya does not have its own record in the histories. The Samguk Yusa, which is of interest but also problematic in that it was clearly more about telling the miraculous tales of Buddhism than a strictly factual history, does have a bit about Gaya. The author of the Samguk Yusa, the monk Ilyeon, claimed that the information there was pulled from a no longer extant record called the Gayakgukki, or Record of the Gaya Kingdom, but the actual stories are not enough to tell us everything that happened. Most of what we know comes from members of the Gaya Confederacy popping up in the records of other nations, including Baekje, Silla, Goguryeo, and Yamato. For example, there are references in the Gwangaetto Stele from the 5th century, as well as plenty of references in the Nihon Shoki and the records in the Samguk Sagi. This is a little bit better than some of the other groups mentioned as being on the Korean peninsula that are often referred to only one time before being completely forgotten.
For us, the importance of Gaya is its links with Yamato. Although it would seem that Nimna, in particular, had close ties with Yamato it is noteworthy that the Japanese word for the continent and things that would come from there—including the later Tang dynasty—is “Kara”. “Kara-fu” generally refers to something that comes from China, but only because those things originally came through the peninsula and through Kara, or Gaya. The port on Kyushu where the goods likely arrived before continuing up to modern Fukuoka is even today known as “Karatsu”, or “Kara Port”. This lends credence to the idea that Nimna was likely at least a member of the Gaya confederacy.
There are also deep similarities in many material items found in the peninsula and in the area of the Nakdong peninsula, including pottery, armor, horse gear, etc. At the very least this indicates a close trading relationship, and combined with the account in the Weizhi, emphasizes the idea that this was likely the jumping off point for missions to the archipelago and vice versa.
Perhaps more controversial is the idea that at least some members of the Gaya Confederacy, or the Byeonhan cultural group before it, may have been speakers of some kind of proto-Japonic. There are also some that suggest there may have been ethnic Wa on the peninsula at an early point as well. However, I would note that the Weizhi refers to this area specifically as being part of the “Han”, and that it was the jumping off point to find the lands of the Wa and eventually the lands of Yamato (or Yamatai), so make of that what you will. All of this is well after the introduction of rice cultivation in Japan, focusing on the 3rd century onward, roughly corresponding to what we think of as the Kofun Period in Japan, and which was also a period of ancient mound-building on the Korean peninsula as well.
All that aside, it is clear that Gaya was an important part of the makeup of the early Korean peninsula, and that much of that history is on display in modern Gimhae.
Gimhae is one of plenty of places on the Korean peninsula for anyone with an interest in ancient history. Besides the various museums, like thate National Museum in Seoul, there are sites like Gyeongju, the home of the tombs of the Silla kings and the ancient Silla capital, and much more. Gimhae itself is home to the Royal Gaya Tombs, as well as archaeological remnants of an ancient settlement that was probably at least one of the early Gaya polities.
As I noted, Gimhae is more accurately the site of what is known in later historical entries as Geumgwan Gaya. The earliest record of the Weizhi just says something like “Gü-lja-han” which likely means “Gaya Han”, or Gaya of Korea, referring at the time to the three Han of Mahan, Jinhan, and Byeonhan. That may or may not have referred to this particular place, as there are other Gaya sites along the coast and in the upper reaches of the Nakdong river. However, given its placement on the shore, the site at Gimhae seems to have a good claim to be the point mentioned in the Wei Chronicles, which is why we also chose it as the first site on our journey.
The characters for “Gimhae” translate into something like “Gold Sea”, but it seems to go back to the old name: Geumgwan, as in Geumgwan Gaya. It is part of the old Silla capital region. “Geum” uses the same character as “Kim”, meaning “Gold” or “Metal”. This is also used in the popular name “Kim”, which is used by several different lineage groups even today. The “Sea” or “Ocean” character may refer to Gimhae’s position near the ocean, though I don’t know how relevant that was when the name “Gimhae” came into common usage.
The museums and attractions around Gimhae largely focuses on the royal tombs of the Geumgwan Gaya kingdom, which in 2023 were placed, along with seven other Gaya tomb sites, on the UNESCO list of world heritage sites. Since they’re so newly added, we did not see the kind of omnipresent UNESCO branding that we are used to seeing elsewhere, such as Nikko Toshogu or Angkor Wat, but taxi drivers certainly knew the UNESCO site and museum.
For anyone interested in these tombs and in Gaya’s early history, there are two museums you likely want to visit. First off is the National Museum, which covers a wide swath of history, with tons of artifacts, well laid out to take you through the history of the Gaya Confederacy, from early pre-history times through at least the 7th century. There is also a separate museum that specifically covers the Daeseong-dong tombs, which lay upon a prominent ridge on the western side of the city, north of a Gaya era settlement with a huge shell midden found at Bonghwang-dong, to the south, nearby an ongoing excavation of a potential palace site.
These museums have some excellent displays, including pottery, metalwork, horse gear, armor, and even parts of an ancient boat. As I noted earlier, these show a lot of similarity to items across the strait in the archipelago, though it is clear that Gaya had a lot more iron than their neighbors —in fact, they had so much that they would often line the bottom of tombs with iron ingots. The displays emphasize that Gaya was really seen as a kind of ironworking center for the region, both the peninsula and the archipelago.
The tombs, likewise, have some similarity to those in the archipelago—though not in the distinctive, keyhole shape. Early tombs, from the 1st to 2nd century, were simply wooden coffins dug in a pit with a mound on top. This became a wooden lined pit, where bodies and grave goods could be laid out, and then, in the 3rd century, they added subordinate pits just for the various grave goods. In the 5th century this transitioned to stone-lined pit burial, and in the 6th century they changed to the horizontal entry style stone chamber tomb, before they finally stopped building them. These seem to be similar to what we see in Silla, with wooden chamber tombs giving way to the horizontal entry style around the 5th and 6th centuries. Meanwhile, Baekje and Goguryeo appear to have had horizontal style tombs for some time, and that may have been linked to Han dynasty style tombs in the area of the old Han commanderies—which I suspect might have spread with the old families of Han scribes and officials that were absorbed into various polities.
It is interesting to see both the similarities and differences between Gaya and Wa tombs in this period, particularly the transition to the horizontal entry style tombs, which I suspect indicates an outside cultural influence, like that of Silla—something that would also influence the burials in the archipelago. At first, in the 4th to 5th centuries, we just see these style tombs starting to show up in Kyushu, particularly in the area of modern Fukuoka—one of the areas that we will hit at the end of this journey from the peninsula to the archipelago. That may be from contact with Baekje or Goguryeo, or even from some other point, it is hard to tell. By the 6th century, though, just as Silla and Gaya were doing, it seems that all of the archipelago was on board with this style of internal tomb structure.
Another tomb style you can find in Gimhae is the dolmen. These are megatlithic—or giant rock—structures where typically a roof stone is held up by two or more other large stones. In some cases these may have been meant as an above-ground monument, much like a structure such as Stonehenge. On the other hand, in some cases they are the remains of a mound, where the mound itself has worn away. Unfortunately, there was not as much information on them—it seems that dolmens were originally used before the mounded tomb period, but just what was a free-standing dolmen and what was an internal mound structure exposed by the elements I’m not sure I could say.
If you visit the Daeseong-dong tombs, one of the things you may notice is the apparent lack of a tomb mound. The attached museum explains much of this, though, in that over time the wooden pit-style tombs would often collapse in on themselves. That, plus erosion and continued human activity in an area would often mean that, without upkeep, there would eventually be no mound left, especially if it wasn’t particularly tall to start with.
In an example where something like this might have happened, there is at least one tomb in the group that was clearly dug down into a previous burial chamber. The excavators must have realized they were digging into another tomb, given that they would have pulled up numerous artifacts based on what was later found at the site, but they still carried on with the new tomb, apparently not having any concern for the previous one. After all, there was only so much room up on the ridge for burials, at least towards the later periods. This pair of “interlocking” tombs is housed inside a building with a viewing gallery, so you can see their layout and how the grave goods would have been arranged in period.
One tomb that apparently kept a mound of some kind would appear to be that attributed to King Suro. King Suro is the legendary founder of Geumgwan Gaya, mentioned in the 13th century Samguk Yusa, which was using an older record of the Gaya Kingdom as their source. The area where the tomb is found is said to match up with the description in the Samguk Yusa, but I could find no definitive evidence of a previous tomb or what style it was—let alone the question of whether or not it was the tomb of King Suro of Geumgwan Gaya. It was still a very impressive compound, though it seems most of the buildings are likely from a much more recent era.
I suspect that King Suro remained an important story for the Gimhae Kim clan. That clan, as mentioned earlier, claimed descent from the Kings of Geumgwan Gaya, of whom King Suro was supposedly the first. It is noteworthy that the Kim family of Geumgwan Gaya, known as the Gimhae Kim clan, was granted a high rank in Silla because they claimed descent from the “Kings” of Geumgwan Gaya. As such Munmyeong, the sister of Kim Yusin, the general who helped Silla take over the peninsula, was apparently considered an appropriate consort to King Muyeol, and her son would become King Munmu. This brought the Gimhae Kim clan into the Gyeongju Kim clan of Silla.
Kim Busik, who put together the Samguk Sagi, was a member of the Gyeongju Kim clan, which claimed descent from those same kings. He had plenty of reason to make sure that the Silla Kings looked good, and may have also had reason to prop up the leaders of Geumgwan Gaya as well, given the familial connections. That said, there do seem to be some impressive tombs with rich grave goods, so there is that.
In 1580 we are told that Governor Kim Heo-su, who counted himself a descendant of the Gimhae Kim clan, found the tomb of King Suro and repaired it, building a stone altar, a stone platform, and a tomb mound. It is unclear from what I can find, though, just what he “found” and how it was identified with what was in the Samguk Yusa. Even if there was something there, how had *that* been identified? There seems to be plenty of speculation that this is not the actual resting place of the legendary king, Kim Suro, but it is certainly the place where he is worshipped. The tomb was apparently expanded upon in later centuries, and today it is quite the facility, though much of it seems relatively recent, and hard to connect with the actual past.
More important for that is probably what they was found at Bonghwang-dong. On this ridge, south of the tomb ridge, were found traces of buildings including . These included pit style dwellings along with post-holes, indicating raised structuresdwellings of some sort. Today you can go and see interpreted reconstructions, based in part on some pottery models that had also been found from around that period. Reconstructed buildings sit on either side of a hill, which is the main feature of a modern park. It is a good place to get a sense of what was around that area, and you can hike to the top of the hill, which isn’t that difficult a journey. The trees do obstruct the view, somewhat, but you get a great sense for what a community there might have been like. As I mentioned before, there is also a large excavation being carried out on what is believed to be some kind of royal palace structure, but unfortunately we likely won’t know much more until later.
Also next to the settlement is a giant shell mound. We are talking over a football field long and several stories high of shells and bone, along with discarded pottery and other such things. Unfortunately, for whatever reason, the contents of the shell mound appear to have been mixed at various stages, but it is still impressive, and they have an excellent display where you can see the mound cut away to demonstrate what a shell mound might look like.
The shell mound apparently existed from the 1st to the 4th centuries. This feels odd to me, given that I normally think of shell mounds as more connected to Jomon and similar sites, but it also makes sense that a community—particularly one with easy access to the sea—would have a lot of shells and it isn’t like they had trash collectors coming to take away their garbage.
Which brings me to another point: Back in its heyday, Geumgwan Gaya was clearly on or very near the sea. In modern times you can certainly see islands off the coast from the tops of some of these hills—and from the top of a mountain one might even make out Tsushima on a clear day. However, today that ocean is several miles out.
Back in the time of the Geumgwan Gaya, however, things were likely different. The Nakdong river would have emptied out to the east into a large bay, with Geumgwan Gaya sitting comfortably at its head, with mountains on three sides and the ocean on the fourth. This would have made it a great as a port town, as it not only had access to the Korean straits and the Pacific Ocean, but it also sat at the head of the river that connected many of the sites believed to be related to the ancient Gaya confederacy.
Over time, however, the bay silted up, and/or sea levels dropped, and the area that would become the heart of modern Gimhae would find itself farther and farther away from the ocean, through no fault of their own. That must have put a damper on their trade relationships, and I can’t help but wonder if that was one of the reasons they eventually gave in to Silla and joined them.
With its place at the head of the Nakdong river, Silla’s control of Geumgwan Gaya likely made the rest of the Gaya polities’ absorption much more likely, as most of the Gaya polities appear to have been laid out around the Nakdong river. That would have been their lifeline to the ocean and maritime trade routes. Without a cohesive state, they may not have been able to resist the more organized and coordinated armies of groups like Silla and Baekje, eventually falling under Silla’s domain.
Unfortunately, there doesn’t seem to be much online in English about Gimhae beyond the ancient connection to Geumgwan Gaya. Specifically, I didn’t find a lot of clear historical information about the city after coming under Silla rule. It was apparently one of the “capitals” of the Silla region under Later or Unified Silla. Though Silla tried to form the people of the three Han of Baekje, Goguryeo, and Silla into a unified state, its central authority would eventually break down. Baekje and Goguryeo would be briefly reconstituted before the Later Goguryeo throne was usurped by a man who would be known as Taejo, from Gaesong. He would lead the first fully successful unification effort, and from the 10th century until the 14th the state was known as “Goryeo”, from which we get the modern name of “Korea”. Goryeo started in Gaesong, but also rebuilt the ancient Goguryeo capital at Pyongyang, both up in what is today North Korea. It eventually came under the thumb of the Mongol Yuan dynasty, and when that dynasty was overthrown by the Ming, Goryeo experienced its own instability, resulting in the Joseon dynasty, which moved the capital to the area of modern Seoul. Given modern tensions between North and South Korea, I suspect that there is a fair bit of politics still wrapped up in the historiography of these periods, especially with each modern state having as their capitals one of the ancient capital city sites.
As for Gimhae, I have very little information about the city during the Goryeo period. Towards the end of the 14th century, we do see signs of possible conflict, though: There was a fortress built on the nearby hill, called Bunsanseong, in about 1377, though some claim that an older structure was there since the time of the old Gaya kingdom, which would make sense, strategically. This fortress was severely damaged during Hideyoshi’s invasion of Korea in the late 16th century—a not uncommon theme for many historical sites on the peninsula, unfortunately—and repaired in 1871. The walls can still be seen from the city below.
Stone walls were placed around the city in 1434 and improved in 1451. Excavations on the wall were carried out in 2006 and the north gate, which was first renovated in 1666, was restored in 2008. You can still visit it, north of the international markets, which includes a wet market along with various restaurants offering specialties from around Northeast Asia, including places like Harbin, in China.
Near the north gate there is also a Confucian school, or hyanggyo. The first iteration was probably built during the Goryeo dynasty, but whatever was there in the 16th century was also destroyed during Hideyoshi’s invasion. It would later be rebuilt in 1688 and relocated to the east until it burned down in 1769. The following year it was rebuilt in its current location, north of the city gate. The school contains examples of the classrooms along with a central Confucian shrine, and there are some similarities with similar Edo period institutions in Japan, which also based themselves off of a Confucian model.
For those interested in more recent history, you may want to check out the Gimhae Folk Life Museum. This covers some of the more recent folk traditions, clothing, and tools and home goods used up until quite recent times. It may not be as focused on the ancient history of the area, but it certainly provides some insight into the recent history of the people of Gimhae.
Today, Gimhae is a bustling city. Not quite as big and bustling as Pusan or Seoul, but still quite modern. You can easily get there by train from Busan or Gimhae International Airport, and there are plenty of options to stay around the city such that you can walk to many of the historical sites.
For those used to traveling in Japan, there are both similarities and differences. Alongside the ubiquitous Seven Eleven chains are the CU chain, formerly known as FamilyMart, and GS25, along with a few others. Trains are fairly easy to navigate if you know where you want to go, as well – there’s a convenient metro line that connects the airport to Gimhae city proper, and has stops right by the museums. , and you can mostly get around by train—you can even take thThe KTX, the Korean Train eXpress, the high-speed rail, which includes a line from Seoul to Busan. And don’t worry, from our experience there are no zombies on the train to- or from- Busan.
Of course, in Korea they use Hangul, the phonetic Korean alphabet. It may look like kanji to those not familiar with the language but it is entirely phonetic. Modern Korean rarely uses kanji—or hanja, as they call it—though you may see some signs in Japanese or Chinese that will use it here and there. In general, though, expect things to be in Korean, and there may or may not be English signs. —tHowever, hough most of the historical sites we visited had decent enough signage that we only occasionally had to pull out the phone for translation assistance, and the museums are quite modern and have translation apps readily available with QR codes you can scan to get an English interpretation..
Speaking of phones, make sure that you have one that will work in Korea or consider getting a SIM card when you get in, as you will likely want it for multiple reasons. That said, a lot of things that travelers rely on won’t work in Korea unless you have the Korean version. For instance, Google Maps will show you where things are but it can’t typically navigate beyond walking and public transit directions. For something more you’ll want the Korean app, Naver. We did okay, for the most part, on Google Maps, but Naver is specifically designed for South Korea.
Likewise, hailing a cab can be a bit of a chore. Don’t expect your Uber or Lyft apps to work—you’ll need to get a Korean taxi app if you want to call a taxi or you’ll need to do it the old fashioned way—call someone up on the telephone or hail one on the streets, which can be a tricky business depending on where you are.
On the topic of streets: In Gimhae, many of the streets we were walking on did not have sidewalks, so be prepared to walk along the side of the road. We didn’t have much trouble, but we were very conscious of the traffic.
Another note in Gimhae is the food. Korea is host to a wide variety of foods, and Gimhae can have many options, depending on what you are looking for. Near our hotel there were traditional Korean restaurants as well as places advertising pizza, Thai, and burgers. Up in the main market area, you can find a wide variety of food from around Asia. Vietnam, Sri Lanka, Uzbekistan, Nepal, and many more were represented, as well as Russian and Chinese cuisines.
That said, our breakfast options were not so bountiful. Our hotel, which gave us our own private hot tub, like a private onsen, did not serve breakfast, but . Tthere were a few cafes around where you could get a drink and a light meal in the morning, and there were some pork Gukbab places, where you would put cooked rice in a pork bone broth for a hearty and delicious morning meal. That said, if you waited a little later, there is a Krispy Kreme for those craving donuts, and a few French-inspired Korean bakeries, such as the chain, Tours les Jours, which is always a tasty became one of our go-to spots.
If you prefer a wider variety of food you can choose to stay in Busan proper, instead. It isn’t that far, and you can take the train over to Gimhae in the morning. However, Busan has more options than Gimhae, but it does mean taking a train over to see the sites. I would recommend at least two days to see most of the Gaya related sites, and maybe a third or fourth if you want to chase down everything in the city.
There is also an interesting amusement park that we did not get the chance to experience but may be of interest: the Gimhae Gaya Theme Park. This appears to be a series of interpretations of different Gaya buildings along with a theme park for kids and adults, including rope bridges, light shows, and some cultural performances. It looked like it might be fun, but since we had limited time we decided to give it a pass this time around.
In Busan, there are many other things to do, including museums, folk villages, and an aquarium along the beach. Busan station is also conveniently located next to the cruise port, where ships depart daily for Japan. This includes typical cruise ships, as well as various ferries. For instance, there is a ferry to Hakata, in Fukuoka city, as well as an overnight ferry that takes you through the Seto Inland sea all the way to Osaka. For us, however, we had booked the jetfoil to Hitakatsu, on the northern tip of Tsushima island – a very modern version of the Gishiwajinden account of setting sail in a rickety ship.
Unfortunately, as we were preparing for our journey, disaster struck—the kind of thing that no doubt befell many who would dare the crossing across the waters. Strong winds out in the strait were making the water choppy, and it was so bad that they decided to cancel all of the ferries for that day and the next. It made me think of the old days, when ships would wait at dock as experienced seamen kept their eye on the weather, trying to predict when it would be fair enough to safely make the crossing. This was not always an accurate prediction, though, since on the open ocean, squalls can blow up suddenly. In some cases people might wait months to make the crossing.
Since Wwe didn’t have months, however, and had a lot to see in Tsushuma, so we opted for another, very modern route: . Wwe booked airplane tickets and left from Gimhae airport to Fukuoka, where we transitioned to a local prop plane for Tsushima. You might say: why not just fly to Tsushima? But Tsushima doesn’t have an international airport, and only serves Japanese domestic destinations. Hence the detour to Fukuoka, where we went through Japanese immigration and had a very nice lunch while we waited for our second, short flight.
Even that was almost cancelled due to the winds at Tsushima, with a disclaimer that the plane might have to turn around if the weather was too bad. Fortunately, we were able to make it, though coming into Tsushima airport was more than a little hair-raising as the small plane came in over the water and cliffs and dodged some pretty substantial updrafts before touching down on a tiny airstrip.
And with that, we made our crossing to Tsushima island. Or perhaps it is better to call them “islands” now, since several channels have been dug separating the north and south parts of Tsushima. It wasn’t quite how we had planned to get there, but we made it – and that kind of adaptability is very much in keeping with how you had to travel in the old days!.
One more comment here about the Korean Peninsula and Tsushima: while we never had a day clear enough, it seems obvious that from a high enough vantage point in Gimhae or Gaya, one could see Tsushima on a clear day. This is something I had speculated, but as we traveled it became clear. Tsushima is actually closer to the Korean Peninsula than to Kyushu, a fact that they point out. And so it was likely visible enough to people who knew what they were looking for.
And yet, I imagine being on a small boat, trying to make the journey, it must have been something. You hopefully had a good navigator, because if you went off in the wrong direction you could end up in the East Sea—known in Japan as the Japan Sea—or worse. If you kept going you would probably eventually reach the Japanese archipelago, but who knows what might have happened in the meantime. It is little wonder that ships for the longest time decided to use Tsushima and Iki as stepping stones between the archipelago and the continent.
And with that, I think we’ll leave it. From Gimhae and Pusan, we traveled across to Tsushima, which has long been the first point of entry into the archipelago from the continent, often living a kind of dual life on the border. Tsushima has gotten famous recently for the “Ghost of Tsushima” video game, set on the island during the Mongol Invasion – we haven’t played it, but we understand a lot of the landscape was reproduced pretty faithfully.
From there we (and the ancient chroniclers) sailed to Iki. While smaller than Tsushuma, Iki was likely much more hospitable to the Yayoi style of rice farming, and the Harunotsuji site is pretty remarkable.
Modern Karatsu, the next stop, is literally the Kara Port, indicating that the area has deep connections to the continent. It is also the site of some of the oldest rice paddies found on the archipelago, as well as its own fascinating place in later history.
Continuing north along the coast of Kyushu is another area with evidence of ancient Yayoi and Kofun communities in Itoshima, thought to be the ancient country of Ito. Here you can find some burial mounds, as well as the site where archaeologists found one of the largest bronze mirrors of the ancient archipelago. Finally, we ended up in Fukuoka, where the seal of the King of Na of Wa was found.
We ended our trip in Fukuoka, but the historical trail from Na, or Fukuoka, to quote-unquote “Yamatai” then goes a bit hazy. As we discussed in an earlier episode, there are different theories about where Yamatai actually was. There is the Kyushu theory, which suggests that Yamatai is somewhere on Kyushu, with many trying to point to the Yayoi period site of Yoshinogari, though there are plenty of reasons why that particular site is not exactly a good candidate. Then there are various paths taking you to Honshu, and on to Yamato. Those are much more controversial, but the path to at least Na seems mostly agreed on, especially since that was largely the path that individuals would follow for centuries onwards, including missions to and from the Tang dynasty, the Mongols during their attempted invasion, and even the various missions from the Joseon dynasty during the Edo period.
Today, modern transportation, such as the airplane, means that most people just go directly to their destination, but there are still plenty of reasons to visit these locations. It was a lot of fun to sail from place to place and see the next island – or kingdom – emerging on the horizon.
Next episode we will talk about Tsushima and give you an idea of what that island has in store for visitors; especially those with an interest in Japanese history.
Until then, thank you for listening and 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. If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links 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.
Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast.
And that’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

Kim, P., & Shultz, E. J. (2013). The 'Silla annals' of the 'Samguk Sagi'. Gyeonggi-do: Academy of Korean Studies Press.
Kim, P., Shultz, E. J., Kang, H. H. W., & Han'guk Chŏngsin Munhwa Yŏn'guwŏn. (2012). The Koguryo annals of the Samguk sagi. Seongnam-si, Korea: Academy of Korean Studies Press.
Jeon, H.-T. (2008). Goguryeo: In search of its culture and history. Seoul: Hollym.
Best, J. (2006). A History of the Early Korean Kingdom of Paekche, together with an annotated translation of The Paekche Annals of the Samguk sagi. Cambridge (Massachusetts); London: Harvard University Asia Center. doi:10.2307/j.ctt1tg5q8p
Shultz, E. (2004). An Introduction to the "Samguk Sagi". Korean Studies, 28, 1-13. Retrieved April 11, 2021, from http://www.jstor.org/stable/23720180
Iryŏn, ., Ha, T. H., & Mintz, G. K. (2004). Samguk yusa: Legends and history of the three kingdoms of ancient Korea. Seoul: Yonsei University Press.
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4

Episode 107: Winds Across the Straits

May 1, 2024 Joshua Badgley

Photo of Madara Island, south of Iki, one of the many islands that ships might have seen following the route from the Korean Peninsula to Yamato and vice versa.

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This episode we fill in the rest of Takara’s reign as Kōgyoku Tennō, from 642 to 645, and examine those things other than the Isshi Incident. We’ll especially look at what influences were coming in from the peninsula.

Timelines and the Baekje Royal Family

One of the biggest issues in the Nihon Shoki at this point is the way that the Baekje related history seems muddled. Jonathan Best suggests this is because the Chronicles were pulling records and trying to accurately place them, but somehow misread the dates. They were likely pulling from multiple sources trying to put things in order, and those sources may have been using slightly different dating systems, if they had any at all. So the Chroniclers massaged things the best they could, but we still end up with some odd data.

King Uija (Wicha) (b. 599?, r. 641-660)

Uija came to the throne just a year before Takara did, and we are told that Baekje was “greatly disturbed”. That likely means there were some tensions over who would rule the kingdom. Uija came out on top, but may not have been the favorite. It has been speculated that Princes Saeseong or Prince Gyoki may have been accused of trying to usurp the throne, and hence why they were banished, though I’m not entirely sure of that.

Prince Pung or Pungjang, aka Buyeo Pung (623-668)

A prince of Baekje and son of King Uija. The Nihon Shoki says he came over as a hostage in 630, but his father wasn’t even king until 641, and he would have been about 7 years old, assuming he was born in 623. More likely he came over in 643 around the 3rd or 4th month. There is a prince who is said to arrive around that time.

Prince Saeseong (??)

This prince is more difficult. He seems to have been in Japan around the same time as Gyoki. The envoys of 642 (which may not be an accurate date) wanted to bring him back with them, but Yamato refused. The envoys apparently suggested he had done something wrong, and Yamato may have even kept him to protect him from whatever punishment he would receive in Baekje. Unfortunately, we just don’t know a lot.

Prince Gyoki (??)

Similarly, what we know comes from the Chronicles. He arrives in 642 and then departs later that same year. He is active in the court and close friends, it would seem, with Soga no Emishi. He is mentioned alongside Sr. Counselor Chijeok. Since the entry of 2/2 in 642 suggests that Chijeok died a year previous, that may put that entry sometime around or after 654. Unfortunately, it just isn’t very clear.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is episode 107: Winds Across the Straits
Villagers gathered near the center of their community. In contrast to the clean, walled up compounds of the local elites, with their raised floor buildings, the buildings here were much simpler, often sitting directly on the ground, or dug down into the earth in the pit dwelling style that had been used for centuries. Mostly what anyone would notice were the thatched roofs, which had been used for centuries to keep out the rain and snow. A tall watchtower was currently unmanned as everyone had gathered around, curious at the news coming from the east.
A wandering mystic had come to town, and she was spreading words of hope across the country of Yamashiro. Over the past few years there had been droughts, famine, earthquakes, and more. People had tried everything in conjunction with the advice of their local hafuri, or priests. They had petitioned the local kami of the rivers and lakes, they had tried imported practices like sacrificing horses, and at a nearby village they had changed the location of the marketplace to see if that would work.
Even when the rains had come, the damage had been done. Food was scarce, and many of those who had survived were hardly in the best of situations. Life in the village, working the land, was quite different from the life of the elites. The wealthy had servants and slaves to tend to their needs, and they had access to stores of grain and other food in times of trouble. They also had charge of the mononofu—the warriors who worked for them and were often an implicit—if not explicit—threat of violence for anyone who didn’t pay their expected taxes.
This is perhaps what made the mystic’s message so alluring. She told them about the teachings of a man from the River Fuji, in the East, named Ohofu Be no Ohoshi: he claimed to have discovered a new kami, the god of Tokoyo, the Everlasting world. It was said that those who worshipped this god, who appeared in the land in the form of a caterpillar that thrived on orange tree leaves, would earn great things in this new world, when it came. The poor would become rich and the old would become young again, when the promises of Tokoyo came to fruition.
But it wasn’t as easy as just saying some words. True devotees would need to prove themselves, casting out the valuables of their house and setting out any food on the side of the road. They would then yell out: “The new riches have come!”
Then they were to worship these insects that were the kami’s incarnation. They would put them in a pure place and worship them with song and dance. Many had already started doing this, the mystic said. Indeed, the people of Yamashiro had heard rumors of some of these new practices, but only now were learning about why they had arisen. It was a lot to ask, to give up their valuables and the little food they had — but then again, in this dew drop world, what was there to lose, for those already working themselves to the bone? Was this any more incredible than asking the hafuri to pray to the kami, or even relying on that new religion in Yamato, where they prayed to giant bronze and gold statues to bring about prosperity and happiness. Besides, if so many others had joined up already, perhaps there was something to these fantastic stories.
And thus, village by village, a new religion began to take hold of the countryside, eventually making its way to the capital of Yamato, itself.

Greetings, listeners! While the thing we covered last episode -- the Isshi Incident of 645, which is to say the assassination of Soga no Iruka in front of Her Majesty Takara, aka Kougyoku Tenno -- certainly dominates the narrative in the popular imagination for this particular point in Japanese history, there was a lot more going on over these last few years, both over on the continent in the archipelago. And so this episode we are going to cover some of that: From the missions from Baekje, Goguryeo, and Silla, which were likely driven by conflict on the peninsula, to the Baekje Princes who resided in the Yamato court as political hostages as well as esteemed guests. And to finish it off we’ll talk about the popular 7th century millennial cult that sprang up in Yamashiro around the worship of the God of Tokoyo, the Everlasting World. All in the reign of the Empress known to history as Kougyoku Tennou…. At least for now.
Michael Como, in his book on Shoutoku Taishi, makes particular note of some of the overarching themes across the straits and how that affected what was happening—or at least what gets remembered—in Yamato. As we discussed back in episode 98, Como makes the point that the early, opposing Buddhist factions that placed Shotoku Taishi on a pedestal were largely connected with one or more continental factions. While the Soga were heavily connected with Baekje, other family groups, like the Hata, were more closely tied with Silla, at least according to later accounts.
And on top of that, the area around Koshi and Tsunaga had ties with Goguryeo. As the Tang dynasty and Goguryeo were in contention on their own borders, no doubt both of them and their allies were looking to nearby nations for either support or at least neutrality. One can also see how peninsular enmities might also make their way across the strait to the archipelago with families of various ethnic backgrounds no doubt carrying on some of the continental prejudices with them even into a new land.
A lot of the accounts for this reign that aren’t dealing with the weather and natural disasters—topics of particular concern from the 642 to 643—are dealing with the continent.
It started out in 642, with Baekje envoys arriving in the first month of that year, apparently to deliver their condolences on the death of the sovereign. They were accompanied by Yamato’s envoy to Baekje, Azumi no Yamashiro no Muraji no Hirafu, who left them at Tsukushi to rush back to Yamato via post-horse, while the Baekje envoys took their time via the normal, ship-borne route.
And right off the bat we have a few things of note. The first is this idea of post-horses. The various circuits around the archipelago had reportedly been set up some time back, even before horses were a thing. While a single horse would have been rather fast overland, the mention of post-horse system implies a method of travel more akin to the short-lived pony express in the American west, where various post stations were set up across the major highways so that officials could quickly traverse them, riding horseback from one station to the next, where a fresh horse would be waiting for them. This way the horses themselves could be properly fed and rested, since no single horse could cover all of the ground in a straight up gallop, just as no person could. Instead, this is something like a relay race, where the envoy Hirafu became the baton passed from horse to horse.
The Pony Express used stations set up at intervals of approximately 5 to 20 miles, so that the horses could be changed out frequently. Of course, changing horses would also take some time—I’ve found some sources citing average speeds of only about 10 miles per hour for the Pony Express, but that beats by far the four miles per hour for a fast walker, not to mention the ability to keep going for much longer than just 8 hours a day.
Of course, he would have had to take a boat for at least some of the journey, likely crossing from Kyuushuu over to Honshuu near Shimonoseki or something similar, at which point he could have caught another horse from there. The resonates with something that goes back to pre-Qin Dynasty times, when kingdoms on the continent would set up not just courier stations with horses, but systems of canal boats, and inns for people to stay overnight on long journeys. Still, it must have been a grueling experience.
That such a means of conveyance could take Hirafu from Kyushu to Yamato, though, implies that Yamato’s reach was fairly solid all the way out to the Dazai near modern Fukuoka, at least. It is unclear how these post stations were set up in regards to the local Miyake, or royal granaries, another government project we’ve talked about, but either way it demonstrates a certain degree of control over the region.
And so Hirafu was able to make it back to the court in time for the ceremonies associated with the mourning of Tamura, aka Jomei Tennou, and the ascension of Her Majesty, Takara no Ohokimi. He likewise was able to inform the court of Baekje’s condolence envoys’ imminent arrival and give the court a head’s up on the situation in Baekje, where he said that the country was “greatly disturbed”. When the Baekje envoys themselves arrived, Azumi no Hirafu, Kusakabe no Iwakane, and Yamato no Aya no Agata were sent to ask them about their news.
From what we know in the Samguk Sagi, King Wicha of Baekje had just come to the throne. The previous king, King Mu, died in the third month of 641, so it hadn’t even been a year since his death. Furthermore, we are told that his wife, the mother of King Wicha, had also passed away. The Baekje envoys asked for the return of prince Saeseong, possibly the younger brother of Prince P’ung, saying he had behaved badly and they wanted to convey him back to the King, but Takara refused. Presumably, based on context, this was one of the hostages that Yamato held from Baekje, but why they wouldn’t turn them over to the Baekje envoys isn’t explained. I suspect it had something to do with the politics of King Wicha coming to the throne, which seems like it may have not been accepted by everyone, as evidenced by his tour of the realm, mentioned in the Samguk Sagi, which was likely a political move to demonstrate his authority over the realm.
This colors a lot of what we are going to talk about, so let’s try to get some of it straight off the bat. Unfortunately, as we talked about in Episode 105, some of the Baekje related dates are questionable, and that means that there is a lot here that I’m going to give you where we may have to back track a bit and see if we can put it in the right order. I’m going to try to give you the information in largely chronological order according to the Nihon Shoki, but then I’ll also try and place it where we think it might actually go, so apologies if this feels disjointed.
Also, let me take a moment to talk a little bit more about the Baekje royal family, which will become rather important to our narrative. For one, there is King Wicha, son of King Mu. Mu passed away in 640 and Wicha came to the throne. Wicha already had several children of his own, one of whom, Prince Pung, or Prince Pungjang, will feature heavily in both the Japanese and Korean sources, though as we mentioned in episode 105, the dates around Prince Pung’s arrival, which the Nihon Shoki has about 630, doesn’t match up with what we know. We are fairly confident that Prince Pung returned to Baekje in 661, which accords with the Nihon Shoki, Samguk Sagi, and Tang records. However, Best makes a good case that he didn’t actually come over to the archipelago until much later—probably 643.
He wasn’t the only royal prince of Baekje in Yamato, however. We are told of two others: Saeseong and Gyoki. Saeseong is mentioned as being a bit of a troublemaker, and requested to come home, but Yamato refuses to let him go. Gyoki is said to have caused trouble and been banished with some 40 others out to sea. I have a suspicion that much of this is misplaced in the Chronicle. Saesong may have been there first or perhaps came over with Prince Pung—I’ve seen him mentioned as the younger brother to Prince Pung, but I also wonder if he wasn’t the younger brother to King Wicha. Gyoki, meanwhile, despite what we initially hear about him, is invited to Yamato shortly after that entry and treated like a real celebrity. It is unclear to me if he is a younger brother to Wicha or an elder brother to Prince Pungjang, but either way, he seems to have been a royal prince that wasn’t quite in line for the throne.
I suspect that in reality the mission that is listed as coming in 641 was actually much later—possibly in the 650s. That would explain some of it, including the gossip that the Senior Counselor, Chijeok, died in the 11th month of the previous year,
Aston writes off most of this as an unreliable narrative by servants. Jonathan Best, in his translation of the Samguk Sagi, is a bit more generous and suggests that, much as with Prince Pung-jang, whom the Nihon Shoki records arriving in the 630s but who couldn’t reasonably have arrived until the 640s, there was probably a dating issue. The scribes were using records with the branch and stem system of dates, and so it could easily have been off by a factor of ten or twelve years, at least. We know, for instance, that there is a record of Senior Counselor Chijeok in the Nihon Shoki in the 7th month of 642, though it says he died in 641. Furthermore, we have his name on a fragmentary inscription, likely dating to 654, noting him as a patron of a Buddhist monastery. So it would seem that word of his death was exaggerated or parts of this are coming from later accounts, and the scribes simply made a mistake. Hence my suggestion that this entire entry might be misplaced. If so, it would make more sense for Yamato to be asking about the fates of people that they knew, and hence hearing the fates of Chijeok and Gyoki, who had both visited Yamato and would have been known to the court.

Regardless, it likely was the case, as recorded in the Nihon Shoki, that the envoys’ ship was anchored in Naniwa harbor and the envoys were put up at the official government residence there, in modern Ohosaka. This may indicate that the mission mentioning Chijeok and Gyoki got conflated with other entries about the actual envoys of condolence and congratulations.
Then, 19 days later, on the 22nd day of the 2nd month, another group of envoys showed up. This time it was Goguryeo. As mentioned, Goguryeo had a few things going on, but they still knew how to make an entrance. For example, the Chronicles mention that high ministers were sent to the district office in Naniwa to inspect the gold and silver that Goguryeo had sent with their envoys, along with other things from their country. This may have been them trying to get Yamato on their side.
That said, Goguryeo had been going through a lot themselves, we are told. First off, based on the Samguk Sagi accounts, Goguryeo had sent envoys to the Tang in 640. In 641, the Tang court returned the favor, and in so doing their envoy, the Director of the Bureau of Operations in their Ministry of War, Chen Dade, used it as a chance to spy out the border region. At every walled town he would offer the local officials gifts of silk, and ask to be allowed to see the scenic spots. They let him roam freely, so by the time he went back he had an intimate account and understanding of Goguryeo’s defenses along the Tang-Goguryeo border. Goguryeo seems to have been completely unaware of this touristic espionage, but then again, they may have been distracted dealing with their own internal problems.
And so the Nihon Shoki reports that the envoys delivered news of this to the court: How the younger prince of Goguryeo died in the 6th month of 641. Then, in the 9th month, the Prime Minister murdered the king, along with some 180 people. He then put the son of the younger prince on the throne as king.
In the Samguk Sagi, these events appear to happen a year later. Yon Gaesomun killed King Keonmu in the 10th month of 642 and put Prince Chang, aka Pojang, on the throne. The Samguk Sagi says he was the younger brother of King Keonmu, the son of King Taeyang—who was the younger brother of King Yeongnyu, so that may be where the Nihon Shoki gets that he was the “son of the younger prince”. Still, the gist is correct, even if it seems to be off by a year or so.
From here, Goguryeo would be at war with the Tang dynasty for much of the next thirty years, all under the reign of King Pojang. They were able to fend the Tang off for a while, but the Tang would eventually ally with Silla, and though Baekje seems to have supported Goguryeo in general, Baekje itself was also caught between the Tang and Silla. They no doubt hoped for Yamato’s aid, but while the archipelago may have had warriors, they were still a good ways from the continent, and would likely need to avoid confrontation with Silla, who now controlled all the way to the Nakdong river basin. Not that they wouldn’t try. Insert dramatic sound effects alluding to a later episode.
All that prognosticating aside, at this point, at least from the envoys’ point of view, all of the future was unwritten. Both Goguryeo and Baekje guests were entertained at the Naniwa district office, and envoys were named to Goguryeo, Baekje, Silla, and to the no longer extant Nimna—the latter seems to have been, at this point, a not-so-polite fiction between Silla and Yamato that Nimna was still at least semi-independent.
It was at this time that Gyoki was also brought to Yamato and lodged in the house of Azumi no Hirafu, the previous envoy to Baekje. Gyoki likely knew Hirafu from his time at the Baekje court. This was probably the actual arrival of Gyoki, I suspect.
A week or so later, the Silla envoys of congratulations and condolence arrived: congratulations on Takara’s ascension and then a group of envoys expressing condolence for her husband’s death. They left after less than two weeks—apparently they simply delivered their message and left, unless there was some other reason having to do with the Baekje and Goguryeo envoys being there at the same time. No mention is made in the Nihon Shoki of exactly why they turned around so quickly.
Meanwhile, Gyoki was living it up. He’s referenced as the Chief Envoy from Baekje at this point—probably the highest ranking individual from the court present. On the 8th day of the fourth month he attended an audience with Her Majesty, Takara, and then two days later he was partying with Soga no Emishi out at his mansion in Unebi. Soga no Emishi had good conversations and presented a good horse and twenty bars of iron, but curiously the hostage crown prince, Sesaeng, was not invited to any of this.
Given that we know what the Chroniclers think of Soga no Emishi, I’m wondering if there isn’t a little bit of that same feeling towards Gyoki. After all, we were previously told he and some 40 others were exiled, so perhaps this is just leading up to that?
Gyoki and his companions were later invited to witness an “archery hunt” in front of the Yosami Miyake in Kawachi. This is glossed as “Uma-yumi” or “Horse-Bow”, leading one to wonder if this was similar to yabusame, the traditional horsed archery, performed at various shrines each year. Or perhaps it was one of the other archery games from horseback, many of them much less savory, often using a live animal as the target, usually staked or confined to an area, and the archers circle around and shoot at them.
By the 5th month of 642 – a little over three months after Baekje had first arrived with envoys of condolences, we are told that a shipp of Baekje envoys anchored together along with the ship of the Kishi family. This is likely Naniwa no Kishi, as Naniwa no Kishi no Kuhina had been assigned as envoy to Baekje. The envoys delivered their goods and Kuhina reported on their mission.
Once again, the dates look to be slightly off. Had Kuhina really traveled to Baekje and back in just three months? It is possible, but not typically how things were done at the time. Ships often had to take their time, navigating the Seto Inland Sea and then checking in at modern Fukuoka before following the island chains out to Tsushima. At that point they could sail around Tsushima, or cross at a narrow part of the island, known today as Kofunakoshi. We know that this was used from at least the 9th century as a place where ships coming to and from the islands would stop, often transmitting their goods to a local ship on the other side, with a crew that presumably better knew the waters and was under the command of the appropriate government. In addition, as the ships reached various checkpoints they would stop for a while, and often another ship would be sent ahead to prepare the way for an official delegation. Since they didn’t have phones, something like this would have been required to inform the next post to be ready to receive the visitors.
More likely, this would have been Kuhina finally ready to depart to take on his mission with Baekje.
Shortly after this, we are told that one of Gyoki’s companions died, and then his own child died—we aren’t told if it was from disease or something else. It did provide an opportunity to see some of the cultural differences between Baekje and Yamato at the time, as Gyoki and his wife refused to attend the ceremonies for their late son. The Chroniclers explained that, in Baekje and Silla, when someone dies, the parents, siblings, and spouse were not supposed to look on them again.
For what it’s worth, I could find no relationship between this and any contemporary Korean practice. This may have been something in Baekje and Silla that eventually went away. Then again, it is possible there was something else going on, and it was misinterpreted by the Wa. Given that the Chroniclers are dismissive of the practice, it is entirely possible that this was just slanderous rumor, too. The Chroniclers make a point of saying that the people of Baekje and Silla who practice these kinds of death rites are without feeling, and thus no better than animals. So, yeah, clearly the Chroniclers were presenting just the facts, right?
Gyoki’s child was buried in Ishikawa in Kawachi, and Gyoki moved his family to a house in Ohowi, in Kudara—which is to say the area of Kawachi named for Baekje.
Two months after he lost his son, on the 22nd day of the 7th month, Senior Counsellor Chicheok and colleagues were entertained at the Yamato court. This is that same Senior Counsellor previously thought to be dead. Again, Aston simply treats it as gossip, while I tend to wonder if the records aren’t out of order—unless Chijeok was some kind of Baekje Benjamin Button.
Entertainment at the Yamato court apparently included havingvarious people wrestle for their entertainment. Even Prince Gyoki himself entered the contest. When the banquet was finished they went to pay their respect’s at Gyoki’s compound, likely stopping by and having a bit of a nightcap.
Two weeks later the Baekje envoys tried to leave, but the storms kicked up. One of the ships was wrecked on the shore. Fortunately, it seems like those on the boat survived and they were placed on another boat a couple weeks later. A day after that, the Goguryeo envoys left for their own country.
The Baekje envoys finally made it back, we are told, 11 days later, on the 26th day of the 8th month. Not bad given the journey they had to undertake, and actually a bit hard to believe. In contrast, the Silla envoys, who left in the 3rd month, apparently only made it as far as the island of Iki, between Kyushu and Tsushima, by the 10th month of 642. Perhaps they were just going at a more leisurely pace, but it does make it hard to trust that all the records were rearranged in precisely the correct order.
As for this period, outside of the Silla envoys, the entire episode, starting on the 2nd day of the 2nd month of 642, finally concluded—mostly—over six months later. It occupies most of that part of Chronicle, with the exception of the accounts of the weather, drought, and famine.
After all of these people had returned to the peninsula, the Nihon Shoki focuses on a few local things from the archipelago. Soga no Emishi was ordered to raise a levy in Afumi and Koshi to build a temple, the court levied various provinces to make ships—we aren’t told why but previously this was often something done in preparation for war—and then Takara ordered Soga no Emishi to build a new palace with levies on various provinces and workmen from Toutoumi and Aki. That was all in the 9th month, at the end of which, we are told that several thousand Emishi from the Koshi region, where Soga no Emishi had been ordered to levy workers for a temple earlier in the month, submitted to Yamato and were entertained at court. Soga no Emishi himself entertained them at his house and asked them about their welfare.
This is all a bit confusing, but let’s try to understand some of what might be going on. First, you may recall in the previous reign there was a mention with General Katana who went to the east to subdue an uprising of Emishi there, so it is possible that this is a continuation of that. At the same time, these Emishi, we are told, are from the land of Koshi.
It is likely that this is evidence of Yamato’s increased presence in the northern region of the island of Honshi, which stretched along the northern edge of the Chubu, or middle Honshu, region, including the Noto peninsula and eastward to Tohoku, or the Northeast region. This had been an important area for various resources, including the source of jade magatama, since at least the early days of the Yayoi period, judging from artifacts discovered at various sites. It is also a region connected to the current dynasty, in that Wohodo no Ohokimi, aka Keitai Tennou, generally seen as the progenitor of the current line of sovereigns, is said to have come from that region.
Furthermore, this region is closely connected to various overseas trade routes. While the most common route we hear about, at least at this point in the chronicles, is the Seto Inland Sea route, there was also a route along the Japan Sea side of Honshu, which included the areas of Izumo and the port of Tsunuga—modern day Tsuruga—which includes the Kehi shrine, purportedly for a kami who came over from the peninsula. At least one Goguryeo mission explicitly used this route—whether intentionally or otherwise—to get to Yamato, crossing over to Afumi, aka Lake Biwa, and then taking the rivers south to Naniwa.
Michael Como suggests that there is enough evidence to suggest a fairly heavy Goguryeo influence in the region. He also suggests that the Soga had a good deal of interactions and influences themselves with Goguryeo, pointing out that Shotoku Taishi’s teacher had supposedly been a monk from Goguryeo, and that the plan for Asukadera, the Soga temple, with three golden halls around a central pagoda, is extremely similar to temple plans found in Goguryeo and not in Silla and Baekje.
I do feel it is worth pointing out that it is very possible that this was not Asukadera’s original layout, and it is hard to say how much of the stories surrounding Shotoku Taishi we can trust. Still, Koshi was an area that had a long history of trade with the continent, and the ease of the waterways from Yamato to the Japan Sea would have made it at least strategically useful to the growing state.
There is another aspect here, but it is a bit more tenuous. There are some that suggest that Soga no Emishi’s own name, or at least the name as it is handed down to us today, comes from his dealings with the Emishi people. Here we see him intimately involved in Koshi, in the Emishi coming to submit, and him then hosting them in his own house. So even if his name is coincidental, there does appear to be some connection there.
And we are still in the first year of Takara’s reign. It was in this twelfth month that Okinaga no Yamana no Kimi finally pronounced a eulogy for the entire royal line. As you may recall, Takara’s husband, Tamura, aka Jomei Tennou, had been a member of the Okinaga royal line, so this was likely part of the ceremonies around his death and burial.
There is more here about the placement of palaces, which we touched on a lot in the last episode. There is also a lot about storms, weather, and peach blossoms blooming.
Then on the thirteenth day of the third month of 643, the second year of Takara’s reign, there was a terrible fire in Naniwa. The official guest quarters for Baekje burned down, and the houses of the common people also caught fire.
This is also around the time that Best suggests that Prince Pungjang, son of King Wicha of Baekje, may have actually arrived, as we discussed earlier. That actually could be tied to events a month later, when the Dazai in Tsukushi—the government outpost on Kyushu—sent a mounted messenger to Her Majesty, Takara, to let her know that Gyoki’s younger brother, the son of the King of Baekje, had arrived.
The Baekje ships, which had arrived in the area of modern Fukuoka around the 21st day of the 4th month finally arrived in Naniwa two months later. Presumably the Baekje envoys’ official guest quarters had been repaired or rebuilt at this point, and several high ministers went to inspect the tribute. They couldn’t help but notice that the tribute this time was less—fewer items and of lower quality that previously. The Envoys promised that they would make up the shortfall.
Around all of this, the drama between the Soga, Prince Naka no Oe, and others was playing out, with Iruka attacking and eventually killing Yamashiro no Oe, all of which was discussed in the last episode. Meanwhile we get a small line about Prince Pung keeping four hives of bees on Mt. Miwa, but apparently they didn’t grow large enough to multiply, so that doesn’t seem to have taken off.
We’ll return to Prince Pungjang later. For now, we have seen much of the disturbances that were caused and eventually led up to the Isshi Incident in 645, and 644 is full of many long entries about everything that happened, but I don’t want to worry about that—we covered most of that last episode. What I do want to concern ourselves with is the story I started the episode with – the curious tale of a man named Ohofube no Ohoshi, who started up his own millennial cult.
Now there has been quite a bit of speculation around this episode, especially given that all we really have is a single entry, dated to the 7th month of 644, and here I’ll quote Aston’s translation:
“A man of the neighbourhood of the River Fuji in the East Country named Ohofu Be no Oho urged his fellow-villagers to worship an insect, saying: "This is the God of the Everlasting World. Those who worship this God will have long life and riches." At length the wizards and witches, pretending an inspiration of the Gods, said:--"Those who worship the God of the Everlasting World will, if poor, become rich, and, if old, will become young again." So they more and more persuaded the people to cast out the valuables of their houses, and to set out by the roadside sake, vegetables, and the six domestic animals. They also made them cry out: "The new riches have come!" Both in the country and in the metropolis people took the insect of the Everlasting World and, placing it in a pure place, with song and dance invoked happiness. They threw away their treasures, but to no purpose whatever. The loss and waste was extreme. Hereupon Kahakatsu, Kadono no Hada no Miyakko, was wroth that the people should be so much deluded, and slew Ohofu Be no Oho. The wizards and witches were intimidated, and ceased to persuade people to this worship. The men of that time made a song, saying:
Udzumasa
Has executed
The God of the Everlasting World
Who we were told
Was the very God of Gods.
This insect is usually bred on orange trees, and sometimes on the Hosoki. It is over four inches in length, and about as thick as a thumb. It is of a grass-green colour with black spots, and in appearance entirely resembles the silkworm.”
This is remarkable in several ways. For one, we get a glimpse of how a popular cult might get started. Since it is at this same time the cult of Shotoku Taishi is taking hold in some temples, it is interesting to draw parallels between the two. Como points this out in his book on Shotoku Taishi, and notes several other things. For one is the discussion of this “ever-lasting world”, or Tokoyo. We’ve heard of Tokoyo before – the term is found in the Chronicles in the section around the Age of the Gods. Sukuna Bikona himself leaps off to Tokoyo from a blade of grass in one story, much like an insect himself.
Tokoyo is a bit mysterious. It isn’t the land of the dead, where Izanami goes to live when she dies in childbirth. Neither is it the Great Plain of Heaven, Takama no hara, where Amaterasu dwells. We have the gods of the Heavens and gods of the Earth, but no gods of Tokoyo. Indeed, Tokoyo is mentioned, but not well described. By all accounts it would appear to be a place that spirits go after death to an unchanging world, rather than coming back to this one.
This fits in with various other continental ideas starting to come over at the time, especially as part of the Mahayana Buddhist tradition, which included a search for effective ways to reach enlightenment. There had been feelings for some time that humans were already in the latter days of the law, or Mappo: the concept that the further we get from the time of the Buddha, the more morality would decline and the harder it would be for people to break the chains of materialism and desire that hold them to this plane of existence. As such, some sects and teachers taught simpler and more expedient methods, in an effort to save all of the sentient beings. Things like an abbreviated mantra that would help you get into a paradise where you could eventually attain enlightenment certainly had its adherents, especially amongst those who might not have the time or inclination to join the monastery themselves.
The idea of a Pure Land, or Joudo, took off early, This Pure Land, is most commonly connected with Amida Butsu, the Amithaba Buddha. Sutras referencing Amida and the Pure Land were translated by Kumarajiva as early as the 5th century, and may have been part of the larger corpus of scrolls brought over to the archipelago. According to the sutra, they say that if you honestly chant Amida Butsu’s name just once—often through the phrase “Namu Amida Butsu”—then rather than being reborn again into the world on your death, you would instead be reincarnated in a Pure Land, where you could focus entirely on your own enlightenment for however long it would take, removing yourself from the pain and suffering of this world. This practice was taught by the Sanron school as well as by the Hossou school in the 7th and 8th centuries, along with other practices. It would continue to be taught, especially developing in the Tendai sect.
Of course chanting “Namu Amida Butsu” was something you could do while working the fields, or doing any other number of profane, yet necessary tasks. So you can see why this was an attractive idea to many people, even if they didn’t have the ability to start a temple or study the scriptures or become monks or nuns themselves, at least in this life.
Pure Land belief and practices continued to grow and develop in various Buddhists sects, but really took off as an independent practice in Japan in the Kamakura Period, appealing to warriors and commoners alike with its seemingly simple mantra.
Shotoku Taishi himself is closely connected to the Pure Land concept, as Como points out. He and his teacher, Eija, are both said to have attained the Pure Land upon their deaths. The famous embroidery, commissioned after Shotoku Taishi’s death, known as the Tenjukoku Mandala, presumably also describes a country of Heavenly Long Life. “Tenjukoku” does not have an immediate connection to any particular continental sect or philosophy, but it does seem to be at least a cognate for some of these other ideas such as the Joudo Pure Land OR the Tokoyo of Ohofube no Ohoshi.
Whether Ohoshi was, in fact, influenced by other continental ideas is unclear. We’re not even sure if his was the first use of the concept of “Tokoyo” or if that was an idea already planted in the public consciousness by that time—though if so, I would think it would be a bit more widespread. One could understand, however, how people who had been through famines, floods, earthquakes, disease, and more might find the idea of an eternal ever-after where they could be rich and young again quite inviting. Enough people found it so that they apparently were willing to give up everything they owned and place it out on the streets. Even if this wasn’t just a scheme to go and scoop up all the goods and skip town, one can see how this may have been viewed as disruptive and unhealthy for the community, at least by those comfortably seated in power, whose workforce was being pulled away from their labors to this new belief system.
The ones who were spreading this good news, while called wizards and witches by Aston, use characters that one could just as easily ascribe to Shinto priests and sacred Miko. Since Shinto wasn’t fully formed as we know it today, I think it might be better to say various ritualists and diviners. Whether they were true believers or simply “pretending” to be inspired, as the Nihon Shoki says, who can say for certain. What makes one vision more objectively “true” than another, beyond your own belief and faith?
And it should be remembered that bringing in new spiritual ideas wasn’t, well, new. That’s how Buddhism got started, and likely was one of the ways that Yamato itself expanded its own influence. How many other quote-unquote “cults” like this existed, and how many were absorbed into the establishment and how many were cast aside?
In this case, it would seem that Ohoshi’s main problem was likely that he was attracting the wrong sorts of people, which is to say he was appealing to commoners. In the Warring States period, we would see a not dissimilar dynamic with the independent Joudo Shinshu, a sect of Pure Land Buddhism, supporting commoners in what became known as the ikkou ikki. They formed communities that helped each other, but at the same time bucked the yoke of the local daimyo and others. This would bring about violent retribution from warlords like Oda Nobunaga, who wasn’t having any of it.
Similarly, as the Tokoyo sect spread into Yamashiro and down into the capital region, Kadono no Hata no Miyatsuko no Kawakatsu decided to take matters into his own hands. Ostensibly, he was upset that people would be so deluded, and under that pretext, he had Ohoshi killed and his followers intimidated. Cutting the head off the snake, as it were, caused the body to wither, and apparently the Tokoyo cult was not so everlasting after all.
And here’s where we bring things back around. You may recall Hata no Kawakatsu, or at least his family. The progenitor of the Hata family was called Uzumasa, and even today their name is affixed to an area of Kyoto, which was built in the old Hata territory. Hence the poem about Uzumasa executing the God of the Everlasting World.
That area, from Lake Biwa down to Naniwa, is on that corridor from Yamato to Koshi. The Hata themselves are connected with the continent—especially with Silla. The Hata temple of Kouryuuji even has a Silla image said to have been obtained by Shotoku Taishi and given to them. Along with Shitennoji, it is one of several Silla-influenced temples that helped promote the cult of Shotoku Taishi.
It is, of course, possible that we are reading way too much into this. Some of these things could just be coincidence, but then again, why was it written down and why did the Chroniclers feel that it was important to spend ink on the process? That’s the real question here.
And what more was going on that never got written down, or at least not clearly? It is likely that we will never truly know the answer to all of these questions. Unless some ancient documents are found from the period that miraculously survived, with significantly different stories, it would be hard to say much more, but that doesn’t mean we can’t wonder.
But that’s all we’ll do for now. At this point, I think we’ve covered these years from 642 to 645 as best we could, and it is probably time to move on. I’m not going to prognosticate on next episode just yet, other than to say that we will eventually need to talk about the Taika Reforms—the Great Change. But that may take a little more time to research so that we can do it properly, but we’ll see.
Until then, thank you for listening and for all of your support.
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Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast.
And that’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

Kim, P., & Shultz, E. J. (2011). The 'Koguryo annals' of the 'Samguk Sagi'. Gyeonggi-do: Academy of Korean Studies Press.
Como, Michael (2008). Shōtoku: Ethnicity, Ritual, and Violence in the Japanese Buddhist Tradition. ISBN 978-0-19-518861-5
Matsuo, K. (13 Dec. 2007). A History of Japanese Buddhism. Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill. doi: https://doi.org/10.1163/ej.9781905246410.i-280
Best, J. (2006). A History of the Early Korean Kingdom of Paekche, together with an annotated translation of The Paekche Annals of the Samguk sagi. Cambridge (Massachusetts); London: Harvard University Asia Center. doi:10.2307/j.ctt1tg5q8p
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4

Episode 106: Game of Thrones - Asuka Style

April 15, 2024 Joshua Badgley

An Edo era depiction of the Isshi Incident of 645. The participants are anachronistically painted in the court robes of the late Heian era rather than an earlier age. From the “Tōnomine Engi Emaki”. A copy of the first scroll can be found at the Nara Women’s University website: https://www.nara-wu.ac.jp/aic/gdb/mahoroba/y06/shahon/TounomineEngiEmaki.html, with depictions of various parts of this story. Image in the public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

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This episode we look at the Isshi Incident of 645. This is perhaps one of the most famous events of ancient Japanese history. It is also one of the most well documented of the Chronicles, including a complete blow by blow of everything that went down.

And yet it should be noted we only have one side of the story, with obvious bias. Unlike later incidents that we can check against multiple contemporary diaries and get different takes from people in different sides of the conflict, in this case we only have the official record.

On the other hand, we are only about 75-80 years from the publication of the Nihon Shoki. The participants would have passed away, but it wasn't exactly ancient history for them.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is episode 106: Game of Thrones – Asuka Style
Envoys from the Korean peninsula stood in the rock strewn courtyard of the Itabuki palace, looking north towards the raised wooden palace building. Courtiers were in attendance for the ceremony, the reading of memorials from the kingdoms of Silla, Baekje, and Goguryeo. Many stood along the ground, but those of rank and status were granted leave to sit on the veranda or even under the eaves of the building. In the center, screened from view, but still present, was the Queen of Yamato, Ame Toyo Takara Ikashi-hi Tarashi Hime. Her husband had passed away not four years ago, and ever since she had carried the burden of the state upon her shoulders. Nearby sat Kuratsukuri, the Oho-omi, who had taken on the mantle of his ill father to help guide and lead the court. He was undoubtedly the most powerful man in Yamato, and as such held one of the most prestigious positions.
Below, in the courtyard, Maro read out the memorials. His hands and voice shook and sweat poured down from his brow. When asked why he was so nervous, Maro would reply that it was no small feat to stand in the august presence of the Queen and to read out a memorial for the three Han, the three Kingdoms of the Korean peninsula. He was on the spot, as it were, in front of the most powerful people in the land. Anyone would be nervous under those circumstances.
That wasn’t quite true, however. Maro had other reasons to be nervous, as he knew what was about to happen—and what the consequences would be if he and the others failed. Some time back, you see, Maro had been approached by his son-in-law, Prince Katsuraki, with an audacious plan hatched by Katsuraki with his close friend, Kamako, along with a few others. Now that plan was finally coming to fruition.
While attention was focused on Maro, Prince Katsuraki had had the guards lock the gates, while Kamako readied archers in the galleries. Kamako had also secretly sent a pair of swords over to two other conspirators, Komaro and Amida, but those two balked at the magnitude of what they were about to do. They were so intimidated they almost threw up, but Prince Katsuraki chided them and tried to spur them into action – but when that failed, Prince Katsuraki himself leapt into motion.
With a mighty yell he leapt forward, weapon drawn. Komaro and Amida followed along behind, as the crowd went silent. Everyone else froze as the three descended on Kuratsukuri, the Oho-omi. With one blow Prince Katsuraki caught a part of his head and shoulder. As Kuratsukuri started to get up, another blow caught him in the leg. Kuratsukuri rolled on the ground away from his attackers and in front of the august presence of the Queen. Bleeding profusely, he pleaded with her to do something about this unprovoked attack.
In shock, Her Majesty asked what the meaning of this was, to which Prince Katsuraki prostrated himself. Kuratsukuri, he said, was guilty of plotting to bring down the royal family and place himself on the throne.
The Queen, seeing there was little she could do, retreated to the safety of her inner palace, while the attackers dealt Kuratsukuri his death blows, and then covered his body with screens and mats as rain began to fall and puddles formed in the courtyard.
Thus kicked off the Isshi Incident of 645, which was, in its way, Japan’s own Red Wedding, and the people involved might be known to you by other names. Prince Katsuraki is, of course, better known as Prince Naka no Ohoye, later known as Tenji Tennou, and Kuratsukuri is more popularly known as Soga no Iruka, the scion of the famous Soga family that had featured so heavily in the Yamato court. Katsuraki’s co-conspirator, Kamako, would later known as Nakatomi—or even Fujiwara—no Kamatari. This incident, worthy of an episode of Game of Thrones, would dramatically change the balance of power in the court, and greatly impact the future state of Yamato.
How did this dramatic event come about? To better understand everything going on, we’ll take a closer look at what was going on during Takara’s reign, and even draw a bit on what had come before.
First off, you may recall that last episode we talked about the reign of Takara’s husband, Tamura, aka Jomei Tennou, and how sparse the Chronicles were during his thirteen years on the throne. Even the previous reign, that of Kashikiya Hime, had a lot to say—perhaps because it was also the reign where we got Shotoku Taishi, the enlightened Buddhist Prince who could do no wrong. It is also her reign when the ambassadors to the mainland really started up again, and though it was to the Sui court, the Chroniclers referred to it as the “Great Tang”, so that without context, Tamura’s embassy almost seems like it is just a standard thing.
This reign, though, Takara’s reign? The Chroniclers are being meticulous about everything. Some years they are even giving us day by day accounts of the weather, whether it was too hot or too cold. For an unseasonably cold summer they say that the “Ordinances of Winter” are still in effect. This goes back to a passage in a continental story, which claims that if the ruler continues to practice the Winter rites in the summer months the weather would follow suit, since everything the court did was tied to the natural world. Disorder in the state would be reflected by disorder in nature.
Aston notes that the Chroniclers probably were not blaming Takara for the weather, and that this was probably just a common saying for unseasonable weather. And yet, I can’t help but notice that a search of the text of the Nihon Shoki shows that formulation only used during this reign. It is always possible that it was a fad term used by Chroniclers of a few records, and not by others. But it also could refer to a general disorder in the government, a theme that would sit well with anti-Soga sentiments amongst the Chroniclers.
Soga no Emishi, aka Toyoura no Oho-omi, had been the most powerful noble in court since his father, Soga no Umako, had passed away, leaving him as the head of the Soga house. He had been largely responsible for seeing that Prince Yamashiro, son of the popular Crown Prince Umayado, aka Shotoku Taishi, was set aside in favor of Prince Tamura. Sure, Prince Yamashiro was Emishi’s nephew, through his sister, Tojiko no Iratsume, but Tamura was Emishi’s brother-in-law through his other sister Hohote no Iratsume, which also made Tamura’s eldest son, Prince Furubito no Ohoye, another nephew of Soga no Emishi.
I wonder, then, what Emishi felt when, assuming the Chronicles are correct, Tamura made Takara his queen and not Hohote. It was a perfectly reasonable decision by the logic of the time: Takara was of clear royal lineage, while Hohote is simply noted as the daughter of Soga no Umako. Sure, we’ve seen queens appointed without royal lineage, but typically after the chief consort had passed away, and the offspring typically had to contend with the stronger claims of those for whom both parents had been of royal descent. And yet, ever since the Soga had started getting involved in the royal lineage, those lines had been a bit blurred. Had Tamura decided to make Hohote no Iratsume his chief consort and Queen, I don’t know that anyone would have said anything.
Later, we see Tamura building Kudara temple and Kudara palace and moving away from the Soga controlled area of Asuka. Unfortunately, he would also unexpectedly die a couple years later.
We are left by the Chroniclers with the impression that Naka no Ohoe was the Crown Prince, and that Takara herself took up the throne because the heir was still 16 and not yet old enough to take the throne, himself. However, it isn’t entirely clear this was the case—not about him being 16, but about Naka no Ohoye being designated as the heir. As far as I can tell, the Chroniclers don’t mention Naka no Ohoye being made Crown Prince, and so their use of the term “heir apparent” could just be a case of using his later position anachronistically in the Chronicle, and possibly trying to strengthen his claim to the throne. Furthermore, there was an older son of Tamura, Furubito no Ohoye. His mother was of Soga descent, and he was the nephew of Soga no Emishi. He appears to have had the support of the Soga, which of course the Chronicles depict as being the Soga attempting to take the throne for themselves, but we should probably leave room for the idea that he may have had a legitimate claim.
It wasn’t just support of the wrong candidate that Soga no Iruka and his father were accused of—they were accused of trying to usurp the power of the sovereigns. For example, Soga no Emishi decided that, rather than leaving his tomb to be built by his descendants, he would build two tombs himself: one for him and one for his son. He said he did this so that he wouldn’t imposition later generations, and yet he used his power at court to raise levies of workers from across the land, and from the 180 Be, or occupational families. On top of that, he drew on the Mibu-be for the Kamitsumiya household. These were the workers specifically granted to work lands for Prince Umayado and his descendants, collectively referred to as the Kamitsumiya princes after Prince Umayado’s own title as the Kamitsumiya Prince, or Prince of the Upper Palace. He is also said to have referred to these new tombs as “misasagi”, a term reserved for tombs of royal sovereigns.
This all brought the wrath of Princess Kamitsumiya no Iratsume, daughter of Prince Umayado. After all, Soga no Emishi had already kept her brother Prince Yamashiro from his place on the throne, and now he was taking their family’s workers as if those laborers hadn’t been assigned to their household by royal decree. This is on top of other things Emishi did that year, including erecting his own ancestral temple Takamiya in Katsuraki, the lands that Kashikiya Hime, when she was on the throne, had refused to give to Soga no Umako, despite his claims to them as his ancestral lands. Emishi is also said to have performed an eight-fold dance, also normally reserved for members of the royal line. And so Kamitsumiya no Iratsume complained that “In Heaven there are not two suns: in a state there cannot be two sovereigns. Why should he”—by which she means Soga no Emishi—“at his own pleasure, employ, in forced labor, all the people of the fief?”
And there is a lot here that seems damning, but since Soga no Emishi didn’t get a chance to really tell his side of the story, I think we should at least examine some of the inconsistencies or oddities about the account. Perhaps most importantly, all of this is one giant entry that is just said to have happened “in the year 642”, but no specific months and days are given, despite the fact that that other entries are extremely precise. So whatever source this was being taken from apparently it wasn’t necessarily a contemporary account of everything.
Furthermore, a lot of these things wouldn’t actually have been that big of an issue. Building a temple, well, it was all the rage, and not limited to sovereigns. And it isn’t clear if Emishi really did perform some kind of forbidden dance, that could be slander or it may be that the dance wasn’t that forbidden. And building tombs ahead of his demise was hardly something that was improper, and we can’t be certain he really called them “misasagi” and not just a normal word for “tombs”. As for taking the Kamitsumiya laborers, he may have used his authority to do that, but was that really usurping royal prerogative? It may have been more of a political move against the Kamitsumiya house, and it may have been nothing at all—every levy had to pull people from somewhere, and the Kamitsumiya princes were royal princes, but also connected to the Soga house, so this may have not been such a big thing.
Finally, the whole speech about there not being two suns in the sky—that sounds suspiciously like something from the continent. Up until relatively recently in the narrative we actually do see evidence of co-rulership in the archipelago, so I’m not even sure we are so far from that as to make it unthinkable.
But there is a more specific entry that appears to show what may have been some more actual tensions with the Soga family.
On the 23rd day of the seventh month of 642, the pages of Soga no Iruka caught a white sparrow, and at the same time another man put a white sparrow in a cage and gave it to him. These were seen as auspicious signs.
Two days later, a council of state convened. On their minds was the most recent drought. Reports were coming in that it was getting serious: village hafuri, the predecessors to Shinto priests, were, in some locations, recommending sacrificing horses or cattle to the gods at various shrines, asking them to bring rain. In other places people engaged in continental practices, including things like moving the locations of markets, which apparently was something they would do, and of course making prayers to the river-god.
Soga no Emishi suggested that various sutras—or perhaps it was the Great Cloud sutra—be read in bits and pieces, or "tendoku”, to repent sins and pray for rain. The council seems to have agreed with this, and two days later the Great Temple, probably Asukadera, had the images of Buddhas, Boddhisatvas, and the Four Heavenly Kings decked out while a multitude of priests held a formal tendoku reading of the Great Cloud sutra. Soga no Emishi himself participated by holding a censer, burning offerings, and offering up the prayer on behalf of the nation.
This tendoku ceremony, by the way, appears to have been a way to basically speed-read through a sutra. Since reading sutras was supposed to bring about fortune, or at least deter misfortune, the more you read the better. More monks meant you can read more of them, but you could also read more quickly by just reading a brief excerpt and declaring the whole thing read -- this was thought to be just as effective. This is still performed today, but rather than scrolls, it’s usually done with the accordion folded orihon, often using specifically the Daihannya-kyo, or Sutra of Perfect Wisdom, which is comprised of some 600 or so chapters. Priests will read a bit and then recite the chapter titles as they flip through the pages in what is almost like something you would do with a Slinky toy. The paper rustles in the air and creates its own kind of divine wind. Of course, Soga no Emishi’s ceremony would have been a little different, as that form of book was still several centuries away, and the Daihannya-kyo may not have even been translated into Sinitic characters yet, let alone traveled to Yamato. Still, this idea of reading only a part to mean the whole, does seem to have been a common tradition, especially when you were trying to create a lot of merit quickly.
Unfortunately, this ceremony wasn’t enough. We are told a slight rain fell the next day, but not enough to break the drought. So after two days the prayers were discontinued.
Two days later, Takara, as sovereign, went to the headwaters of Minabuchi, where she knelt down and prayed, worshipping the four directions and then looking up to Heaven. Straightaway there was thunder and a great rain, which fell for five days and brought plenty of water for everyone. The people of Yamato—the 100 names under heaven, cried out “Banzai!”, wishing Takara 10,000 years of long life.
In these entries, it would seem that we see the Soga and Buddhism pitted against the traditions of intercession by the royal house. Since time immemorial, the Nihon Shoki tells us how the sovereigns interceded with heaven and with the gods of Yamato and the Japanese archipelago. In this case it looks like that royal tradition won out, and I can’t help but wonder if it spoke to some other conflicts between the royal house and the Soga clan.
Continuing on from the political angle, there is also a short but interesting entry on the 16th day of the 11th month of 642, when Takara celebrated the Niiname sai, or festival of new rice, and apparently the Crown Prince—by which I assume Naka no Ohoye, but possibly Furubito no Ohoye—and Soga no Emishi were also given what I assume was the honor of tasting the new rice. Aston suggests that this would have been done in their own mansions, so I assume that rice was sent to them or they mimic the ceremony in some way, it isn’t clear. But it is interesting that Soga and the Crown Prince are on relatively equal footing.
Almost a year later, and Soga no Emishi was not feeling well. He had become unable to attend court, and was probably getting on in years. We are told that he gave his son, Iruka, a purple cap and that he raised him to his own rank, making him the Soga no Oho-omi, the Oho-omi of the Soga family. Furthermore he also brought in his other son, the younger brother to Soga no Iruka, and made him the head of the Mononobe family, Mononobe no Oho-omi, using the excuse that his grandmother was the younger sister of Mononobe no Yugehi no Ohomuraji.
Again this seems like it might be out of place if Emishi was giving out court rank and appointing two of his sons to the most powerful positions possible. On the other hand, if we consider that Oho-omi was simply the title for the person in charge of an Omi level family, this may have been as much a familial decision, more so than a courtly one. Granted, making his son the head of the Mononobe family seems like a bit of a reach, but there was a connection and since the Mononobe met their downfall at the hands of the Soga, that may have actually been something that Emishi was empowered to do. Finally, the position of Oho-omi appears to have been largely inherited, so none of this may have been that much out of the ordinary, beyond the purple cap, IF that actually meant he was giving out cap rank. Then again, we don’t know what the caps really were or the colors, though purple is definitely considered a royal color in later periods. Even if he was, he may have been going off of traditions that made his son effectively the same or similar rank to himself.
We are told, though, that Soga no Iruka was quite ambitious, and he apparently had it in for the Kamitsumiya family – the ones his father had apparently “stolen” the workers from to build their tombs. On the 12th day of the 10th month of 643, just six days after Soga no Emishi had passed on authority to his son, Soga no Iruka began plotting how to get rid of his rivals. Chief amongst them were the Kamitsumiya princes, including Prince Yamashiro no Ohoye, who still held a tenuous claim to the throne. On top of that, their father, Prince Umayado, was likely already being canonized by those who would eventually set up the Shotoku cult, a cult that would have been based around the temples Prince Umayado had founded at Ikaruga, where his children still resided.
We are told that Prince Iruka was hoping to put his cousin, Prince Furubito no Ohoye, on the throne, though another source says that he simply hated the prestige and fame of the Kamitsumiya princes and wanted to see them brought down. Either way, several weeks later, on the first day of the 11th month, Iruka sent Kose no Tokudai no Omi and Hashi no Saba no Muraji to seize Prince Yamashiro and the others at Ikaruga. As their forces arrived at the Princes’ residence, however, an enslaved man named Minari and several of the attending toneri came out to fight with the Soga aligned forces. Minari himself was apparently quite the shot, and Hashi no Saba was hit by an arrow and died, causing his troops to pull back. The troops said that Minari was literally that one man who was as good as a thousand, and didn’t want to face him.
This temporary respite gave Yamashiro and his family time to plan. They threw some bones of a horse into his bedchamber and then he, his consort, and the younger members of his family escaped to Mt. Ikoma, followed by Miwa no Fumuya, Tame no Muraji, as well as Tame’s daughter, Uda no Morowoshi, and Ise no Abe no Katafu. Unwitting of their escape, Kose no Tokudai and the others burned down the palace at Ikaruga, and when they finally went through the wreckage, they found the charred bones and just assumed they belonged to Prince Yamashiro—after all, there was no CSI: Asuka to tell them otherwise. And so, their job apparently done, they withdrew.
Prince Yamashiro and crew, realizing they couldn’t just come back, stayed up on Mt. Ikoma without food and water for four to five days. Miwa no Fumuya suggested that they make their way to the official granary at Fukakusa and obtain horses to head out towards the Eastern countries to raise an army and come back, but Prince Yamashiro was hesitant. He realized that they might win, but that it would not be without a large loss of life. Yamato life. “Why should I distress 10,000 subjects?” he supposedly asked, “Isn’t it better if one person were to give up their life for the stability of the country?”
Meanwhile, a man noticed the Kamitsumiya princes were up on the mountain, so he let Iruka know. Iruka was more than a bit worried about this development: he thought Prince Yamashiro was dead. If they escaped and raised an army, Iruka wasn’t sure he could oppose them. Iruka ordered one of his men, Takumuku no Omi no Kunioshi, to go and arrest the prince, but Kunioshi had a job guarding the palace, and used that as an excuse to get out of hunting down and possibly killing the popular royal prince. Iruka was mad enough that he was going to go and find Prince Yamashiro himself and settle this, but then Prince Furubito showed up. The Prince was out of breath—he had apparently run over to Iruka just then, and he warned Iruka not to go himself. And so he sent commanders to search Mt. Ikoma, but they couldn’t find anything, because Prince Yamashiro had already left.
In fact, Prince Yamashiro and his attendants made their way to the Temple of Ikaruga—which would mean Houryuuji temple, the temple commissioned by his father, Prince Umayado. When the Soga forces heard about this, they rushed over and surrounded the temple. Prince Yamashiro sent Miwa no Fumuya out to parlay. Prince Yamashiro’s method was simple: While he could have raised an army, he was unwilling to have more people die for just one person, and so he gave himself to Iruka.
In so doing, the younger members of the Kamitsumiya family all strangled themselves, presumably to avoid being captured and tortured, or worse. Prince Yamashiro himself gave himself up and was killed. We are told that when he did so, there were five-colored banners and umbrellas shining in the sky over the temple, but when someone pointed this out to Iruka, he looked up just as a dark cloud passed by and covered it.
And thus Prince Yamashiro and the descendants of Prince Umayado came to an end. When Soga no Emishi heard about what his son had done, he was pissed. He chided him severely, claiming that he had only provoked outrage and put himself in danger.
And it seems that Soga no Emishi wasn’t the only one who was upset. If Soga no Iruka took out Prince Yamashiro to put Furubito on the throne, what about the other Princes, including Naka no Ohoye?
Here is where someone else joins our tale. His name, we are told, is Nakatomi no Kamako, though some may know him better as Nakatomi no Kamatari. In the first month of 644, Kamako was to be appointed the Kamutsukasa no Kami, or Chief of the Ministry of Religion—literally the ministry of the gods. The Nakatomi were already known as Court Ritualists, so this may have been an inherited position. That said, he tried to decline the position several times, and even left on a plea of ill-health for Mishima.
Around this same time, Prince Karu, Takara’s brother, had a problem with his leg and he couldn’t attend court. Kamako was friends with Prince Karu, and he went to attend on him during his convalescence. When he did so, Prince Karu had his favorite consort, a lady from the Abe family, go sweep out a separate room and spread out a new sleeping mat just for Kamako, and he provided him with everything he could hope for. Kamako couldn’t believe his friend’s generosity, and wondered aloud who wouldn’t want to see Prince Karu as the ruler of the realm, something that pleased Prince Karu to no end.
Now Kamako, we are told, was a man of upright and loyal character—meaning that at least the Chroniclers thought he was really something. He apparently despised what the Soga were attempting to do to manipulate the royal succession, especially given the recent bloodshed and extirpation of the Kamitsumiya princes. Kamako himself, realizing that something could happen to Takara at any moment, was trying to figure out who amongst the various royal princes would be worth supporting if it came to that. Of the various candidates he was very interested in Prince Naka no Ohoye, but as of yet their paths had not crossed, and he only knew him as a public figure, and not personally.
His chance came during a ball game—traditionally we are told that it was a game of kemari, played out by a keyaki, or Japanese zelkova tree. Imagine you are playing hacky-sack with a soccer ball, trying to keep it in the air as a group. You gather in a circle and you see how long you can keep it going. This is still played as a traditional game in Japan, and various versions of it appear throughout Asia, in both competitive and cooperative variations. During one of the kicks, Naka no Ohoye’s leather shoe flew off along with the ball, and Kamako picked it up and came over, kneeling before the prince as he offered the shoe with outstretched hand. Naka no Ohoye in turn knelt down and respectfully received it. It was bromance at first sight, and pretty soon they were telling each other everything, talking politics, government, and everything else.
Of course, if a royal prince was seen constantly talking with someone like Kamako, people might start to get suspicious about what they were doing together, so they came up with a scheme so that it wouldn’t be so obvious. They would both go study the classics of Zhou and Confucius with a teacher out in Minabuchi—probably one of the monks who had come back from the Tang court. On the way too and from their studies they could talk, and nobody would think anything of it.
Realizing that Naka no Ohoye had ambitions, Kamako counselled him to make a political marriage. Specifically he suggested the daughter of Soga no Kurayamada no Maro, also known as Ishikawa no Maro. He was a member of the Soga family descended from a brother to Soga no Emishi. With a marriage alliance to him, Naka no Ohoye could likely count on his support as they worked to thwart Soga no Iruka and his father.
However, the marriage almost fell through. Kamako was the go between, and Kurayamada agreed to the marriage, but on the night that Naka no Ohoye was to consummate his marriage with Maro’s eldest daughter, she was stolen away by a relation named Musa no Omi. Apparently they had their own plans.
Maro was devastated and knew this would be an extreme loss of face, plus he would miss out on the chance to ally himself with a member of the royal family. He looked everywhere trying to find his eldest, such that his youngest daughter asked him what was wrong. He told her what had happened and she told him she would go in her sister’s stead. She met with Naka no Ohoye and they consummated the marriage, after which we are told that she served him with all of her heart.
With Maro now bound by marriage, Kamako suggested a few more co-conspirators, including Saheki no Muraji no Komaro and Katsuraki no Wakainukahi no Muraji no Amida, whom they also brought on board.
Quick side note here: I love the name Wakainukahi. As far as I can parse it this is either the Young Dogkeeper family or, my preferred reading: The Puppy Keeper family. I just love the idea that some family’s job was just looking after the puppies. Once they grow up, then they go to the Inukahi. What a name.
Much of 644 following the accounts of Kamako and Naka no Ohoye, which likely all happened well before the date in the record given everything they talk about, concerns various reports. An owl had owlets in the Miyake of Ohotsu, which belonged to Soga no Emishi. I suspect that this was a less than auspicious omen. There was a report about a man who tried to capture a sleeping monkey, grabbing it by the arm, but the monkey sang a song which is said to have related to the siege of the Kamitsumiya princes on Mt. Ikoma. Unfortunately, the event had happened years prior and only now was being reported, much too late.
There was a lotus at Tsurugi pond that had two flowers on one stem. Soga no Emishi inferred that this meant prosperity for the Soga clan, and so he made a picture—or possibly a scroll—with golden ink and presented it to the 16 foot tall Buddha at Houkouji, aka Asukadera. I’m not sure that he interpreted that correctly, however.
We are told that Soga no Iruka built two houses on Amagashi hill: one for himself and one for his father. These were called the Upper Mikado and the Valley Mikado, which again sounds like they are taking on royal pretentions. Their sons and daughters were styled princes and princesses—though the terms Hiko and Hime at one point were used for just about anyone, so maybe they were just old fashioned and it got mistranslated? It is questionable how much of this was written down at the time and how much of it was being remembered. After all, this is only about 60 years or so before the Chronicles would be written, so not so far outside the realm of possibility that while it was being recorded there were people who could still remember something, though that memory might have been biased.
The houses were surrounded by palisades, with armories by the gates. Basically, they were building their own fortified dwellings. Each gate also had a tank for water and several tens of wooden hooks in case fire broke out. They also employed their own guards to ensure their safety.
Again, I am not sure if these are actually special, or just standard for a complex at the time. We know that often people would have to defend themselves from their houses, so this kinda sounds like routine good planning.
Soga no Emishi also had Osa no Atahe build the temple of Hokonuki on Mt. Ohoniho, and then he had a house built on the east side of Mt. Unebi and dug a pond—or possibly a moat—to make it a fortress. He likewise had an armory and a store of arrows. He also employed about 50 bodyguards to follow him around, since he apparently knew that he was a target. They were called the Eastern Company, possibly indicating they were made up of Emishi from the East, or possibly just indicating that it was men from the eastern countries. Or maybe something else all together.
As the most powerful man at court, people from the various uji regularly came to Emishi’s gate and waited on him. He called himself their father and called them his boys. The family of the Aya no Atahe apparently attended to the needs of both Emishi and Iruka.
In the first month of 645, we are told of a terrible portent, noticed far and wide. There was a sound like 10 or 20 monkeys crying and screaming, but if you looked there was nothing there, just the sound. It was heard on mountain-peaks, by river-sides, and in temples and shrines, or so we are told. Some people said it was messengers from the Great Deity of Ise, by which the Chroniclers likely meant Amaterasu, but I can’t help but wonder, with the monkey, or saru, connection, if they didn’t mean Sarutahiko, the sun deity from Ise who is enshrined at Tsubaki shrine, the Ichinomiya of Ise, especially as Amaterasu’s position may not have been quite as prominent just yet.
On the 8th day of the 6th month of 645, Prince Naka no Ohoye addressed his father-in-law, Soga no Kurayamada no Maro no Omi, and told him that the time had come. Envoys from the Korean peninsula were going to present their tribute at the Sovereign’s palace, and Maro would read the memorial before the throne. It was at that time that Prince Naka no Ohoye and his team would strike.
Sure enough, four days later, on the 12th day of the sixth month, Takara held court at the Daigyokuden, or main audience hall. Prince Furubito no Ohoye and Soga no Iruka were in attendance, along with others. As things were getting started, Nakatomi no Kamako taught some tricks to some performers in order to get Soga no Iruka to lighten up. Sure enough, Iruka laughed, and eventually unbuckled his sword and laid it down before taking his place in attendance by the throne.
As Kurayamada no Maro no Omi advanced and began to read aloud the memorials of the kingdoms of the Korean peninsula, Prince Naka no Ohoye went to the guards at the gates and had them fasten all twelve so that nobody could get in or out, and he promised them great rewards if they did as he asked. He then took a spear and hid it at one end of the hall. For his part, Kamako had loyal archers ready to go in case they were necessary. They then sent Ama no Inukai no Muraji no Katsumaro with a case with two swords—one for Saheki no Komaro and the other for Wakainukai no Amida, with a message: “Up! Up! Slay him quickly”
However, the two of them, realizing what they were about to do, felt their rice coming back up. And balked, so Naka no Ohoye had to go over and encourage them himself. At this point, Maro no Omi was starting to worry that the reading of the memorials would come to an end before things had been set in motion. He was sweating profusely and his hands shook, which drew questions from Soga no Iruka about why he was so nervous. Maro no Omi assured his cousin that it was just because he was there, in the Daigyokuden, in front of her majesty, and that seemed to satisfy him.
Naka no Ohoye, meanwhile, was realizing that Komaro and Amida were too intimidated by Soga no Iruka’s status, so he cried out and charged forward, at which point Komaro and Amida sprung to action. They reached Iruka and struck a blow before he even realized what was happening. It cut open his head and shoulder, but apparently only glancing, and not fatal, as Iruka immediately stood up. As he did so, Komaro turned the sword in his hand and wounded Iruka in the leg. Unable to stand, Iruka rolled over in front of Her majesty, bowed his head to the ground, and pleaded with her to stop this: “She who occupies the Hereditary Dignity is the Child of Heaven. I, Her servant, am conscious of no crime and I beseech Her to deign to make examination into this.”
Queen Takara was taken aback. She demanded an explanation from the attackers, “I know not what has been done. What is the meaning of this?” She had, of course, been kept out of the loop.
Her son, Naka no Ohoye, prostrated himself on the ground and spoke up for the group, saying, “Kuratsukuri”—by which he meant Soga no Iruka, using another name—“wished to destroy utterly the Celestial House and to subvert the Solar Dignity. Is Kuratsukuri to be substituted for the Celestial descendants?”
Hearing this and apparently quite taken aback, Takara retreated to the inner palace while Komaro and Amida slew Soga no Iruka. We can only imagine what must have been going through her head at that time. It wasn’t like 7th century Yamato was unaccustomed to violence, but this was something altogether different than anything seen before.
We are told that rain fell and that puddle-water overflowed the court. Soga no Iruka’s lifeless body was covered with mats and screens. One imagines that the onlookers who weren’t frozen in horror had tried to escape, and there was confusion over just what had happened. When Furubito no Ohoye saw Iruka’s body, he ran into his private quarters in the palace and told his people that he had been killed by the envoys. Furubito no Ohoye shut himself in his bedroom and refused to come out, afraid he might be next.
Meanwhile, Naka no Ohoye and his allies left the Itabuki palace and went to nearby Houkouji, Asukadera temple, and fortified it, in case Soga no Emishi heard about what had happened and was able to mount a counter attack. Prince Naka no Ohoye was joined not only by his co-conspirators, but by the royal princes, ministers, high officials and more: The Omi, Muraji, the Tomo no Miyatsuko and Kuni no Miyatsuko. The Chroniclers make sure to let us know that there was no love lost for the sake of Soga no Iruka, or at least the people had some idea of where this would all land.
Men were also sent to deliver the body of Soga no Iruka to his father.
As for the Aya no Atahe, their entire clan showed up, clad in armour and with weapons in hand, to aid Soga no Emishi. They formed an army, ready to do whatever was necessary. And so Naka no Ohoye sent general Kose no Tokudai to explain to the rebel band that they were on the wrong side of this one. As you may recall from earlier in this episode, Kose no Omi no Tokudai had been one of the men sent by Soga no Iruka to arrest Prince Yamashiro, so he wasn’t exactly a sworn enemy of the Soga. After listening to his words, Takamuku no Omi no Kunioshi, who had refused to go after Prince Yamashiro because of his work guarding the palace, addressed the Aya clan. “We are bound to receive capital punishment on account of our lord, Soga no Emishi’s, eldest son, and then he will face execution today or tomorrow. So whom should we fight for if we are all going to be put to death?” And with that, he took off his sword, threw it away, and deserted the cause. Once he did that, pretty soon the rest of the troops disbanded as well. Nobody was willing to die for a lost cause.
Soga no Emishi knew that he had no hope left. And so the next day he gathered his people and, before they were to be arrested and executed, they gathered up their treasures and objects of value, including the History of the Sovereigns and the History of the Country and set them on fire. The History of the Country, said to be the history written by Prince Umayado, was grabbed by Funa no Fubito no Yesaka out of the flames and delivered to Naka no Ohoye. Permission was given for the interment of Emishi and Iruka in tombs—likely the ones they had commissioned for themselves—and their friends and family were allowed to publicly grieve and lament.
The following day, on the 15th of the 6th month, Takara, known as Kougyouku Tennou, stepped down. She tried to make Naka no Ohoye the sovereign, but Kamako counselled against it. It really wouldn’t look good to go on a killing spree and then make yourself king. After all, Furubito no Ohoye was his older brother, and still alive, even if it was by another mother. And then there was his maternal uncle, Prince Karu. If Naka no Ohoye put himself before either of them, how would that look in the increasingly Confucian-influenced court circles? And so they pushed for Prince Karu to take the throne.
Prince Karu tried to decline and suggested that really it should be Prince Furubito no Ohoye, since Karu was a son of Tamura, the previous sovereign. Furubito no Ohoye, though, wanted nothing of this. He not only declined and refused to take the crown, but he made clear his desire to renounce the world and become a monk. Perhaps it had all been a bit too much—or he just didn’t want to be made into a target when he had seen what Naka no Ohoye could do with all of his support. No doubt he did the math in his head and his time on the throne would not be long, especially with his two major political allies dead and accused of trying to usurp the throne for themselves. He went right to Houkouji and had them shave his hair and beard and put on a kesa, a monk’s garment.
And so Prince Karu was left with no more excuses and took the throne, he would be known as Prince Koutoku, and it is here at the start of his reign where we see another continental tradition take hold in the islands, as it would not be known as much as the first year of Koutoku, but rather as the first year of Taika, the Great Change—and change was coming, indeed.
But we’ll save that for later. I think this is probably a good place to stop for now. We’ll probably revisit some other details of this period from 641 to 645, but I wanted to make sure we covered this incident, the “Isshi Incident” or “Isshi no Hen”, so called because it took place in the “Ki no to Mi” or “Isshi” year, which is to say the year of the wood snake, according to the Japanese sexagesimal calendar. There is still a lot going on with Baekje and the continent, not to mention a religious cult that sprang up during this period. All for a later episode.
Until then, thank you for listening and for all of your support.
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Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast.
And that’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

McCallum, Donald F. (2009). The Four Great Temples: Buddhist Archaeology, Architecture, and Icons of Seventh-Century Japan. ISBN 978-0-8248-3114-1
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4

Episode 105: Onsen and Uprisings

April 1, 2024 Joshua Badgley

An anachronistic image of Kamitsukenu no Kimi no Katana by Kobayashi Kiyochika, published in 1886. Image in public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

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This episode we take a quick look at the reign of Tamura, aka Jomei Tenno.

A few notes here: First off, it is still unclear how far Yamato’s reach actually was, and I should mention that it is also unclear just what the relationship was between Yamato and the Emishi. Obviously the Chronicles refer to it in particular manner, but that was just that.

Second, in case anyone’s curious, “Katana” as a name is not the same as “katana” the sword. It is just a bit of linguistic irony that they wind up together.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is episode 105: Onsen and Uprisings
The general paced back and forth behind the walls of the fortress. Glancing around, he couldn’t help but notice how empty it now seemed. The palisades were holding, but most of the soldiers had gone, disappearing in the night. Outside the walls of the fortress, he could hear the Emishi laughing and singing. They were in good spirits—and why wouldn’t they be? The great army of Yamato sent to chastise them had been routed, and they had besieged them in their fortress, built in these still wild lands of northeastern Honshu, on the edge of an area known to many as Michi no Oku, roughly: the end of the road.
And for the general, it looked like this might be the end of the road for him. His options were limited, and he was clearly outnumbered. It was beginning to look like his troops had the right idea. Of course, it meant leaving his wife and other women to fend for themselves, but fear can do a lot to motivate someone. The general eyed the walls and the trees beyond. If he could slip past the besieging forces in the darkness, perhaps he could escape. It wouldn’t be the most honorable way out of this situation, but it would at least leave him with his head. And so, as night fell, he decided to make his move…
Greetings everyone, and welcome back!
Before I get into it, a quick shout out an thank you to YamiRaven for supporting us on Patreon, and thanks to Johnny for a supporting us on Ko-Fi.com. If you’d like to join them, and help us keep this thing going, we’ll have more info at the end of the episode.
Speaking of: This episode we are going to be talking about events during the reign of Prince Tamura, also known as Okinaga Tarashi-hi Hiro-nuka, or by the name given to him by the 8th century chroniclers: Jomei Tennou. As we discussed back in episode 103, Prince Tamura came to power in an interesting turn of fate. The grandson of Nunakura Futodamashiki, aka Bidatsu Tenno, his father, Prince Hikobito no Ohoye was killed during the tumultuous period following Nunakura’s death. After several short-lived reigns, it was Kashikiya Hime, wife to Nunakura, who took the throne, known to us as Suiko Tennou.
Kashikiya Hime had named an heir, Crown Prince Umayado, aka Shotoku Taishi, but he died before she did and by the time that Kashikiya Hime passed away, there was nobody clearly set up to take the throne, though two candidates did stand out. There was Prince Yamashiro no Ohoye, the son of Crown Prince Umayado, whom a strict lineal succession might seem to indicate was next up to inherit, but Yamato inheritance tradition was not so cut and dried. Soga no Emishi, the son of Soga no Umako, the powerful Oho-omi who helped run the government during Kashikiya Hime’s reign, campaigned to put Prince Tamura on the throne, rather than Yamashiro no Ohoye, despite—or perhaps because of—the fact that Yamashiro no Ohoye was actually a close relative to Emishi.
Now Prince Tamura was on the throne and Soga no Emishi was the Oho-omi, taking his father’s place.
And yet, despite the chaotic start to the reign in 629, the majority of it was almost tame and nondescript. Don’t get me wrong, Tamura, as I’ll keep referring to him, was on the throne for a respectable thirteen years, and during that time there were certainly events that move our narrative forward in many ways. However, much of the years of his reign are filled with discussions of things like rain storms and celestial phenomena. In fact, the only thing that apparently happened in all of 634 was that they saw a comet in the sky. The year before that, in 633, the only entry was the return of envoys from the Tang. For two years, then, there is hardly a mention of politics and anything else going on. And yet, this is a period that would set the stage for what was coming next.
Shortly after Tamura was appointed sovereign, he appointed his consort, Princess Takara, as his queen. Takara was, herself, a great-great grand-daughter of Nunakura Futodamashiki, a granddaughter of Prince Hikobito and daughter of Prince Chinu—presumably niece to Tamura, then, which is basically par for the course. She was also a royal descendant on her mother’s side, tracing back to Nunakura’s father, Ame Kuniyoshi, aka Kinmei Tennou. In fact, her mother, Kibitsu Hime, is said to have been buried in her own kofun at the head of Ame Kuniyoshi’s kofun—and today it is the site of the 7th century saruishi figures that I mentioned in the talk about traveling around Asuka.
Takara would give birth to three children of note. The first was her eldest son, Prince Katsuraki, who would, spoiler alert, later be known as Crown Prince Naka no Ohoye. He was around three years old when his father took the throne. He had a sister by Takara, named Hashibito, and a brother, whose name you may have heard me mention previously: Oho-ama.
Yes, Naka no Ohoye and Oho-ama are the future sovereigns Tenji and Temmu, but for now they are still relatively young. In fact, Oho-ama wouldn’t be born until several years into his father’s reign, in 631.
Some of the early events of the reign were carryover from Kashikiya Hime’s time on the throne. In 629, for instance, Tanabe no Muraji went to Yakushima, returning the following year, and with people coming to Yamato from Yakushima the year after that.
There were also a fair number of foreign embassies, including an Embassy from Goguryeo and Baekje. These may have been missions of condolences and congratulations—typical international diplomacy at the time when a neighboring ruler passed away and a new one ascended the throne, it would seem. They arrived in the third month of 630 and departed in the 9th month of that same year—a 6 month visit, all told.
We also have the first actual account of ambassadors sent off to the Tang dynasty: Inugami no Mitasuki and Yakushi no E’nichi, each of Dainin rank. These are some of the first true kentoushi, or Ambassadors to the Tang court, that were sent, but over time their influence would be felt across Yamato and the archipelago.
These ambassadors—or at least Mitasuki—would return in 632 with a Tang ambassador, Gao Biaoren, along with student-priests Ryou’un and Soumin, as well as Suguri no Torikahi. Perhaps most tellingly, they would arrive with Silla escort envoys, which would seem to indicate that passage to the Tang court was not done without Silla’s assistance. As you may recall, Silla had entered into a nominal alliance with the Tang against Goguryeo. The Tang Ambassadors eventually reached Naniwa, where they were met with boats decked out with drums, flutes, and flags, and where they exchanged formal greetings before being escorted into the official residence. The Nihon Shoki takes pains to note the different individuals involved in the duties, from the initial greeting, guiding them to the residence, and then preparing them in the residence, along with a welcome drink of sake brewed on temple rice land.
And then, three months later, they depart once more. Nothing else is said of their visit.
Meanwhile, in the time between when Mitasuki went to the Tang court and when he returned with Gao Biaoren and company, a few things had happened. For one we get a note about Tamura moving to a new palace complex known as Okamoto no miya, supposedly at the foot of Asuka hill, hence the name, which means “foot of the hill”. This would not have been much of a change from Kashikiya Hime’s palace, still within the sacred area defined by the Soga temple of Asukadera as well as various other temples being stood up in that area as well. A move was to be expected, though in this case it is interesting that he didn’t go very far.
There is also mention, still in 630, of the repairing the official residences in Naniwa where ambassadors from the continent would be quartered during their trips to Yamato
631 opens with something of a treat – so it would seem, anyway. We are told that in the third month of Tamura’s third year on the throne, Prince Pung—named Pungjang in the Chronicles—was sent to the Yamato court by his father, King Wicha of Baekje. On the one hand, the Korean sources do agree that Prince Pung was, indeed, sent to Yamato, where he would live as a guest and diplomatic hostage. We’ve talked about this practice in the past, which seems to have strengthened bonds between nations, although we rarely hear of Yamato returning the favor by sending hostages to the continent. It may have also helped keep a potential heir out of harm’s way in case of a coup or other such politics. Several times, heirs returned to Baekje to be enthroned with Yamato assistance, if the Chronicles are to be believed.
Except that this entry is probably not quite right. You see, Wicha wouldn’t even come to the throne until 641—he wasn’t even made Crown Prince until 632—so why would he send his son as a diplomatic hostage in 631? Johnathan Best, translating the Baekje records of the Samguk Sagi, suggests that perhaps the Chroniclers were off by a factor of 10 or 12 years. You see, as we mentioned earlier, the East Asian calendrical system was based on a series of ten stems and twelve branches. The stems represented the elemental forces, and the branches were identified with the twelve signs of the zodiac. Incrementing each one each year led to a series of 60 years before it started repeating, and based on the way that the records for this reign are dated, it looks like the records the Chroniclers were drawing from used this system for their dates. However, if you misread—or even miswrite—one of these characters it can change your date by ten or even twelve years. It would make much more sense for Prince Pung to have arrived twelve years later, in 643. Similarly, we find other records, particularly having to do with Baekje, which may be a bit jumbled, possibly indicating they came from a similar source that either had things in the wrong chronological order or was simply vague or poorly scribed so that the Chroniclers had to figure out exactly what was happening when—which they may have made mistakes with, from time to time.
So Prince Pung arriving as a hostage is probably misplaced, and likely didn’t happen during Tamura’s reign. Which means that other than people from Yakushima showing up in 631 the only other major event of the year was Tamura going to the hot springs of Arima, in Settsu, where he stayed for about three months.
Now I know I’ve mentioned hot springs, or onsen, before in the narrative. After all, the volcanic islands that make up the Japanese archipelago are full of them, and it isn’t like they were suddenly discovered during this reign, but it does look like this might be the first formal mention of them in the Nihon Shoki—which gives Arima, in the mountains north of Kobe, some serious bona fides to be considered the oldest known hot spring town in Japan.
And that would be a cool side note in most reigns, but for Tamura it seems to have been a habit. He apparently went for a dip at least three times in his reign—the second time, in 638, he apparently went to the “Arima no Miya”, or the Arima Palace, which suggests that he had something built specifically for his visits. And then, in 639, he headed to the hot springs in Iyo.
The country of Iyo is better known today as Ehime prefecture, on the western edge of the island of Shikoku. The largest city in Ehime is Matsuyama, home to the famous Dougou Onsen, which also lays a claim to being the oldest operating hot springs in the archipelago. Dougou Onsen is not only the traditional place in Iyo where Tamura, aka Jomei Tennou, took the waters, as they might say in the west, but in the Iyo Fudoki it is said that its fame goes back even further. As we mentioned back in Chapter 18, it is said that the legendary figures Ohonamuchi and Sukuna Bikona met there, back in ancient times. In more recent times, relatively speaking, Dougou Onsen was the inspiration behind the fantastical bathhouse created by Hayao Miyazaki in the Studio Ghibli film, Spirited Away.
For all that these visits to the hot springs are somewhat interesting, they don’t exactly tell us a lot about what was happening with government, and in fact tend to make it seem almost as though Tamura was skipping out, at least in the fall to early winter. And to be honest, can you blame him? Winter is one of the best times to go take advantage of the volcanic springs.
Many of the other records appear to be natural phenomena, mostly having to do with the heavens: rain, storms, lightning, and more. Some of the more intriguing are comets—stars with “long tails” that appeared in the skies. There are also mentions of eclipse and what may have been a meteor—a star in 636 “floated east to west, with a noise like thunder.” The Priest Soumin, from the Tang, said it was the sound of the Celestial Dog, a creature from the ancient Han or possibly pre-Qin text, the Classic of Mountains and Seas, a fantastical account of mythical geography and various animals, including the nine tailed fox and the celestial dog, whose bark was said to be like Thunder. This book was considered to be a true account up through the Tang dynasty.
One could probably track the celestial phenomena and see if there is any correlation with known sightings, but it is also just as likely that some of it was taken from continental records and inserted into the Chronicles as appropriate.
Besides such phenomena, there were accounts of more missions, especially from Baekje. Yamato was still using the cap rank system attributed to Prince Umayado during Kashikiya Hime’s reign, and some of the envoys were given cap rank, or granted a promotion—a gesture that was likely pure diplomacy, as the rank wouldn’t necessarily convey any special rights back in their home country.
There are a few more things of note. First, in 636, we are told that all those who had affairs with the uneme at court were put on trial and punished—which likely means they were put to death. The uneme, as you may recall, were women sent to serve at the court, and as such they were apparently off-limits, at least while they were serving. That clearly didn’t stop people from having some late night escapades, though.
The main reason it likely comes up, though, is that we are told that one of the accused was a man named Miwa no Kimi no Osazaki, and that he took his own life by stabbing himself in the throat because the examination—by which I’m sure they meant torture—was too much to bear. And here I have to wonder how similar Yamato’s sense of justice was to that of their neighbor, the Tang dynasty. In the case of the latter, there was often a suspicion that any person accused of a crime must be guilty of at least something—after all, why would they have been accused if they didn’t do something to upset the peace, even if it was just that they didn’t get along with their neighbors. It was considered de rigeur to submit suspected criminals to torturous ordeals with the idea that this would elicit a confession. Unfortunately, this idea that harsh and torturous examinations can be used to uncover the truth often still persists, despite evidence that, under enough duress, most people will say anything. In this case, it drove Osazaki to take his own life.
Later in that same year, the Okamoto palace caught fire and burned down, and so Tamura moved to a new palace, called the Tanaka palace, or the Palace in the Middle of the Rice Fields. We also have a little more court action, as Prince Ohomata, a son of Nunakura Futodamashiki by one of his consorts, reached out to Soga no Emishi—called in this record the Toyoura no Oho-omi, likely because his mansion was in or near Toyoura, in Asuka.
Prince Ohomata suggested to Soga no Emishi that the ministers had not been attending court properly. He suggested that they should be there by roughly 5 or 6 AM—an hour before daybreak—and they should stay until 10 or 11 AM. Specifically he mentioned the hour of the hare and the hour of the serpent, as each ancient hour was actually two, with twelve hours making up the day, each named for one of the twelve signs of the Asian zodiac.
To enforce all of this, Ohomata also recommended having a bell rung that would let people know that it was time to start or end work. This was all common practice in the continental courts of the day, and it wasn’t like they were asking for a modern 40 hour work week, even: the court ministers would literally be serving for maybe 5 to 6 hours at court, with the rest of the time to handle their own affairs. Still, Soga no Emishi apparently didn’t think much of the idea and so was not inclined to support it.
All of this is kind of an odd mention. First, Ohomata is an obscure Prince—he’s only mentioned three times in the Chronicles, and once just in a list of Nunakura’s children. Second, the idea doesn’t go anywhere. Third, they don’t call Soga no Emishi by the name they used in both the previous or the next reign, but use Toyora no Ohoomi, for whatever reason. It just sticks out as odd, and I wonder if it was added to show that Soga no Emishi was resistant to change and new ideas.
At the same time, it does give us a clue that Soga no Emishi was still running things. His name may not have been on a lot, but then again, neither was Tamura’s, so we can only infer what was actually going on during this period. It’s almost a lacuna in the history.
There were a few other events worth noting, however, one of which took more than a bit of the Chroniclers’ ink, and this was a rebellion by the Emishi people.
First off, because it can be confusing: There is no apparent link between Soga no Emishi and the Emishi people that I’m aware of. Emishi, of course, is the name given to the people living outside of the Yamato cultural sphere in the northeast, from modern Ibaraki prefecture north. They were apparently expected to pay tribute at court, and are clearly treated differently from other outside groups, like Baekje and Silla. Some of them were likely members of the groups that had lived in the region since the Jomon period, who never fully adopted the Yayoi and later Kofun lifeways, and they may be related to the Ainu people who still live in modern Hokkaido, though there is also evidence that some of the Emishi may have been ethnic Wa people who had gone to live outside the Yamato court’s reach—though that is more evident in later centuries than in the current narrative.
I would also note that “Emishi” is an exonym—that is a name given by outsiders, in this case, by the Wa people of Yamato. In fact, other than what we can see in the archaeological record, what we know of the Emishi comes from Yamato sources, which are almost entirely biased. We don’t really have any good telling of their story from their own perspective. For instance,did they feel oppressed by Yamato in general, and not think they should have to keep bringing tribute? Or was there a more specific event that occurred, much like the conflicts we see later between the Wajin, the ethnic Japanese, and the Ainu up in Hokkaido? It is unclear.
To subdue the Emishi, and bring them back under Yamato hegemony, the court appointed Kamitsukeno no Kimi no Katana, a courtier of Dainin cap rank, as general. Spoiler alert: he’s the general in the story at the beginning of this episode. Based on his name, it would seem he was from the family in charge of Kamitsukenu, later shortened to Kozuke Province in modern Gunma prefecture, north of Tokyo. As such, he would have been well positioned to know something of the Emishi on his border. That said, he apparently didn’t know them so well that it gave him an advantage. His forces were routed and they retreated back to their fortress, where they were besieged by the Emishi.
Now when I say “fortress” please don’t picture some grand castle, like Himeji, Azuchi, or Matsumoto. In fact, don’t really picture a castle at all. More likely than not, this was simply an area enclosed by a wall—possibly some earthworks and maybe a moat, but perhaps just a quickly erected palisade structure. True castle structures wouldn’t come until later. For those familiar with American history, this may have been something like the fort at Jamestown or even the quickly assembled and ill-fated Fort Necessity—though perhaps a little larger if it was capable of housing the forces and the noncombatants that had accompanied them.
And so, when some of Katana’s soldiers decided they didn’t really want to be there any longer they apparently just up and left. Presumably they found a time when nobody was looking and just yeeted themselves over the walls and did their best to hide from the surrounding Emishi forces. Pretty soon just about all of the able-bodied soldiers had taken this approach, and Katana was thinking about joining them. In fact, he was getting ready to when his own wife noticed what he was doing.
That’s right, his wife was there with him. Whether she was a combatant or simply part of the train it isn’t entirely clear, but she wasn’t going to have her husband run off and abandon his post. She poured out sake for him to drink and as he did so, she took his sword and girded it to herself. She then went and found all of the bows and handed them out to all of the other women and people who had been left behind when the soldiers deserted, and they started pulling the bowstrings back and making a sound like they were being shot.
Upon seeing this, Katana roused himself, grabbed a weapon himself, and advanced out of the fortress.
The besieging Emishi were not sure what to make of this. They could hear the twang of bows, and it sounded as though there was quite a force, so as general Katana stepped out of the fortress they pulled back, thinking that there was a much bigger force than he actually had. As they did that, some of Katana’s own forces, who had escaped, but not too far, started to gain hope. They regrouped and attacked the Emishi with fresh energy, eventually defeating them.
Of course, Katana’s wife remains nameless throughout this whole episode, even though she was the one who helped turn the tide—first by turning her husband, but then by organizing the others to make it seem like they had a lot more people than they did.
After this fascinating story, the Chronicles getback to the normal records of storms, of fruit trees blossoming, of hot springs, and tribute. It wasn’t until two years later, in 639, that we get something interesting that we might easily overlook. This was the start of a new temple on the banks of the Kudara River, known to us as Kudara dera, or Kudara Temple.
Kudara Temple is definitely a bit of an enigma. It is mentioned quite heavily in later records, and yet it would eventually disappear without a trace, or so it seemed. It wasn’t until modern times that archaeologists identified a temple that we believe is Kudara dera. We are told that it had a nine-story pagoda, which may reflect ideas from Tang or Silla practice—somewhat ironic given that “Kudara” is a name used to refer to Baekje. In this case, the name seems to have come from the Kudara River, on whose banks the temple was built.
From the 80s through the 2000s there were a series of excavations at the site of Kibi Pond north of Asuka, closer to the center of Sakurai. Here a temple was found, which we believe to be the site of Kudara dera. The pond itself was dug at a later point in time, on the site of the temple, which was likely moved. Today, there is a small Kudara temple to the northwest of the old site, but it isn’t nearly as grand as it once was.
By all accounts, the construction of Kudara temple took years, in contrast to the building of royal palaces, which went up relatively quickly. This is because the palaces, for all of their size, were still being made using largely local construction methods. Posts were placed directly into the ground and the roofs were thatched. Being made of wood, these buildings went up relatively quickly, which was good seeing as how every reign the sovereign and court would move to a new palace. Of course, I also wonder if the tradition of moving didn’t come from the fact that the palace would likely have started rotting away on its own after a while. Then again, even in a single reign you might change palaces multiple times, as Tamura did.
In contrast, we have temple construction from the mainland. Here, rocks were set down, and the posts were placed on those, which gave a firm foundation and prevented water from easily getting in and ruining the base of the pillar. Packed earth and stone construction were used in places, along with heavy tile roofs, for which thousands of rooftiles had to be constructed. Centuries of architectural knowledge were used to design and create structures that were meant to outlast any patrons who helped to build them.
Add on to that the nine story pagoda. If you consider that the beautiful and imposing tenshukaku, or main keep, of Himeji castle, built in the early 17th century, is six stories and rises over 46 meters, or about 152 feet, this pagoda may have been about the same height or even a bit higher, assuming that relative proportions were similar to those in other pagodas from the time, such as that of Yakushiji. It must have been a towering beacon at the time, and the temple is considered one of the four great temples of the Asuka era, at least by some.
That this temple was commissioned by Tamura and not by Soga no Emishi is something that may indicate some unspoken tensions at the time. Tamura’s previous palaces were in Asuka, near Asuka temple, the chief temple of the Soga family, and situated in a Soga stronghold. Kudara temple was built significantly outside of this area, though still within walking distance, so not so far as to be a complete move—it isn’t like he moved it up to lake Biwa or anything, wink wink.
In 640, Tamura returned from his trip to the hot springs in Iyo—again, modern Ehime prefecture—and came back to a new palace at Umayazaka, but just six months later he moved into the Kudara palace, which was presumably nearby Kudara temple, effectively moving the court out of—or at least to the periphery of—Soga controlled territory.
Unfortunately, his stay at Kudara palace would only last about a year, as he passed away there in the 10th month of 641. He was roughly 48 years old. His son, and heir apparent, Prince Hirakasuwake, aka Naka no Oe, pronounced the funeral elegy.
And just like that, the throne was vacant again. There was an heir apparent, but Naka no Oe was only 16 years old, and so his mother, Takara, would take the throne, presumably until he was ready. She would be known as Ame Toyo Takara Ikashi-hi Tarashi Hime, aka Kougyoku Tennou, and her reign was anything but quiet. To give some context: if we had a little over 50 or so events recorded during the 13 years that Tamura was on the throne, while we have over 60 events recorded in just the first year of Takara’s reign. So, you know, there’s that.
But I’m going to have to ask you to wait a little bit for us to dig into that. For one thing, the politics are going to start getting hot and heavy, as anyone who may recognize the name “Naka no Oe” likely knows. As this young prince was coming into his own he was going to come face to face with the power of the Soga family. All that, starting next episode.
Until then, thank you for listening and 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. If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links 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.
Thank you, also, to Ellen for her work editing the podcast.
And that’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

McCallum, Donald F. (2009). The Four Great Temples: Buddhist Archaeology, Architecture, and Icons of Seventh-Century Japan. ISBN 978-0-8248-3114-1
Best, J. (2006). A History of the Early Korean Kingdom of Paekche, together with an annotated translation of The Paekche Annals of the Samguk sagi. Cambridge (Massachusetts); London: Harvard University Asia Center. doi:10.2307/j.ctt1tg5q8p
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4

Episode 104: A Bloody Start to Golden Age

March 16, 2024 Joshua Badgley

A series of men on horseback, dressed in the round-necked collars typical of the Western regions with Chinese style hats, carrying flags with streamers. — Image of courtiers out on horseback dressed in the style of the Western Regions but with traditional ethnic Han headgear. From a Tang dynasty era tomb mural in modern Xian (ancient Chang’an). Photo by author.

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This episode we head over to the continent to kick off the Tang dynasty. The Tang dynasty was extremely influential on Yamato and later Japan, as well as the rest of East Asia. And so we'll take a look at how it got its start and how it expanded along the silk road, while at the same time talking about the literally cutthroat politics of the period. Especially in the royal house. Nobody fights like family.

Who’s Who

Li Yuan

Li Yuan (aka Emperor Tang Gaozu) is the founder of the Tang empire. Likely related to families from the Western Regions that intermarried with ethnic Han to become elites during the chaotic Sixteen Kingdoms period, they made claims to a royal ancestor in the Western Liang. In the Sui they were an elite family providing military service. The “Li” family surname is a common one, with many different branches of the Li family.

Li Er

Aka Laozi, or “Old Sage”, a likely apocryphal name for the supposed author of the Dao De Jing and thus founder of Daoism. In all likelihood he is a fictional character or an amalgamation of many different philosophers whose ideas came to form the core of Daoist philosophy and religion. By the Sui dynasty there were some Daoists who believed that a person with the surname of “Li” would come to power and usher in a Daoist millennia. This may have made the Sui Emperor suspicious of anyone surnamed “Li” and was certainly used by Li Yuan to help justify his new dynasty.

Li Shimin

Li Shimin (aka [spoiler alert] Tang Taizong) was a son of Li Yuan and given the historical narrative he is portrayed as one of the key figures pushing Li Yuan to dethrone the Sui and take over. Eventually he maneuvered to put himself on the throne, and is generally regarded as having one of the best reigns despite all of the political bloodshed that seems to have occurred.

Li Jiancheng

The eldest son of Li Yuan, and one of his generals in his fight to form the Tang dynasty. He was named Crown Prince until the Xuwanwu gate incident.

Li Yuanji

Another son of Li Yuan, he was close with his brother Jiancheng and opposed the rise of his brother, Li Shimin.

Princess Pingyang

Pingyang was one of the daughters of Li Yuan, and the only full-blooded sister to Li Shimin, Li Jiancheng, and Li Yuanji. She was married to Chai Shao, an ally of Li Yuan, and during Li Yuan’s effort to take the throne she commanded an army, the “Army of the Lady”, in support of him and her brothers. She became the first female Tang General, and even when she and her husband were united on the field, they kept separate headquarters for their different forces.

Li Chengqian

Son of Li Shimin, and the Crown Prince. He was brought down by infighting with his brother, Li Tai

Li Tai

Son of Li Shimin, who was quite popular and so threatened Li Chengqian’s position as Crown Prince. The politics of the day, however, led to him being removed from court.

Li Zhi

Youngest son of Li Shimin, he would eventually come to the throne as emperor Tang Gaozong. He would rule with his wife, Empress Wu Zetian.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is episode 104: A Bloody Start to a Golden Age
It was early in the morning on the fourth day of the sixth month of the ninth year of Wu De. Brothers Li Jiancheng, Crown Prince, and his younger brother, Li Yuanji, were more than a bit annoyed--Their brother had apparently slandered them to their father, the Emperor, claiming that they had had illicit relationships with his concubines. Although the accusations were false, they still had to come to the palace to clear their names. So they left the crown prince’s residence at the Eastern Palace and were traveling on horseback with a retinue of men through the private, forested royal park north of the city towards the Xuanwu Gate—the northern gate to the palace and to the great city of Chang’an.
As they approached Linhu Hall, they noticed something was afoot: there were soldiers in the park, headed their way. It was immediately apparent that the accusations had been a ruse, and their brother meant for more than just to tarnish their honor. As they fled eastward, back towards the Eastern palace, their brother, Li Shimin, came galloping towards them and called out to them. Li Yuanji tried to draw his bow, but couldn’t get to it in time, and Li Shimin shot and killed Li Jiancheng, their older brother and the crown prince.
Li Yuanji himself fell from his horse as he dodged arrows from the attacking troops, but Li Shimin also became entangled in the brush of the park and had to dismount. Li Yuanji ran up to his brother and tried to strangle him with his bow string, but soon he was chased off by reinforcements. Li Yuanji fled on foot to Wude Hall, where he was finally caught and struck down with arrows. Li Shimin’s forces struck off the heads of the two murdered princes, and took them to the Xuanwu gate, where opposing forces were still fighting. Seeing the heads of the two princes, it was clear that Li Shimin’s ambush was victorious, and the princes’ forces quickly dispersed.
Three days later, the victorious Li Shimin was instated as the new crown prince. Two months later, his father, Li Yuan, known to history as emperor Tang Gaozu, abdicated in favor of his son, who came to power as Emperor Taizong. This was the start of the Zhenguan era, which would come to be seen as a golden age in the history of the various Chinese empires.
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Alright, so as may be apparent, we are deviating a bit from our discussion of Yamato to look at some of the events on the continent. This is because the rise of the Tang dynasty would have an incredible impact on the Japanese archipelago. For one, it was the alliance between the Tang and Silla that would eventually mean the removal of Yamato and its allies from the Korean peninsula. In addition, however, the Tang dynasty’s access to the silk road and its grandiose government would become an exemplar for Yamato and many other polities who wished to demonstrate their political and cultural sophistication. Many of the laws and even court dress would mimic that of the Tang court—with a local flare, of course. In addition, the Tang dynasty brought a relative stability to the continent that would last for over two hundred years. Of course, none of that was known at the outset, and like many previous kingdoms, the Tang dynasty was born out of bloodshed.
We’ve mentioned several times how the Sui Dynasty was growing increasingly unpopular in the late 6th and early 7th centuries. Wars continued to cost money and lives, as did the giant public works projects of the periods - though the Grand Canal would be one of the greatest constructions of any age, uniting the Yangzi and Yellow River basins in myriad ways, powering the regions’ economies for centuries to come.
Into this Sui period came a man of the Li family named Yuan. We mentioned him back in episode 102, but I figured he could do with a little more backstory. Li Yuan’s family originated in the frontier regions. Official biographies had connected him to the founder of the Western Liang dynasty, and his family had served in various roles as the different northern kingdoms rose and fell. The Li family had been providing military service since the time of Yuan’s great-grandfather, and Li Yuan himself had been serving since the early 600s. He was made a general and placed in charge of the Dongguang pass in the Taihang mountains. There, he largely stayed out of the limelight.
At one point, he was summoned to the palace and rather than going he feigned illness, instead. You see, around this time there was a prophecy flying around that someone with the surname of Li would try to take the throne from Sui Emperor, Emperor Yang, so it may have been in Li Yuan’s best interest to avoid the court and anything that could draw Emperor Yang’s suspicions. He continued to do everything in his power to make himself seem unthreatening, even as rebellions were breaking out across the Empire.
In 614, the Sui army was defeated by Goguryeo, and the Sui court was plagued by numerous uprisings. Li Yuan may have sat it out if it weren’t for his son, Li Shimin. Like many youthful individuals, Li Shimin was less than invested in the current administration. He and several of his close acquaintances began to scheme behind his father’s back, with plans to join the other uprisings and hope to take a piece of the pie. Eventually, they blackmailed Li Yuan into marching on the capital of Daxingcheng in 617, threatening to expose several illicit relationships from his time at the court—relationships that would have surely put him at odds with the Emperor. At the same time, Emperor Yang had fled to the southern capital along the banks of the Yangzi River, but his son and heir, Yang You, was still in the capital. Li Yuan marched on imperial city of Daxingcheng, near the ancient capital of Chang’an, claiming that he was coming to protect the young heir.
Taking control of the capital city put Li Yuan at odds with imperial forces, who did not necessarily accept Li Yuan’s altruistic claims. Li Yuan and his sons, including Li Shimin and Li Jiangcheng, were drawn into fighting. Even Li Yuan’s daughter, Pingyang, the wife of general Chai Shao, contributed to the war effort. She personally raised an army and led it into battle, becoming the first female general of what would be known as the Tang dynasty.
In 618, Emperor Yang of Sui was assassinated by another general, Yuwen Huaji, and the throne passed to his son, Yang You, known as Emperor Gong of Sui. However, Li Yuan pressured the newly made Emperor Gong to yield the throne to him. Since Li Yuan had inherited the title “Duke of Tang” from his paternal line, he used that as the name of his new dynasty, and became known as Tang Gaozu—the High Founder of Tang.
It wasn’t enough to simply take the throne, though. There were still many other warlords looking to take his place. After all, unification had only come about some thirty or forty years prior. Up to that point, there had been numerous, often competing kingdoms, especially in the north. It was quite possible that the Sui dynasty was just a fluke, and most people no doubt expected the empire to fall once more into chaos.
Still, although he definitely had to back it up with military might, often led by his sons and close confidants, Li Yuan went about the process of enacting his sovereignty. This included various state rituals, as well as a reform of the administration. For one thing, they renamed the capital. Daxingcheng had been built nearby the ancient capital of Chang’an, and so they renamed Daxingcheng to the ancient name of Chang’an.
In addition, he sought out various supernatural portents. He also enjoyed the support of various Daoists, who believed that the founder of Daoism, Laozi, was from the Li family. There was a belief at the time that a messianic ruler from the Li family would bring about the Daoist millennium. And to better understand that, it may be useful to understand a little bit about Daoism.
Daoism, first and foremost, is one of the more well known religions to come out of China, and often is found side by side what would seem to be its polar opposite, Confucianism. However, the two have more in common than one might at first assume.
The believed founder of Daoism is known as Laozi, though some later sources, including the Qin dynasty “Records of the Grand Historian”, by Sima Chen, would claim for him the name Li Er. Laozi was said to have been a scholar who abandoned the world, and as he was leaving the empire for parts unknown, an astute guard recognized him and requested that before he left that he write down his accumulated wisdom before he would let the old sage leave. That became the work known as the Dao De Jing, or the Classic of the Way and Virtue.
The opening of the Dao De Jing is rather famous:
Dao ke Dao, feichang Dao.
Or, according to one translation: The Dao that can be known is not the eternal Dao.
However, no English translation truly does the original justice.
Traditionally, Laozi is said to have been a contemporary of Confucius, and some of the earliest writings on him, in the Warring States period writings of Zhuangzi, often show Confucius in awe of Laozi. That said, most tend to agree that Laozi himself likely never existed, and that the Dao De Jing was assembled over the years from various poems and sayings that fit with the general theme of formlessness and a general concept of following the Way, a rather ill defined concept of natural order, one which humans are constantly pushing against, often to our detriment.
Truth is that both Confucius and Laozi—or whomever compiled the Dao De Jing—wrote about a thing called the “Dao” or “Way”. Confucius was often talking about the “Way of Heaven”, describing an ordered universe where balance was kept by everyone remaining in their proper place, creating a series of rules around strict, hierarchical relationships, such as those between a father and son, or the ruler and subject. According to Confucian thought, as long as things on Earth were properly ordered, that order would be reflected in the Heavens, and all of creation would be ordered as well.
In Daoism, it is much less about attempting to order the universe, but rather about giving in to your natural place in the universe. This is a much simplified version of both religions, but in general, where Confucianism tended to see serving at court as a virtue, Daoism tended to reject official life. For many court officials, they would embrace Confucian ideals in their official lives, but often seek out Daoist pleasures in their free time.
Religious Daoism, where it became more than simply a philosophical ideal, appears to have coalesced around the Han dynasty. There are Daoist temples, though in this instance it is often intertwined with many other Sinitic philosophies and beliefs. Thus things like the Queen Mother of the West and the Peaches of Immortality could be included in Daoist practice. Things like the Yijing, the Book of Changes, and various divination methods could also be included.
In many cases, “Daoist” seems to be used less to refer to a strict adherent to the philosophy of the supposed Laozi, and more as a general catchall for various folk beliefs. Thus many people see the images of the Queen Mother of the West on Han Dynasty mirrors imported to Japan as evidence of a Daoist influence on the archipelago, while others note the lack of the further panoply of religious accoutrements that we would expect if it was truly a “Daoist” influence, and not just a few folk beliefs that made their way across the straits.
However, by the time that Li Yuan was coming to the throne there was a thriving Daoist community in the Sui and burgeoning Tang dynasties, and if they believed that Li Yuan was an incarnation of Laozi—or at least a messianic descendant—who was he to dissuade them of such a notion?
Li Yuan reached back into the past in other ways as well. For one, he would reinstitute the Northern Wei “equal-field” system of state granted land, along with a system of prefectures and districts to help administer it. This was largely an effort to help fill up the coffers, which had been emptied by the Sui and constant warfare, while also emphasizing state ownership of land, with individuals being mere tenants. It also helped bring back into cultivation lands that had long lain fallow, often due to the constant fighting of the previous centuries.
In 621, Li Yuan ordered the minting of new copper coins to help stabilize the currency. Later Sui currency had been devalued by numerous forgeries as well as official debasement—mixing in less valuable metals to make the coins, while attempting to maintain the same denominations as before. These new coins were meant to restore faith in the currency, but shortages would continue to plague the dynasty throughout its history, leading to the use of cloth as a common medium of exchange and tax payment, something that was also common on the archipelago, along with other goods, in lieu of rice or money.
By 624, Li Yuan also announced a new legal code based on the old Han era code, although this was quickly expanded, since the needs of the code from the 3rd century
Now initially, for all of their claims to the entire geographic area of the Sui dynasty, the newly established Tang dynasty really only had effective control over a small are of Guanzhou—the area around Chang’an itself. Li Yuan hadn’t been the only one to rise up, and just because he had declared himself the new emperor didn’t mean that the other warlords were just giving up. It wasn’t like they had reached the end of a football match and everyone was now just going to go home.
And so he and his sons found themselves campaigning for at least the next five years, and that was against the active threats. Plenty of local elites, especially along the Yellow River basin, simply opted to hole up in their fortified settlements. After all, they had no guarantees that this new Tang dynasty would last longer than any of the others in the past several centuries. Often these local elites came under nominal vassalage of the Tang—and probably any other warlord that showed up—but in reality, based on how we see the Tang administration at work, it seems they were primarily left to their own devices, at least early on. After all, Li Yuan and his sons had plenty of active threats to worry about.
And it was definitely his sons who bore the brunt of the work. Li Jiancheng, the eldest son, who would eventually be named Crown Prince, and Li Shimin each took charge of various troops against the threats to the new Tang empire. And they were, for the most part, successful. They eventually brought a majority of the former Sui territory under their control, such that by 623 internal resistance had begun to wane, and by 624 the situation was largely under control.
At least internally. To the north and west there was another threat: The khaganate of the Göktürks.
Now for many people, if you hear “Turks” you might immediately think of the Ottomans in the region of modern Turkiye. However, that is not where the Turkish people originated from. In fact, the first mention of Turkic people appears to be out of the Altai mountains, in modern Mongolia, from around 545. They appear to have been a nomadic group, as were many of the people of the steppes of central Eurasia. By 551, only a short time after they were first documented by outside groups, they had established the Göktürk, or Celestial Turk, Khaganate, based in the Mongolian plateau. From there they expanded in the 6th century, at one point spanning from the Byzantine and Sassanid Persian empires in the west all the way to the kingdoms and empires of the Yellow River basin in the east.
Many of the ethnic Han kingdoms that clashed with the Göktürks instituted practices of basically paying them off to prevent raids and invasions of their territory. Shortly after the founding of the Sui dynasty, the Turkic Khaganate split in two, after the death of the khagan, and so the Sui and Tang were actually dealing with what we know as the Eastern Turkic Khaganate. They were known to the ethnic Han people as the Thuk-kyat people, a term that today is often transcribed as Tujue, due to the shift in Sinic pronunciation over time. “Tujue” is often how you’ll see it rendered in sources referencing Chinese documents.
The Eastern Turkic Khaganate remained an issue for the Sui and Tang dynasties. Initially, when the uprisings against the Sui began, the Göktürks actually pulled back for a bit, hoping to allow the internal conflicts to weaken their eastern neighbors, but as they saw the direction things were taking, with the Tang dynasty solidifying their power, they began to launch invasions and harass the border, forcing the Tang dynasty to send troops. Initially Li Yuan attempted to by off the Eastern Turks, as previous dynasties had done, but while they were happy to take his money, the invasions did not stop.
Eventually, things got so bad—and the internal conflicts were in a stable enough state—that Li Yuan, decided to send a force against them. A fairly straightforward decision, supposedly, except, well…
Throughout all of this conflict, Li Jiancheng and Li Shimin had been building up their own influence. Li Jiancheng, as the eldest son of Li Yuan, was the Crown Prince, but Li Shimin had built up his own power and influence, to the point that Li Jiancheng and his other brother, Li Yuanji, were starting to look at how they could take care of him before he got so powerful and popular that Li Yuan was tempted to make him Crown Prince instead of Jiancheng. At one point, Li Yuanji proposed inviting Li Shimin over and just having him killed, but Li Jiancheng balked at such direct and obvious fratricide.
Instead, Li Jiancheng reportedly pushed his younger brother into positions that would possibly get him killed, but Li Shimin continued to succeed, thwarting his brother’s plans and growing his own fame and power in the process.
Finally, Li Jiancheng decided to take a different approach, and he suggested to his father that the army to defend the empire against the Turks should be led by none other than Li Yuanji. This would mean moving a large portion of the army out from under Li Shimin’s command to his brother, Li Yuanji, who would also accrue much of the fame and respect if he proved successful. This was a huge blow to Li Shimin, who had heard rumors that his brothers were out to get him.
Before setting out on such a campaign, it would have been expected that Li Shimin and his other brothers turn out to wish Li Yuanji success in his campaign. That would have put Li Shimin in an extremely vulnerable position, where he could be arrested or even killed, without the usual protection of his own forces. And so Li Shimin decided to be proactive.
Before the campaign could set out, Li Shimin submitted accusations against Li Jiancheng and Li Yuanji that they were having illicit relations with the concubines of their father, the emperor. This got Li Yuan’s attention, and he called both of his sons back to the palace to investigate what was going on. This is what led to that fateful incident known as the Xuanwu Gate Incident. Unbeknownst to Li Yuan or his other sons, Li Shimin had forces loyal to him take over the Xuanwu gate the night before Li Jiancheng and Li Yuanji were to have their audience. Ideally, at least from Li Shimin’s position, they would have both been assassinated at Xuanwu gate, but as I noted at the start of the episode, things did not go exactly to plan. There were several moments where a single stray arrow could have completely changed the course of things, but in the end, Li Shimin was triumphant.
As the fighting was going on, Li Yuan heard the commotion. Apparently he had been out in a boat on the lake in the palace enclosure—and yes, you heard that right, the palace included a lake, or at least a very large pond, such that the emperor could partake in a lazy morning upon the water. When he heard the commotion, he guessed that the tensions between his sons must be at the heart of it, and even surmised that Li Shimin was likely behind it. He got to shore and surrounded himself with courtiers, including known comrades and acquaintances of his son, Li Shimin.
Eventually, a representative of Li Shimin arrived, and he told the court that Li Jiancheng and Li Yuanji had risen up in rebellion, but that Li Shimin had had them both put to death. With Li Shimin’s troops literally at the gates of the palace, and Li Jiancheng and Li Yuanji not exactly able to defend themselves, the accusation stood. Several days later, no doubt under pressure from Li Shimin, Emperor Tang Gaozu, aka Li Yuan, officially made Li Shimin the Crown Prince. Two months later, he abdicated in favor of Li Shimin, who came to power as Tang Taizong in 626 CE. Li Yuan himself took on the title of Retired Emperor, and continued to live life in the palace, but with a much reduced impact on the political affairs of the empire.
Li Shimin himself took the reins of power immediately, and set about cementing his rule in several different ways. First off, to offset his particularly unfilial method of coming to the throne, Li Shimin engaged in performative Confucian virtue signaling. He played the part of the dutiful son, at least in public, providing for his retired father and attempting to act the part of the sage ruler. This was somewhat impeded by the cold relationship he and his father appear to have maintained after that point—apparently killing your siblings and forcing your father to abdicate are not exactly the kinds of bonding experiences that bring a father and son closer together. Still, that was mostly kept in the confines of the private areas of the palace. Publicly, he gathered accomplished military and civilian officials, and made sure to seek out their opinion.
The era of emperor Tang Taizong is known as the Zhenguan era, lasting from roughly 627 to 649, and it was considered to be synonymous with good governance by later historians and philosophers. Granted, most of the examples of good governance only lasted long enough for Li Shimin to establish himself in his position as emperor. Once he had solidified his power, and felt secure in his position, his rule changed to a more traditional and authoritarian model.
Regarding the threat of invasion from the Eastern Turkic Khaganate, Li Shimin met the Turks at the Wei River, where he accused them of invading Tang territory and demanded restitution. The Turks were impressed enough by his forces that they agreed to settle, offering thousands of horses and other goods, but Li Shimin declined their attempts to make it good. Eventually, Li Shimin supported some of the more disaffected members of the Turkic Khaganate in a coup, and by 630 the Eastern Turkic Khaganate and their gateway to the Silk Road was under Tang dynasty control. The Turks granted Li Shimin the title of Heavenly Khagan, placing him over both the Tang dynasty and the Eastern Turkic Khaganate.
He then went about resettling surrendered Eastern Turks while sending agents to foment rebellions and civil wars in the Western Turkic Khaganate, which controlled the area from Yumenguan, the Jade Gate, west of Dunhuang, all the way to Sassanid Persia. Dunhuang is an oasis city at the western end of the Gansu corridor, and the Jade Gate was considered to be the entry way to the Western Regions.
As Emperor Taizong, Li Shimin placed a puppet Khagan on the throne of the Western Turkic Khaganate in 642, and then sent numerous campaigns against the Western Turks in a series of wars against those who hadn’t simply given in to his will—first against the kingdom of Gaochang, a city cut from the rock of a giant plateau, and then on to the cities Karashr—known today by the Chinese name of Yanqi—and on to Kuqa. The campaigns would outlive Emperor Taizong himself, and the khaganate was completely annexed by 657, giving the Tang dynasty complete mastery over at least one part of the silk road out to Sassanid Persia and the west.
This would be huge, not only for the Tang dynasty, but for all of the cultures on the far eastern end of that silk road. There would be an increase in material and cultural items that traversed the routes. Chinese court dress even came to incorporate Turkic and Sogdian dress and clothing styles, which would eventually make their way to the Japanese archipelago, where they would take the tailored, round-necked collar designs for their own, eventually changing them, by the late Heian era, into their own distinctive garments.
It also opened a route to India for those Buddhist scholars who wished to go and study at the source, such as it was.
As for Emperor Taizong, by the 630s, with his title as Heavenly Khagan, Li Shimin seems to have stopped worrying about performative Confucian virtues. He took more direct control, and more often would quarrel with his ministers on various issues. In 637 he also reworked the Tang legal code, further refining the law.
At the same time, there were family matters he also had to attend to. It seems like father, like son—while Li Shimin’s eldest son, Li Chengqian was the Crown Prince, Shimin appeared to favor another son, Li Tai. As such, these two brothers became bitter rivals. Li Chengqian started to worry about his position as Crown Prince, and he consulted with some of his close advisors and confidants. Their solution was not to take his brother out of the picture, but rather to take his own father out of the picture. And so Li Chengqian reportedly entertained the idea of overthrowing his father, Emperor Taizong, at least as a thought experiment.
And really, at this point, I have some suspicions that Li Shimin might very well have been a bit of an absentee father, because does Chengqian even know whom he is talking about trying to coup?
Sure enough, Li Shimin learned about his sons extracurricular activities in 643 and he was less than happy with all of this. Li Chengqian’s defense, appears to have been that they only discussed it, they never went through with anything. As such, some of Chengqian’s conspirators were put to death, but Chengqian himself was simply reduced in rank to commoner status, stripped of his titles. When he died a few years later, though, Li Shimin had him buried as a Duke, and a later emperor would even posthumously restore his rank as an imperial prince.
Of course, the question came up as to just what to do about the Crown Prince. Li Tai seemed the obvious choice, as he had clearly impressed his father with his apparent talent and skill. However, it was pointed out that Li Tai’s competition with his brother is what had led to Chengqian’s fear and thoughts of rebellion in the first place. He hadn’t exactly been the model of filial virtue. In fact, if he hadn’t been scheming, none of this would have taken place. And so it was decided to pass him over and to create Li Zhi, a younger brother, as Crown Prince. Li Tai himself was demoted, though only down to a minor princely state, and exiled from Chang’an, making it extremely difficult for him to influence politics. Records of the time suggest this was an extremely difficult decision by his father, but one that he considered necessary for the responsible administration of government.
All of this was taking place in the early 640s, but it wasn’t the only thing that Li Shimin had on his mind. With the Turkic threat being handled in the west, the emperor let his ambitions get the better of him, and he turned his eyes towards Goguryeo, to his northeast. Previously, Emperor Yang of Sui had failed in his campaigns against Goguryeo, and that was one of the things that had led to the popular uprisings and rebellion that had taken down the dynasty. Now, Emperor Taizong seemed determined to succeed where the prior dynasty failed.
And so the Tang dynasty allied with the kingdom of Silla, hoping to force Goguryeo into a war on two fronts. Silla was already expanding on the Korean peninsula, and a natural ally for the Tang dynasty. Furthermore, they were far enough away that they weren’t an immediate threat if they decided to go back on their part of the deal.
Unfortunately for the Tang, these campaigns in 645 were not exactly a cake walk, and they handed Li Shimin his first defeat since the attempts to unify everyone under the Tang dynasty. Not exactly a great look. Relations with Goguryeo were normalized for a brief time, but then Emperor Taizong decided to give it another try. They started gathering ships and men for another invasion, no doubt having played out why they had lost the previous go round and hoping that it would be better in round two.
The invasions, however, would come to naught. As it was being prepared, Tang Taizong grew ill. He called off the invasion, and then, in 649, he passed away. His youngest son, the Crown Prince Li Zhi, came to the throne as Emperor Gaozong. The reign of him and his wife, Empress Wu Zetian, would have an enormous impact on the rest of the 7th century.
Through all of this fighting, bloodshed, and politics, this set the stage for the future of the Tang dynasty, which would once again place the area of modern China in the center of what many considered to be the civilized world. Besides being a center for Buddhist, Confucian, and Daoist religion, Chang’an became an extremely cosmopolitan city, with Sogdian and Turkic traders visiting the markets and establishing themselves in the city. Many foreign families would adapt over time, integrating into the culture of their new home.
These foreigners brought other ideas with them as well. Zoroastrianism, a Persian religion, may have come eastward much earlier, but in the 6th and 7th centuries, both Manichaeism and Christianity—at least an eastern version of Christianity—had made inroads into the capital of Chang’an. Manichaeism would have its ups and downs, especially in conflict with Buddhism. Christianity, on the other hand, was not necessarily the Christianity of Rome, but typically connected with the Syriac church that existed in the Persian empire, where it was a decidedly minority religion. Later proponents of Rome and the Latin rite would connect it with the supposed heresies of Nestorius, referring to the Church of the East as Nestorian Christianity, but this is not a term they would have used for themselves. These religions kept some of their traditions, but also incorporated some aspects of the culture of their new home, such as the use of rice in place of bread in some rituals.
This was an exciting time, and the court at Chang’an was fascinated with various customs of the Western Regions. Music, clothing, and even pasttimes were influenced by contact with the western lands. This would, in time, be passed on even to the archipelago. For instance, the pipa was an instrument that had origins in the Western regions. It is found in the area of modern China in at least the Northern Wei dynasty, but no doubt it grew more popular over time. A version of this same instrument traveled west to Persia, where it became the oud, and further on to Europe, where it became the famous lute. In the archipelago, the pipa became the Biwa, and while we can never be one hundred percent certain about early music, we have instructions from the Tang dynasty on music for the pipa, and Tang dynasty and early music, along with music from Goguryeo, came over to the Japanese courts in the form of gagaku, traditional Japanese court music, in the early 8th century.
Moving forward in our story about the Japanese archipelago, we are going to see more and more about the kentoushi, the Japanese embassies to the Tang dynasty, and just what they would bring back. At the same time, we will also see the reaction of the court to the alliance between the Tang and Yamato’s largest competitor on the Korean peninsula, Silla. That alliance, which outlived emperor Taizong and even the king of Silla, would dramatically shift the balance of power on the peninsula and in all of northeast Asia.
But we need to get there, first. For now, let’s move our gaze back across the waters to the archipelago, where Prince Tamura was about to take the throne, later becoming known as Jomei Tennou. Of course, he was dealing with his own politics, especially regarding the Soga house and the powerful hold they had over government. Next episode we will get back to just what was happening over there.
Until then, thank you for listening and 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. If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links 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.
Thank you, also, to Ellen for her work editing the podcast.
And that’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

Lewis, Mark Edward (2009). China’s Cosmopolitan Empire: The Tang Dynasty. The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts / London, England. ISBN 978-0-674-03306-1
Benn, Charles (2002). China’s Golden Age: Everyday Life in the Tang Dynasty. Oxford University Press. ISBN 0-19-517665-0

Traveling Through the Ancient Nara Basin, Part 2

March 2, 2024 Joshua Badgley

Two weathered stone figures, or saru-ishi, — Two saru-ishi, or monkey stones, sit at the tomb of Kibi Hime, in Asuka.

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This blog post took a bit longer than the episode, so apologies for getting it up late.

Here are photos from Asuka from my various trips there, if you want to look at all of them. Otherwise, check out the gallery, below, for specific highlights:

https://www.flickr.com/photos/tatsushu/albums/72157624920460502/

Ikatsuchi Gion Castle Ruins

Not every earthwork is a kofun (though many are). Here is a part of the old Ikazuchi-Gion Castle, a small fortification north of the ruins of Ikazuchi castle. It is unclear when the castle was built (but not Asuka Period). Also a great example of how people live right next to these old ruins.

Asuka today

Much of Asuka today is this: various rice fields and small clusters of houses at the base of various hills—where it is less conducive to farming. A far cry from the days of the ancient capital.

7th century Asuka

An example of Asuka in the late 7th century, looking south, from Ishigami no Miya to Asukadera and the royal palace beyond. From the Nara Historical Museum.

Entrance to Okayama Castle ruins

Here on Okayama, there are earthworks for the old Okayama castle ruins. Similar to Ikazuchi castle, it is unclear when it was built.

Old houses

Walking through Asuka there are buildings from many different periods, with their own charm.

Genbu (玄武)

The black turtle of the north, one of four directional animals. This is a reproduction from the Kitora Kofun at the Asuka History Museum.

Courtiers

Asuka era painting of courtiers in clothing reminiscent of Goguryeo garb found in Takamatsuzuka kofun. Reproduction at the Asuka History Museum.

Takamatsuzuka

Takamatsuzuka kofun from the outside. Without seeing the inside, it is a relatively unassuming tomb.

Yamadadera Gallery Wall

The preserved gallery wall of Yamadadera. It had collapsed into the ground and apparently been covered up and (mostly) protected from the elements, allowing archaeologists to put it back together again (with some assistance). From the Asuka History Museum.

Yamadaera depiction

A depiction of Yamadadera from the Asuka History Museum, showing how it may have looked back in its heyday.

Yamadera ruins

The Yamadadera site, today. There are earthworks demonstrating where the various buildings sat.

Asuka Exhibition Room of Archaeological Artifacts

A small, one-room museum in an old Meiji era schoolhouse.

Model octagonal kofun

A model of the octagonal kofun of Saimei (aka Kōgyoku) Tennō. This appears to have gained some popularity in the Asuka period before they ditched kofun entirely.

Soga memorial

Memorial to the Soga family outside Asukadera.

Asuka Daibutsu

The “giant” Buddha image of Asukadera in its modern hall.

Asuka palace diagrams

A diagram from the Asuka History Museum showing the layouts of several of the later 7th century palaces based on archaeological findings.

Mizuochi site

Plaque outside the Mizuochi site demonstrating what is known and conjecture about how the “falling water” location may have housed an ancient water clock mentioned in the Nihon Shoki.

Palace excavations

An archaeological dig that was being conducted in the area of the old Asuka palaces.

Palace postholes

A few areas have been preserved with the postholes shown, which give an idea of the size of the building, though often all we have are the holes, perhaps with the base stones that the pillars would have sat upon.

Asuka palace sites

A map demonstrating the various palace sites in Asuka, showing how the palace moved, but not nearly as far as in previous periods. From the Asuka HIstory Museum.

Ishibutai kofun

Possibly the kofun of Soga no Umako. It was a large, square shaped kofun with a horizontal entrance to a stone burial chamber. Much of the upper dirt has been removed, exposing the structure of the stone chamber, making it quite spectacular.

Kameishi (replica)

A replica of the Kame-ishi at the Asuka History Museum. This may have been a border marker between two temples, Kawaradera and Tachibanadera. Or it may have simply been a decorative element, perhaps in a garden.

Kameishi

Here is the actual kameishi, now nestled between modern houses. It is said that when people aren’t watching it occasionally changes directions, and if it faces the wrong way, disaster will soon follow.

Kawaradera

A model of Kawaradera as it may have looked when it was first built. From the Asuka History Museum.

Kawaradera ruins

The ruins of Kawaradera. You can see the size in comparison to the smaller Gufuku-ji that now sits there.

Tachibanadera

Said to be situated on the birthplace of Shotoku Taishi himself, Tachibanadera may have started life as a nunnery. Today it is a Tendai temple

Noguchi no Ō no Haka

The tomb of Temmu Tennō and his wife and successor, JItō Tennō. There are some orchards along the lower slopes, but the upper part of the tomb is fenced off. This is an octagonal shaped kofun—not that you could tell in its modern, overgrown shape.

Oni no Manaita

The “demon’s cutting board”. The bottom of a stone burial chamber.

Oni no Setchin

The “demon’s toilet”. Actually the top of a stone burial chamber that was uncovered and then somehow fell down the adjacent hillside, landing upside down.

Umeyama kofun

A large, keyhole shaped kofun said to be the burial place of Kimmei Tennō.

The grave of Kibi Hime

A small, round kofun outside of Umeyama Kofun is said to be that of Kibi Hime. Whether or not this is actually her tomb is perhaps in question. Today, you can see various saruishi statues that were discovered and moved here in later periods.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan! My name is Joshua and this is Traveling Through the Nara Basin, Part II
This episode, I’d like to pause in our narrative to take you on a journey through the modern landscape of Asuka. This is a continuation from episode I did last year covering travels around the southeastern edge of the Nara Basin, from Tenri down to Miwa. I’m going to skip over some of the sites in Kashihara—we may save that for a discussion of the Fujiwara palace that was there—and head straight to Asuka.
Standing at the southern end of Asuka, at the site of the ruins of the Itabuki palace, looking north, with the hills at your back the view is rather bucolic. Between the hills on either side of the valley, one can see rice fields spreading out. Along the western edge, the narrow Asuka-gawa winds along the base of the hills on its way north, joining with the Yamato river in the heart of the Nara Plain, far from view. Along the eastern hills are various houses, heading out to a cluster around the current precincts of Asukadera.
It is a far cry from the ancient capital it once was. The large mansions and palaces that once filled the landscape are gone, their traces often lying beneath the rice paddies. Amongst the hills, ancient tumuli still look down over the valley below, some with their contents ripped open—whether by man or nature—for all to see. At the end of the Asuka period, the capital would move—first just a short hop away to the plains of Kashihara, to the north, but eventually up to Heijo-kyo, in modern Nara city. A century later the capital would move north, settling in Heian-kyo, aka modern Kyoto city.
Asuka, in turn, remained largely untouched by the urbanization that would take place in many of the large cities. As the capital moved farther away—to Kashihara, then Nara, then Kyoto—Asuka was left behind. The temples and buildings succumbed to time, and no great settlement sprung up in its place. There were castles built on strategic hills by local lords, but much of the land remained rural Asuka would never be quite the same, a fact that would be of some relief to archaeologists and students of history in later centuries. The lack of urbanization meant that traces of those ancient times—at least those underneath the layers of soil overturned by farming—do remain.
Asuka is believed to have been a stronghold for the powerful Soga clan. By rising through the ranks, marrying into the royal family, and supporting the winning side in various succession crises—not to mention their ties to the exotic Buddhist religion—they were able to make themselves into the most powerful family in Yamato, second only to the sovereign, and their stronghold of Asuka became the site of the palace building for at least four sovereigns. It was also the home to some of the first permanent Buddhist temples, so it is the stage for much of what plays out in the late 6th to 7th centuries.
For anyone planning a visit, the first thing you should know is that Asuka is still quite rural. There are a few train lines that you can take nearby—the Kintetsu line Asuka station is probably the closest for most things, but since I was also visiting the Fujiwara palace ruins I rode into Kaguyama station on the JR line early in the morning.
And so I entered Asuka from the north, passing by Kaguyama, one of the three sacred mountains of Kashihara. Near Ikatsuchi, I followed a small road that cut across rice paddies just north of the presumed site of Kashikiya Hime’s Oharida palace. This is the palace she moved to in the latter part of her reign, giving over the site of Toyoura, to the southwest, for a nunnery.
Making my way through the open rice paddies, I reached a small neighborhood on the other side. The buildings were a mix of new and old, but nothing quite as old as what I was looking for. I continued on, making my way to the Asuka Historical Museum. This is an excellent museum for anyone interested in the area, with examinations of various temple ruins, kofun, and more. Outside, there are numerous copies of the various stone figures that dot the landscape here in Asuka, such as the Saruishi, or Monkey stones.
These stones are a bit enigmatic. There is no clear relationship between the origin of most of the stones and any particular event that I could see in the Nihon Shoki or elsewhere. The saruishi were discovered by farmers in their fields in 1702, near Umeyama kofun, and eventually moved to their current location at the site of Kibi Hime’s tomb, outside of the giant keyhole shaped tomb for Amekunioshi, aka Kinmei Tennou. They are called “monkey” stones, or Saru-ishi, because people thought they resembled monkeys, but in truth they are probably just carvings meant to represent people. Scholars believe that they probably date back to the latter half of the 7th century, and may have been carved by immigrant Baekje artisans, based on their similarity to statues found on the Korean peninsula, but this is all conjecture. The originals are viewable from behind a fence, but at the Asuka Historical Museum you can get up close and personal to them and really see the details—at least what hasn’t eroded away.
There is also the Kameishi, or turtle stone, which you can go see, but which also has a replica at the museum. There are stories about this giant stone, carved to look like a turtle, but its exact purpose is unknown.
There are also reconstructions of various kofun stone chambers, so you can see what is inside some of the large mounds, as well as stone fountains and water works, demonstrating not just the skill of the artisans of that era, but also their ability to harness the flow of water back in that time.
Inside, much of the information in the museum is in Japanese, but there are English descriptions of artifacts and some contextualization, but if you don’t read Japanese and are interested in what they have to say about the palace and temple ruins then a translation app is your friend. In fact, it is generally recommended for any travel where you may be in need of translation, these days.
Inside the museum, they go over the layouts of some of the later palaces, especially the Okamoto, Itabuki, and Kiyomihara palace sites, for which at least the inner court area is fairly well defined. They also take a look at temple structures and the various continental influences, as well as a reconstruction of a water clock described by the Nihon Shoki during the reign of the sovereign known as Saimei Tennou—rest assured we will talk more about that at a later date.
They also have a good look at the inside of the Kitora tomb’s burial chamber, recreated for you. The Kitora kofun and the Takamatsuzuka kofun are two of the most famous kofun in the area, but not necessarily for who was buried there. Both of them have been opened, and inside it wasn’t just grave goods, but they found painted chambers. In the Kitora kofun we find the directional guardian animals. These are four mythical beasts that represented North, South, East, and West, and they were Genbu, the Black Turtle of the North; Suzaku, the Red Bird of the South; Seiryuu, the Blue—or Green—Dragon of the East; and Byakkou, the White Tiger of the West. In this case, since the tomb was opened from the south, only three of the paintings were visible, and the east and west walls were not in great shape, but it was still legible. They are doing their best to preserve these paintings, and the museum only has copies, but it still helps to understand the time period. The burial probably took place in the 7th or 8th century, and has been suggested that it was a high ranking noble or royal prince—or possibly even a high ranking person from the continent.
Takamatsuzuka, on the other hand, has even more detailed murals from the late 7th or early 8th century. The murals include the directional animals, but also pictures of courtiers dressed in the continental fashion. The murals resemble those found in Goguryeo, and again, there are still many questions about just who was buried there. Both the Kitora and Takamatsuzuka kofun are round kofun, and not especially large or prominent compared to some of the giant keyhole shaped kofun or previous eras, but the decoration and grave goods suggest people of status in both cases. Also, since Takamatsuzuka gives us some of our only clothing evidence from this period, and it holds similarities to what we know of Nara and later Heian era clothing, it is often used as a key reference point when looking at the clothing and culture of this time. The Takamatsuzuka kofun is only a short distance from the Asuka train station, but I did not visit this trip as I had been there many years prior, and I do recommend it if you get the chance. Kitora kofun is a little more out of the way, but still doable, especially if you have more than a day to wander around the area.
In addition to the tombs, the museum has a large exhibit on Asuka era temples, including a section of wooden wall from a building at nearby Yamadadera. This section was found in 1980—apparently it had collapsed onto the ground and been covered up, as much of the wood was still preserved. The section is dated to be even older than the oldest extant buildings of Houryuuji, and it gives a great example of the construction techniques of the time. Since they didn’t have glass windows, we see them using vertical wooden bars. You can still see this on old style buildings and galleries, where a pole with a square cross-section will be tilted like a diamond and placed in the windows, creating a series of wooden bars that let in light, but still act as a barrier to entry. This only really works on external walls, unless you have another kind of shutter to put over them, but it is effective. We also have other items from the temple, including the head of a bronze Buddha statue.
From what we can tell, this was another Soga family temple. It is mentioned in the “Joguuki”, the biography of Shotoku Taishi, as well as in the Nihon Shoki.
It is also a short walk from the museum, and an easy visit. Warning, though, there isn’t a lot to see on the site. The outline of the temple and the various buildings is visible, and you can see how they lined up and get a sense of the approach, but it is fairly sparse. There is a modern temple on the site—Yamadaji, or, read another way, Yamadadera. It is not nearly as grand as the original, and is more like a rural, neighborhood temple. During the Asuka period, Yamadadera likely attracted attention from far and wide as one of the chief temples of the capital.
Speaking of temples, I next turned back down the road and headed towards Asukadera. On the way isare the Ishigami site an theand Mizuochi sites, next to the Asuka district Exhibition Room of Archaeological Cultural Assets. The Ishigami site is a section of the stone pathways near an ancient guesthouse. Nearby is the Mizuochi site, which has been speculated to be the site of the water clock I mentioned earlier. There was a moat for catching and holding water, as well as various pipes for getting the water up to the clock. The clock itself contained several different buckets at different levels, so that a hole poked in the top bucket drained into the one below and then the one below that. The idea was that the water would flow at a fairly constant rate, and that could be used to tell the time. At the bottom was a float with an image of an official who held a ruler. The ruler would rise with the float and thus indicate the time. This was a great innovation as it would work even when the sun was not out, but it would need to be reset each day at a specific time to ensure that it was accurate.
As for the nearby Exhibition Room—it is free, and so worth a look around. Much of what is there is the same as the Asuka Historical Museum, but there are a few differences. It is only a single room, so an easy in and out, and you can grab a bite or something to drink before you head on, so worth the stop if you are passing by, but if you are short on time you could easily give it a miss, as well.
Continuing up the valley, to the south, I next stopped at Asukadera. I approached from the west, though the parking lot and main entrance is to the east. At the western edge there was a memorial for the Soga family members—more on that as we get back to the episodes. You can also see where the gates and walls used to be, though now the temple itself is much reduced. You no longer have the original footprint of the temple—when the capital moved to Heijo-kyo, the temple formally moved as well. It was rebuilt in Heijo-kyo as Gankouji, but it wasn’t like they could just move all the buildings—though that was sometimes done. Over time things were dilapidated or destroyed by fire, and Asukadera itself shrank. They did find and preserve the giant Buddha statue believed to have been installed in the reign of Kashikiya Hime, though the statue had been repaired extensively, such that only parts of the statue are thought to be original. You can come into the worship hall for a fee and the monks there will tell you the history of that and other images at the temple—in Japanese, of course—and you are allowed to take pictures.
While the temple is reduced, it is still an incredible experience to stand there and imagine what it once was. In addition, you can look up the valley and picture the ancient palaces that once stood there as well.
And that was my next stop. I headed up the roads towards the ancient palace sites. I noticed that there was some work going on near the Itabuki Palace site, and so I headed over that way. This means I did skip the Nara Prefectural Complex of Man’yo Culture, which looks to have some excellent depictions of life during Asuka and Nara periods, focusing on the period of the Man’yoshu, the book of ten thousand leaves, our earliest collection of Japanese language poetry written with “man’yogana”—sinitic characters used primarily for their sound to represent the Japanese language of that era. This is only one of many reasons that I will be returning to Asuka on a future visit.
Still, I only had so much time in the day, and so I wandered over the old palace sites. There was an excavation underway, and I admit I still need to look into if there was a site report for the work—this was in November of 2022. I don’t know if there were any major changes in our understanding at the time, but always great to see people in the field doing the work that helps us map and understand the past. While Tthere is a small rest area there, but you should be aware that after excavation, the site has largely been covered back up. There is a small display on the eastern side of the valley where you can see some post holes, but largely you have to use your imagination to see the palace and where it was. I still just like to be there and experience the site and get an idea for even just the topography of the place, which I really believe puts things in perspective.
From the Asuka palace site, I headed up the road and a little bit into the hills to see Ishibutai kofun. This is a famous kofun and is extremely impressive in its presentation, despite the fact that it has no grave goods and we don’t really know who was buried there. You see, though it was apparently a square shaped kofun, all of that dirt has been removed—likely by erosion or other factors—but that means that the stone chamber inside has been exposed. With that you can see the enormous stones that people moved into place to create the burial chamber. This was not a simple matter of making a brick enclosure, but rather it was massive boulders that were found and placed in such a way that I’m sure the builders of the pyramids or Stonehenge would have appreciated. As it was open to the elements, anything that was inside was either stolen or rotted away, but it is still impressive to see the construction. It is thought that this may have been the tomb of none other than Soga no Umako, that powerful Oho-omi that lead the Soga family to greatness, and some have suggested that with the Soga’s downfall, that could explain why the earth was removed from the tomb in the first place, to disgrace him and his family.
From Ishibutai, I headed west, taking the road between Tachibana dera and the ruins of Kawara dera. We don’t know exactly when they were founded, but it was likely in the 7th century. Tachibana dera claims to have been founded by Shotoku Taishi, and is said to have been built on the site of his birthplace. What we know is that it was mentioned in the Nihon Shoki by about 680, and it appears to have been a nunnery. To the north is the site of Kawara dera, and you can see the ruins in the field around the current temple of Gufukuji, which was established there after Kawara dera itself had fallen to ruin. Kawara dera and Tachibana dera may have been built as a pair of temples, and rooftiles have been found at each site that appear to be of a similar age.
However, neither temple has any of the original buildings left. There are some ancient stone statues, however: a stone with two people carved into it, facing away from each other, and, nearby, the Kameishi, or turtle stone, which some claim marked a boundary point between the two temples. That isn’t to say that the current temples don’t have anything worth seeing, and if I had more time I would have definitely looked into it, but I had my sights set a bit farther afield, because continuing down the road will take you to several notable kofun.
First off is the kofun of Temmu and his wife Jitou—I’ll stick with the regnal names for now, as they haven’t really come up in our story, but we’ll definitely have a lot to talk about when we get there. This is an octagonal kofun, likely representing Buddhist influence and the importance of the number “eight” at the same time that kofun themselves were starting to fall out of fashion. The shape isn’t easy to make out, given that it is overgrown with trees and other vegetation, and you aren’t allowed on the kofun itself. Still, it is something to visit it and give some thought to history.
Next along the path, following a trail that cuts along the hillside, is the Demon’s Cutting Board and the Demon’s Toilet. Yeah, you heard that right. These are two large stones, one up on the hill, and one a little farther down. A local story tells of an oni—a demon or ogre—that would catch passersby and eat them. The oni would chop them up on their cutting board, the Oni no Manaita, and would then relieve himself in the toilet, the Oni no Setchin. In reality, they appear to be two parts of a stone chamber for a kofun that was likely on top of the hill, but which was dug up or the top eroded away and then the top portion, the “Setchin” stone, fell down, possibly due to some kind of local event—a landslide or earthquake, or something similar. Needless to say, there is nothing left of the grave other than these two giant stones, with any goods having long been taken.
Continuing on along the path past that is the giant keyhole shaped kofun designated as that of Kinmei Tennou, aka Ame Kunioshi Hiraki Hiro Niwa. The tomb is large, and impressive, and a good example of the kind of royal tomb that was the norm up to that point. Perhaps more intriguing is something I mentioned, earlier, because there are satellite kofun nearby. Satellite kofun are often assumed to be people related to the main kofun in some way—it could be family members, consorts, or even special courtiers who served them well. In this case, the tomb has been identified as that of Kibi Hime, and, unrelated to that as far as we can tell, it has become the home of the saruishi, the monkey stones I mentioned earlier. They are behind a barrier, so you can’t get too close, but it is neat to see them there, bearing silent witness to an age long past.
At that point, the sun was setting behind the mountains. I followed the road back to the Asuka train station and from there headed on to my next destination. I left nearby Takamatsuzuka, which, as I said, I had seen on a previous trip, as well as many other sights. After all, just to the west is Katsuraki, and to the north is Kashihara, which is not only home to Temmu’s Fujiwara capital, but also to the three sacred mountains and numerous other kofun dotting the landscape. Farther north still and you can visit Houryuuji Temple, and the nearby Chuuguuji temple, both of which have treasures from the Asuka and Nara periods, including the oldest extant wooden buildings in the world. I highly recommend it.
There is also more to explore. There are old castle ruins—mostly just earthworks—and other temples and buildings from ages to come after the Asuka period. While it was never exactly built up, that doesn’t mean that Asuka remained completely untouched throughout the centuries.
I’ll put up some photos on the podcast webpage so that you can see things for yourself, and I hope that one day you all get a chance to visit Asuka. It truly is a beautiful place, nestled amongst the hills and looking out into the Nara Basin. There is a feeling as if, despite the roads and modern vehicles, time still moves a bit slower there. And though the ancient buildings that once marked the capital of Yamato are no longer there, the traces and their presence can still be felt.
Next episode we’ll get back into the narrative. I want to dive a little deeper into what was going on over on the continent before we start to unravel everything happening in Yamato, as the Tang dynasty had come to power, and it was just beginning a period that would come to be known as its golden age.
Until then, thank you for listening and for all of your support.
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Thank you, also, to Ellen for her work editing the podcast.
And that’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

Episode 103: The Queen is Dead...

February 16, 2024 Joshua Badgley

An 18th century artist’s interpretation of Kashikiya Hime, aka Suiko Tennō. Original by Tosa Mitsuyoshi in 1726, in the collection of Eifukuji temple. Public domain image found at Wikimedia Commons.

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This episode there is definitely a need to help sort out some names. We’ll start right up front with a lineage chart so that you can see how some of the

So let’s go through some of the Who’s Who here:

Kashikiya Hime

The sovereign, Suiko Tennō. She was the daughter of Amekunioshi and Kitashi Hime. Kitashi Hime was the daughter of Soga no Iname. She then married her half-brother, Nunakura Futodamashiki (Bidatsu Tennō). She was likely just another consort, but when Nunakura’s designated queen, Okinaga no Hirohime, passed away, Kashikiya Hime was raised up in her place—or so we are told. After Nunakura’s death, his son and presumptive heir, Prince Hikobito, was killed in the chaos during the next several reigns. Kashikiya Hime’s brother, Tachibana, came to the throne as Yōmei Tennō, and later her half-brother, Anahobe no Hasebe, as Sujun Tennō. Tachibana died early into his reign, assuming he did actually reign, and Hasebe was killed by Soga no Umako, the “great minister” (ōmi) and uncle to both Hasebe and Kashikiya Hime. Kashikiya Hime was eventually put on the throne and became known to us as Suiko Tennō. Her son, Prince Takeda, passed away at some point—possibly before she came to the throne. And so she made her nephew, Prince Umayado, aka Shōtoku Taishi, the heir and Crown Prince.

In the end, she outlived both Umayado and Umako, passing away in 628 CE, having reigned for about 35 years or so.

A wooded hillock under a blue sky. An earthen wall appears to surround it. In the lower left corner is a torii gate, indicating the hill as sacred. The tumulus is surrounded by — Yamada Takatsuka kofun, traditionally believed to be the resting place of Kashikiya Hime and her son, Prince Takeda. Image public domain from Wikimedia Commons.

Prince Takeda

Prince Takeda was the son of Kashikiya Hime and Nunakura Futodamashiki. His position as a possible heir is evidence through the fact that he was targeted by Nakatomi no Katsumi along with Prince Hikobito during the Soga-Mononobe conflict that was part of the larger struggle for the throne at the end of the 6th century. He must have passed away at some point—the last we see of him in the Nihon Shoki is in 587, during the assault on the Mononobe. We know that he predeceased his mother as she was buried in his tomb. This is traditionally believed to be Yamada Takatsuka kofun, but may refer to another nearby kofun. Both of these are rectangular kofun. In the case of Takatsuka, it may have originally been square and then had the shape changed at a later point, which might indicate Kashikiya Hime’s burial and modifications made to the tomb. This could also help explain why Kashikiya Hime’s burial took so long.

Soga no Ōmi no Umako

Umako was the son of Soga no Iname, the scion of the Soga household, and the “great minister”—the chief position of the court, especially after he led the Soga family and allies against the formerly powerful Mononobe. He is depicted helping Kashikiya Hime rule, but predeceased his niece by several years. His position as Ōmi and head of the Soga house passed to his son, Soga no Emishi.

Soga no Sakaibe no Omi no Marise

Marise is a somewhat enigmatic figure. The Chronicles do not clearly give his relationship to Soga no Emishi and Soga no Umako, but they do indicate that he is a member of their family. Current understanding is that he was brother to Soga no Umako, and uncle to Soga no Emishi. The name “Sakaibe” (or Sakahibe) first shows up during this reign, and Marise is mentioned several times throughout the reign, including as a general fighting on the Korean peninsula and providing a eulogy at Kitashi Hime’s burial.

Soga no Ōmi no Emishi

Son of Soga no Umako. He took over the role of Ōmi after his father passed away. He was the head of the Soga family, but he doesn’t seem to be very active prior to the events of 628, at which point he appears to have been trying to gain an even stronger position. Although he likely inherited the position from his father, in 628, Soga no Emishi, he didn’t have the string of political victories behind him that his father had.

Copy of an 8th century image of Prince Shōtoku Taishi surrounded by his younger brother, Prince Eguri, on the left, and his son, Prince Yamashiro, on the right. Image public domain, from the treasury of Hōryūji via Wikimedia Commons

Prince Yamashiro no Ōe

Yamashiro no Ōe was the son of Prince Umayado and Tojiko no Iratsume. Tojiko herself was the daughter of Soga no Umako, and thus sister to Soga no Emishi, making Emishi the uncle to Prince Yamashiro. As the son of Umayado, living at the palace at Ikaruga, it would be logical to think that he would be the heir, since had Umayado come to the throne then Prince Yamashiro would have naturally been next in line, especially given his direct maternal connection to the powerful Soga family.

Prince Hase

Aka Prince “Hatsuse” was another son of Prince Umayado, and half-brother to Prince Yamashiro. His mother was Kashiwade no Hokikimi no Iratsume. We are given very little about him, other than he seems to have lived in Ikaruga with his half-brother, and was one of his brother’s supporters for the throne.

Prince Tamura

Prince Tamura is the son of Prince Hikobito, the apparent heir presumptive under Nunakura Futodamashiki by his wife, Okinaga no Hirohime. That name “Okinaga” shows up in the royal lineage at least back to Okinaga no Tarashi Hime, aka Jingū Tennō. If we take the position that every sovereign is supposed to be descended from a “royal” lineage, then it may be that Hirohime’s children had a stronger claim to the throne than any of the Soga descended lines. In addition, Prince Tamura’s mother was Nukade Hime, a daughter of Tachibana, aka Yōmei Tennō, and a half-sister to Prince Umayado. That all gave Prince Tamura a fairly strong claim to the throne. Whereas previous challenges have come from individuals that we are told are bothers, here we have two competing lineages, both tracing all the way back to Amekunioshi Hiraki Hiro Niwa, aka Kinmei Tennō.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is episode 103: The Queen is Dead.
Quick content warning up front, while most of this is just politics, there is mention of some violence and even suicide towards the end of the episode. I have attempted to keep it mostly to the facts, but if that is something that concerns you, please be aware.
The year is 628, and the mood in the inner chambers of the palace is somber. The court is no stranger to illness; after all, when the Oho-omi, Soga no Umako, had grown ill, a thousand individuals had entered religion to pray for his recovery. He had recovered from that, indeed, only to pass away two years ago. His son, Soga no Emishi, had taken his place at court and at the head of the powerful Soga family.
This time, though, it is different. The sovereign, Kashikiya Hime’s illness affects the entire court. After more than 30 years of her rulership, it seems that the Great Queen of Yamato will not recover, this time. A handful of maids and selected members of the royal family are called into the inner chambers of the palace, tending to her in her final moments. The mood is tense, not just because of the impending death, but also because of the uncertainty for the future. After all, the Crown Prince, Umayado, had passed away approximately six year earlier, and nobody has been named as his replacement. Kashikiya Hime’s own son, Prince Takeda, had passed away some time earlier and is already buried.
Now the inner circle wonders if she will name he successor, or will she pass on without doing so, leaving the throne empty, and setting up yet another bloody power struggle like the ones at the end of Nunakura Futodamashiki’s, aka Bidatsu Tennou’s, reign. Many people still remember what had happened then—they had possibly even lived through it, recalling the Soga and the Mononobe raising up armies, the fighting across the land, and the accusations and repercussions that followed, and forced many on the losing side into hiding.
And they know there are several candidates waiting in the wings. For example, there is Prince Tamura, son of Prince Hikobito, who had been slain in the succession disputes that eventually ended up putting Kashikiya Hime on the throne. That made him a grandson of Nunakura Futodamashiki no Ohokimi and his first wife, Hirohime. His mother is the royal princess Nukade, daughter of Tachibana no Ohokimi and sister to Prince Umayado, aka Shotoku Taishi, giving him a full royal pedigree to draw from.
There is also prince Yamashiro, the eldest son of Prince Umayado and Tojiko no Iratsume, one of the daughters of the late Soga no Umako, the powerful Oho-omi who had raised up the Soga family. Umayado’s fame is well known as the saintly Shotoku Taishi, the previous Crown Prince. He is known to be close to the queen, Kashikiya Hime, and there is not a little bit of speculation as to whether or not she will name him to take up his father’s mantle. He has, after all, succeeded his father in his own household, living in his father’s palace at Ikaruga, near the family temple of Houryuuji.
Both candidates, Tamura and Yamashiro, are called to Kashikiya Hime’s bedside, and there she gives each of them instructions as to what to do upon her demise.
Not too long after that, Kashikiya Hime passes away.
The Queen is dead. Long live the… well, who, exactly?
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So we have been covering Yamato during the reign of Kashikiya Hime, from 593 right up to 628, and what a reign it has been. The Soga family had married into the royal line and then, with the death of Nunakura Futodamashiki , placed princes of Soga descent on the throne. And if you want to go back and listen to all of that, then probably go back to about episode 90 or so. During this period, we’ve seen the building of Buddhist temples—at least 46, we are told—and we see Yamato explicitly adopting certain concepts of statecraft and kingship from the continent. I say explicitly because there are certain things, like the Uji and Be system of clans and the accompanying kabane ranking system that appear to have come over as well, but the Chroniclers never really acknowledge that, treating it as though they were always a thing. We see the rise of the Sui and transition over to the Tang dynasty on the continent, and Silla continue to expand and solidify their control on the peninsula.
We are now towards the end of the reign. As noted before, Prince Umayado, aka the Crown Prince, Shotoku Taishi, passed away in about 622, and after he died, no other Crown Prince appears to have been selected. Umayado was one of the three people seen as holding the reins of state at this time, with the other two being Kashikiya Hime, of course, and her uncle, Soga no Umako.
There are some who even suggest that Soga no Umako, as Oho-omi, was actually in control, and Kashikiya Hime was simply a puppet figure. That seems to be countered by something that happened about 623 or 624, two years after Umayado passed away, when Soga no Umako sent Adzumi no Muraji and Abe no Omi no Maro to Kashikiya Hime to request that he be given the district of Katsuraki, as that is where he was from and where he took his name. Beyond the fact that this gives us some insight into the origins of the Soga family—or at least the origins they claimed for themselves—it is interesting for us now because of Kashikiya Hime’s response. She first noted her close ties to her Soga uncle, and went on to say that, under normal circumstances she would do anything she could to fulfill his requests, but in this case, it was a little bit too much, even for her. If she said yes and gave him and the Soga family the entire district of Katsuraki, what would future generations say about her?
Now it is difficult to say if this actually happened, or if it was part of what appears to be a smear campaign against the Soga family, who, spoiler alert, would eventually be accused of trying to usurp the power of even the sovereigns themselves. That said, it seems like the kind of thing that is just plausible, though possibly using a bit more justification to back up the request. Still, the Chroniclers at least were providing agency to Kashikiya Hime.
Soga no Umako, who had been Oho-omi for some time, would pass away a few years later. That year, we are told that peach and plum trees blossomed, and that the third month of the year, probably late March or April, it was particularly cold, and a hoar frost fell across Yamato. Two months later, Soga no Umako died.
He was buried at Momohara, probably at the place known as Ishibutai Kofun. This was a large, square shaped kofun, but today it has all but worn away, so that you can see the giant stones that once made up the internal structure of the tumulus. Unfortunately, this means that any grave goods have long since been taken and any organic material has probably completely disappeared, but it is an amazing tomb to get an idea of what inside of a 7th century kofun looks like.
Soga no Umako lived in the family mansion on the banks of the Asuka river. We know roughly where it was, since Houkouji Temple used part of the Soga land for its own founding, and so would have been right next to Umako’s mansion. We also know that it had a water feature, a kind of pond, with an island, or “Shima”. Sometimes Soga no Umako would be known as Soga no Shima. I suspect that his son, Soga no Emishi, who took up Soga no Umako’s post as Oho-omi, also took up residence here, as the Sendai Kuji Hongi also references him as Soga no Shima at one point, though that could just be a mistake of some kind.
The next month after Soga no Umako’s death was also pretty bad—we are told that snow fell in the sixth month, and then there were continual rains from the 3rd to the 7th month. This led to famine, and both the old and young died of starvation or disease. People were eating whatever weeds and herbs they could find, and banditry and thievery increased as people grew more and more desperate.
It didn’t get any better the next year, which saw more omens and strange reports. Apparently a badger up in Michinoku, referring to the Tohoku region, turned into a man—possibly a reference to similar stories about tanuki and the belief in other shape-changing animals, but definitely a weird thing to occur. And then, there was a huge swarm of flies, we are told, that gathered together and flew east over the Shinano pass. Reports said they were as loud as thunder, and they dispersed when they reached the land of Kamitsukenu. Aston suggests this probably refers to Usui Toge, a pass between modern Yamanashi and Gunma prefectures, near Karuizawa.
I don’t have any explanation for either event to give you. I’m sure it meant something to the people of the time, but looking back, I suspect they were interpreted as stormclouds on the horizon. And that is because, in the 2nd month of 628, Kashikiya Hime took ill. On the second day of the following month the Chronicles record that there was a total eclipse of the sun, and four days later, Kashikiya Hime took a turn for the worse.
Fun fact in this morbid narrative: that total eclipse of the sun might just give us a verifiable date, here, because we can calculate astronomical phenomena like eclipses. In fact, given the impact of the events around this particular one, it has been specifically studied, and you can check out the work of Tanikawa Kiyotaka and Souma Mitsuru, titled “On the Totality of the Eclipse in AD 628 in the Nihongi”, published in 2004 in “Publications of the Astronomical Society of Japan”, and I’ll provide a link in the blog post. TL:DR – There was an eclipse on April 10, 628, and based on the work of Tanikawa and Souma it was likely visible from the archipelago. There is some question as to whether or not it was a “total” eclipse when viewed from the Nara basin, and specifically from the palace at Asuka, and it is even possible that the Chroniclers were using continental records to verify the actual dates and conditions—not to mention the way that stories can grow in the telling of them. However, it is highly likely that they did witness an eclipse of some sort, and this gives us some solid dates for everything else.
That means that Kashikiya Hime likely took ill in late March of 628, and then her illness took a turn for the worse on the 14th of April, at least according to our modern calendar.
And yes, there is some discrepancy in those. We would say that April 14th is the 14th day of the fourth month, not the sixth day of the third. However, we are dealing with the conversion of ancient, lunar calendar dates into a modern, western, solar calendar dates. Even now, just a few days before this episode airs, we just went through the Lunar New Year in much of Asia, based on the descendant of that same lunar calendar. That New Year happened February 10, 2024, but for the Lunar calendar, that would be the first day of the first month. And that isn’t even going into all the various corrections that both calendars have gone through over the centuries—don’t get me started on Julian versus Gregorian dates, or how that affects various lunar festivals that are now tied to a solar calendar. However, I think that putting the date in a modern, solar calendar context can help people get a better appreciation of the seasons and what was going on. As Kashikiya Hima took ill, spring had sprung in the Nara basin, and the cherry blossoms were likely in full bloom. And yet, even as that was happening, the mood in the palace was dire.
It’s fitting, perhaps, because today, cherry blossoms, for all their beauty and the fact that they are blooming at a time that life is seemingly returning, are often considered a metaphor for the all too fleeting impermanence of this mortal existence. They blossom in beautiful and spectacular color, but all too quickly they are gone.
And so, too, did it seem that Kashikiya Hime’s time was coming to a close. She was 75 years old, and she had ruled the realm since 592, about 36 years, not including the time before that spent as a consort or the two short reigns in between. She had been the sovereign over some of the most influential periods of Yamato history, including the spread of Buddhism and the introduction of new, continental styles of learning and governance.
Now, she was on her deathbed. Surrounded by her maids and various royal princes and princesses, she called two of those princes, in particular, to her bedside. Specifically, she called Prince Tamura and she also called Yamashiro no Ohoye. As previously noted, they were the two most likely candidates for succession. Kashikiya Hime provided instructions to each of them in relative privacy, and those appear to have been her last words, as she passed away the next day.
As was customary, she was temporarily placed in the southern hall of the palace while arrangements were made for her funeral.
Preparations for here burial would take some time, and so it was on the 20th day of the ninth month—over 6 months later—that the rites to officially mourn the deceased sovereign were held. A shrine was erected at the southern court of the old palace, which served as her temporary burial place, and each minister pronounced a funeral eulogy. Four days later, she was buried, in accordance with her wishes, in the tomb of her son, Prince Takeda, who had passed away before her. She had requested this, instead of building her own tomb mound, to avoid placing a burden on the country given the famine that people had been going through, or so we are told. Traditionally, she is believed to have been buried at Yamada Takatsuka Kofun, aka Takamatsu Kofun, in Yamada, in the Taishi-cho area of the Southern Kawachi district in modern Osaka, though some have suggested nearby Ueyama Kofun. Both are rectangular kofun, rather than the keyhole shaped tombs of previous rulers, but that makes sense if she was buried in the kofun that had been built for her son, who never sat on the throne. It also may just speak to the changing norms of the time, where keyhole shaped tombs seemed to no longer be the done thing.
Regardless of where she was buried, her death left a power vacuum, as there was no clearly designated heir to the throne. There were at least two candidates, and we’ve seen where that has led in the past—warfare and bloodshed. No doubt there was a palpable feeling of anticipation and anxiety around Kashikiya Hime’s death. Would rival camps start feuding, once again, over who should sit on the throne? Would there be another deadly fight for power?
In addition to the existential threat, whoever the new sovereign was that came to power could have huge effects on the court. They could appoint new families to take the Oho-omi or Oho-muraji positions, and they would no doubt reward those who supported them in helping to come to the throne. Those on the losing side could find themselves on the political outs—or worse.
Soga no Emishi was the most powerful member of the court at that time. He was the current head of the powerful Soga family, the son of Soga no Umako, and the Oho-omi, the most powerful position in the court. He had his own thoughts on who should be sovereign, and if he could have, no doubt he would have simply appointed someone and made it a fait accompli. However, even his power had limits, and he knew that if he put someone on the throne unilaterally he would likely be opposed by the other ministers, if only because they didn’t want to cede him that much power. Therefore, he would need to get them to go along with it.
And so, one of the first things he did was to press his uncle, Sakahibe no Marise no Omi, asking him his thoughts about whom the new sovereign should be. Marise told Emishi that he believed Prince Yamashiro would be the best candidate. Remember, Prince Yamashiro was the son of the Crown Prince, the late Umayado, aka Shotoku Taishi. His father had been well respected and deeply involved in all aspects of the government, and Prince Yamashiro had largely taken his place, living as he was in his father’s old compound in Ikaruga, where Umayado had erected the temple of Houryuuji. On top of that, he was a royal prince of Soga descent—with multiple connections to Soga no Iname as well as his mother’s own descent from Soga no Umako. One might assume that he would have some loyalties to his extended family.
However, this answer didn’t sit so well with Soga no Emishi, who had his own preference for Prince Tamura. Prince Tamura was not so directly a Soga descendant, but rather more directly descended through what some have referred to as the “Okinaga” line of the royal family. At first glance it might seem odd that he would support someone from outside of his family, but consider this: if Prince Yamashiro were to take the throne, then he becomes the most powerful “Soga” descendant. Those with ties to the Soga could easily support him over Soga no Emishi, especially with the addition of royal blood. Often we see that when it comes to “family” loyalty, the divisions within a family can often be more brutal than external feuds. This is a theme that will echo through the centuries.
Prince Tamura, on the other hand, was a relative outsider. If Soga no Emishi helped him to the throne, then Prince Tamura’s own power and authority would be thanks to Emishi’s work, and at least somewhat dependent upon him and the rest of the powerful Soga family. Furthermore, he was married to Hotei no Iratsume, another daughter of Soga no Umako and thus Soga no Emishi’s sister. Soga no Emishi may have felt that his connection to his sister and brother-in-law was better than that to Prince Yamashiro.
I’d also note that if Sakahibe no Marise really was Emishi’s uncle, that meant that he was also a rival for the head of the Soga house, since, as we’ve seen, inheritance often went to siblings before it made its way down to the next generation. I mention that only to further demonstrate the complicated familial politics of the time, where traditions of inheritance were not strictly laid out.
Seeing as how there was not a consensus even within the Soga family, Emishi decided he would need to win people to his side if he wanted to do this pick this —and how better to do that than to throw a party? Emishi conspired with Abe no Maro no Omi, and they invited everyone over to the Soga mansion for a feast.
Soga no Emishi wined and dined the who’s who of the Yamato court. They ate and drank their fill and, by all accounts, had a great time, likely putting aside the tensions of everything going on outside. As the party began winding down, Emishi had Abe no Maro broach the subject of succession. And so, Abe no Maro addressed the crowd. He started with what was likely on everyone’s mind: the fact that the sovereign was dead, and there was no clear successor. If they, the ministers of the court, didn’t figure something out soon then they were likely to see civil disturbances. So whom should they agree to succeed her?
He then recounted what people had heard regarding her majesty’s final wishes; although the conversations had been held in the relative seclusion of her own private quarters, to which only a handful of people were typically invited, there were still attendants who had been there, and as such word had leaked out. According to that game of ancient telephone, Kashikiya Hime had called in Prince Tamura and told him that “The Realm is a great charge, and, of course, not to be lightly spoken of. Be watchful and observant, Prince Tamura, and not remiss.” Then, to Prince Yamashiro she said, “Avoid your own brawling speech and make sure to follow what everyone else has to say. Be self-restrained and not contentious.”
And so, Abe no Maro asked, who should we make the new sovereign?
At that point, he was met with an awkward silence. Things had been going great, but Abe no Maro had just committed a party foul and brought up politics. So much for the fun and games.
Finally, Ohotomo no Kujira no Muraji spoke up. “Why don’t we simply obey her majesty’s final commands?” he suggested, “There is no need to go out and seek a general consensus.”
Challenged by Abe no Maro to expound on this, Kujira continued to explain his thoughts. Since Kashikiya Hime had said to Prince Tamura that the realm is a great charge and he should “be not remiss”, wasn’t it clear that she had made up her mind to hand it over to him? Who were they to say otherwise?
At that point, four other ministers spoke up. They were Uneme no Omi no Mareshi, Takamuku no Omi no Uma, Nakatomi no Omi no Mike, and Naniwa no Kishi no Musashi. They all agreed with Ohotomo no Kujira and agreed that they should end discussion, essentially casting their votes for Prince Tamura.
However, not everyone agreed with this. On the other side of the aisle were Kose no Omi no Ohomaro, Saheki no Muraji no Adzumoudo, and Ki no Omi no Shihote, who all threw their support behind Prince Yamashiro.
That’s roughly five ministers vocally for Prince Tamura, not including Abe no Maro and Soga no Emishi, but there were at least three on the other side, as well as Sakahibe no Marise, Emishi’s uncle. There may have been others that are not mentioned.
That left one person who hadn’t spoken up: Soga no Kuramaro no Omi, aka Soga no Womasa, Soga no Emishi’s own brother. He was on the fence about the whole thing, and asked for time to think it over. Given all of this debate, it was clear to Soga no Emishi that there was no unanimous decision—at least nothing with unanimity, or at least approaching it. If so many of the nobles were on the other side, then a decision risked splitting court, and therefore bringing more chaos to the land. Furthermore, a split decision could risk a split in the Soga family itself. And so he retired and sent everyone home from the party.
Of course the court was hardly a place for secrets, and pretty soon Prince Yamashiro got word of the discussions that were taking place. And so he sent a private message to Emishi, by way of the royal Prince Mikuni and Sakurawi no Omi no Wajiko. He basically asked what’s up, and why Emishi would want to put Prince Tamura on the throne instead of him.
This was apparently a bit awkward. Prince Yamashiro was asking Emishi as his uncle—distant though that relationship may have been. Rather than going to Prince Yamashiro to reply in person, Emishi instead gathered a bunch of the ministers who had been at the feast and sent them—including members of both the Pro Tamura and Pro Yamashiro factions. At Emishi’s direction, they went to Yamashiro’s palace at Ikaruga and delivered Emishi’s message. Through them he asked how they should be so rash as to decide the succession all by themselves? All that was done was that her majesty’s dying commands had been conveyed to the ministers. Then the ministers had said, with one voice, that Prince Tamura was that, based on her majesty’s words, was the natural heir to the throne, and were there any objections? This was all the words of the various ministers, not any specific sentiments of Soga no Emishi, who claimed that though he had an opinion he refrained from communicating it until he could talk with Prince Yamashiro face to face.
And here we get an inkling of the way these communiques were happening. Because it wasn’t like the ministers just went up to Prince Yamashiro directly. They went to his mansion, but, much like in the palace, they offered their communications via intermediaries. In this case they told Prince Mikuni and Sakurawi no Omi, who were apparently attending on Prince Yamashiro, and then those two passed the words on to Prince Yamashiro. The implication seems to be that should Soga no Emishi have come himself, I suspect that they would have talked in private. As it was, the words were apparently public, which also means that both sides had to choose their words carefully. It also allowed Emishi to have some amount of deniability.
And so after Prince Yamashiro had heard what his intermediaries reported, he asked them to go back out to ask the ministers just what they knew of the dying wishes of Kashikiya Hime, and they reported what Soga no Emishi had told them, admitting that none of those present had actually been there. Rather, the words had been reported to them by the Princesses and Ladies in Waiting attending to her Majesty—but surely Prince Yamashiro, who had been there himself, knew all of this.
Prince Yamashiro then asked directly if they had heard the actual words, and all of the high ministers there admitted they had no knowledge of the specifics, just what they had heard, second-hand.
Prince Yamashiro then offered *his* version of events, which was slightly different than what Soga no Emishi had suggested. On the day that he was summoned, Prince Yamashiro claimed, he went to the palace and waited at the gate. He was finally summoned in by Nakatomi no Muraji no Mike, who came out from the forbidden—or private—quarters and Prince Yamashiro then proceeded to the Inner Gate. In the courtyard he was met by Kurikama no Uneme no Kurome and led to the Great Hall, where there tens of people in attendance, including Princess Kurimoto and some eight ladies-in-waiting, including Yakuchi no Uneme no Shibime. Prince Tamura was also there, of course—apparently he had already talked with her Majesty.
Kashikiya Hime herself was lying down in bed, and could not see Prince Yamashiro enter, so Princess Kurimoto went to inform her that he had arrived. With that, Kashikiya Hime raised herself up and, according to Yamashiro, gave him the following command:
“We, with our poor abilities, have long borne the burden of the crown. But now our time is drawing to a close, and it seems we cannot escape this disease. You have always been dear to our heart and our affection for you has no equal. The great foundation of the State is not a thing of our reign, alone, but has always demanded diligence. Though your heart is young, be watchful over your words.”
Prince Yamashiro then emphasized that everyone who was there, including Prince Tamura, heard and knew what she said, and expressed how he was full of both awe and grief. He leapt for joy, as he heard her words, which he understood to be her passing on the mantle to him. He did, though, have his concerns. He was young, and inexperienced—“devoid of wisdom” is the wording as Aston translates it. How could he accept a charge to handle issues with the Spirits of the land and of the various ancestral shrines? Those were weighty matters.
He wanted to go and converse with his maternal uncle—Soga no Emishi—and with the ministers, but there was no good chance, and so he had kept quiet, but he did remember, years ago, when he went to visit his sick uncle, and he stayed at the nearby temple of Toyoura, the nunnery built on the site of Kashikiya Hime’s palace. At that time she sent him a message via Yakuchi no Shibime, who said that his uncle, the Oho-omi, was constantly worried for him. After the sovereign’s death, wouldn’t the succession fall to him? And so he should be watchful and take care of himself.
To Prince Yamashiro, the matter seemed clear, but he emphasized that he did not necessarily covet the realm, only declared what he had heard, calling to witness the kami of Heaven and Earth. Therefore, he wanted to make sure that he correctly understood her majesty’s dying words.
And so he praised the ministers for always addressing the sovereign without bias, and asked that they go back to his uncle, Soga no Emishi, and convey what he had told them.
Prince Hase, another son of Prince Umayado by another mother, and half-brother to Prince Yamashiro, separately sent for Nakatomi no Muraji and Kawabe no Omi. He told them how both he and his father—and his brother—came from the Soga family, and that they relied upon it heavily. Therefore he asked that they do not speak lightly of the matter of succession. He then sent for the ministers, including Prince Mikuni and Sakurawi no Omi and emphasized that he wanted to make sure there was an answer from his uncle.
Emishi’s reply, sent via his own intermediaries, was that he had previously said all that he had to say and nothing else. However, how should he presume to choose, himself, between one prince or the other?
And so one can imagine the tension. Soga no Emishi wanted the court to place Prince Tamura on the throne, but clearly Prince Yamashiro thought that Kashikiya Hime meant for him to succeed her. Nobody appears to have fully corroborated either side’s telling of the sovereigns last words—in fact, even in the Nihongi there are several different versions that show up, including a variation at the end of her reign and the variations in the telling of the start of the next. Was Prince Yamashiro remembering or understanding the words correctly? Were others distorting them for political gain?
A few days after the ministers left Ikaruga, Prince Yamashiro sent Sakurawi no Omi once again to Soga no Emishi. He again reiterated that he had only reported what he had heard, and that he did not want to go up against his own uncle. However, Soga no Emishi was feeling ill, and was unable to talk with Sakurawi no Omi, who presumably left the message with his attendants and then left.
The next day, feeling in better spirits, Soga no Emishi sent for Sakurawi no Omi, Prince Yamashiro’s messenger, as well as various ministers to go and carry a message back to Prince Yamashiro. He started by abasing himself, claiming that from the time of Ame Kunioshi, aka Kinmei Tennou, until now, the end of the reign of Kashikiya Hime, the ministers had all been wise men. However, he questioned his own rank, stating that he mistakenly held rank above everyone else merely because good men were hard to find. But because of this lack of wisdom, he could not settle the question of succession. That was, of course, a grave matter, and not one to be discussed through intermediaries—despite the fact that he was expressly using intermediaries. And so he agreed, despite the fact that he was of more advanced years, to travel up to Ikaruga to speak directly with Prince Yamashiro so that there would be no misunderstanding of her majesty’s words. This was totally the case and not at all because he had any private views.
At the same time, Soga no Emishi sent Abe no Omi and Nakatomi no Muraji to his own paternal uncle, Sakahibe no Omi no Marise, and asked him one more time “Which Prince shall be made sovereign?” Clearly he was hoping Marise would swing to his side and agree to support Prince Tamura, with the hope that he could therefore cut off any dissent.
Marise answered that he had already given his answer in person, and that he had nothing more that he wanted to say. He then went off in a huff, upset that he was even being asked a second time. He clearly saw the question as an attempt by his nephew to get him to change his answer.
Now as all of this was going on, the Soga family was gathering all of their clan to construct the tomb for Soga no Umako—perhaps referring to kofun known today as Ishibutai. Soga no Umako had passed away some time ago, but perhaps had been buried in a temporary mound, and only now was his final tomb being completed. Marise’s job was to tear down the sheds at the tomb, which he apparently did, but then immediately retired to the nearby Soga farm-house—likely meaning a house out by the rice paddies rather than the main Soga compound only a slightly further walk away. Once there, Marise refused to do any more work, protesting the way his nephew was treating him.
This temper tantrum pissed of Soga no Emishi to no end. He sent to Marise two messengers of Kimi and Obito rank—as opposed to the high ministers sent to Prince Yamashiro. A rough translation of the message goes as follows:
“I know your evil speeches, but by reason of our relationship of elder and younger brother, I cannot injure you. If others are wrong and you are right, I shall oppose them and follow you. But if others are right and you are wrong, I will oppose you and follow them. Then, if you should eventually disagree with me, there will be a breach between us and there will be fighting in the land. If that happens, future generations will say that you and I brought the country to ruin. So be careful and do not allow a rebellious spirit to rise up.”
Marise was still having none of it, and to add insult to injury he left to stay at Prince Hase’s palace in Ikaruga, basically shacking up with the pro-Yamashiro faction.
Soga no Emishi just got more upset over this blatant and public display of loyalty to the Yamashiro cause and sent ministers to Prince Yamashiro demanding that they hand over Marise. These messengers made the case that Marise was disobedient to Soga no Emishi, the head of the Soga house, and was hiding in the palace of Prince Hase. Soga no Emishi requested that they hand Marise over so that he could examine why Marise was doing this, though that was likely just a polite reason so that Emishi could lock him up or worse until the succession crisis was concluded.
Prince Yamashiro answered that Marise had always been a favorite of her majesty, and that he had only come to Ikaruga for a short visit, nothing political. How could he hope to stand up against Soga no Emishi? And so he asked that no blame come to him.
At the same time, Prince Yamashiro spoke to Marise and warned him that, however touched Yamashiro might have been to have Marise come to seek them out, and despite the gratitude he owed for Prince Umayado, Marise’s actions threatened the peace of the realm. The way things were headed, if Marise stayed at Ikaruga, then it would have given a pretense for Soga no Emishi and his supporters to storm the palace and take him by force, likely bringing the political dispute over succession to a head that would break out into actual warfare and martial conflict.
Moreover, Prince Yamashiro’s father, Prince Umayado, had always told his children to avoid all evil and practice good of every kind; and that had become Prince Yamashiro’s constant rule. Because of that, although Prince Yamashiro may have had his own private opinions on the matter, he was patient and not angry. He refused to set himself up against his uncle. Therefore he urged Marise to not be afraid to change his answer in support of Prince Tamura; he should yield to the many and not retire from public life. The various high officials present likewise urged Marise to listen to Prince Yamashiro and to do as he suggested.
Marise, finding no support for going up against his uncle, Soga no Emishi, finally gave in. He burst out weeping and went home, where he stayed secluded for more than 10 days. During that time, his one supporter, Prince Hase, suddenly took ill and passed away.
With Prince Hase dead, Soga no Emishi decided to move against Marise. He raised troops and sent them to Marise’s house. Hearing they were coming, and knowing he had nowhere left to turn, Marise and his second son, Aya, sat in chairs outside the gate to their home, waiting for the troops to arrive. When they got there, Mononobe no Ikuhi was made to strangle them, and they were both buried together.
Marise’s eldest son, Ketsu, had tried to escape this fate. He fled to the Worship Hall of nunnery—perhaps Toyoura temple?—where he’d had some assignations with a couple of the nuns. However, one of the nuns was apparently jealous and told the troops where he was. They stormed the nunnery, but Ketsu slipped their grasp and headed to Mt. Unebi. The troops searched the mountain thoroughly, and eventually Ketsu found himself hemmed in on all sides, with nowhere left to turn. Rather than be taken and killed by the troops, he decided to take his own life, stabbing himself in the throat.
When people heard about all of this, they wrote a song. It goes:
UNEBIYAMA / KOTACHI USUKEDO / TANOMIKAMO
KETSU NO WAKUGO NO / KOMORASERIKEMU
Which Aston Translates as:
On Mt. Unebi / Though thin are the trees, / May there not be some trust in them?
The youth Ketsu / Seems to have hidden there.

Following the death of Marise, it seems there were none left that were promoting Prince Yamashiro’s ascension—even he seems to have quit arguing for it. Whether or not Soga no Emishi ever came to talk to him is not recorded. Instead they mention that on the 4th day of the first month of 629, Soga no Emishi and the ministers offered the royal seal to Prince Tamura. Although Prince Tamura initially refused, as appears to have been de rigeur for such things, the ministers persisted. Prince Tamura claimed that it was a weighty matter and that he was wanting in wisdom, and the Ministers responded that he was the favorite of Kashikiya Hime, and that both the spiritual and physical realms would turn their hearts to him. Therefore he should continue the royal line. And so, later that day he took the throne. He is also known as Joumei Tennou.
And so that is the story of the succession crisis that followed the death of Kashikiya Hime, and how Tamura, aka Joumei Tennou, came to the throne. Soga no Emishi would continue to exert considerable authority over the throne, and there would be more changes coming to the government and to the state. At the same time, Prince Yamashiro was still out there, meaning that there was at least one other possible claimant to the throne still out there. We’ll address that in our upcoming episodes.
Until then, thank you for listening and 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. If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode.
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Thank you, also, to Ellen for her work editing the podcast.
And that’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

Kiyotaka Tanikawa, Mitsuru Sōma (2004). On the Totality of the Eclipse in AD 628 in the Nihongi. Publications of the Astronomical Society of Japan. Vol. 56, Issue 1, 25 February 2004. pp. 215–224. https://doi.org/10.1093/pasj/56.1.215
Piggott, Joan R. (1997). The Emergence of Japanese Kingship. Stanford, Calif : Stanford University Press. ISBN9780804728324
Kiley, C. J. (1973). State and Dynasty in Archaic Yamato. The Journal of Asian Studies, 33(1), 25–49. https://doi.org/10.2307/2052884.
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4

Episode 102: Temples and Tribute

February 1, 2024 Joshua Badgley

Example of a 7th century *shibi*, one of the classic ridgeline ends on the top of Buddhist temples from this period. They are often gilded, and easily seen from a distance. These large shapes, somewhat like feathered tail of a bird, would have been found on the buildings of the 46+ temples being built during this period. Photo by author, taken at the Asuka Historical Museum.

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Not as much for this episode beyond what is in the episode, but check it out (or the transcript, below). We cover an early scandal in the Buddhist priesthood and the creation of new official positions by the Court to oversee the workings of the various temples.

In addition to that, we talk about some of the “tribute” missions sent from across the sea—mainly Silla, but a little about what was going on elsewhere on the continent, as well. As usual, Nimna is the sore point in the Silla-Yamato relationship—at least from Yamato’s perspective.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is episode 102: Temples and Tribute
Iwakane and Kuranoshita stood on the deck of their ship, looking out over the waves and back towards their Yamato home. Travel across the sea was always risky, but it was worth it. Locals at the port on the southern tip of the peninsula were loading all sorts of goods into the hold of their ships, and when the two envoys returned home, they could only imagine how they would be greeted as heroes. It had been a long journey, but they’d made it across the strait and upheld the interests of the Yamato court, and now they had a deal that could bring some measure of peace. Not bad for a treacherous trek across the sea. Next they just had to wait for fair winds and they could start the journey back to the archipelago.
Looking out at the ocean, hoping to see some signs of the winds turning back from whence they came, it was then that they spied them—small dots that seemed to disappear and reappear on the horizon. First just a handful, and then more and more. As they came more into focus, their hearts no doubt sank. It was an armada, fitted for war, and it was headed their way.
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As we finish up the reign of Kashikiya Hime, aka Suiko Tenno, I want to deal with several events from about 614 to the year 624. During this decade a lot happened. Last episode we dealt with some of the smaller things, but two major things from this period were the further development of the Buddhist clergy—including bringing the institution under state control—and the reported invasions of Silla. I say “reported”, because only the Japanese sources talk about them, but we’ll talk about just why that might be. Meanwhile, there were plenty of changes happening as the Sui dynasty transitioned into the Tang dynasty, and more.
We’re actually going to start with the changes to the Buddhist clergy. This actually happened some time later than the rest of our narrative, but it makes sense to start here and finish up some of the things happening in Yamato, before expanding our view to the wider world.
As we’ve seen, Buddhism officially arrived in Yamato by 538 according to our earliest record, though possibly it had been around in some form in the immigrant communities before then. By the start of the 7th century, Buddhist temples were being built by some of the noble families of the court, including Soga no Umako, Prince Umayado, and others. Originally, the Buddha was worshipped much as any other kami, but as nuns and monks were sent abroad to learn more about the religion, and as foreign monks were consulted on how things should be, they began to develop their own sangha, their own community, in the archipelago. Those with interest or who took vows to enter the religion studied the sutras and other texts that had been brought over, and with the building of full-scale, continental style temples there would have been little doubt that this was something new and different.
The tenets of Buddhism were those of non-materialism. Adherents were supposed to work on loosening the bonds that kept them tethered to this mortal plane, including concepts of the self. Monks were expected to be the ultimate examples of these teachings, especially seeing as how they dedicated themselves to learning the Buddhist Law. Above all, Buddhist monks were expected to rise above base emotions such as anger, hatred, and lust.
However, let’s remember that these Buddhsit monks were only human, and it is also unclear how many had joined the monkhood entirely of their own volition. For instance, back in 614, when Soga no Umako fell ill, we are told that a thousand persons entered religion for his sake. Now besides the fact that the number of individuals is likely way off base—at most we see maybe 1400 monks and nuns across all of the temples only nine years later—this was not an uncommon thing to see in records of the time. In Baekje, we similarly see large numbers of people taking orders on the behalf of a monarch or other person of importance. The implication is that by having people enter religion—to take orders as a monk or nun—on your behalf would accrue to that person some measure of good karma. This was seen as particularly important for the elite because they, of course, couldn’t just become monks themselves—after all, if they did, who would be left to rule the country? And so, they would have people do it for them, kind of like a version of “karma offsets”, where you get to continue to enjoy all the benefits of your worldly position by offsetting it with other people’s devotion to religion.
But one has to wonder how many people were just waiting around for some special royal or noble person to need some karma before taking orders. After all, if someone was truly interested in taking orders, no doubt they could find a monastery and ask to join. More likely, these were individuals who were impressed -slash- strongly encouraged to take orders on behalf of someone else. This isn’t to say that there were no true converts, nor that those who took orders in such a way never came to appreciate the Buddha’s teachings. However, it does, perhaps, make it a little more understandable when we learn that in 623 there was a major scandal in the Buddhist sangha when an ordained Buddhist monk apparently took an axe and struck his paternal grandfather.
Murder was, of course, generally frowned upon—unless, of course, you were a member of the aristocracy and able to convict the person of something like rebelling against the court. However, it was especially frowned upon by Buddhist monks, as it really didn’t go well with the whole vibe that the Buddhist religion was trying to establish in the archipelago. Anyone who entered Buddhism was supposed to be devoting themselves to the Three Treasures, not geriatricide.
And we don’t know why this monk did it, either. Maybe he just chanted too many sutras and finally snapped, or maybe his paternal grandfather did something heinous and he thought it was his only solution. Either way, this event sparked a major investigation of the Buddhist religion as a whole. The court assembled all of the various monks and nuns and investigated just what had been going on in those temples, anyway. Where they found wrong-doing, the courts decided to issue punishments.
And apparently they found quite a bit of wrong-doing. It isn’t clear exactly what was going on, but there was enough that the Baekje monk Kanroku, or Gwalleuk in modern Korean, issued a memorial to the throne before the punishments were carried out. In his memorial he detailed the history of Buddhism: how it came from the West to the Han, and then 300 years after that to Baekje, and then how it had been transmitted to Yamato only 100 years after that—less than a century ago, really. He noted how young Buddhism was in Yamato, and how the monks and nuns hadn’t fully learned the Teachings of the Buddha. As such, he begged for leniency for all of the monks other than the man who had killed his own grandfather—that was a punishment even Kanroku could not argue against.
By the way, if the name Kanroku is familiar, we talked about him back in episode 94. He was said to have been one of the teachers of Shotoku Taishi, and when he first arrived in Yamato we are told that he brought numerous books on various sciences with him, helping to kickstart a number of studies in Yamato. He was clearly well respected by the court.
And so the court heard this petition, and Kashikiya Hime granted Kanroku’s request for leniency. The monks and nuns were spared, except for the one, but that was not the end of the court’s involvement. Ten days later, they issued another ruling. The court set up two official positions: The Soujou and the Soudzu. These two positions were created to oversee the monks and nuns. Kanroku was made Soujou, or High Priest, and Kurabe no Tokuseki was appointed as Soudzu. We are also told of another position, possibly one that already existed, as a member of the Adzumi no Muraji family was appointed as Houzu, the Head of the Law.
These positions would help tie the practice of Buddhism to the court. The temples were no longer simply autonomous units that could operate on their own. Neither were they solely bound to the wealthy families that patronized them and helped pay for their upkeep. The court positions provided a means of state accountability and oversight concerning the activities of Buddhism in the country. After all, Buddhism, at this time, was largely seen as serving the state and the state elites. While Buddhist doctrine might encourage the salvation of all sentient beings, to many of those sponsoring and setting up these temples, it was still a very transactional relationship. The power of Buddhism was not simply in the siren’s call of possibly throwing off the shackles of the material world, but also in the belief that Buddhist gods and Boddhisatvas could actively provide protection—both tangible and intangible—to the state and to the members of the court. It is unlikely that farmers, living in their pit houses and working in the rice paddies, were thinking so much about going to the temple and what the Buddhist Law meant for them. The nature of religion at the time was still one where the elites controlled the mysteries, and thus used that to justify their rarified positions.
The idea of the position of High Priest may have been transmitted from the Buddhist traditions of the Yangzi river region and the southern courts. Originally, in Yamato, it seems to have been intended as the chief priest of the country, as there was only one official sect of Buddhism. This would change in later years as the position—and the Buddhist temples’ relationship with the government—changed over time.
Kanroku’s time in this position seems to have been limited. Less than a year later, in the first month of 624, a new priest arrived from Goguryeo, named Ekan, or Hyegwan in modern Korean, and he was made Sojo, or high priest. Does this mean that Kanroku retired from the position? Or perhaps he passed away. Unfortunately, we aren’t quite sure.
Tradition holds that both Kanroku and his successor, Ekan, both were installed at Houkouji, aka Gangouji or Asukadera, the temple of Soga no Umako, demonstrating the power and influence that Soga no Umako’s temple had at the time. Ekan is also said to have been the founding patriarch of the Japanese Sanron school of Buddhism. The Sanron sect comes from the Sanlun school of the mainland, also known as East Asian Madhyamaka, and was based on three texts—the “Sanron”—said to have been translated by Kumarajiva in the 4th and early 5th centuries.
That both of these High Priests were installed at Houkouji definitely says something at the time. It is possible that their dominion was simply over Houkouji, but an earlier entry suggests that was not the case, as in the ninth month of 623, some five months after the whole axe-monk incident, the Court ordered an inspection of temples of monks and nuns. We are told that they made an accurate record of the circumstances of the building of the temples, and also the circumstances under which the various ordained individuals had embraced—forcefully or otherwise—the Buddhist religion. They recorded information down to the year, month, and day that they took orders. Based on that record we are told that there were forty-six temples in 623, and 815 monks and 569 nuns, for a total of one thousand three hundred and eighty five persons altogether. That doesn’t count the individuals working the rice land and otherwise helping provide for the upkeep of the temples themselves.
As far as I’m aware, we don’t have this actual record of the temple inspection, other than its summary here in the Nihon Shoki, but assuming it is true, it tells us some rather incredible things. First, if we assume that Asukadera and Shitennouji were really the first two permanent temples to be built in Yamato, then all of this- the building of 46 temples, and the ordination of so many people- happened in the span of about thirty years. That’s an average of three temples being built every two years, and it probably wasn’t that steady a pace. It is entirely possible, of course, that many of the temples mentioned were still under construction. After all, we saw how long it took to build Houkouji temple, or Asukadera, which we discussed back in episode 97. Regardless, it goes back to what we mentioned about the temple building boom that took off, which also removed much of the labor force that would have otherwise been put to work building things like massive kofun.
Also, assuming an even distribution, we are looking at an average of thirty monks or nuns per temple. It was likely not quite so even, and with temples like Asukadera, or even Toyouradera, having many more monks and nuns given their importance. Furthermore, when Soga no Umako grew ill and supposedly had a thousand persons enter religion—which, as we’ve mentioned, likely wasn’t quite that many—I suspect that many of those would have gone to Soga temples, such as Houkouji.
By the way, on that one thousand people: I would note that it is possible that some people only entered Buddhist orders temporarily, for a time, and that is why the numbers aren’t larger. Still, I think that Occam’s razor suggests the simpler answer is that the numbers were simply exaggerated for effect by the Chroniclers, assuming that it even happened in the first place.
So that was the story of Yamato expanding its state administration over the spiritual realm. However, there was plenty of expansion they were doing in the physical realm as well. They had expanded control to the island of Tsukushi, modern Kyushu, and were even dealing with the inhabitants of Yakushima, but they knew there was a much larger world out there.
And so we see that in 613, two new ambassadors were sent to the Sui court. They were Inugami no Kimi no Mitasuki and Yatabe no Miyatsuko. We don’t know much about the embassy that went though we know that they came back through Baekje the following year, bringing a Baekje envoy with them, because why not? Baekje records talk about the Wa—that is the people of the Japanese archipelago—traversing their country on their way to the Sui court at various times, so this is all within the realm of what has been pretty standard, so far.
The following year, we see that Silla sent a Buddha image to the Yamato court. As per usual, our ever so faithful Chroniclers note that this is an item of “tribute” from Silla, as though they were some kind of vassal state of Yamato. Which brings me to a point I’ve made before and I’ll probably make again: All history is political. The writing of history is an inherently political act, in that it attempts to capture some form of truth as the authors of history believe it to be. What they choose to include—and what they choose to ignore—is all a choice.
This should not be confused with facts: what actually happened and was observed. But even the facts of the past are all experienced through human senses and interpreted by human brains. We can often only see them through what others have written or created, and what physical evidence remains, today, whether that is archaeological evidence, or even things like DNA or linguistic clues, passed down through the generations.
Keep this in mind the next time you hear someone talk about “historical revisionism”. The stories we tell ourselves change as we better understand the world and the past from which we came. To get upset about people providing a new vision of that past assumes that our previous understanding was somehow complete. We might not agree with someone’s take on it, but as long as we can agree on the facts, it isn’t as if they are changing what actually happened, just providing a different understanding. This of course gets much more difficult and convoluted when we realize that what we think of as facts might instead be suppositions, inferred from how we believe the world works.
I mention this because looking across our various records we can see just how incomplete our understanding is of this time in Silla-Yamato relations. We have to “pick sides” as it were, if we want to tell a story, or we could just throw our hands up in the air and say “who knows?”So let’s talk about just what is missing from both the Nihon Shoki and the Samguk Sagi, two of our better historical sources from this time. Clearly the Nihon Shoki has a pro-Yamato and pro-royal lineage bias, such that it is going to elevate the status of Yamato and the sovereign, almost completely ignoring any other powerful polities that may have once existed in the archipelago and placing Yamato on equal footing with the Sui dynasty, and above the countries of Silla and their ally, Baekje. It is not exactly nuanced in its depiction.
On the other side we have the Samguk Sagi. Here we have a huge period in the 6th and 7th centuries with little to no mention of Wa or the Japanese archipelago. This is especially true in the Silla annals, which only mention their interactions with Baekje, for the most part, and leave talk of Wa to the earlier years, before Silla grew into one of the three most powerful kingdoms on the peninsula. Where we do find mention is in the Baekje annals, but even that is often sparse.
This is likely for several reasons. First off is the fact that the Samguk Sagi was written in the 12th century, over four hundred years after the Nihon Shoki was published. This was the Goryeo period on the Korean peninsula, and so one might expect to see a greater focus on the former Goryeo, known to us as Goguryeo. However, its author was Kim Busik, and the Kim family traced their roots to the royal lineage of Silla. So he likely was plenty incentivized to prop up the Silla kingdom.
Furthermore, it seems that the Samguk Sagi was pulled together from a variety of sources, often with second or thirdhand accounts. For instance, they writers appear to have used Sui and Tang records to reconstruct what happened at various periods, especially in Baekje. The “Record of Baekje” that the Nihon Shoki often cites appears to have no longer been extant for Kim Busik to peruse. And so it is hard to tell what was left out for political reasons and what simply wasn’t mentioned at all.
However, there is a note in the late 7th century, where the Silla kingdom complains about the constant raids and invasions by the Wa—raids and invasions that are otherwise not mentioned—that makes me think that perhaps there is something more to the records of Yamato and Baekje then might first appear. It would be easy, perhaps, to dismiss what we see in the Nihon Shoki, but we are now only a century from when it was compiled. So while the Chroniclers may have been biased in the way they recorded things, there is likely something there, even if they give themselves a larger role in the production.
Alright, so enough caveats: What does the Nihon Shoki have to say about all of this?
We previously talked about the relationship between Yamato and the continent in Episodes 94 and 96, including prior attempts by Yamato to re-establish Nimna, which had been controlled by Silla since at least the 6th century, and Yamato’s early contact with the Sui court. And as mentioned above Inugami no Mitasuki and Yatabe were sent back from the Sui, returning with an envoy from Baekje in 615. Then, in 616, a year after that, Silla sent a Buddha image as tribute. In typical pro-Buddhist fashion, it is said that the image sent out rays of light and worked miracles. Aston claims this was the gold image eventually installed at Houkouji—aka Asukadera.
There is a bit of a respite in the record, like a show that took a season off during the pandemic. We don’t really have much mention of Silla or Baekje for about four to five years, just as it looked like we were starting to get regular communication. That isn’t to say the record is entirely blank, we just don’t have records of regular contact with Silla and Baekje. There is one record, which Aston dates to 618, though that may be a year off based on other sources, where a Goguryeo envoy arrives with gifts: flutes, cross-bows, and even catapults, we are told, 10 in all. They also brought a camel, which must have been quite the sight, though I wonder how well it was doing after that voyage. Finally, they brought some local products and two captives that had been taken during fighting with the Sui.
This mention of Goguryeo fighting the Sui dynasty is rather significant, and it is part of the reason that many believe the Sui dynasty would fall in or around that same year. Besides spending money on all sorts of public works projects—things like the Grand Canal, that would definitely be a wonder, but was also insanely expensive—the Sui dynasty was also fighting campaigns on their northern and southern borders, as well as facing raids by the Tujue, a group of eastern Turkic people. The Sui had been pushing against Goguryeo, with whom they shared a border, and for the most part, Goguryeo had been pushing back. At the same time, Goguryeo had some ambitious neighbors of their own on the peninsula—their sometime ally Silla being chief among them—so they had to also ensure that they weren’t attacked from the rear as they were marshaling troops against the Sui.
Fortunately for them, the Sui dynasty would eventually collapse, being replaced by the Tang. Unfortunately, the Tang dynasty was not necessarily going to give up the push that the Sui had started.
We’ll probably need to do an entire episode on the Tang dynasty and Tang culture, as it would have a huge impact on all of East Asian culture, but for now, that can wait. The death of the last Sui emperor set up a power struggle on the continent. Li Yuan, Duke of Tang, took advantage of this and had himself proclaimed as the new Tang emperor, but he wasn’t the only one contending for power. Though he ruled from the capital at Chang’an, modern Xi’an, there were plenty of others trying to set themselves up as warlords and emperors in their own right, and Li Yuan would spend the entirety of his reign trying to quell these various threats and re-unify the empire under his rule. Needless to say, there was a lot going on over there.
As that was happening, around 621, Silla sent an ambassador to Yamato named, at least in Aston’s translation, Imime, with the rank of “Nama”—a rank in the lower half of the Silla system. Imime brought a diplomatic gift—that is to say “tribute” in the words of the Nihon Shoki—and a memorial for the Yamato court. Apparently they hadn’t brought memorials before, and this was the first time. Memorials here are formal letters, typically referring to the type of letter from a subordinate to a superior. I doubt that Silla was actually making themselves out to be a vassal to Yamato any more than Baekje, who is recorded as submitting numerous memorials, did the same. However, the way diplomacy works, it would be understandable if the letter to a foreign ruler was presented in a flattering light. Also, let’s not forget that it was entirely possible that there was a bit of interpretation going on from one language, into the diplomatic language of Sinitic characters, and then into the native language of the court.
So I think we can say that this is when Silla and Yamato started formal, written diplomatic correspondence.
These exchanges continued the following year. Silla sent more envoys, and this time they brought a golden Buddha image, a golden pagoda, relics, and a large Buddhist baptismal flag, along with twelve smaller ones. This was the Buddha image placed in the Hata temple at Kadono—which is to say, Hachiwoka Temple, known today as Kouryuuji, in modern Kyouto. Other relics went to Shitennouji. In addition, they brought the monks Esai and Ekou, as well as the physicians Ejitsu and Fukuin, bringing continental or “Tang” learning. AT the same time, the envoys suggested that Yamato should send for the students that they had sent abroad to the Sui court, previously, as they had finished their studies. They then launched into praise for the Tang court.
And here we can say it would have likely been the Tang court. As we discussed, the Sui dynasty had collapsed and a new dynasty, the Tang, had stood up in its place. One wonders, then, about the students who had lived through those tumultuous times, and there may have been other reasons to reach out to the Tang court and restart their relationship. It is also interesting that Silla appears to have close ties to the Tang—something that they would certainly work to strengthen in later years. Silla’s location on the other side of Goguryeo made them an ideal strategic ally to help put pressure on Goguryeo and force them to protect multiple fronts at the same time.
Besides the advice on bringing back students from the Sui—now Tang—court, I’d also like to take a moment and point out the gifts and the temples that were mentioned. Shitennouji and Kouryuuji are both temples associated with Shotoku Taishi, but are also thought to have been closely related to individuals of Silla ethnicity in Yamato. That they received the tribute coming from Silla is interesting.
It looks like things were going well, but then, later in that same year, things took a turn. We are told that Silla invaded Nimna, making Nimna fully a dependency of Silla.
As we had discussed, before, Silla had long since taken Nimna and the other small polities around it. It may be that they had retained some notional independence, as many of the kingdoms of this time were not necessarily fully established as we might think of a state, today. However, any “invasion” was likely seen by Silla as simply quelling an internal dispute, assuming it happened at all. What actually happened wasn’t as important to us, however, as was Yamato’s response.
We are told that Kashikiya Hime considered an invasion, but Tanaka no Omi suggested caution, suggesting that someone be sent to the peninsula to figure out just what was going on. Nakatomi no Muraji no Kuni, on the other hand, pressed for war. He continued to beat that old drum claiming that Nimna originally belonged to Yamato, and that Silla shouldn’t be allowed to have it. Tanaka no Omi countered that it was better that Silla have it than Baekje, claiming that Baekje, Yamato’s on-again off-again ally on the peninsula, could not be trusted to hold it—something of a strange stance.
Ultimately, Kashikiya Hime listened to Tanaka no Omi’s advice, and she sent Kishi no Iwakane to Silla and Kishi no Kuranoshita to Nimna to see how things were going. When they arrived at the peninsula, they were greeted by a single, brightly decorated ship. When they asked whose ship it was, they were told it belonged to Silla, at which point they called into question why there wasn’t a ship from Nimna. And so the Silla sailors sent someone to bring out another ship, claiming that was the ship from Nimna. The Nihon Shoki claims that this tradition of Silla greeting Yamato envoys with two boats dates from this time.
To say I’m a bit skeptical is an understatement. It sounds like Silla was just trying to appease the Yamato envoys so that they would deliver their message and go back home. Perhaps they were putting on a show of Nimna’s independence—who knows. The Lord of Silla—an interesting flex by the Chroniclers, who have otherwise referred to the ruler of Silla as a “king”—sent eight high ministers, or Daibu, to provide Iwakane and Kuranoshita an update on the status of Nimna. In response, the Yamato envoys apparently insisted that Nimna belonged to them and, at least according to the Nihon Shoki, Silla agreed. Here I think we have to take the Chronicles with a bit of salt, and I really wish that we had better records for Silla, but unfortunately the sources we have from that side are silent about any interaction.
Iwakane and Kuranoshita then began to plan the return trip with envoys from Silla along with more diplomatic gifts from Silla and Nimna. With their work completed, they began the trek back to the islands. Even if Silla was simply putting on a show for the ambassadors, they must have felt pretty good about themselves. They had apparently settled the matter and were now on their way back to seal the deal. All they had to do now was wait for a favorable wind so they could cross.
And so they were probably taken aback when they looked out across the waters and saw boatloads of Yamato troops heading their way. The Silla envoys saw this and immediately noped back to the capital at Gyeongju and left a lower level flunky to handle the diplomatic gifts, which Yamato probably already had loaded on board the ship. Iwakane and Kuranoshita resigned themselves to the fact that the agreement they had brokered was now in tatters—they had just talked about peace and suddenly an invading army shows up. So they shoved off and headed back to the archipelago.
Apparently, while Iwakane and Kuranoshita were away, the hawkish faction of the Yamato Court had swayed Soga no Umako to their side, and he had pushed for the invasion. Specifically, the Chronicles blamed the houses of Sakahibe no Omi and Adzumi no Muraji. Apparently these two families remembered getting quite a pay out from Silla last time, when they took armies across the strait to help re-establish Nimna, but got basically paid to leave, and so they were hoping to do the same thing again.
And so Sakahibe no Omi no Womaro and Nakatomi no Muraji no Kuni were made generals of a force that included a host of names of some of the prominent families as assistant generals. Given all of the generals and assistant generals, it must have been a sizeable force, and the Chronicles say that it was ten thousand strong, though I don’t know that we can trust any of the numbers, exactly.
They made landfall and headed to Nimna, to prepare their attack and when the King of Silla heard they were there, Silla tendered their submission, and the generals sent back a memorial to Kashikiya Hime to proclaim their victory. We aren’t told whether or not Sakahibe no Omi or Adzumi no Muraji made any money on this venture, but they seem to have made out alright for themselves.
Now, as I mentioned earlier, there isn’t any really good corroborating evidence for all of this. There is a note in 623 that Baekje sent an army to raid Silla’s Neungno District, and there is the later 7th century note where Silla complains about the constant raids by the Wa, mostly referring to Yamato and the archipelago.
There is one other thing about this period, however: many scholars believe that this is the period where many of the stories of Okinaga no Tarashi Hime really became popular, and took the form that we mostly know them as, today. As you may recall, Okinaga no Tarashi Hime is more commonly known as Jinguu Kougou or even Jinguu Tennou. She was the wife to the sovereign known as Chuai Tennou and the mother to Homuda Wake, aka Oujin Tennou, someone who features prominently in the lineage of the current dynasty of Yamato sovereigns.
We talked about Tarashi Hime and her much hyped “conquest” of the Korean peninsula back in Episode 40. Many scholars treat Tarashi Hime as a fictional, legendary figure, possibly created specifically to mirror the reign of Kashikiya Hime, in the 7th century. There are some who believe her story is actually based on raids and invasions by Yamato in the 7th century, especially given the scale and apparent control that she displays over the archipelago. It is possible that in her day, assuming she did exist, that there was a much larger concern with subduing the Kumaso, which was probably more of an ethnic conflict between different cultures, with Wa forces eventually prevailing. There was certainly commerce with the peninsula, so raids weren’t out of the question. But the scale of those raids may not have been quite as depicted.
Again, though, it is hard to say. The peninsular records are largely silent. The Wa are depicted as almost more of a minor nuisance and they are more likely to give pride of place to Baekje forces in any allied assault, so it is really difficult to determine just what happened, when. Regardless, we aren’t finished with the peninsula. There is still a lot more conflict yet to be seen.
But, we are finished with this episode—and almost finished with this reign. Next episode we’ll cover the end of Kashikiya Hime’s reign, when some of the cutthroat politics of the Yamato court will come to the fore. The end of one reign and the beginning of another has always been a bumpy ride—has the enforcement of more continental style governance changed that at all? We’ll see.
Until then, thank you for listening and for all of your support.
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And that’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

Kim, P., & Shultz, E. J. (2013). The 'Silla annals' of the 'Samguk Sagi'. Gyeonggi-do: Academy of Korean Studies Press.
Best, J. (2006). A History of the Early Korean Kingdom of Paekche, together with an annotated translation of The Paekche Annals of the Samguk sagi. Cambridge (Massachusetts); London: Harvard University Asia Center. doi:10.2307/j.ctt1tg5q8p
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4

Episode 101: Ponds, Peaches, and Thunder-gods

January 16, 2024 Joshua Badgley

Kawabe no Omi facing off against the thunder tree in Aki, as interpreted by Utagawa Kuniyoshi circa 1840, from a collection of prints depicting a biography of Prince Shotoku Taishi. Image detail from the British Museum, where the original is shared by the The Trustees of the British Museum under ***Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International (CC BY-NC-SA 4.0)***.

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This episode we cover a wide variety of topics—mostly small accounts and stories from the latter part of the reign of Kashikiya Hime, aka Suiko Tennō. These include public works projects, international relations, expansion of the realm, and more.

Public Works Projects

A big part of any state is the projects that it does for its people. The ability to bring together and organize many people for the greater good to put together projects that the entire community needs, but no one person could reasonably do. So when we see the construction of ponds or highways, what I see is the Yamato state acting in that capacity.

Sayamaike (Sayama Pond) in Ōsaka. Photo attributed to HD crops, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons.

It should be noted that these “ponds” are not necessarily small little bodies of water, like one might build in the back of their house. These could be sizeable constructions. An example is Sayama Pond (Sayama-ike) in the modern Ōsaka region. If you take a look at the photo, you can see that it is quite large, and it was repaired several times. The Nihon Shoki claims it was made by Mimaki Iribiko himself, i.e. Sujin Tennō, and it may be as old as the 4th century, though from what I could see, excavations around it have only dated material to the 7th century, so far—about the time that the ponds in our narrative are being built.

As for the highways, some of those you can still check out, today. Here’s a link to the Takeuchi Kaidō-Yokooji website (Japanese), which you can check out next time you are in the Ōsaka region: http://www.saikonokandou.com/

Yaku Island (Yakushima)

As I noted in the episode, Yaku Island is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, though in this case it is for its natural beauty rather than for its cultural significance. The ancient cedars and old growth forests of Yaku Island are truly impressive. As I noted, there are some excavations that have shown the island was populated, but I am not sure how much study has been done. We assume they were a Japonic speaking people, probably in contact with southern Kyūshū. That area of Kyūshū is also known as the origins of the Kumaso and Hayato people that are also mentioned in the Chronicles, and one of the reasons that I see contact with the people of Yakushima as possible indication that Kyūshū had been brought under Yamato authority by this time. We discussed, previously, the mention of the Dazai, up near modern Fukuoka, and so it would make sense that this outpost of the court was making formal contact with more people.

I have seen some suggestions that Yamato was also making alliances with the people of Yakushima in case of a possible attack by the Sui. I’m not sure how much I see that in the sources, but certainly the Sui were known to be expansionistic, pushing against the people of Southeast Asia as well as against Goguryeo. The Chronicles even note a loss against the latter, and so that may have prompted some thinking as to just what Yamato would do if the Sui dynasty tried to extend its reach across the seas.

Peaches and Plums

As noted in the episode, we are talking about momo and sumomo, not ume. Ume are probably more widely known in the west through things like umeshu, or “plum wine”. However, whereas Ume are Prunus mume; Japanese peaches, or Momo, are Prunus persica; and Japanese (or Chinese) plums, or sumomo, are Prunus salicina. As you can see, they are all in the same family, but even by the names we can tell that Japanese peaches and plums were seen as closer to one another, whereas the ume, which bloom much earlier, are often considered more of an “apricot”, though they are still known as “plums” in general parlance.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is Episode 101: Ponds, Peaches, and Thunder-gods.
First off, a big thanks to Red and Ryan for helping to support the site and our show. If you would like to join them, we’ll have more information at the end of the episode, or check out our website at sengokudaimyo.com.
When we last left off, we were going through some of the more random events that happened in the reign of Kashikiya Hime, aka Suiko Tennou. and we’re going to continue with that this episode, touching on some of the things that happened in the latter part of her reign, starting in about 613 and going from there—and some of this is more exciting than others. I’ll try to hit the high points, but some of this will be familiar if you’ve been listening along.
For example, one of the THRILLING things we’ll start with (at least if you are a frog) is the building of ponds. In the winter of 613, we are told that the ponds of Waki no Kami, Unebi, and Wani were constructed. We’ve seen the construction of ponds since at least the time of Mimaki Iribiko, aka Sujin Tennou, the purported “first” sovereign, from around the probable time of Queen Himiko. The exact nature of these ponds doesn’t seem to be known, but one theory is that they are for irrigation of rice paddies in places where the water wasn’t consistently sufficient for everyone’s needs—a pond would allow for water to be gathered up throughout the year and then released when it was needed for the rice paddies. More ponds may have indicated the opening of more fields, indicating continued growth.Ponds also had other uses, however, including breeding fish, and they were a habitat for birds, so this would also help encourage hunting and fishing.
Finally, the ponds were public utilities, and part of the way the Court flexed their power as they raised levies for the ponds’ construction. We might also say something about the way they indicated a certain amount of control over the land – but of course, most of these ponds are in the Nara basin and Kawachi regions, and so it doesn’t tell us a whole lot more than what we already know about the centralized control there. They were important enough, however, that by the 8th century the creation of these ponds was still being tracked and attributed to specific rulers.
If you’re wondering what it might have been like to travel around in this period of Japan, you might be more interested in the fact that in the same line about the ponds, we are also told that a Highway was built from Asuka to Naniwa. This is believed to be the path of the ancient Takeuchi Kaidou in Kawachi, which some of the literature claims is the “oldest official road” in Japan. This road connects to the Yoko-ohoji in Nara, which links the modern city of Sakai, near Ohosaka, with the city of Katsuraki, and presumably it then connected with other paths down to Asuka. I suspect that the “official” qualifier is in there is because we have evidence of when it was made, whereas other roads and highways, such as the old highway along the foot of the mountains on the eastern edge of the Nara Basin, are perhaps even more ancient, but are simply mentioned, without evidence of how or when they were created—they may have been more organic footpaths that came to be heavily traveled, or just created with no record of who and when.
This new highway was notable for connecting the port at Naniwa to the current capital and to the newly built temples in the Asuka area, as well. These temples were new institutions, but they were also fairly permanent structures, unlike even the palace buildings, which were still expected to be rebuilt each reign. Of course, they could be moved—and were, in later periods—but it was going to take some doing. That said, there were other permanent structures and religious sites—heck, many of the kami were associated with mountains, and you couldn’t exactly move those, though they did have the ability to build sacred spaces elsewhere and bring the kami to them, so you weren’t exactly tied to the physical geography. And there were the giant kofun, but I’m not sure how often people were going to the kofun to worship the ancient kings and other elites, other than perhaps family members paying their respects. The building of a highway to the capital alone would probably be an interesting flex, since the next sovereign could move somewhere else entirely. But the temples were intended to be relatively permanent institutions, as far as I can tell, so even if the capital did move, the fact that there was a road there was probably going to be a big boon to the area.
Of course it probably didn’t hurt that this area was also a Soga stronghold, and so at least the Soga family would continue to benefit, which may have gone into *some* of the political calculus, there.
It was also going to help with envoys to and from the continent. And that leads us along to the next item of note about Kashikiya-hime’s reign: sure enough, in the sixth month of the following year, Inugami no Kimi no Mitasuki and Yatabe no Miyatsuko were sent on a new embassy to the Sui court.
By the way, quick note on these two. Inugami no Mitatsuki is given the kabane of “kimi”. If you recall, the sovereign is “Oho-kimi”, or “Great Kimi”, and so “Kimi” is thought to be an important title, possibly referring to a high-ranking family that held sway outside of the immediate lands of Yamato, and Yatabe is given to us as “Miyatsuko”, also generally referring to one of the higher ranks of nobility under the kabane system—though not necessarily the inner court families of the Omi and the Muraji. It is unclear whether those kabane were in use at the time, but it does indicate that the families were important. An ancestor of the Inugami first shows up in the reign of Okinaga Tarashi Hime, aka Jingu Kougou, which is interesting as there are some who claim that the stories of that reign really solidified around the time of Kashikiya Hime, which is to say the current reign. We’ll get more into that in a future episode, but for now we can note that the Inugami family doesn’t really seem to show up after that until this reign, and from here on out we see them as one of the regular interlocutors with the continent, whether the Sui, Tang, or on the Korean peninsula.
The Yatabe are much more enigmatic. Other than this entry, we don’t have a lot. There is an ancestor, Takemorosumi, mentioned in the reign of Mimaki Iribiko, aka Sujin Tennou, and there is some reasonable thought that they may have been set up for the maintenance of Princess Yata, the wife of Ohosazaki no Mikoto, aka Nintoku Tennou, but I don’t see any clear indication one way or the other. They aren’t really mentioned again except as a family during the late 7th century.
These two, Inugami no Mitatsuki and the unnamed envoy of the Yatabe family, would return a year later, bringing with them an envoy from Baekje. Later in the year they would throw the envoy an elaborate feast. We aren’t given much else, but seems like relations were good.
Shortly after the feast for the Baekje envoy, however, the monk Hyeja—or Eiji, in the Japanese reading—returned to his home in Goguryeo. Hyeja had been one of the teachers of none other than Prince Umayado, aka Shotoku Taishi himself, and the two are said to have shared a special bond. Shotoku Taishi eventually became Hyeja’s equal, and it is said that they both discussed Buddhist teachings and philosophy together, with Hyeja appreciating Shotoku Taishi’s unique insights. When Prince Umayado eventually passed at an all too early age, the news reached Hyeja on the peninsula and he held a special feast in his student-turned-peer’s honor. They say that he then predicted his own death, one year later, on the anniversary of Shotoku Taishi’s own passing.
But that was still to come. For now, you could say that everything was peachy—and so they did… sort of, in the next item of note. What they actually said was that in the first month of 616, at the beginning of Spring, the Peach and Plum trees bore fruit, which may seem an odd thing to comment on. However, Peach and Plum tress flowering or fruiting would be something that the Chroniclers commented on for at least the next two reigns, as well as in the reign of Oho-ama, aka Temmu Tennou, in the 7th century.
It is possible that they were commenting on how they were fruiting out of season—the peach, or momo, in Japanese, blossoms between late March and mid-April. This is around the same time as the plum, in this case the Sumomo, rather than the “ume” plum, sometimes called a Japanese apricot. Momo and Sumomo would blossom towards the start of spring, and so it might be possible for them to blossom around the first month of the New Year, especially if that was a little later than it might be today, but highly unlikely that they would be fruiting. Assuming they were talking about the blossoms—and some later accounts explicitly call out the flowers instead—it may have indicated a particularly warm winter or early spring season that year. It is also possible that the Chroniclers were off on the dates at times, and so may have made some mistakes.
It is also possible that they were recounting an odd event—having the peach trees and plum trees fruit or blossom at the obviously wrong time would likely have generated some concern, and thus be worthy of noting down as an omen. It is also possible that this is part of a stock phrase that was used to indicate something else, like the start of Spring or a good or bad omen. Peaches were thought to keep away evil spirits and it was said that they were the fruit of immortality in the western paradise of the Queen Mother of the West. Peaches are often common decorations on Buddhist temples, as well—going back to the same stories about warding off evil and longevity.
Whatever the reason, the blooming and fruiting of peach and plum trees was particularly important to the Chroniclers for this period—for whatever reason.
Beyond the talk of peaches, in 616 there was something else, something fairly simple, but apparently important: Men from the island of Yaku arrived as immigrants.
This is the first mention of Yaku Island, and if you haven’t heard of it I wouldn’t blame you. It is an island south of modern Kagoshima, off the southern tip of Kyuushuu, and just west of another famous island, that of Tanegashima. Yakushima, today, is known for its status as a UNESCO World Heritage Site—so classified for its incredible natural beauty. It is the home to some truly ancient cedars, with some thought to date back as far as 2300 years ago, well into the Yayoi era. It is mentioned in the Nihon Shoki as well as Sui dynasty records, and in numerous other travel accounts since.
We have evidence of human activity going back at least 17,000 years ago, so before even the Jomon era, though the earliest evidence of habitation on the island is more like 6,000 years ago—about 500 to a thousand years after the famous Akahoya eruption, which devastated Kyushu and which we discussed back in episode 4. Yakushima would also have been devastated, situated as it is just south of the Kikai caldera, and it was likely devastated by pyroclastic flows along with its neighboring islands. Since then, it was populated by people that were now, in the 7th century, making contact with the people of Yamato—perhaps indicating that Yamato had even further expanded its reach.
Over the course of the year 616 the Chronicles note several groups of immigrants from Yaku Shima. First was a group of three men who came as immigrants in the third month. Then seven more arrived two months later. Two months after that, you had a group of twenty show up. They were all settled together in a place called Eno’i. It isn’t exactly clear where this is. Some sources suggest that they came to the Dazaifu in Kyushuu, and so were settled somewhere on Kyuushuu, possibly in the south of the island. There is also a connection with the name “Enoi” coming out of Mino, in the form of the Enoi family, which the Sendai Kuji Hongi says was an offshoot of the Mononobe family.
Wherever they ended up, they stayed there for the rest of their lives.
We aren’t done with Yaku Island, though. Four years later, we are told that two men of Yaku were “cast away”—which I suspect means banished—to the island of Izu, Izu-no-shima. Once again, we are left wondering exactly where that is, though it may refer not to an island, at least not entirely, but to Izu no Kuni, the land of Izu, on the Izu Peninsula. Aston suggests that perhaps at this time “shima” didn’t mean just an island, but any place that was mostly surrounded by water, including a peninsula like Izu. It could also mean one of the nearby islands, such as Ooshima, the largest of the islands to the east of the Izu peninsula.
Nine years later, in the reign of the succeeding sovereign, Yamato sent an envoy, Tanabe no Muraji, to the island of Yaku. I suspect that this was part of making the island an official part of the country.
Records of the island fall off for a bit, but it does get mentioned, along with neighboring Tanegashima, in the reign of Temmu Tennou, in the latter part of the 7th century. To be fair, the Nihon Shoki only continues until 696, but we continue to see them in the Shoku Nihongi, the continuation of the court historical records. Sure, Yakushima was probably never going to be a huge story from a political perspective, but it does give us some insight into just how far Yamato’s influence reached at this point.
Going back to the record, we have another fruit related account. This time it is about an enormous gourd coming out of Izumo—one as big as a, well… we aren’t exactly sure. The character they use is read “kan”, and today often refers to aluminum cans and the like, but that is a relatively recent meaning, if you’d believe it. In the 7th and 8th century it was probably something more like “pou” and may have meant an earthenware pot for storing alcohol, like the Greek amphorae, or it may have been in reference to a kind of musical instrument. Either way, we are talking a pretty good sized gourd. Not sure if it would take a ribbon in some of today’s largest pumpkin contests, but still, impressive for the time.
Moving beyond the State Fair category of entries, we come to one of my favorite events. It takes place, we are told, in 618, when Kawabe no Omi was sent to the land of Aki to build ships. He went with his crews up into the mountains to fell timber when he met with something extraordinary, which was still being depicted in paintings centuries later, although most people probably haven’t heard the story.
Now the name Kawabe first shows up as the location of one of the Miyake, or royal granaries and administrative centers set up in the land of Ki, south of Yamato on the peninsula, in 535. The first record of a person by the name, however, is less than auspicious: It was the assistant general Kawabe no Nihi, who is panned by the Chroniclers for his actions during the reign of Amekunioshi. As we discussed in Episode 82, Kawabe snatched defeat from the jaws of victory due to his lack of military expertise.
This next mention of a Kawabe family member is coming a good many years later, but the family does seem to have recovered somewhat. Kawabe no Omi no Nezu would be appointed a general several years later—and that could be the same Kawabe no Omi from this story, as there was only about seven or so years between events. Furthermore, members of the family would find themselves in the middle of some of the most impactful events of the court, indicating their high status. Multiple family members would be remembered and memorialized in the histories over the rest of the century, whether for better or for ill. Which makes it a little interesting to me that the story of this Kawabe family ship builder does not give us a personal name of any kind.
Now, later interpretations of this particular story would say that this Kawabe no Omi was out building ships on the orders of Prince Shotoku Taishi himself, though the Nihon Shoki would seem to indicate that he was out there, instead, at the behest of the sovereign herself, Kashikiya Hime. Of course, given what the Nihon Shoki has to say about Shotoku Taishi’s contributions to running the government, it could be either one. Regardless, he had a job to do. He searched through the forest and he found suitable trees for the timber he needed: in all likelihood he was looking for large, straight trees, which would have a good grain and not so many knots to cause problems. I suspect that older trees were likely preferable for the task. Having found what he was looking for he marked it and they began to chop down the marked trees.
Suddenly a man appeared—a stranger, or perhaps just a local coming to see what all the fuss was about. He warned Kawabe no Omi and his men that the tree they had marked was a “thunder tree” and it shouldn’t be cut.
To this Kawabe no Omi asked: “Shall even the thunder-god disobey the royal commands?” However, he didn’t just barrel on with the task. Instead, he and his men started by offering mitegura, offerings of cloth. This was likely done to appease any spirits before the crew got started, and I wonder if this was something exceptional, or perhaps something that people regularly did, especially when you were taking large, older trees. It isn’t clear, but an 8th century crowd no doubt understood the significance. Once they had finished providing recompense to the kami, they went about their task.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, it began to rain. As the water poured down from the sky, thunder and lightning came crashing down. Apparently the offering had *not* been accepted, and the kami was now quite angry. While his men sought shelter, Kawabe no Omi drew out his iron sword and held it aloft, crying out to the angry kami: “O Kami of Thunder, do not harm these men! I am the one that you want!” So saying, sword held aloft in the midst of this unexpected thunderstorm, he stood there, watching the roiling clouds, and waiting. Ten times the lightning flashed and crashed around them, the thunder rolling each time. One can only imagine the sight as Kawabe no Omi stood there, wind whipping his hair and clothes as he challenged the storm. And yet, try as it might, the thunderous lightning did not strike Kawabe no Omi. Finally, the lightning stopped, and Kawabe no Omi was still unharmed.
As the men came out of hiding, they noticed a disturbance. Above them, there was movement, and the men saw the strangest thing: Up in the branches of the tree was a small fish. Near as anyone could reckon, the god had turned visible, taking the form of a fish, and so Kawabe no Omi caught the fish and burnt it. After that, they were able to safely harvest the rest of the timber and build the ships.
While we may have some doubts as to the veracity of the story, or may even wonder if a particularly violent storm hadn’t picked up fish from a nearby water source, an event that has been known to happen, it still holds some clues about how the people of the time thought and how they believed the world worked. Even today, older trees and even rocks are thought to house spirits. In some cases, shrines are built up, and people will worship the spirit of a particular tree or rock, so it isn’t so far fetched to think that they were harvesting ancient trees that were believed by locals to contain some kind of spirit, which, if aroused, could bring serious harm to Kawabe no Omi and his men. This is probably why they made their offering in the first place, hoping that would be enough to placate the spirit.
At the same time, we see them drawing on the power of the sovereign, who isn’t even present. Kawabe no Omi’s protection is in that he is following the sovereign’s commands, and that alone is his shield. Heck, he even goes so far as to raise up his sword. I know we are still an eon from Ben Franklin and his kite, but I’m pretty sure that people had figured out certain things about lightning, beyond just “don’t be out in it”, namely “don’t wave around pointy metal things in the middle of a storm”.
As for the symbolism of the kami turning into a fish, well, who knows just how kami think about these things? They don’t always do things that make sense. For instance, there is one story where a man prayed for a boat, and the kami gave him one, but put it on top of a nearby mountain. Maybe they just weren’t that accurate, or maybe they didn’t quite get how the visible world works, sometimes. It is also possible that the kami turned itself into a helpless fish on purpose, as a sign that it was giving up, since it clearly had not been able to best Kawabe no Omi, and the burning of the fish may have also had some significance.
Whatever the reason, the boats were built and not even the kami could defy the will of the sovereign.
Now there were a few other things that happened the following year—more strange and bizarre happenstances. The first was the on the fourth day of the fourth month, when there came a report of a creature shaped like a man in the Kamo river in Afumi. Who knows what it was? Perhaps it was some kind of kappa or other river spirit. Or perhaps it was some stranger skinny-dipping and he just really put everyone off. Or it was just a weird log viewed from the wrong angle. Whatever the reason, the people were put off, and Aston notes that this was probably considered an inauspicious omen.
Then, in the 7th month, a fisherman from the land of Settsu caught something in one of the manmade canals, or horie, in the area of modern Osaka. The creature he caught was part fish and part man—perhaps that same creature that had been seen three months earlier further upriver, like some kind of ancient Yamato mermaid. What exactly did it mean, though? Certainly it seems a strange occurrence, but was it considered a good or bad omen? Or was it just weird and strange?
The following year, there was a shape in the sky. The Chroniclers say it was red, shaped like a rooster tail, and over a rod—about ten feet or so—in length. Perhaps this was a rogue cloud, being kissed by the red light of the rising or setting sun. Or perhaps it was something else entirely. These were the kinds of things that were likely seen as omens, though whether a good or bad omen, who could say? A fishman in the rivers? A red glowing light in the sky? Often it wouldn’t be until later that such things would be pieced together.
In this case, the omens were likely pretty dire, as in that same year we are told that none other than Prince Umayado—Shotoku Taishi himself—grew ill, and passed away. The whole of the realm mourned their collective loss. The Crown Prince of the Upper Palace, heir to the throne of Yamato, was dead. So yeah, I would say those were some pretty bad omens.
Umayado’s death would leave a real void. Where there had once been certainty of succession, the land was back in the chaos of wondering what would happen when Kashikiya Hime finally passed away. Would they be returned to a state of civil war for the throne? Who could say? And there was more. The continent was also in a state of uncertainty, as only recently, the Sui dynasty had been overthrown, and now the new Tang was in its place. In addition, a resurgent Silla on the Korean peninsula was getting ever more bold and sure of its own power. There were many things to be concerned about.
But let’s not leave it on such a note. We can cover all of that in future episodes—we really don’t have time to go over all of it here. But there is one other story I’d like to leave you with this episode.
You see, a little earlier that year—the same year that Umayado passed away—the Yamato court had finished covering the tomb of Hinokuma with pebbles. Although the kofun, today, are often overgrown, and seem as much like wooded hills as anything else, back in the day there would have been no mistaking their manmade origins. The ground was cleared and tamped down into place. The sides rose in distinct terraces, and the surface was covered in stones. Around it would be the clay and wood haniwa. Families were employed to keep the kofun, and likely refreshed them from time to time. In the case of Hinokuma, recall that earlier in the reign Kitashi Hime, Kashikiya Hime’s mother, had been re-interred with her husband. This was likely further ceremonies for her, perhaps the culmination of years of work on the tomb. We are also told that earth was piled up onto a hill, and each family erected a wooden pillar. One official, Yamato no Aya no Sakanoue no Atahe, decided to go all out. Maybe he didn’t get the memo. Or maybe he thought he would make a name for himself. Either way, brought in the largest pillar—larger than any other of the family heads that were present.
And, well, he did make a name for himself, though perhaps not the name he wanted. That name was Ohohashira no Atahe, or the Atahe of the Giant Pillar. Probably not exactly what he was going for, but there you have it. By the way, if you recognize that name, Sakanoue, then you may have noticed that yes, this is likely an ancestor of the famous Sakanoue no Tamuramaro, a famous warrior of the late Nara and early Heian period, and the second person ever to carry the title of Sei-i Taishogun—but that is still over a century and a half away.
For now, in the coming episodes, we’ll finish up the reign of Kashikiya Hime, perhaps touch briefly on what was happening on the continent, and continue on as we make our way through the latter part of the seventh century.
Until then, thank you for listening and 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. If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode.
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Thank you, also, to Ellen for her work editing the podcast.
And that’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

McCallum, D. F. (2009). The Four Great Temples: Buddhist Art, Archaeology, and Icons of Seventy-Century Japan. University of Hawai’i Press. http://www.jstor.org/stable/j.ctt6wqtwv
Bentley, John. (2006). The Authenticity of Sendai Kuji Hongi: a New Examination of Texts, with a Translation and Commentary. ISBN-90-04-152253.
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4
Philippi, D. L. (1968). Kojiki. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press. ISBN4-13-087004-1

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Timelines and the Baekje Royal Family

King Uija (Wicha) (b. 599?, r. 641-660)

Prince Pung or Pungjang, aka Buyeo Pung (623-668)

Prince Saeseong (??)

Prince Gyoki (??)

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Who’s Who

Li Yuan

Li Er

Li Shimin

Li Jiancheng

Li Yuanji

Princess Pingyang

Li Chengqian

Li Tai

Li Zhi

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Kashikiya Hime

Prince Takeda

Soga no Ōmi no Umako

Soga no Sakaibe no Omi no Marise

Soga no Ōmi no Emishi

Prince Yamashiro no Ōe

Prince Hase

Prince Tamura

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References

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Public Works Projects

Yaku Island (Yakushima)

Peaches and Plums

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