Episode 118: Stone Work and Treason

January 16, 2025 Joshua Badgley

Photos of ongoing excavations at the Asuka Palace site. This site saw multiple palaces, including the Itabuki and Later Okamoto Palaces, as well as the Kiyomihara Palace. Photo by author.

This episode, we are covering more of the events of the second reign of Takara Hime, aka Saimei Tennō, bringing us back to Asuka. This episode we talk about the various constructions in the Asuka area, including various stoneworks that we have found, even today, as well as numerous palaces, the remains of which have also been discovered. Of course, those constructions were not without cost—political as well as monetary.

Saruishi Stones

The Saruishi stones are one of the more mysterious carvings. I don’t even know if all “saruishi” stones were by the same engraver or if they come from different hands. The most commonly known appear to be those that were found in the Ikeda field and later placed at the tomb of Kibitsu Hime. At one time they were apparently placed around the tomb attributed to Kimmei Tennō, and as such they may have been stone figures similar to the clay and wooden “haniwa”. However, we haven’t found any other statues like them, as far as I can tell. It is true that there are stone figures adorning some of the tombs in Kyūshū, but these figures do not have a direct correlation, other than being made of stone.

Personally, I tend to wonder if they weren’t part of some mansion or garden complex. It would certainly have made sense. Regrettably, we no longer have their original context, and as such may never know what they were truly for. But what they do show is the skill of the craftspersons of that period, and it goes hand in hand with other carvings in and around the Asuka region.

Kameishi - The Turtle Stone

Another strange stone is the large “turtle” stone. It is possible that it has eroded over time, so that only the “face” is visible, but I also wonder if they didn’t just use the natural stone. I’ve encountered other “kame-ishi” across Japan: stones that look like turtles and were often used as landmarks. This one seems to have been carved to have a face, at the very least. Today it sits along a trail behind modern houses and it is unclear what it was originally for. However, perhaps due to its location, there are some legends around it, including the idea that it sometimes changes directions, and if it ever turns to the west, the entire valley—and beyond—would flood.

Sakafuneishi Ruins

Sakafune-ishi

Public domain image via Wikimedia Commons

Tortoise shaped basin

Public domain image via Wikimedia Commons

Reconstructed waterworks

At the Asuka Historical Museum

The Sakafuneishi, while not directly described, are probably some of the most obvious ruins to connect to the reading in the Nihon Shoki. They sit on a hill to the east of the Asuka palace site—the location where we are told that stones were brought from Mt. Kaguyama. There we find a strange stone carving called the “sakafune-ishi”. The stone itself is weathered, but has channels that seem to be for liquid—presumably water—to fill one and another. The stone has been weathered and broken over the years, so it is unclear the full extent of its shape. Furthermore, the channels in the stone don’t match anything else we’ve really seen. There are plenty of conspiracies out there as well. I think the key thing to remember is that we are only seeing what is left. If there was any organic—e.g. wooden—structure surrounding it and part of the mechanism, that has long since rotted away.

At the foot of the hill where the sakfune-ishi sits is a tortoise shaped basin fed by a ‘boat’ shaped tank. There is some thought that these were also from the same era as the sakafune-ishi, and likely related to the reign of “Saimei Tennō”. These types of waterworks in Asuka are actually more common than one might think. The Asuka Historical Museum has several replicas of various water features that appear to have been designed in this period, or shortly after.

Mt. Sumera Fountain

So this is another example of the engineering ability. This is a reconstructed example, but it is still quite something. Constructions of “Mt. Sumera” show up several times in the Nihon Shoki. It is unclear what they look like, but this was found in Asuka and may be one of those discussed in the Chronicles. Here you can see how the water basin was gravity fed so that if the “tank” was filled, then the water would come out in a small fountain. I imagine that it would need to be refilled, possibly each time it was “on”. But nonetheless, to get the plumbing and everything to work just through carved stone is pretty impressive, in my book. Today they have the replica plumbed with running water so that you can see what it must have looked like back in the day. Though I also wonder if it was left as plain stone or painted, since that was something else that you might have seen at the time.

The Asuka Palaces

The “Asuka” era is often defined as starting with the introduction of Buddhism in the 6th century—commonly thought to be around 538 CE. However, the relatively permanent establishment of the court in Asuka can probably be traced to the Soga hegemons, for whom Asuka was one of their main strongholds. Kashikiya Hime, aka Suiko Tennō, built one of the first long term palaces in the area when she built the Oharida Palace. From what remains, this palace appears to have been a fairly simple, rectangular complex. There was a rear palace area—possibly the more private area—and a front courtyard. It wasn’t extremely elaborate, from what we can tell so far.

Later, the sovereign known as Jomei Tennō (Okinaga no Tarashi-hi Hironuka) and Tarashi Hime (Kōgyoku/Saimei Tennō) would build Okamoto palace. That burned down, and they built Itabuki palace, which is where the Isshi Incident is said to have taken place. During the reign of Karu—Kōtoku Tennō—they built the huge Naniwa palace. But then Tarashi Hime moved back to Asuka and refurbished the Oharida and the Itabuki Palaces. Both had issues, though, and she moved briefly to Kawara Palace before rebuilding Okamoto Palace.

Many of these palaces occupied the same relative space, just south of Asukadera. Various excavations have come across the different walls and structures, demonstrating that they were built on top of each other, but not necessarily to the same plan.

Asuka Capital Model

This shows Asuka at its height, looking south to north. The palace takes up much of the center, with Tachibanadera in the lower left corner and Kawaradera just north of that. At the far end is Asukadera. As you can see, the mountains and streams hem in the buildings, so that there isn’t much room for buildings other than the palace and nearby temples. Photo taken at the Asuka Historical Museum.

Asuka Palace

Remains of a stone lined pond or water feature found at the Asuka palace site, possibly dating back to the Itabuki Palace.

Excavations at Asuka

These show what was found by excavation at Asuka. The first is the Okamoto and Itabuki Palaces. Then the Later Okamoto Palace. Followed by the Kiyomihara Palace. From information at the Asuka Historical Museum.

Palace comparison

This shows the layout of the Oharida Palace, versus what was found in Asuka, and, at the bottom, the later Naniwa Palace, aka the Toyosaki Palace. You can see the difference in scale, here.

Asuka palace ruins

Asuka Palace ruins

Asuka Palace Ruins

Kawara Palace and Kawara Temple

Last is the mystery of Kawara temple. This temple is one of the four major temples of Asuka, and yet little seems to be known about its founding, and when the capital moved north, to modern Nara, it was not moved along with the others. It is thought by many that this is also the original site of Kawara no Miya, the temporary palace that Takara Hime inhabited after the Itabuki palace burnt down. We have some artifacts that may be from the period, including things like an old geta—a wooden clog used since ancient times to avoid stepping into the mud, which would have been a common problem in the rice paddies and during the rainy season.

Geta

Wooden clog from “Kawara no Miya”, the Kawara Palace.

Model of Kawaradera

Model showing what Kawaradera may have looked like during its heyday.

Kawaradera ruins

The stone base shows where Kawaradera used to be, with the modern temple of Gufukuji located in the center of where the ancient temple once stood.

Yamadadera Wall

This remarkably well preserved section of a cloister wall from Yamadadera is likely similar to the walls used at other temples, like Kawaradera, and even in parts of the palace, demonstrating the type of construction techniques in use at the time.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is episode 118: Stonework and Treason
Before we dive into the episode, a quick shout out to thank Bodil for supporting us on Ko-Fi.com. For information on how you can also help support the show, we’ll have information at the end of the episode or go check out our podcast page at SengokuDaimyo.com.
And now, on with the episode:

Soga no Akaye’s mansion was busily quiet. There was plenty of chatter, but it was mostly in hushed tones as servants busied themselves with their work, but wondered what was going on. They couldn’t help but notice the high ranking visitors that had come. It was to be expected, though. After all, their master was in charge while the rest of the court was away on a retreat, comforting the sovereign in her grief. And so why wouldn’t people be showing up to meet with him?
But nobody was quite sure what all of these visitors were discussing. They had all gone into an upper story of the building, but the crowd included some powerful figures, including, some said, a royal prince. Who’s who and where people stood in the court were always topics of discussion, but especially now. After all, what they were dealing with was unprecedented: who had heard of a sovereign stepping down in the first place, let alone stepping back up because they then outlived their successor? But she was no spring chicken, either. Surely it would be her son that would finally ascend the throne next, right? But that was never guaranteed.
Either way, some of the servants grumbled, a change would be nice. Ever since the royal family had moved back to Asuka, formally making it the capital again, there had been a flurry of activity. Sure, it meant that a certain amount of prestige returned to that region, and houses that had been in disrepair were suddenly occupied again. But there was so much more. Just about all of the available labor pool that wasn’t working the fields was working on this project or that—there was almost nothing left for anyone else. How was anyone else supposed to get things done when all of the able-bodied people were already toiling on the sovereign’s own vanity projects? And after building that giant government complex in Naniwa, no less!
Such was, I imagine, the hushed rumor-mongering going on in the house when suddenly there came a loud “crack” as of a piece of wood snapping in two. Later they would learn that an old wooden rest had broken, but that wasn’t immediately obvious. The servants did notice that shortly thereafter, their visitors began to depart, heading back to their own mansions.
As for Soga no Akaye, he said nothing, but he seemed drained. He had a heavy look, as though he was bearing an incredible weight. Soon thereafter, he requested a brush and some paper, and he began to write out a letter…

So we are talking about the second reign of Takara Hime, who came back to the throne in 655, following the death of her brother, Prince Karu, known as Koutoku Tennou. For the first time she reigned, the Chroniclers gave her the name “Kougyoku Tennou”, but for her second reign she would be known in the Chronicles as “Saimei Tennou”.
We already discussed some of what was recorded as happening in the north during Takara Hime’s second reign, with the Emishi and the Mishihase and the expeditions by Abe no Omi no Hirafu. This episode we are going to focus more on what was going on in the Home Provinces of Yamato—and most specifically the impact that Takara Hime’s reign would have on Asuka.
I’ve noted in the past how modern Asuka can seem like your typical rural Japanese town. Roads weave between rice fields, flanked by densely packed neighborhoods at the foot of the green hills or lining the shores of the Asuka river. To the north, the valley opens onto the vast Nara basin—a largely flat region that is much more heavily populated but still would be considered “inaka”, or rural country, by anyone from a metropolis like Tokyo or Ohosaka. To the south, the land rises up into mountain peaks. Beyond that ridge, the land drops into the Yoshino River Valley, but otherwise the rest of the Kii peninsula, to the south, is covered in a sparsely populated mountain range, where small villages carve out a life in the nooks and crannies between the numerous ridges, finding the rare spot of flat land to build houses and plant their fields.
Looking at it today, Asuka might seem idyllic, rural, and calm. And yet, back in Takara Hime’s day, it was anything but.
When Takara Hime moved back to Asuka, she went on a building spree. In fact, the Chronicles actually complain about all of the building that she was doing, and we’ll get to that. Much of this episode is going to revolve around her building projects, as well as her comings and goings. While we’ll talk about what the Chronicles say, I also want to talk about some of what still remains in Asuka. Certainly the grand palaces are gone, for the most part leaving little more than post-holes, lying beneath the rice fields. A bit more obvious are the various kofun, scattered across the landscape, but beyond that there we also see stone works, including numerous carved stones, which range from crude statues, which may have been minimally worked, to elaborate fountains, which would have used natural water pressure to create impressive waterworks. These latter works demonstrate the sophistication of the masons of the time, and hint at the grandeur of the various palaces, gardens, and mansion complexes that once populated the landscape.
And if you want a little feeling of what it is like, I talked a bit about walking through Asuka in a bonus episode back in March of 2024—if you are interested, look up “Traveling Through the Ancient Nara Basin, Part 2.

So along with what we see in the Chronicles, I want to talk about some of these other features, even if we aren’t entirely sure of when, exactly, they were built. There are a few, though, that we do suspected were built in this period, by Takara Hime, or at least at her order. So we’ll talk about those as we get there.
Her reign wasn’t all about building things, though. Politics in the Yamato court remained as cutthroat as ever. Although Prince Naka no Oe, Takara Hime’s son, had been designated as “Crown Prince” he had not taken the throne, despite being of age, and we aren’t told why, though the fact that Takara Hime had previously abdicated because of the events of the Isshi Incident, back in 645 (see Episode XX) may have meant that she was still considered the senior eligible member of the royal line. Then there was the case of Prince Arima. Prince Arima was the son of Karu, aka Koutoku Tenno, which made him Naka no Oe’s cousin. This wouldn’t have meant anything had his father not ascended to the throne. And under the succession practices of the time, although Naka no Oe was designated as the Crown Prince, that wasn’t a guarantee that he would be next in line, so Prince Arima may have been a potential candidate. However, there is at least one source that says Prince Arima was not yet of age, but still a teenager. Still, that was no doubt old enough for some in the court to support him—and as we’ll see in later centuries, age limits could be negotiable. So we’ll also discuss that, as well.
So let’s get into it.
When the royal family first moved back to Asuka, in 653, they took up residence in the temporary palace of Kahabe no Miya. Unfortunately, this name doesn’t tell us much about where the palace was located. There is one theory that the Kawabe no Miya might be at what is known as the Asuka Inabuchi Palace site, up in the Asuka river valley, in the modern Iwaido district, a little south of the famous Ishibutai kofun site. This is believed to have been a palace—or at least the mansion of some very wealthy family—given its layout, including what appears to be a cobblestone courtyard, and the lack of any roof tiles, which would have been reserved for temples, at that time.
The term “temporary” palace comes up a lot in the Chronicles. In most of the cases where it is used, it suggests that there was already a building in place and the sovereign took up residence there, hence the term “temporary” palace. Often times we see that a temporary palace is said to have been “built”, at which point I have to wonder if that is truly the case—did they actually build a brand new structure to temporarily house the sovereign and the royal family—or does it just refer to the fact that they may have taken an existing compound and perhaps made some slight changes to accommodate the royal dignity? Unfortunately, the Chronicles don’t really go into much detail.
Wherever the Kawabe no Miya happened to be, it does seem to have been temporary, as we later see Takara Hime back at the Itabuki palace, and indeed she reascended the throne there in 655. The Itabuki palace first shows up in Takara hime’s first reign, and seems to be one of at least two royal palaces in Asuka at the time, the other one being the Woharida Palace. The Woharida palace had been around for a while – it was noted as early as 603, in the reign of Kashikiya Hime, aka Suiko Tenno, and there is the suggestion that it was still around in the time that Karu, aka Kotoku Tenno, was reigning. We know that Takara Hime took up residence there at some point during her own reign as well. But in 643 she had the Itabuki palace built, though apparently that didn’t mean that the Oharida palace was completely torn down and abandoned – it just was no longer the primary site of court ritual. Of course, the Itabuki palace wouldn’t be the seat of the government for long, either, as the Isshi Incident took place there in 645, and Karu would subsequently move the capital to Naniwa, building the Toyosaki palace.
And so the Itabuki palace remained, but was not exactly kept up, so that when the royal family returned to Asuka, it wasn’t ready for them to inhabit, and likely required extensive renovation. Nonetheless, it was being inhabited two years later, when Takara hime again ascended the throne.
A quick note here about the name “Itabuki”, because we think that this likely referred to a very specific style of construction that was used. Up to this point, as far as we can tell, the primary roofing material for all major buildings was a kind of local thatching – we still see this today on some shrines and other buildings. “Itabuki”, in contrast, refers to a roof made with wooden boards. Today, we have buildings with rooves where the roof shingles are overlapping boards of wood or bark from the cypress tree: thin layers stacked one on top of the other. Even today, the modern Imperial Palace in Kyoto uses wood shingles rather than the curved roof tiles that many people think of when they think of Asian architecture.
So that’s the Itabuki palace, all spruced up and ready for Takara hime to occupy again. That said, remember the older Woharida palace, the other one in Asuka? Later in 655, a project was started to update that palace as well. We are told that as of the 13th day of the 10th month there had been a plan to add roof tiles to one of the buildings at the Woharida palace, but unfortunately much of the timber from the mountains and valleys that was designated for the project was found to be too weak from rot, and so they decided to not go forward with that plan.
I would note here that tiled rooves, while they might seen somewhat easier to put together—after all, you only need a layer of interlocking and overlapping tiles—are extremely heavy. They are known to deform the wooden structures underneath them, and can weigh hundreds of pounds per square foot. Much of the classic shape of these tiled rooves developed over time to compensate for some of that weight, so this makes me wonder if the wood the palace craftspeople brought in was really that rotten, or if it was just not strong enough for the work that they were trying to do. After all, were they applying the same techniques as for a temple, or were they simply trying to replace traditional thatching or shingles with clay tiles?
Either way, the project failed, even after all of the work that had gone into it. This is a small entry in the Chronicles, but it would have meant levying corvee labor that had to go out to the designated regions to source the timber, not to mention setting up the kilns to make the tiles, as well as other preparations that would have been necessary. In other words, a lot of work, for apparently no payoff.
On top of that, we are told that around that time, in the winter of that year—which would have been the 10th, 11th, or 12th month, roughly corresponding from late November to February of the following year—the Itabuki palace caught fire and burned down, and so the sovereign and her retinue decamped to the temporary palace of Kawara – the River Plain or Field. “Kawara” could theoretically refer to just about any flat area by a river. Aston points out that “Kawara” can also mean “rooftile”, which is interesting given what we just talked about, the entry immediately before that deals with attempting to add new rooftiles to a part of the Oharida palace.
However, there is some thought that this refers to the Kawara Temple, Kawaradera, and you can find claims that Kawaradera was built on the site of the temporary palace. There is a reference to Kawaradera in the previous reign, in the year 653, though another source apparently says it was talking about Yamadadera, instead. There isn’t another mention of “Kawaradera” that I can find until 673, so it is entirely possible that the temple started its life off as a mansion or even a temporary royal palace of some kind, and was later turned into a temple.
Kawaradera itself is rather interesting. If you visit the site, today, you can see large stone bases that help to demonstrate the size of the ancient temple. It was one of the four Great Temples of Asuka, along with Asukadera, Kudara Ohodera, and Yakushiji. And yet, unlike the other three, we don’t have clear indications about its founding in the Chronicles. When the capital eventually moved to Heijo-kyo, in Nara city, many of the other temples were removed to the new capital, but not, as far as I can see, Kawaradera. Donald McCallum suggests that this is because it was replaced, instead, by Koufukuji, a temple with deep ties to the descendants of Nakatomi no Kamatari, the Fujiwara clan. He suggests that mention of the temple in the official records may have even been suppressed by individuals such as Fujiwara no Fubito. Kawaradera remained in Asuka. Eventually it fell to ruin, but there is still a small temple on the site, known as Gu-fuku-ji.
As for the Kawara Palace, if Kawaradera really was in operation by 653, it is possible that the sovereign took over some of the buildings at Kawaradera, or perhaps the temporary palace was simply somewhere nearby. In any case, they don’t seem to have stayed there for too long—they started work on a new palace the following year. This was the later Okamoto Palace, and from what we can tell it was built on the same site as the Itabuki Palace, south of Asukadera. This site would see multiple palaces over the years, and even today you can go and see some of the post-holes that they have found, indicating the size of the complex through the years.
Based on the layout and size of the Asuka palaces, it seems that these early palaces focused on the “dairi”, the private quarters of the sovereign. This seems to have ignored the reforms made with the Toyosaki palace design in Naniwa in the early 650s. That palace, which was built on an incredibly grand scale, consisted of both the private quarters and the public government offices. But in Asuka the royal family’s “palace” appears to have only consisted of the private quarters, for the most part. So where was the actual bureaucracy happening? Were there other facilities we don’t know about? Or perhaps, the Toyosaki palace itself was overly ambitious, and there wasn’t actually the staff for such a grand complex? After all, they were just setting up the bureaucracy and perhaps their reach had exceeded their grasp. Or was it the case that things werestill being run out of the palace complex in Naniwa while the sovereign lived in Asuka? That seems to have been roughly 10 hours away, by foot, though perhaps only half that by horse.
The northern end of the Asuka valley is not as well suited to a large palace complex. Not only was it already full of temples and the like, but the ground itself rises to the south, and the hills on either side start to come together. It certainly isn’t the kind of place to layout a grand city. But perhaps that was not the intent—at least not immediately.
It didn’t matter much, though, because the Later Okamoto palace, as it came to be known, was not long for this world. Scarcely had it been built and occupied but that it caught fire and burned down—another expenditure of funds and labor that were once more counted as nothing.
In fact, Takara hime was apparently on a tear, and went ahead and initiated quite a few projects that happened in 656. We are told that nearby Tamu Peak was crowned with a circular enclosure, close to where two “tsuki” trees grew. A “lofty” building was erected and called both Futatsuki no Miya (the Palace of the Two Tsuki) and Amatsu Miya (the Palace of Heaven). She also had a new palace erected in Yoshino, possibly as a seasonal retreat.
And with this she was just getting started. She also had laborers dig a canal all the way from the western end of Mt. Kaguyama all the way to Mt. Isonokami. We are told that 200 barges were then loaded with stone from Mt. Isonokami and hauled to the mountain east of the palace, where the stones were piled up to form a wall. This last one had people up in arms. They called the canal the “mad canal” and said that it wasted the labor of over 30,000 people. On top of that, she used 70,000 men to build the wall. To top it all off, the timber for the palace rotted away and the top of the mountain where they were building collapsed. We are told that people cursed it all, crying out: “May the mound built at Iso no Kami break down of itself as fast as it is built.”
So, yeah, people weren’t too happy. We, however, just might be – because all of this building work? It leaves traces in the landscape.
We aren’t always sure about locations in the Chronicles, as it is very easy for names to shift over time or for things to be renamed at a later date. But what we do know is that there are quite a few examples of stone work in the Asuka region. There is the kame-ishi stone that looks only vaguely carved—it appears to have two carved eyes, but otherwise appears to use the natural shape of the stone to evoke a tortoise—that sits near the site of Kawaradera and Tachibana-dera. There are the various saruishi—carved figures that are purportedly based on saru, or monkeys, but are likely meant to represent people. They may have once adorned an elite family’s garden or similar, and they were since moved to the tomb of Kibitsu hime. There are various fountains and waterworks. And then there are the Sakafune-ishi ruins, sitting along a ridge east of the palace site. This consists of a large stone up on the hill, with carved channels that appear to be made to channel water poured into the grooves. At the bottom of the hill there is a turtle shaped stone basin, filled from a boat-shaped water tank. Across the hill is example of stone work, including possible walls.
Given the apparent age of everything, and its location, it is thought that this may all be part of the Futatsuki no Miya complex that Takara hime built. Unfortunately, it is still not clear how it was meant to operate. After Asuka was abandoned as the capital, knowledge of the site also disappeared. There were some stories that arose about the stone that it was used for some kind of sake-brewing, hence the name, but nothing truly concrete has arisen. There may have been other structures, perhaps made of wood, that are no longer present, and the stone itself appears to have broken and eroded away over the years. It may have been meant as a ritual site, or perhaps it was just built as some kind of wonder for the people. It doesn’t fit into any clear model of any Buddhist or even ancient Shinto practice, nor is it clearly connected to other continental practices. We certainly know that they did plenty with water, given the number of waterworks and other carved stones, including a model of Mt. Sumera, we are told was built to the west of Asukadera on the 15th day of the 7th month of the following year—657. Maybe these are remnants of that project
Whatever its purpose, the Sakafune-ishi site does seem to compare favorably with what is described in the Nihon Shoki, and perhaps it was considered such a waste of resources just because it didn’t fit in with the prevailing ritual culture. Maybe Takara hime was too artistically avant-garde for her time.
“Wasting resources” would, in fact, become a chief complaint against Takara Hime during her time on the throne. And that takes us from seemingly harmless construction projects into the court politics of the day. Now as you should recall, Prince Naka no Oe, Takara Hime’s son, was the Crown Prince at this point, and quite influential. He was supported by various courtiers, such as Nakatomi no Kamatari, the Naidaijin, but his eventual ascendancy to the throne was not entirely assured. We’ve seen plenty of examples where someone would seem to be in line for the throne and they didn’t ever make it. We know that there were several other royal princes at this time. One of the youngest was Prince Takeru, a grandson of Takara Hime, who was born around 651. Then there was Prince Naka no Oe’s brother, Prince Ohoama. He was also one of Takara Hime’s sons, and while we haven’t heard much of him in the narrative, we will definitely see more of him in the future.
On top of the two of them, there is Prince Arima, whom I talked about at the beginning of the episode. Prince Arima was mentioned as the son of Karu and Wotarashi Hime, but his mother was not Karu’s Queen—that was Hashibito, daughter of Okinaga Tarashi-hi Hironuka, aka Jomei Tennou, and Takara Hime. Yup, Karu basically married his own niece, though that may have been an attempt to keep the most direct connection possible to the royal line. Arima’s mom Wotarashi Hime, on the other hand, was the daughter of Abe no Kurahashi no Oho-omi—the Minister of the Left, or Sadaijin, during Karu’s reign. Strictly speaking, based on the way that the succession has been depicted so far, Prince Arima wouldn’t technically meet the requirements. That said, we’ve seen where that has been bypassed in the past, and no doubt people were aware just how easily it would be to rewrite the history, if they had to. He was young—but not so young that he couldn’t be involved in the politics of the court.
Other than a note about his parentage at the start of Karu’s reign, Prince Arima isn’t mentioned again until the ninth month of 657, and right off the bat you can tell where the Chroniclers fall on his personality. They describe him as deceitful, and claim that he pretended to be insane—a term that doesn’t really show up elsewhere, so it is hard to know what exactly is meant. Is he the Hamlet of his age? Arima used this as an excuse to go to Muro Onsen—thought to be modern Shirahama Hot Springs, on the southwestern end of the Kii Peninsula. When he came back he sang its praises, claiming that “scarce had I seen that region, when my complaint disappeared of itself.” The Queen wanted to go and see for herself.
Overall, this hardly seems to be very “deceitful”, though it is suspected that Arima may have feigned an illness to avoid some of the politics around the start of the new reign. Given his father Karu’s recent death, it would likely have been easy enough to claim that he was greatly depressed. We aren’t told how long he stayed at Muro Onsen, but presumably it was for some time.
At the start of the following year, on the 13th day of the first month, Kose no Tokuda no Omi, the Sadaijin, or Minister of the Left, passed away. This would have no doubt created some ripples, but little more is said—we don’t even have the name of who succeeded him in the position, at least not in the Nihon Shoki. Four months later, which is to say in the fifth month of that same year, 658, Prince Takeru passed away. He was only 8 years old, but as the grandson of Takara Hime a temporary tomb was constructed in the Imaki valley. Takara Hime lamented his death greatly, and in the 10th month, she took Arima’s advice and went to visit the Ki Onsen. She had several poems composed and handed them to Hata no Ohokura no Miyatsuko no Mari to record them for posterity.
While she was away, Soga no Akaye no Omi was the acting official in charge. And several weeks in, he addressed Prince Arima. He noted that there were three problems with Takara Hime’s government.
First – She builds treasuries on a great scale, collecting the riches of the people.
Second – She wastes the public grain revenue in digging long canals.
Third – She loads barges with stones and transports them to be piled up into a hill.
This may have been popular opinion, but it was also rather treasonous talk. Prince Arima simply smiled and said: “I have only now come to an age where I am fit to bear arms.”
So, yeah, he was basically saying that he was old enough to take up arms—and presumably lead others in a rebellion, if that was the case.
Two days later, on the fifth day of the 11th month, Prince Arima met Akaye at his mansion. They went into one of the upper stories, where they wouldn’t be interrupted, and there they conspired together. Others were also involved, it seems—Mori no Kimi no Oho-ishi, Sakahibe no Muraji no Kusuri, and Shihoya no Muraji no Konoshiro.
There are a few different books that claim to record what the plans were. One says that Soga no Akaye, Shihoya no Konoshiro, Mori no Oho-ishi, and Sakahibe no Kusuri divined the future of their conspiracy by drawing slips of paper, to see how it would turn out. Another book states that Arima claimed he would burn down the palace and take 500 men to march down south. There he would waylay Takara Hime at the harbour of Muro. They were going to exile her to Awaji island, setting up a fleet of ships to ensure she could never leave.
As they were discussing what to do—no doubt talking about how the Prince could take the throne, a leg-rest that they were using broke. Another book claims it was an arm-rest, instead, but otherwise the details are the same. They both agreed that was a bad omen, and decided not to proceed any further with their plans. Prince Arima returned home, but apparently Soga no Akaye had a change of heart. He apparently figured that his only way out was to turn in the others and admit everything. And so, that night, Akaye sent Mononobe no Enowi no Muraji no Shibi, who was in charge of the labourers working on the palace. They surrounded the palace and then Akaye sent a mounted courier to inform Takara Hime.
That letter must have laid everything out. Takara hime had the conspirators arrested and brought to Ki Onsen. Arima’s servant, Nihitabe no Muraji no Yonemaro, followed them. Prince Naka no Oe himself questioned Arima about why he plotted treason. Arima’s answer is a bit cryptic: “Heaven and Akaye know.” He responded, “I do not understand at all.”
In the end, all of the conspirators were found guilty, and executed. Tajihi no Wosaha no Muraji no Kuniso was sent to do the task. Prince Arima was strangled at the Fujishiro acclivity, along with Shihoya no Konoshiro and Nihitabe no Yonemaro. Before being executed, Konoshiro made a rather macabre request, asking that—presumably after he was dead—they cut off his right hand and make it a national treasure. The other two conspirators, Mori no Oho-ishi and Sakahibe no Kusuri, were merely banished, presumably having played less of a role.
Once again, we must remember that we are only getting one side of the story. It is definitely convenient for Naka no Oe to have a potential rival out of the way. At the same time, it is certainly plausible that there was more than a little bit of consternation about how Takara Hime had been spending so much on all of these construction projects. And yet… were these Takara Hime’s projects, alone?
Remember, Prince Naka no Oe seems to have had a fair bit of clout. He orchestrated the original coup, where he killed Soga no Iruka and his father. And then he declined the throne, but became a major part of the new government. He was apparently powerful enough that he organized the move back to Asuka against the wishes of Karu no Ohokimi.
So would all of these projects have been done without his involvement?
This is an area where I have to admit that I probably need to check my bias. On the one hand, it is rare enough in patriarchal accounts to see women with agency and in positions of power, and so it is easy enough to make an assumption that any agency they are given in the record, they likely had more than is mentioned. At the same time, in this particular instance, at least, Takara Hime’s role in this could just as easily be a cover to preserve the image of Naka no Oe, who is certainly portrayed as a hero figure, bringing much needed change and modernization—such as it was—to Yamato. His enemies are always shown to be in the wrong, and even if he is accused of something horrible—such as the death of Soga no Ishikawa no Maro—it turns out that it was actually the fault of someone else, such as the person who slandered Maro to him in the first place. So could it be that these unpopular construction projects were actually his doing, all along? Was the conspiracy simply to overthrow Takara Hime, or was it focused on both her and Naka no Oe, together?
To be honest, I couldn’t say for certain. All we have to go on is what the Chroniclers tell us, and they lay the blame fairly firmly at the feet of Takara Hime. But do remember that Naka no Oe is not necessarily the Shining Prince that he is often made out to be, and that people rarely come to or stay in power in a society like Yamato’s by being nice all the time. We certainly know what he is capable of from the Isshi Incident, and we shouldn’t forget that in the narrative.
Now when Takara Hime returned from Ki Onsen after winter ended, in the new year. We are told that she got back on the third day of the first month of 659. A couple of months later, on the first day of the third month, she went to Yoshino and held a banquet there—no doubt at the palace she had had constructed. This may have been at the site of Miyataki Ruins, where excavations have revealed numerous examples of roof tiles and other artifacts that may have come from a building from the Asuka or Nara era.
The visit to Yoshino must have been quick, however, as we are told that two days later she visited Hira-ura in Afumi, on the shores of Lake Biwa. Perhaps this only means she left two days later, since that must have been quite the journey back in the day. Would she have traveled on horseback, or in a carriage or something similar? No doubt a full procession would take time, and I doubt that the sovereign would push herself. We also don’t have a reason for her to go, that I can see. It is an odd entry, to say the least.
And I think it may be best to end it there. I do encourage anyone who can to get down to Asuka and plan to spend a couple of days if you really want to get around. You may want to rent a bike or even a car to get to everything, though you can walk to most things. There are several museums and cultural centers set up to expound upon Asuka culture, with a focus on the history and archaeology specifically of that period.
The palace site where Takara Hime ruled would continue to be the location of at least two more palaces, which we’ll talk about in time. Before that, though, we’ll want to cover a few more things. Most importantly, we’ll want to talk about the relationship with lands outside of the archipelago. We’ll discuss the man from Tukhara—who may have simply been from the Ryukyu islands, or possible from as far aways the Dvaravati Kingdom, in modern day Thailand, or even from the western edge of India and Pakistan, having traveled the Silk Road. Some have even suggested that he may be a Tocharian, and we’ll talk about what that means. And then, before we finish, we’ll have to talk about everything else going on, including the conclusion of the Tang-Baekje war.
Until then thank you for listening and for all of your support.
If you like what we are doing, please 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 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

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
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4

New Year's Recap 2025

January 1, 2025 Joshua Badgley

Mt. Fuji from Miho Matsubara. Photo by author.

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Happy New Year!

Welcome to our 2025 recap. This episode we look back on the past year, but also try to make sure that we prepare for the next year. We’ll cover the big events and then go into some of the major themes that we’ve seen over the year. For that, we’ll also cover some of the previous history that has led up to the start of things this year.

One of the biggest things we’ll do is look at the various forms of power and influence used in the archipelago, based on what we can see in the archaeological record, but also on what we are told by the histories. There is still much that we don’t know, and one of the largest debates between the Chronicles and modern scholarly interpretations of events seems to be just how much control Yamato actually held prior to this period. However, from about the 7th century onwards, there appears to be enough correlation with other events that we have some idea of what was actually happening.

A key fact to remember is that we are in the middle of the 7th century, and the Nihon Shoki’s account ends in 697 CE—about twenty-three years earlier than the date it was published, in 720 CE. So these latter events would have been the ones with the most sources and the most people who probably remembered something about them—or had at least heard stories. In fact, we can imagine that someone who was 80 years old in 720 CE would have been born in 640, and would have been in the prime of their life by 660. So we are now within the period where people actually remembered the events the Chroniclers were writing about.

Chart showing the various lineages with bold outline around those referenced most heavily this year

Isshi Incident and the Taika Era

The majority of this year was focused on the changes that stemmed from the Isshi Incident, which spawned the Taika era—the era of “Great Change.” This is the start of the Ritsuryo era, and the birth of the bureaucratic state that would be used for some time to govern Yamato—and eventually Nihon, aka Japan.

Though it wouldn’t necessarily take a direct path—after building a grand palace in Naniwa, they moved back to Asuka. Still, they had expanded control throughout the archipelago, or so it seemed.

And now here we are: Takara hime is back on the throne, but Prince Naka no Oe is still Crown Prince and still has a lot of influence on the court.

Shinnen Akemashite! Happy New Year and Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is the New Year’s Recap episode for 2025!
It’s that time again: we are going to look back at what happened in the episodes this year. That was only episodes 101 to 117—we’ll skip the travelogue episodes for the time being. This covered the years of the early to mid-7th century, from roughly 613 to 659. That is easily within the lifetime of a single individual, and yet a lot was going on.
At the start of this year, we were at the height of Soga power. In 2023, we covered how back in 587, Soga no Umako had wrested power away from the powerful Mononobe clan, defeating Mononobe no Moriya. As you may recall, the sovereign known to posterity as Jimmu Tennou was the descendant of the Heavenly Grandchild known as Ninigi no Mikoto, at least according to the Nihon Shoki. The Mononobe clan claimed descent from none other than Nigi Hayahi, the Other Heavenly Grandchild, whose offspring were said to have been defeated by Jimmu.
You may recall that scholars generally consider the story of Jimmu, and the nine sovereigns that immediately followed him, as almost certainly a later addition to the story of the royal lineage. So when did the story of Nigi no Hayahi’s defeat enter the picture? And was its inclusion perhaps related to the defeat of the Mononobe by the Soga family? A family that successfully intermarried with the Royal House, themselves, such that all later sovereigns would trace their ancestry back to the Soga house?
Of course, under Soga dominance we saw the rise of figures like the Soga descended Kashikiya Hime, aka Suiko Tenno. During her reign, major reforms were carried out, Buddhism became fully established by the State, and ties with the continent were strengthened.
Politics would continue to be dominated by Soga, even after the death of Soga no Umako and Kashikiya Hime, with Soga no Emishi taking up the mantle of Prime Minister, working closely with his son, Soga no Iruka. The Soga family was so entwined with the politics of rulership that the main rivals of the Soga were… the Soga. That is to say different Soga-descended lineages, like that of the Prince Umayado, aka Prince Shotoku. Rather than supporting Umayado’s son, Prince Yamashiro no Oe, Soga no Emishi backed another candidate to the throne, Prince Tamura. , of the royal Okinaga lineage. Tamura came to power as Jomei Tenno, but there is little doubt that Soga no Emishi was the one in control.
Later, when Tamura passed away in 641, Yamashiro no Oe continued to be passed over. In fact, Soga no Emishi supported the ascension of Tamura’s wife, Takara hime, over Yamashiro no Oe, and there is evidence that he supported a prince known as Furubito no Oe as the Crown Prince and eventual successor. All of the evidence—which, to be honest, is rather biased—suggests that the Soga family were setting up a series of puppet rulers who would do their bidding, or at least be pliable to their suggestions.
There must have been some pushback, though, especially when one considers how strong the cult of Prince Shotoku, aka Umayado, would eventually become. One imagines that Prince Yamashiro was another pole around which those who opposed the Soga family could rally. After all, he was the son of Crown Prince Umayado, and likely had just as much of a claim as Tamura and his children. And so, to counter this threat, Soga no Emishi’s son and successor, Soga no Iruka, took matters into his own hands.
In a brazen display of the violence of court politics, Soga no Iruka had Yamashiro no Oe accused of plotting against the throne and took an army to arrest him—no doubt in the hope that the prince would resist. Eventually they cornered Yamashiro and his family, who committed suicide rather than submit.
This attack was likely targeted to take out the rival to the Soga family’s preferred Crown Prince, Prince Furubito no Oe, but rather than quell any dissent, the move seems to have enflamed the passions of those who wanted to see an end to the Soga house. Those passions took particular root in none other than Furubito no Oe’s younger brother, Prince Naka no Oe. Together with the support of his uncle, Prince Karu; the head of the Nakatomi house, Nakatomi no Kamatari; as well as another scion of the Soga house, Soga no Kuroyamada, Prince Naka no Oe staged a coup d’etat. Using the death of Prince Yamashiro no Oe as an excuse, they engineered a plot to assassinate Soga no Iruka in court, in front of Naka no Oe’s own mother, Takara Hime no Oho-kimi. After Iruka’s death, Naka no Oe and his supporters then took the fight to Soga no Emishi, who committed suicide and set his own house on fire in what came to be known as the Isshi Incident.
This shocking assassination caused Takara hime to step down. The Soga-backed Prince Furubito no Oe, rather than stepping up and taking the throne, retreated to a Buddhist temple and took holy orders, effectively retiring and theoretically taking himself out of court politics. That left Prince Naka no Oe and his uncle, Prince Karu, as possible candidates.
We are told that Prince Naka no Oe declined to take the throne himself, instead supporting his uncle, Prince Karu. Prince Karu took the throne, and is known to us as Kotoku Tenno, today. Prince Naka no Oe stepped up as the Crown Prince, and with the help of his co-conspirators, such as Nakatomi no Kamatari, Soga no Kurayamada, and others, they began a project to remake the Yamato government, using continental models—specifically the Sui and Tang courts, which were also influencing the governments of the Korean peninsula, such as those of Baekje and Silla.
This is known as the Taika, or Great Change, era. There had been previous movements to adopt some of the continental trends, but nothing to this extent, which culminated in a tremendous palace complex built in Naniwa—modern Ohosaka. Governors were sent out to the east of the country. The old, decentralized system was being replaced by a centralized bureaucracy.
And yet this wasn’t entirely a smooth transition. Early on there was a threat by supporters of the previous Crown Prince, Furubito no Oe. He was killed to put down any possible revolt. Later, Naka no Oe was hoodwinked into going after his own co-conspirator, Soga no Kurayamada, resulting in Kurayamada’s death and the punishment of his entire family. A few years later, Naka no Oe moved back to Asuka, taking most of the royal family and the court with him, abandoning the grand government complex that they had built in Naniwa for reasons that remain unclear.
Shortly thereafter, Karu, aka Kotoku Tenno, passed away. But rather than Naka no Oe taking the throne—or even Karu’s son, Prince Arima—the throne went back to Naka no Oe’s mother, Takara Hime. This is the only case we have of a single sovereign reigning twice, and the Chroniclers gave her two separate regnal names—Kogyoku Tenno to refer to her first reign and Saimei Tenno to refer to her second.
And this is the reign that we are going to start the new year with.
Beyond what was going on on the archipelago, there was also plenty that we covered on the continent. We started the year with the Sui dynasty having consolidated control and working to continue to expand their territory north, south, and west, while also connecting the economic areas of the Yangzi and Yellow rivers.
Unfortunately, through their wars and public works projects they overextended themselves, and the dynasty fell, replaced, in 619, with the Tang dynasty. The Tang continued to expand, taking control of important points on the Silk Road and becoming a hub of trade and commerce. At the same time, they were contesting their borders with the Goguryeo, who, themselves, had come under the control of Yeon Gaesomun, an infamous noble and anti-Tang hard-liner, who had staged a coup, murdered the Goguryeo king and any who stood against him, and who had installed a puppet king on the throne. It is little wonder that the Tang dynasty was courting Goguryeo’s enemy, Silla, to pressure them from the other side. This eventually kicked off the Tang-Goguryeo war, with the loosely allied Tang and Silla fighting on and off with Goguryeo and their ally, Baekje, who was also invested in stifling Silla’s ambitions on the peninsula.
So that’s where we are: The Korean peninsula is currently embroiled in conflict between the three kingdoms on the peninsula and the nearby superpower, the Tang Dynasty. Meanwhile, Yamato, on the archipelago, is going through a whole… thing. What that is, we’ll try to get into over the next year.
Given all of this, let’s go over some of the themes from the past year. To start with, let’s talk about expanding Yamato influence.
From what we can tell, Yamato’s influence in the archipelago had peaked around the 5th century, between the creation of giant Daisen Ryo kofun and the reign of Wakatake no Ohokimi, aka Yuryaku Tenno. Wakatake no Ohokimi had courtiers from as far away as Kyushu and the Kanto plain. However, from what I can tell, Yamato’s influence appears to have temporarily waned, possibly coinciding with the end of Wakatake’s own dynasty, with a new dynasty coming to power in the 6th century.
It is possible that Wakatake was simply never quite as powerful as the Chronicles make out, but there are a few other things that make me think that the end of the 5th and early half of the 6th century were a low point in Yamato’s power. For one thing, we see a drop off in interactions with the continent after 479—or at least anything beyond the tip of the Korean peninsula. In addition, we see smaller rooms built in the region of the Nara Basin and the Kawachi plain, while more “royal” tombs continue to appear elsewhere in the archipelago. It isn’t that they stopped, but the size decreased, suggesting that Yamato didn’t have the same labor pool it used to.
On top of that, we have the dynastic change. We are told that the line related to Wakatake died out and they had to bring in someone from Afumi and Koshi, who traced their lineage back to the legendary Homuda-wake, aka Ōjin tennō, some five generations back. Many scholars suggest that this connection was a later merging of the lineages, suggesting that, in reality, an entirely new branch of sovereigns had come to power.
Finally, we can see the Chronicles focusing more and more on the areas near to Yamato, the area known as the Home Provinces, possibly because Yamato only held direct control over these areas, while control beyond that was only nominal. Local elites in those regions had a lot of autonomy, and if Yamato did not have anything in particular to offer them, they would not have a reason to necessarily go along with Yamato’s requests.
This may have even been part of the impetus for the so-called “rebellion” by Iwai, in Kyushu. As you may recall, in the early 6th century Iwai attempted to ally with Silla against Yamato and Baekje, with the idea of cutting off Yamato’s access to the continent. This ultimately failed, and Yamato ended up creating what would become the Dazaifu near modern Fukuoka, but the fact that Iwai could contemplate it and gather such support would suggest that Yamato was at least perceived as vulnerable.
Now up to this point, we see several different policies that were used for increasing the court’s control. Early on, this was done by doling out various elite goods. We also see Yamato soft power in the form of spiritual authority and the expansion of local Yamato cultic practices out into the other lands of the archipelago. There was also the tradition of monumental tombs, and especially the royal keyhole style tombs, which spread out from Yamato and was likely as much an indication that those regions saw Yamato practices as worthy of emulation, at the least, and perhaps saw Yamato as a cultural nexus on the archipelago.
To all of this, they eventually added the “Be” system. This appears to have been copied from systems being used on the Korean peninsula, and it focused on creating familial units to organize various industries, with family heads responsible for reporting and funneling necessary goods up to the court. This eventually included the noble “uji” clans, with their power bases in various geographic regions.
Yamato extended its influence through a variety of methods, including various public works projects. These included things like the building of ponds, or reservoirs, which would have been critical to the wet-rice paddy agriculture that was the economic backbone of the Yamato government.
Another means of extending government control was the “miyake”, or Royal Granaries. Originally we see these set up in the Nara basin, but during the current dynasty they had been extended all the way out to Kyushu. Ostensibly, they were there to collect rice for taxes, but they appear to have acted as government offices, providing a presence for Yamato even out in the hinterlands. Eventually they would turn the area in Kyushu, the Dazai, into its own, semi-autonomous extension of the Yamato government, as well.
In the past year of the podcast, we’ve seen many of those older forms of government control replaced with a new bureaucratic system. This included an upgrade to the rank system, which was a way for the government to both organize the bureaucracy while also creating a means to award individuals. Early rank systems had initially been granted at the family level, but following a continental model meant that the new system was based solely on the individual. Thus they could hand out rank to various kings and chieftains across the archipelago and entice them into the Yamato orbit, a trick they had been doing previously as well with various types of recognition. Those that took the titles and rank that Yamato handed out gained a certain amount of legitimacy, locally, but since that legitimacy was tied to the Yamato court, it also helped solidify Yamato’s own influence on those areas.
That doesn’t mean that all expansion was peaceful. Yamato contested on their eastern and northern border with the people referred to as the Emishi, which eventually included contests as far north as the island of Hokkaido with the Mishihase people.
There was another form of soft power used by the court in the way that it supported Buddhism, which was still a new religion at this point, having arrived in the early part of the 6th century. Patronage of Buddhism would lead to the building of temples and otherwise claiming some authority in the spiritual realm, beyond simply the court’s control of the Mt. Miwa site. Furthermore, the state itself took particular interest in Buddhist institutions, and cracked down heavily on the clergy, ensuring that they reported up to the court, formally solidifying the connection between temples and the State.
But then they went a bit further and instituted actual governors. They were appointed by the Yamato government, and they were particularly installed in the Eastern lands—referred to as provinces. These governors reported to the court, and appear to have initially been separate from locally recognized elites, who were known as the Kuni no Miyatsuko. The governors were to take stock of the areas under their authority and report up information such as a summary of the lands and local census information. This meant that Yamato did not need to rely on local elites to administer an area, they would have greater insight into what was actually going on.
This was all combined with the institution of new laws on taxes, corvee labor, and more, while eliminating traditional practices such as the Miyake and even royal tomb-building. The latter was likely affected by the various public works projects, but also the fact that more work was going into the building of things like Buddhist temples.
As we noted back in the previous year, Buddhist temple building appears to have had a hand in the end of the prolific kofun building, at least in Yamato proper. Kofun were memorials—meant to carry on the memory of an individuals well after their death. They were ritual sites, and families were set up to care for them.
Temples, likewise, were erected with certain memorial qualities. Donating to build a temple was thought to increase one’s karma, and thus do wonders for your next life. Temple patrons would be remembered, and services were carried out, but temples also had a certain public aspect to them, as well. On top of that, they were new, and no doubt exotic, with their tiled rooves, intricate carvings, and colorful buildings. Much of the labor that would have built tombs appears to have been co-opted, instead, to build temples.
Some of the temples founded in this period include Asuka dera, aka Hokoji, built on or near the Soga family compound, as well as other Asuka temples, such as Yamadadera, Kawaradera, Toyouradera, and Kudaradera. There was also Houryuji, erected by Prince Umayado near his house, and the ancient temple of Shitennouji, erected in Naniwa. Of these, both Horyuji and Shitennoji continue, today, at or near their original with some of the oldest extant buildings in Japan. Asukadera was moved to its modern site of Gangoji, in Nara city proper, but there is still a smaller Asukadera on the original site, with what may be one of the original images, though the buildings have been rebuilt after numerous fires and disasters over the years.
Of course, a big part of all of these foreign ideas, such as Buddhism but also Confucian thought as well, was the growing influence of the continent, whether in the form of Baekje, Silla, Goguryeo, or beyond. While there had been influence ever since the Yayoi period—and arguably even during the Jomon, in some instances—there seems to have been an acceleration once Yamato began to import Buddhism, which was likely connected with all of the learning and texts that were also being imported around that time. Then, during the Sui and Tang dynasties—both of which the Chronicles simply label as the “Great Tang”—the court sent several embassies to the Sui and Tang emperors, bringing back individuals with actual experience in the way things were happening outside of the archipelago.
And we should not discount the various embassies to and from the Korean peninsula. Yamato was increasing its involvement in peninsular affairs. They continued to be concerned with the state of Nimna, also known as Imna or Mimana, which had been assimilated by Silla, along with the rest of Gaya, or Kara, by the early to mid-6th century, with many accounts dealing with attempts to reinstate Nimna as a separate and sovereign entity. Along with this, Yamato continued their relationship with Baekje, who sent Prince Pung to reside at the Yamato court. This continued a long-standing tradition that is portrayed as a type of diplomatic hostage, though there have been several times that princes at the Yamato court came back to Baekje to rule after the king died or was killed.
All of this to say that not only did ambassadors from Yamato go to these countries, but ambassadors also traveled to Yamato, while various immigrants from these areas of Baekje, Silla, and even Goguryeo occasionally settled in Yamato. This further increased the number of individuals with knowledge and experience of continental concepts and technology, and we can see their influence in numerous different ways.
This was all part of what led to the Yamato government’s adoption of Tang style law codes, though it should be noted that the law codes were not taken wholecloth. Rather, they were adapted specifically to the issues of the archipelago. This was the beginning of what came to be known as the Ritsuryo system, literally the system of laws and punishments.
Under this system, the government went from a single Oho-omi, or great minister, to two Great ministers, one of the left and one of the right. These would come to be known as the Sadaijin and the Udaijin. Nakatomi no Kamatari was afforded a special place as the third minister, the minister of the center, or Naidaijin, possibly referring to his responsibilities with the interior of the royal household, while the ministers of the left and right would have had particular ministries beneath them - eight ministries in total, with various departments underneath them. They would be assigned to report either to the Minister of the Left or the Minister of the Right, each one overseeing, effectively, half of the government portfolio.
This system, combined with the governors and the Tomo no Miyatsuko in the provinces, meant that Yamato had much more granular control over the workers and the means of production. They organized households into villages, and villages into districts. There were lower level officials who reported up the chain all the way to the great ministers, the Daijin, or Oho-omi. This meant that they effectively abolished the Be and Uji system, at least as it had been set up. These familial groups continued to operate as families, or perhaps more appropriately as “clans”, given how the groups had come to be.
These officials were granted rank and, more importantly, stipends from the government. A portion of taxes, which were paid in rice, went to various officials. This meant that officials not only relied on the government for their status, but for their incomes as well.
This went along with an attempt to implement something known as the “equal field system”, imported, again, from the continent. This determined who would work what fields, and was another way that the government was involved down to the actual labor producing the rice that was the economic engine of the State.
And that covers most of what we’ve been up to this past year. There have been individual accomplishments that we didn’t get into, but there is plenty there if you want to listen to it.
So that covers the past year in the podcast—a little over half of the 7th century. It really was a time of dramatic change—whether or not “Taika” was the name given to part of it, it certainly feels appropriate. Even though the court eventually moved to Naniwa, this is the height of the Asuka period, and the start of the Ritsuryo state. It would form the foundations for what was to come, and themes from this period will continue to show up again and again.
In this next year, we are going to continue to look at Takara Hime’s reign and beyond. We’ll see the resolution of the Tang-Goguryeo war, and the impact of all the continental fighting on the archipelago. We’ll also see continued developments within the archipelago itself, hopefully getting through to the end of the 7th century.
We are actually reaching the end of the material in the Nihon Shoki. This does not mean that we are running out of material, though. The Chronicles end in 697—less than 40 years out from our current place in the Chronicles. From there, we have the Shoku Nihongi, which covers 95 years, until 797 CE. Translation of much of the Shoku Nihongi is available through the work of Dr. Ross Bender, and you can find his work online if you want to get a leg up on the reading, though that is a ways out. For now, we can still comfortably continue with the Nihon Shoki, at least through the reign of Temmu Tennou.
Until then, Happy New Year! As usual, thank you for listening and for all of your support. Thanks also to my lovely wife, Ellen, for her continued work at helping to edit these episodes!
Remember, if you like what we are doing, please 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.
And that’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

Zaman, M., Charbonneau, L., & Maruyama H. (2022). Critiquing the Colonialist Origins of the New National Museum Upopoy. FOCUS Asia-Pacific, March 2022 Vol 107. 9-12. https://www.hurights.or.jp/archives/focus/section1/focus107.pdf
Bauer, M. (2020). The History of the Fujiwara House: A Study and Annotated Translation of the Toshi Kaden. Amsterdam University Press. https://doi.org/10.2307/j.ctv125jv4q
Hudson, M. J., lewallen, ann-elise, & Watson, M. K. (Eds.). (2014). Beyond Ainu Studies: Changing Academic and Public Perspectives. University of Hawai’i Press. http://www.jstor.org/stable/j.ctt6wqw7k
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.
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
Van Goethem, E. E. M. A. (2009). Capital and Countryside in Japan, 300-1180: Japanese Historians Interpreted in English (Joan R. Piggott, ed.). Journal of Asian Studies, 68(3), 988–90.
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
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
Benn, Charles (2002). China’s Golden Age: Everyday Life in the Tang Dynasty. Oxford University Press. ISBN 0-19-517665-0
Hudson, M. J. (1999). Ainu Ethnogenesis and the Northern Fujiwara. Arctic Anthropology, 36(1/2), 73-83. http://www.jstor.org/stable/40316506
Yamaura, K. (1998). The Sea Mammal Hunting Cultures of the Okhotsk Sea with Special Reference to Hokkaido Prehistory. Arctic Anthropology, 35(1), 321-334. http://www.jstor.org/stable/40316472
Piggott, Joan R. (1997). The Emergence of Japanese Kingship. Stanford, Calif : Stanford University Press. ISBN9780804728324
Hanihara, K. (1990). Emishi, Ezo and Ainu: An Anthropological Perspective. Japan Review, 1, 35-48. http://www.jstor.org/stable/25790886
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Episode 117: The People of the North, Part Two

December 16, 2024 Joshua Badgley

A 19th century depiction of Abe no Hirafu in the far north, in the winter, fighting a bear. In truth, most of the dates we have put his expeditions in the summer time, but of course the snow and cold are what most people picture. To be fair, some of the entries in the Nihon Shoki do not actually give an actual date, so they could have been in the winter, but that seems unlikely. This print is from 1878, by the artist Tsukioka Yoshitoshi. It is in the public domain, and found via Wikimedia Commons.

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This is Part Two of our discussion on the people known as the Emishi and the Mishihase, and if you haven’t already listened to Part One, you may wish to do that, first. This episode deals mainly with what we see in the Chronicles. A large part of that is focused on Abe no Hirafu and his expeditions in Tohoku and Hokkaido.

I do wonder if any of this would even be mentioned if it weren’t for the role that Abe no Hirafu will later play in the conflicts on the continent, leading one of the most famous naval assaults in ancient Japanese history as Yamato was attempting to support their ally, Baekje. Given that, we can see how the Chroniclers may have wanted to give a little backstory on him—not that they bothered with anyone else.

There is an issue, though, in the way they tell the story, as the expeditions all sound quite similar. There is some conjecture that there were three different sources that the Chroniclers were drawing from, and rather than try and conflate them into one or use the “other books say…” format we’ve seen elsewhere, they instead decided to put each one in as a separate instance. They all seem to follow similar stories: Abe no Hirafu goes to Tohoku and meets with the Emishi—often mentioning a feast of some sort—and then he goes further north to fight with the Mishihase. Only one account actually gives us any details about the fighting.

If we assume that he actually only went north once, we can see how it may have been the case that the Emishi had actually asked Yamato for assistance. The Mishihase appear to have been pushing south—we’ve seen accounts of them as far south as Sado island—and it is quite likely that they and the Emishi in Hokkaido were in conflict with one another over various resources. It may have been such a conflict that led the Emishi to reach out to their southern neighbors for assistance.

Much of that is conjecture, however. Similarly, it is unclear just how much they actually submitted themselves to Yamato. Certainly Yamato would claim that they had earned governance over at least all of Honshu, but we’ve seen that movie before, where the Chronicles made it seem as though Yamato was “ruling” over places like Izumo and Kibi, though clearly those places had a fair degree of autonomy. I suspect that for those on the fringes, any “submission” at this point was similar—they weren’t entirely suborning themselves and they weren’t re-arranging their culture—at least not those on the far outer edge.

The Emishi closer in—who may have even been ethnically or culturally “Wa” for all intents and purposes—would have more easily been able to assimilate into the rice-growing culture of Yamato.

The Abe family—or a branch of it, anyway—would go on to have quite the influence in the Tohoku region, and at one point were, themselves, considered “Emishi”, though that reference is centuries from out current point in the story, and it is unclear to me if they had any actual ties to Abe no Hirafu or if they had simply appropriated the name. Either way, it will show up more, eventually.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is episode 117: The People of the North, Part 2
Abe no Hirafu gazed out at the sea, waiting for his opponents to appear. He had traveled with a fleet to the far north, into a land that was unlike anything that most of his men had ever seen. They were far away from the rice fields of their home villages. Up here, the people made their way by hunting and fishing, and the land was much more wild. Besides the people, the land was also home to giant bears, much larger than anything back in the Home Provinces. Giant beasts with paws the size of a man’s head. They were truly incredible, but they were not his target this time.
As he watched the waves, he saw his prey emerge. They rowed their ships around the cape, coming out from the defensive position they had previously established. Where Hirafu’s men flew banners made of silk, his opponents had created flags made of feathers, which they hoisted high in their boats. They were small in number, but they knew this land and these waters. They were comfortable traveling in the cold and unforgiving seas, and they no doubt had reinforcements. Hirafu may have had the upper hand, but he knew he couldn’t get too cocky.
It was probably too much to hope for that the size of his fleet alone would cause them to submit. If they could be bought off, then perhaps that was best, but Hirafu knew that was probably unlikely. This was going to be a fight, and Hirafu and his men were ready for it.
Before we jump into the episode proper, a quick thank you to Hakucho for donating to support Sengoku Daimyo. We always appreciate any support, and there is information at the end of each episode on how to help out if you would like to join them.
Last episode we introduced the Emishi and the Mishihase and talked about them and their connections to the Yamato and Japanese state, as well as to the modern Ainu people. We went over a lot of the archaeological findings, and talked about how the Jomon period, uninterrupted in northern Honshu and Hokkaido, eventually gave way to the Epi-Jomon and Satsumon cultures, while the Ohokotsk Sea Culture is observed from around the 5th to 9th centuries, and we talked about how these existed in the lands we know as being connected to the Emishi and the Mishihase people mentioned in the Chronicles.
This episode we are going to rely a lot more on the narrative found in the Nihon Shoki, but I wanted to make sure that we had that discussion about the archaeology, first, so that people would have a background. If you haven’t already done so, I highly recommend going back and giving Part 1 a listen.
So let’s back up a bit, and let’s set the scene on the peninsula and the archipelago, and see what led up to this moment.
In 654, the sovereign of Yamato, Karu, aka Kotoku Tennou, had passed away in his palace in Naniwa. His sister, Takara Hime, and other members of the royal family had gathered once more in Naniwa when they caught word of his illness, but their visit was brief. Karu passed away on the 1st day of the 10th month, and a little over two months later he was buried. After that, rather than taking up residence again in Naniwa, the court moved back to the old capital of Asuka, where Takara Hime re-ascended the throne.
It was now the year 655, almost a decade since Crown Prince Naka no Oe had orchestrated the murderous coup that had seen the powerful scions of the Soga family cut down in front of Takara Hime and others, causing her to abdicate. And now, well, perhaps Naka no Oe was comfortable controlling things from behind the scenes, because Takara Hime was once again the one in power—or at least the one sitting on the throne. And there’s a LOT that would go on during this reign according to the chronicles.
On the peninsula at this point, the Tang-Goguryeo war was in full swing, with the Tang dynasty regularly harassing Goguryeo. Goguryeo was at least nominally allied with Baekje, whose ruling family also claimed descent from a shared Buyeo ancestor, and Baekje was, of course, a long time ally of Yamato. Meanwhile, Silla had thrown their lot in with the Tang dynasty, though as alliances went it was not exactly an alliance of equals – and most alliances came and went as the political winds changed throughout the peninsula.
Over time, we’ll see some resolution coming to the situation on the peninsula. But overall, one of the biggest trends is that during Takara Hime’s second reign, Yamato was reaching out to a much wider world than it had in the past. This included connections to the south—to those on the Ryukyu islands, and possibly beyond. And there were continued efforts to reach out to the Tang empire, with varying degrees of success. Those that did go would sit and learn at the feet of some of the most famous scholars in the world, including the Buddhist priest, scholar, and traveler, Xuanzang, someone I cannot wait to get into in a future episode, as he really demonstrates just how connected the world had become at this time in a way that is often hard for us to comprehend, today.
But there is also plenty happening in the archipelago, and even just in Asuka. In fact, regardless of what the Chronicles say, there are a lot of ancient monuments and archaeological finds in the Asuka region that aren’t directly mentioned in any historical record, but can be generally traced to this era - reminders of this period that are literally carved in stone. We still have plenty of questions as to just what was going on, but we’re starting to see more and more lasting physical traces.
Our first relevant entry in the Nihon Shoki for the topic of this episode comes from the 7th month of 655, the year that Takara Hime had taken the throne. We are told that 99 Northern Emishi and 99 Eastern Emishi were entertained at the court of Naniwa—presumably using the government facilities built during Karu’s time. At the same time, there were 150 envoys from Baekje who were likewise feted. Caps of honor, of two grades in each case, were bestowed on nine Emishi of Kikafu and six Emishi of Tsugaru. This is an interesting record, and let’s explore what it means for Yamato’s view of itself and its own authority.
First, the Baekje and the Emishi are being streated similarly—they both appear to be groups that are from outside Yamato conducting some kind of diplomacy with the court. That said, it is quite clear from the way that the Chronicles deal with them that Yamato viewed each group as distinctly different. Baekje was Yamato’s continental ally, and their primary means through which they could access the continent and all that it had to offer. They had helped bring Buddhism to the archipelago, and were clearly seen as a civilized country. The Emishi, on the other hand, were Yamato’s own “barbarians”. They were outside and Yamato clearly saw them as less civilized.
In many ways Yamato viewed the Emishi similar to how the Tang court likely viewed Yamato. After all, just as Tang literature talked about the differences between the quote-unquote “civilized” center of the empire and the so-called “barbaric” lands beyond their borders, Yamato could place itself in a similar position, simply by placing the Nara Basin at the “Center” and with the Emishi helping define that which was outside. So in an odd way, this may have been uplifting for Yamato’s own self-image.
And just as the Tang court enticed border states into their sphere of influence with the promise of imperial titles, the Yamato court similarly was bestowing rank upon the Emishi, making themselves the granter of prestige and recognition. By being a part of the system, you were rewarded with recognition of your status, something that likely appealed to many.
As to the places referenced – Kikafu and Tsugaru – Aston isn’t certain about Kikafu, but Tsugaru seems quite obvious as the northernmost tip of Honshu, in modern Aomori prefecture, where the islands of Honshu and Hokkaido are separated by none other than the Tsugaru strait.
The fact that the Chroniclers differentiated between the Eastern and Northern Emishi likewise suggests that this was not a monolithic state. Yamato saw a difference between the Emishi in one part of the archipelago versus the other.
Three years later, in the 4th month of 658, Yamato sent one of the largest expeditions against the northeast. Abe no Omi—other entries name him as Abe no Omi no Hirafu—took 180 ships up north on an expedition to the Emishi. We are told that he met with the Emishi in the districts of Aita and Nushiro, believed to be in modern Akita prefecture. Akita prefecture is on the western side of Tohoku, towards the very northern tip. It is opposite Iwate prefecture on the east, and just below Aomori prefecture, which, at the time, was known as Tsugaru. This was on the extreme end of Honshu.
Both Aita and Nushiro quickly submitted to the Yamato mission. Still, Abe drew up his ships in order of battle in the bay of Aita, where an envoy from the Emishi named Omuka came forward and made an oath. He swore that they had no ill-intentions. The fact that the Emishi were armed with bows and arrows was not because they were at war, but because up in that area of Tohoku, they were all hunters, and so it was their regular tool. They swore to the gods of Aita bay that they had not raised arms against Yamato, but they were willing to submit to Yamato rule.
For his part, Omuka was granted court rank, and local governors were established at Nushiro and Tsugaru—likely meaning they recognized local chieftains and made them responsible for representing the others. Finally, they summoned the Emishi of Watari no Shima to the shores of Arima, and a great feast was provided. After that, they all returned home.
The term “Watari no Shima” seems to almost undoubtedly refer to the island of Hokkaido. “Watari” means to cross, so referring to the “Emishi of Watari no Shima” likely referred to the Emishi on Hokkaido vice those in the Tohoku region.
The entire entry seems a bit suspect. Abe no Hirafu takes an armed party up north and then they all… just sit down and have tea together? There seems to be a lot of missing context. Of course, from Yamato’s perspective, they were the civilized center. Does that mean that any violence they committed was simply swept under the rug of history? Or did they truly meet with such quick submission that only a show of force was necessary?
There is one other entry for 658, relative to all of this. It isn’t given a specific date, so it is unclear when, exactly it occurred, but it may shed some light. That entry states that Abe no Hikida no Omi no Hirafu, warden of the land of Koshi, went on an expedition not against the Emishi, but against the Mishihase, or Su-shen. He is said to have brought back from this trip two live “white bears”, or “shiguma”.
So was his expedition really against the Emishi, or was his actual goal to fight the Mishihase, which means he didn’t just stop at the end of Honshu, but he continued on to Hokkaido—Watari no Shima—and up at least to Central Hokkaido, where he would have met with the people of the Okhotsk Sea culture—likely the Mishihase of the Chronicle? Or was he sailing against both?
This also leads to numerous other theories as to just what was going on. While Yamato was pushing on the Emishi from the south, were these Mishihase likewise encroaching on the Emishi in the north? Were they pushing them south or absorbing those in the farthest north? There seems to have clearly been a difference and some conflict between them, as evidenced by later entries, which we’ll cover in a bit.
Quickly, though, I do want to touch on the idea that they brought back two “white bears”. “Shiguma” appears to refer to a “white bear”, and at its most simplistic understanding, this would seem to refer to a polar bear, but that seems quite a stretch. Today, polar bears largely live in the arctic regions, out on the permanent sea ice, where they are able to hunt. They are considered an aquatic animal, living mainly in the ocean, though they will come ashore to hunt, on occasion. Still, they are mostly adapted to life on the sea ice.
While the climate of the 700s was different, I don’t know that the sea ice extended that far south. It is possible that polar bears had been captured much further north, and then sold to people further south, through the extensive trade networks that ran up through Kamchatka, Siberia, and even across the Aleutian chain, but as far as I can tell, polar bears would not have been living in Hokkaido or even in the Kuril or Sakhalin islands at that time.
It is much more likely that the “Shiguma” was one of the Hokkaido brown bears. They may have been albino, but more likely it was simply an easy designation to distinguish them from the bears of the rest of the archipelago—the Asian black bear. These are clearly black bears, though their fur can appear lighter in some instances. Meanwhile, although brown bears can be a very dark brown, their fur can vary to almost a blond, and if you look at many photos you can see how they might be considered “white”, especially compared to the black bear that was the norm in Yamato. I suspect that this is actually the species that Hirafu brought back, and which would be referenced in later entries, where “shiguma” furs appear to be have been quite plentiful, suggesting it wasn’t just a rare mutation.
In addition, I can’t help but note that the presence of bears, here, seems to also further connect with modern traditions of the Ainu of Hokkaido. Most notably in their reverence for bears, including the traditional Iyomante ceremony. There is also evidence of the importance of bears in what we see of the Okhotsk Sea Culture. It is hard to tell if there is more from this interaction, but it still raises some questions.
But I digress. While there are still a lot of gaps, we can see that the Emishi were being brought into the fold, as it were, while the Mishihase were apparently the threat that Yamato would be fighting. In fact, I can’t help but wonder if the threat posed by the Mishihase didn’t help encourage the Emishi to ally themselves with Yamato in an attempt to protect themselves.
Whatever happened, the relationship with the Emishi, from that point, seems to place them as subjects of Yamato. We are told that three months later, over 200 Emishi visited the Yamato court, bringing presents for the sovereign. These were not just the Emishi of the far reaches of Tohoku, but seems to have included Emishi from several different regions. We are also told that the entertainment and largess provided by the court was even greater than any time before, no doubt presenting the carrot in contrast to Abe no Hirafu’s stick.
One of the carrots handed out was court rank, We are told that two Emishi of the enigmatic Kikafu region each received one grade of rank while Saniguma, the Senior governor of Nushiro, was granted two steps in rank, making him Lower Shou-otsu in the rank system of the time, and he was given the superintendence of the population register—likely meaning he had a charge similar to the other governors dispatched to take a census and let the court know just how many people there were in the region. His junior governor, Ubasa, received the rank of Kembu, the lowest rank in the system.
Meanwhile, Mamu, the Senior governor of Tsugaru was granted the rank of Upper Dai-otsu and Awohiru, the Junior governor of Tsugaru, was granted the rank of Lower Shou-out.
At the same time, two ranks were granted on the Miyatsuko of the Tsukisara Barrier and one rank was granted to Inadzumi Ohotomo no Kimi, Miyatsuko of the Nutari Barrier. These last two appear to have been members of Yamato rather than Emishi, but clearly all related to the issue of the borders and beyond.
And so we are given three different locations. We are not told the names of the Emishi from Kikafu, but we are given the names of the senior and junior governors—likely local chieftains co-opted into the Yamato polity—of Nushiro and Tsugaru. Together with the name “Omuka” we have some of our earliest attestations to possible Emishi names—though whether these were names, titles, or something else I could not say. We have Saniguma, Ubasa, Mamu, and Awohiru. None of these are given with family names, which seems to track with the fact that formal “family” names appear to have been an innovation of the Kofun culture, rather than an indigenous phenomenon.
I would also note that I am not sure if these ranks came with any kind of stipend: after all, much of that region wasn’t exactly suited to rice-land, so where would the stipend come from? That said, there were certainly more practical gifts that were laid out for them as well. The governors of Nushiro and the governors of Tsugaru were each given 20 cuttle-fish flags—likely a banner similar to the koi nobori, or carp banners, in use today—as well as two drums, two sets of bows and arrows, and two suits of armor. This seems to be one for the Senior and one for the Junior governor. In addition, Saniguma was commanded to “investigate” the Emishi population as well as what Aston translates as the “captive” population—by which I suspect they mean those living in bondage within the Emishi communities. It is interesting to me that even though the senior governor of Tsugaru was given a higher rank, this last duty was only given to the governor of Nushiro.
And there you have it. With all of that the Emishi were at least nominally subject to the Yamato court. They were still, however, cultural outsiders. It is quite likely that they spoke a different language, and given the number of placenames in Tohoku that seem to correspond with the modern Ainu language, it is quite likely that a language at least related to modern Ainu was spoken in the Emishi controlled areas.
A similar pattern to the year 658 took place in the entries for the following year. Once again, Abe no Hirafu went north with 180 ships on what we are told, at least in Aston’s translation, was an expedition against the Emishi. He assembled a selection of the Emishi of Akita and Nushiro, totaling 241 people, with 31 of their captives, as well as 112 Emishi of Tsugaru with 4 of their captives, and 20 Emishi of Ifurisahe. Once he had them all at his mercy he then… feasted them and gave them presents. Is this really what an expedition against the Emishi looked like? It almost sounds more like a diplomatic mission.
We are told that after feasting and giving the assembled Emishi presents, Abe no Hirafu made an offering to the local gods of a boat and silk of various colors. He then proceeded to a place called “Shishiriko”, where two Emishi from a place called Tohiu, named Ikashima and Uhona, came forward and told him that Yamato should create an outpost at Shiribeshi, on the west coast of Hokkaido, which would be the seat of local Yamato government. This sounds not entirely dissimilar from the idea of the Dazai in Kyushu. Abe no Hirafu agreed and established a district governor there.
Relevant to this, between the 7th and 8th centuries, we see clusters of pit dwellings in Hokkaido largely in the areas corresponding to the modern sub-prefectures of Sorachi, Ishikari, and Iburi, with many of them clustered near modern Sapporo, and a very small number near Rumoi, further north along the western coast.
Once more it is another account, not the main narrative of the Nihon Shoki, where we might see what was really going on. That entry claims that Abe no Hirafu went north to fight with the Mishihase and, on his return, he brought back some 49 captives. So was this what all of this was really about? Was he going up there to fight the Emishi, or was he perhaps fighting with the Emishi against the Mishihase?
When Abe no Hirafu finally returned, it seems that the provincial governors of Michinoku—pretty much the whole of Touhoku—and Koshi, which was also a land known for being home to Emishi, were granted two grades of rank. Their subordinates, the district governors and administrators, each received one grade of rank.
We are also told that on the 17th day of the 3rd month of 659, that a copy of Mt. Meru was constructed on the riverbank east of Amakashi no Oka and that Emishi of Michonoku and Koshi were both entertained there. Little more is given, and, again, it isn’t clear if this is before or after Hirafu’s expedition of that year.
Mt. Meru—read as Shumisen, today—is the mountain at the center of the world, according to some Buddhist traditions. Building a copy would have been a statement, creating a copy of the mountain and bringing the center of the universe to you. This was probably a feature in a garden—at least that is how it was conceived of during the reign of Kashikiya Hime. This second one may have been made with a pile of stones, and there have even been found some features in Asuka that some think could be remnants of this ancient model of the universe, but they aren’t without controversy.
In any case, that same year that the Emishi were brought to Asuka to view this Buddhist monument, in 659, a mission was sent to the Tang court. We’ll talk about the mission at some other time, but for now I want to focus on the fact that they brought with them an Emishi man and a woman to show the Tang emperor. Regrettably, we don’t know their names, and we don’t know their status in Emishi society. Were these captives, possibly enslaved? Or were these volunteers, who had gone willingly with the envoys to see the lands beyond their home. They likely had heard of the Tang empire from Yamato, and so it wouldn’t be so surprising if they decided to go see it for themselves.
Where it is of particular interest to us right now is that we have an apparent eyewitness account of the description given to the Tang Emperor about the Emishi by the Yamato envoys. Be aware that the envoys were not necessarily experts in Emishi culture, and may not have met any other than their travel companions, but the description, given by none other than Yuki no Hakatoko, who was apparently there, at the Tang court, when it happened, gives us invaluable insight into how Yamato viewed the Emishi.
The entire thing is a bit of a question and answer session as the Tang Emperor, Tang Gaozong, inquired about the Emishi and who they were. In response to his questions, the envoys assured him that Yamato and the Emishi were at peace with each other. They further noted that there were three different groups of Emishi. Those farthest from Yamato were the Tsugaru Emishi. Next, slightly closer to Yamato, were the Ara-Emishi. “Ara” in this case means “soft”, and was probably a reference to the fact that those Emishi closer to Yamato were seen as more compliant. Finally ,there are the “Nigi-Emishi”, living right on the borders. “Nigi” in this case seems to refer to them being the “Gentle” or even “Civilized” Emishi. I suspect that those living closest to Yamato were also the ones doing things like farming, and possibly building burial mounds. They may have even mixed with some of the border communities, and may have included Wa communities that were outside of Yamato’s influence. After all, it isn’t entirely obvious that “Emishi” referred to a single ethnic identity.
In providing further answers to the emperor’s questioning, we are told that the Emishi, at least according to the Yamato envoys, didn’t farm, but instead they sustained themselves through hunting and fishing. Furthermore, we are told that they didn’t live in houses, but instead they dwelt under trees and in the recesses of the mountains. This one is a little more questionable, after all, we have evidence of pit houses and villages all the way up to Aomori and back to Jomon times. However, it is quite possible that Yamato was often encountering hunting parties, which very likely may have been using makeshift shelters or utilizing natural features like caves when they were out traveling. Some of this, though, may have been built around ideas and concepts of how quote-unquote “barbaric” people lived, focusing on the exceptional, exotic, and sensationalist instances rather than on the more mundane day-to-day details.
Finally, the emperor himself commented on the “unusual appearance” of the Emishi. We know that the Japanese terms for the Emishi refer to them as hairy barbarians, and if they were anything like modern Ainu, they were likely a good deal more hirsute than their Yamato neighbors. This was no doubt a stereotype, as, again, Emishi may have also included some members of the Wa in their numbers, but they also appear to have included groups of people that were quite physically distinct. Some DNA evidence also bears this out, and even today many people with deep ancestral ties to the Tohoku region demonstrate closer ties to ancient Jomon populations than to the succeeding Yayoi population that came over from the continent with their rice farming techniques.
And so that gives us mostly what we know about the Emishi, except that they seem to have left out the Emishi of Watari no Shima—the Emishi of Hokkaido. They would have been beyond the Tsugaru Emishi, unless they were considered similar, and painted with the same brush.
And speaking of Watari no Shima, we have one more entry before we bring things to a close, and that is from the third month of the year 660. Once more, Abe no Omi, who must have been getting his frequent sailor miles in by this point—or at least one hopes he had been invited to the Captain’s circle at least. Anyway, Abe no Omi was sent on yet another expedition, this time with 200 ships, and this time quite specifically against the Mishihase. He made a stop in Michinoku on the way up where he brought some of the Emishi on his own boat—possibly as translators and guides. They then continued northern until they reached a large river—Aston suggests that it was possibly the Ishikari river, north of modern Sapporo. There they found a thousand Emishi of Watari no Shima encamped.
Upon seeing the Yamato forces, two men came out from the camp to let Hirafu and his men know that the Mishihase had arrived in their own fleet, threatening to kill all of them. And so they asked permission to cross the river over to Hirafu and join him. Specifically we are told they asked to “serve the government” suggesting that they were willing to suborn themselves if Hirafu would assist with driving off the Mishihase.
Hirafu had the two spokespersons come aboard his ship and then show him where the enemy was concealed. They showed him where, telling him that the Mishihase had some 20 ships.
Hirafu sent for the Mishihase to come and face him, but they refused. And so instead he tried a different tactic. He piled up colored silk cloth, weapons, iron, etc., in sight of the Mishihase, hoping that their curiosity and greed would get the better of them. Sure enough, they drew up in their boats, which were decorated with feathers tied on poles like a flag. Their vessels were powered with oars, and they brought them to the shallows. From there, they sent two older men out to inspect the pile. The men came out, and when they saw what was there, they exchanged their clothes for some from the pile and took some of the silk cloth and then returned to their ship. After some time, they came back out, took off the exchanged garments and laid them down with the silk. With that, they then boarded their ship and departed.
Aston suggests that this behavior mimics an aspect of something called an “unseen trade” which he claims had been common in the region of Hokkaido until recently. I hadn’t found anything specifically about that, but it does make a kind of sense, especially if groups are possibly hostile and perhaps don’t speak the same language.
So does that mean that, for all of his military might, Hirafu was basically just buying off the Mishihase?
In any case, it seems they did not take it. They left the garments and the silk, which seems to have indicated that they had no deal, and they departed. Hirafu pursued the Mishihase, and tried to get them to come out again—presumably looking for a stand up fight between his 200 ships and the MIshihase’s 20, but instead the Mishihase headed to the island of Herobe, in another part of Watari no Shima. After a while of being holed up, the Mishihase did sue for peace, but by that point, Abe no Hirafu was having none of it. So they took themselves to their palisades and there they tried to hold out against Abe no Hirafu’s forces. Noto no Omi no Mamukatsu was slain in the fighting, as we can only suspect that others were as well, but over time the Yamato forces began to wear them down.
Finally, when it seemed there was no way they could win or escape, the MIshihase took the drastic step of killing their own women and children, perhaps fearing what the Yamato soldiers would do to them if they were caught.
And with that, it was over. There are only a few mentions of the Mishihase, or even the Emishi, in the rest of the Nihon Shoki. Granted, as we will eventually see, the people of Yamato were no doubt pre-occupied with what was going on to the west, where the Baekje-Tang war would be soon coming to a close. Abe no Hirafu would be called on, once more, in that famous conflict, but we are going to save that for another day.
For now, I think we can end things here. Or just about. I would be remiss if I didn’t mention that there is a theory that many of these expeditions were actually the same thing, but recorded slightly differently in different ways, with some confusion about the actual dates. Even if that was the case, it doesn’t necessarily discount the overall information provided, and that information seems to at least somewhat conform to what we know about the archaeological record, as far as I can tell. Granted, this is still the story as told by outsiders. Since the people labeled “Emishi” didn’t leave us with any records of this time, themselves, we don’t exactly have their side of things, which is something we should keep in mind.
This isn’t the last time the Emishi will pop up in Japanese history. Even if they were being granted rank, the Emishi remained a group apart. Succeeding generations of Japanese would settle in the Tohoku region, eventually absorbing or pushing out the Emishi, or Ezo, while on Hokkaido, the people we know as the Ainu, who were likely an amalgamation of both Okhotsk Sea people and Epi-Jomon and Satsumon cultures, would eventually become dominant across the island of Hokkaido—at least until the 19th century.
But that is for much later episodes. For now, we’ll continue to stick with our small, but active corner of the 7th century. There is still a lot more to explore in this reign. Next episode will be our annual New Year’s recap, and then we will continue on with more from this episode in the following year.
Until then thank you for listening and for all of your support.
If you like what we are doing, please 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 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

About Upopoy. https://ainu-upopoy.jp/en/about/
Zaman, M., Charbonneau, L., & Maruyama H. (2022). Critiquing the Colonialist Origins of the New National Museum Upopoy. FOCUS Asia-Pacific, March 2022 Vol 107. 9-12. https://www.hurights.or.jp/archives/focus/section1/focus107.pdf
Hudson, M. J., lewallen, ann-elise, & Watson, M. K. (Eds.). (2014). Beyond Ainu Studies: Changing Academic and Public Perspectives. University of Hawai’i Press. http://www.jstor.org/stable/j.ctt6wqw7k
Hudson, M. J. (1999). Ainu Ethnogenesis and the Northern Fujiwara. Arctic Anthropology, 36(1/2), 73-83. http://www.jstor.org/stable/40316506
Yamaura, K. (1998). The Sea Mammal Hunting Cultures of the Okhotsk Sea with Special Reference to Hokkaido Prehistory. Arctic Anthropology, 35(1), 321-334. http://www.jstor.org/stable/40316472
Hanihara, K. (1990). Emishi, Ezo and Ainu: An Anthropological Perspective. Japan Review, 1, 35-48. http://www.jstor.org/stable/25790886
Befu, H., & Chard, C. S. (1964). A Prehistoric Maritime Culture of the Okhotsk Sea. American Antiquity, 30(1), 1-18. https://doi.org/10.2307/277625
Kitagawa, J.M. (1961). Ainu bear Festival (Iyomante). History of Religions, 1(1), 95-151. http://www.jstor.org/stable/1061972
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4

Episode 116: The People of the North, Part One

December 1, 2024 Joshua Badgley

Examples of Satsumon pottery at the Upopoy National Museum in Shiraoi. Photo by author.

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This episode is the start of a two-parter on the people living north—or perhaps more appropriately, northeast—of Yamato. This includes the people that are referred to by Yamato as the “Emishi” as well as the “Mishihase”.

The actual ethnic make-up of these two groups is not clear cut, but it would seem that the Emishi territory includes areas where we find evidence of the Epi-Jomon and later Satsumon cultures, and descriptions of the Mishihase seem to correspond well with what we know as the Okhostk Sea Culture.

In this first episode we talk at a high level about what we know from the archaeological record, as well as the potential connection to indigenous Ainu people.

Below, we’ll include references for people who want to seek out more information.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is Episode 115: Red Banquets, Fashion Disasters, and Other Continental Adventures

It was the year 642, and the hall was decked out in the finest, with banners hung and tables set. The scene was awash in gold and silk and silver. The guests were no less opulently adorned: The crème de la crème of Burana, aka Pyongyang, capital of the state of Goguryeo. The tables were piled high with food, and there was a low murmur as the assembled guests talked quietly as they waited for their host.
These guests were among the highest nobles in the land. 180 members of the most powerful families. As they mingled, they talked. Much of it was gossip, the currency of court politicians everywhere. They discussed who was up and down in the constant fight for favor. Who had made a misstep, or was seen talking to the wrong person? Or how about that time that someone wore the wrong clothes, or misspoke in court?
Other conversations focused outward, on the threats from beyond the border. But the majority of conversation had to do with their host, a striking individual. The murmurs continued as they waited for him to arrive.. Yeon Gaesomun was a hard-liner, pushing his agenda for stronger defenses against Tang encroachment. That might be understandable for someone stationed out east, as he had been, but the King himself and his supporters felt that relations needed a more diplomatic touch. Now that Gaesomun was back in the capital of Pyongyang, would he change his approach?
The conversation continued apace as people ate and drank. The whole time they remained blissfully unaware of what was happening just outside. Drowned out by the sound of the banquet, troops were quietly assembling just outside, girding themselves for what would soon be an irrevocable step forward. As orders came down the line, they drew their weapons, and then they burst through the doors…

Last episode we talked through much of the Hakuchi era, from 650 to 654. This episode I want to finish out the era, in order to do so we’re once again going to touch on what was happening over on the continent. Some of these events we’ve talked about already: Last time we did a deep dive into this subject, back in Episode 104, we focused primarily on the Tang dynasty and its rise. We also talked somewhat about Yamato’s conflicts with Tang, Goguryeo, and others in Episode 107. But at this point it’s useful to go back and put that Continental narrative together a little bit more clearly, to set the stage for what will be happening in Yamato in the next reign after Karu. This episode we are going to go back over some of that info, but I want to center the narrative a bit more on the peninsula, rather than on the Tang dynasty.
As you may recall, the Tang dynasty started in approximately 618, taking over from the Sui. By 628, the Tang had defeated the Gökturks, and they continued to expand. They conquered Turpan and Gaochang, in the Western Regions, and their control over the Silk Road was substantial, opening up tremendous trade routes that brought in wealth and more. The capital of Chang’an became a true center of learning, and the government instituted a national university that was attended by elites from both in and outside the empire.
This episode, though, we are going to focus more on the area of the Korean and Liaodong peninsulas, where the countries of Goguryeo, Baekje, and Silla contended with each other. Goguryeo was the largest and perhaps even the most powerful of the three, but it was also on the border with the Tang empire, who were nothing to sneeze at given their own string of military victories. So Goguryeo was beset from all sides, and needed a sizeable force on their western border. Everything was in a tenuous balance, of sorts.
When it came to the Tang empire, Goguryeo walked a delicate line. On the one hand, they wanted access to the trade goods and the knowledge that was accumulating in the Tang empire and making it the envy of most other nations in the region. On the other hand, they had to be constantly on the lookout for a possible invasion, and so needed to show their strength. This wasn’t without some confidence. After all, Goguryeo had defeated attempts by the Sui dynasty to invade, and so they had proved up to the challenge—at least so far.
In 619, on the eve of the Tang dynasty’s founding, King Yeongnyu of Goguryeo, whose personal name was Geonmu, sent a tribute mission to the Tang, to encourage good relations. By 622, Goguryeo was responding to the Tang dynasty’s request to return soldiers captured during the attempted invasions by the Sui. They kept sending missions on an annual basis, playing the part of a friendly tributary.
Further on the peninsula, Baekje and Silla were likewise reaching out to the Tang dynasty, similarly hungry for the trade goods available in the markets of Chang’an. Baekje, sitting on the coast of the Bohai sea, had direct routes to the mainland; to both the Yellow river and Yangzi river deltas. They may not have had an overland border, but the sea was open to them.
Silla, on the other hand, was not so quite so fortunate. They were mainly situated on the east side of the peninsula, and though they had some access through the Han river, near modern Seoul, their access was constantly threatened by both Baekje and Goguryeo. In 626, a Silla mission to the Tang complained about this very thing, claiming that Goguryeo was attacking them. In response, the Tang requested peace, and Goguryeo apologized and backed down.
That said, it is unclear if the Tang would have taken much action. They were, at that point, more focused on the Gökturks and others. That military action ended with the defeat of the Gökturks in 628, however, a victory for which Goguryeo sent congratulations. One has to imagine, however, that the congratulations were a bit mixed. After all, without the Gökturks to hold their attention, what was to keep the Tang dynasty from looking at further conquest?
The question of how to react to the Tang Empire seems to be one that split the Goguryeo court. Some members of the court wanted to appease the giant on their doorstep, with offers of tribute and nominal submission, with the goal of making it clear that they were not a threat and that military conquest was unnecessary. They could all live in harmony, one with the other. To that end, they would not want to be too blatant about building up their forces or defenses in an act that could be seen as a prelude to military action.
On the other side were the hard-liners: members of the court that felt that they had to maintain a strong military defense against the likely possibility of a Tang offensive. To these hawks, military strength was the deterrent, as power only truly respected power. To be seen as weak and submissive would be to seem vulnerable, and an easy target.
Still, there seems to have been relative, if uneasy, peace for a time. Goguryeo continued to build their relation as a tributary state, and most of the action seems to have actually been taking place in the peninsula. For Silla, 632 was a banner year, as Queen Seondeok came to the throne. She was the eldest daughter of her father, who had no sons to inherit, and so she came to the throne. She is said to have been quite intelligent, and the Samguk Sagi gives various accounts of her Holmsian powers of deduction. For example, upon seeing a picture of flowers, she immediately concluded that, though they were beautiful, they had no fragrance. She noted the lack of bees and butterflies around the flowers, and based on that observation she deduced that the flowers must have no scent to attract them.
Queen Seondeok would oversee Silla in a time when they were growing closer to the Tang and also seeing increased pressure from Baekje and Goguryeo. We mentioned how, in 626, Goguryeo had blocked Silla’s mission to the Tang court. Then, in 636, a Baekje general led 500 troops to Mt. Doksan, to attack the Silla position there. Two years later, Silla defeated Goguryeo troops outside Jiljung Fortress.
This wasn’t constant warfare, but it did mean that the armies had to be on a constant wartime footing. You never knew when your neighbor might sense a moment of weakness and try to take advantage of it. Of course, as the old adage goes, “the enemy of my enemy is my friend”. Baekje and Goguryeo were more directly on the Tang Empire’s borders. And so we see Silla cultivating a special relationship with the Tang.
This is nothing new, by the way. Various dynasties in the Yellow River basin had used similar tactics for generations. Immediate border countries were often treated more severely, with threats of punitive expeditions if they did not fall in line or give themselves over completely to become a direct vassal of the empire. Countries just beyond the border were often treated with a lighter touch, luring them into complacency and even friendship with access to elite trade goods, and more. As borders shifted, so too did the relationship between the empire and those on its borders.
Goguryeo and Baekje fell into the former category, while Silla seems to have been in the latter—at least for now. And yet all three were still trying to get what they could.
In 640, Seondeok sent her sons to enroll in the Guoxue, or National University, that Tang Taizong had set up in Chang’an. This university had gathered Confucian scholars from all corners of the world. The school is described as having some 1200 bays, with 3,260 students. Besides Silla, Goguryeo and Baekje also sent their princes, who mingled with elites from Gaochang, Turpan, and elsewhere. It was opportunities like this that made Chang’an so attractive: a place where the elites of Silla, Goguryeo, and Baekje, could mingle with the members of the Tang Court and the western regions, beyond, sharing ideas and learning about the wider world.
The following year, in 641, there are two items of note. One is the inspection by Chen Dade of the Tang-Goguryeo border. We talked about this back in episode XXX. Under the pretense of a diplomatic mission, Dade arrived at the border with numerous gifts of silk, presenting them to the various fortress commanders and then asking to be shown around. The Commanders were more than happy to show Dade their impressive fortifications, and they were exceedingly polite, but little did they know that Dade’s true purpose was to scout for weaknesses in Goguryeo’s defensive line. His report back to Tang Taizong would be critical in what was to come.
Also in this year, King Uija of Baekje came to the throne. We talked about how Uija had sent his son, Prince Pung, to Yamato, and we’ve touched on him a few times here and there. Uija was clearly a proponent of the alliance with Yamato, and, as we’ll see, he was no friend to Silla. The following year, in 642, Ujia’s forces attacked Silla, capturing 40 strongholds, and pushing Silla’s expanding borders back to the Nakdong river, retaking much of the area that had been under the control of the various Kara, or Gaya, confederacy. This likely included places like Nimna and Ara, though we can’t know for certain. We do know that Baekje forces took Taeya fortress in the south of the peninsula, which gives us an idea of the extent of Baekje’s victories.
In response to Baekje’s brazen attacks, Silla went to a seemingly unlikely ally. They reached out to Goguryeo. In fact, they sent none other than Kim Ch’unch’u.
Kim Ch’unch’u was the grandson of the 25th king of Silla, King Jinji. Though his father, Kim Yonsu, had lost any claim to the throne when King Jinji was overthrown, he was still of “seonggol”, or “Sacred” bone rank, a concept somewhat similar to the kabane of Yamato, though in this case the “Sacred bone rank” indicated nobles specifically descended from the royal family. These would have likely been the various Royal Princes and their families in the Yamato hierarchy. Kim Ch’unch’u, in particular, seems to have been well regarded by the Silla court of his day, and since his own daughter had been killed by Baekje, he had a personal stake in the matter. And so he led the embassy to Goguryeo’s capital at Pyongyang to request that they send troops to aid Silla.
There was only one problem. Goguryeo was still fuming about territory that they had lost to Silla many years ago. They agreed to send troops, but only if Silla would agree to a little quid pro quo. Silla would need to return the Chungnyung pass and cede everything northwest of it back to Goguryeo. This would return much of Goguryeo’s territory north of the Han river and modern Seoul.
Kim Ch’unch’u rebuked their offer, calling it a threat against Silla. This angered King Yeongnyu, and Kim Ch’unch’u was jailed for his disrespect. Ch’unch’u was able to get word out of his imprisonment, however, and Queen Seondeok sent what the Samguk Sagi calls a “Death Squad” of 10,000 soldiers with the aim of breaking him out of prison. As soon as Goguryeo heard that these troops were on the move, they decided that holding onto Ch’unch’u wouldn’t be worth it, and they released him rather than fight. Kim Ch’unch’u was returned safely, but without the support that he wanted.
That said, there may have been other things going on in Goguryeo. The pro-appeasement camp and the hard-liners were fuming, and things in the court were coming to a head. The two sides pulled against each other in the way that they shaped policy. For the most part, King Yeongnyu was pro-appeasement, but there were powerful figures in the hard-liner camp, such as Yeon Gaesomun. At 46 years old, he was a descendant of at least two previous “Magniji” court officials—a title roughly equivalent to that of a Prime Minister, and one of the most powerful roles a non-royal court noble could aspire to. Gaesomun himself was the Western Governor, directly responsible for the fortresses that defended the border with the territory of the Tang Empire. As such, it is little wonder that he may have been a bit more focused on the threat that they posed, and he likely held the loyalty of not a few troops.
And perhaps this is why King Yeongnyu started to suspect him of being a problem, and why he plotted to have him killed. Word of the King’s plot reached Gaesomun, however, and he decided to take matters into his own hands.
Returning to Pyongyang in 642, Gaesomun let it be known that he was throwing a lavish banquet to celebrate his rise to the position of Eastern governor. He invited over one hundred of the opposing court nobles under this pretence. But that is all it was.
When the nobles had gathered at the banquet site, Gaesomun struck. He had loyal forces rush in and kill all of his opponents, and then, before an alarm could sound, he rushed his troops over to the palace and murdered King Yeongnyu. It was the Goguryeo’s own Red Wedding, and it would hold a particular place of infamy in Korean history, which said that the troops dismembered the corpse and discarded it without ceremony.
In place of King Yeongnyu, Gaesomun propped up Yeongnyu’s nephew, King Bojang. Gaesomun then appointed himself the Dae Magniji, the Great Prime Minister, or perhaps more fittingly “Generalissimo”. Though King Bojang sat upon the throne there was no question that it was Gaesomun who now ruled Goguryeo.
Gaesomun’s legacy is complicated. Under the Confucian values of the time, many early historians vilified him for murdering the king, and blamed him and his harsh policies for the eventual downfall of the kingdom. He is portrayed as a man lusting after power. We are given examples of his harsh demeanor, and the Annals state that when he got off of his horse he had high ranking nobles and military officials lie on the ground so that he could step on them, rather than touching the ground. Of course, some of this we should likely take with a grain of salt, given the Chroniclers’ generally dim view of him in general.
On the other hand, some modern histories believe that he wanted Goguryeo to take a tougher stance against the Tang. Early Korean nationalists rehabilitated him, exalting him for taking such a hard stance against the Tang, or, in their eyes, China. I suspect that he was a little of both. A tyrant and a despot—as many rulers of the time were—but also dedicated to the defense of his nation.
We mentioned this briefly back in Episode 107, but I wanted to touch on it here in more detail as it really leads to where we want to discuss. A very brief mention of this lies in the Nihon Shoki, where it says that “Irikasumi” the “Prime Minister” of Goguryeo slew the king and over 180 others. For the most part it tracks, though it does say that it happened in 641, which may easily just be a simple scribal error.
The general narrative from here is that the Tang dynasty used Gaesomun’s usurpation as a pretext for war against Goguryeo, but the narrative seems a bit more complex, and when we are reading we should keep in mind that none of the players in this drama knew the outcome beforehand. And so, as is often the case, things are quite as straightforward as they may seem when we zoom out and take a look at the macro level of historical events, where we’ve already decide what events we believe to be important and which were less so, often based on knowing the outcomes. Of course, the Chroniclers would have had similar narratives, but they were still trying to catalogue the events of each year as best they could.
And that brings us to the year 643. In this year, Silla went to the Tang dynasty to ask them for assistance against both Baekje and Goguryeo, who were planning to cut off Silla’s access to the Tang court. Tang Taizong agreed to help, but only if Silla would accept a Tang official who would come and oversee Silla. Taizong’s reasoning is given, which follows a typically misogynistic logic: “Because your country has a woman as a ruler, neighboring states belittle it. As you have lost the authority of the ruler, thus inviting the enemy to attack, no year will enjoy peace.” He basically said that Silla needed a big strong man to help out, and he was willing to send someone—along with troops—to do just that. Of course, I think we can all see how that was likely to end up, and any thoughts Silla had of being an equal partner in such an arrangement were nothing more than fantasies. Tang Taizong was agreeing to assist, if Silla became a protectorate of the Tang court.
The Silla envoy, for his part, took a very political stance. No doubt knowing just how bad this was for Silla, but not wanting to disrespect the Tang emperor, whose assistance they still needed, he acknowledged the emperor’s words without accepting the terms, returning without the promised help, but also without completely subordinating his country to the Tang empire.
Although the troops were not forthcoming, the envoy’s mission still had a positive impact. Having heard that the envoy was traveling to the Tang court, King Uija of Baekje proactively withdrew the troops he had that were planning to attack with Goguryeo and cut off Silla’s access to Chang’an. Thus, Silla’s corridor was maintained.
Goguryeo, for their part, continued to attack Silla’s border, but even though Gaesomun was one of the hard-liners when it came to Goguryeo-Tang relations, his initial envoys to the Tang court took a conciliatory stance towards the Tang empire. Gaesomun promoted Daoism over Buddhism, and had his emissaries request and bring back 8 Daoist sages from the Tang court.
Many historians feel that this was actually something of a show. Sure, they would get knowledge and learning from the sages, but more importantly was to put the Tang at ease and hopefully allow Goguryeo a chance to annex Silla before the Tang war machine got up and running.
For their part, the Tang were already considering their next moves against Goguryeo, with some suggesting that they use proxies, like the Khitan and the Malgal, to make an attack. Emperor Taizong’s advisors suggested that the best course of action would be to lull Goguryeo into a false sense of security prior to a massive assault. And so there were no major attacks that year.
In 644, however, the Tang sent a message to Baekje and Goguryeo that they would need to stop invading Silla, and that if they didn’t do so, the Tang would attack. Gaesomun was actually leading troops in an attack on Silla when news of the messenger arrived at Goguryeo’s court in Pyongyang. Gaesomun’s response was that he was simply trying to reclaim the territory that Silla had previously stolen from them many years earlier. Along with their excuses, they sent along gold and 50 hostages from the Goguryeo court, but they were refused by the Tang. It was probably pretty clear at this point that things were coming to a head—and diplomatic relations finally broke down in 645.
That year the Tang dynasty—in conjunction with Silla, the Samguk Sagi tells us—launched a massive invasion of Goguryeo. The pretext of which was, as I mentioned, Gaesomun’s usurpation of the throne, but let’s not kid ourselves: The Tang dynasty were not shy about pushing out their borders.
The Tang troops, who had been preparing for the past year, invaded in a two prong attack. An overland attack struck at Gaemo—modern Shenyang—while naval forces landed on the Liaodong peninsula. These forces initially swept through the border fortresses along the Liaodong penninsula with seeming ease. Remember Chen Dade and his little factfinding mission? No doubt all of his work came in quite handy.
Things were going well, and Tang Taizong himself joined the campaign. Still, each fortress took time, so that even though the invasion started in April, they reached Ansi by June.
We are told that Goguryeo had amassed over 150,000 forces at Mt. Jipul, near Ansi, a walled fortress town with an estimated population of around 100,000. Those numbers may be exaggerations, but the context is clear: This was not just a small fortress and Goguryeo sent a lot of troops to reinforce the area.
On the other side, Goguryeo was facing odds that were probably more like 3 to 1, with a massive Tang invasion force, which, since they had split, were attacking from two different directions. Sure enough, the Tang were able to catch the defenders out of position, with the troops that had crossed the sea assaulting from the front while the overland forces attacked Goguryeo’s rear. It is estimated that over 50,000 Goguryeo troops were killed or captured in the battle.
And that left only the fortress of Ansi, with a garrison of maybe 5,000 troops, to face the Tang, who had otherwise swept through previous defenses in relatively short order. It would have been understandable had they capitulated. There were still other fortresses between the Tang armies and the capital of Goguryeo at Pyongyang, not to mention the extremely mountainous terrain between the Liaodong and Korean peninsulas. And yet, the Ansi garrison refused to give in. The Tang forces, for their part, knew they could not leave an enemy to their rear, and so rather than continuing on, they set a siege to the fortress town.
Although we are told that the Tang forces brought siege engines with them, the garrison at Ansi held out. In fact, they held out for three months, and fall was beginning to turn to winter. Winter in northeast Asia would bring snow and mud. Furthermore, the Tang supply lines themselves were fairly long at this point. Eventually, the defenders won out, and the Tang forces turned back. On the march back towards Chang’an, Tang Taizong and his troops were caught in an early winter blizzard, which killed more of the soldiers. Emperor Taizong founded Minzhong Temple—known today as Fayuan Temple, in modern Beijing—to commemorate his fallen soldiers.
Although the Tang forces retreated, it is hard to say that Goguryeo was truly victorious in the outcome of the war. Many Gogouryeo troops perished in the fighting, while Tang could now regroup. Goguryeo was unlikely to be a major and immediate threat to Silla, as they would need to continue to maintain troops and rebuild the fortresses taken by the Tang, but that didn’t mean that Silla was off the hook, either.
Through this all, Baekje had taken the opportunity to harass Silla’s western border. They sent wave after wave against Silla, whose forces in that area were under the command of general Kim Yusin. The Samguk Sagi mentions that his forces would turn back one attack, and he’d be almost back home, when another attack would come and he would have to go back out. In one particularly poignant moment, he even got so close as to see his house, but he could not stop, and so he marched straight past the gates as he prepared to repel yet another invasion from Baekje.
Winter brought a pause to the fighting, and in 646, things seem to have been relatively calm, if still quite tense, as all sides recovered from the events of the previous year. Nonetheless, this is seen as the start of what is known as the Goguyreo-Tang war, a series of conflicts that would continue for approximately the next 20 years. Goguryeo, for their part, attempted to normalize relations with the Tang, even sending two women—specifically the Annals state that they were two beautiful women—as a peace offering. Tang Taizong politely refused them, however, claiming he wouldn’t dare to separate them from their families. In reality, he was rebuilding his forces, preparing for another assault, but that would take time. In the meantime, diplomatic channels remained open, which really demonstrates the political situation in general, at the time. Even if two sides were attacking one another, diplomatic envoys were still being exchanged. Furthermore, though the trade routes may have been slightly less stable, trade continued, regardless.
The following year, 647, Emperor Taizong launched fresh assaults against Goguryeo. This time, rather than a larger army, he instead had them focus on small-scale attacks that would weaken the kingdom of Goguryeo, forcing them to constantly be on guard and to pour resources into supporting their borders. At the same time, Silla suffered tragedy as Queen Seondeok died, and Queen Chindeok took the throne. Later in that year, Baekje troops attacked three Silla fortresses. They were pushed back, but the Silla troops took heavy casualties. As we can see, the fighting continued throughout the peninsula.
Meanwhile, over on the Japanese archipelago, they were busy incorporating the new reforms. Envoys from Silla, Baekje, and Goguryeo would continue to travel to the Yamato court, which one imagines made for some rather tense State dinners.
The year after that, in 648, while Tang forces continued to harass Goguryeo, Baekje attacked and took ten Silla fortresses. Upon hearing this, Silla general Kim Yusin rallied the troops, counterattacked, and destroyed the invading forces. Silla’s Prince Ch’unch’u himself, the one who had previously gone to Goguryeo to ask for support against Baekje, traveled to the Tang court in Chang’an. There he requested assistance against Baekje’s continual harassment of Silla’s borders.
It is unclear how firmly Baekje and Goguryeo were allied together and coordinating attacks, but it does seem clear that they were aligned in their goals. Baekje may not have been in direct conflict with the Tang, but their attacks on Silla likely kept Silla from further harassing Goguryeo, who was actively involved in defending against Tang attacks. So whether there were formal treaties or not, lines were drawn, but these were still independent states with their own goals and aspirations.
And so, when Ch’unch’u’s ship was returning from Chang’an and ran into a Goguryeo patrol, one can understand their apprehension. Ch’unch’u was known to Goguryeo, and if we was captured it is unlikely that he would live long enough to be rescued by an elite Silla death squad once again. And so, his men devised a plan, and a man named On Kunhae put on the clothes of a high official—possibly Ch’unch’u’s own. When the Goguryeo patrol captured the ship, they killed him, believing he was a Silla noble or at least an important envoy. Unbeknownst to them, Ch’unch’u himself had been transferred to a smaller, less assuming ship, which quietly made its way past the patrol and back to Silla controlled territory.
And so, once again, we see us how dangerous things were getting at this point. Travel was risky at the best of times, but now, with the possibility of being intercepted by a hostile country’s forces, who knew what might happen.
Hostilities continued until 649. That year, Tang Taizong passed away, and shortly before he did, he pulled back the troops. His death only brought a brief pause, however, as his son and heir, Tang Gaozong, took the throne and would launch his own series of wars against both Goguryeo and Baekje. In 650, Gaozong received Prince Kim Ch’unch’u once again as an ambassador from Silla, this time with a poem penned by Queen Chindeok herself. In the form of poetic verse, she asked for help against Baekje, who had continued their attacks. Throughout the previous year attacks had continued back and forth. Silla general Kim Yusin again managed to push back and defeat the Baekje forces, but one can only imagine the toll this was taking on Silla’s ability to defend itself over time. This was the content of the note.
Prior to this, Silla really had gone all in on strengthening their ties with the Tang dynasty, going so far as to institute Tang court dress—both in their robes and caps. This point had been specifically negotiated by Prince Ch’unch’u with the previous emperor, Tang Taizong. It sounds as if Silla was trying to have the Tang court recognize their own court nobles and put themselves in a place to receive Tang court rank, though how, exactly, they received said rank is unclear—did it come from the Tang or was it granted by the Queen of Silla.
Either way, it was clearly seen by other nations—or at least Yamato—as an unwelcome statement. In 651, Silla envoys arrived at Tsukushi—modern day Kyushu—wearing their new Tang style clothing and they were turned away. Specifically the Dazaifu sent them back claiming that they weren’t dressed as envoys from Silla should be. On top of this, we are told that Kose no Omi then suggested that rather than go to war over this, they should just make a show of force when the envoys came back. And let me reiterate that: according to the Nihon Shoki this was such an affront that Yamato was considering whether they should launch a punitive military strike against Silla for sporting the wrong fit. Talk about a fashion disaster!
In the end, they took Kose no Omi’s advice, which was that the next time Silla arrived they would have ships lined up all along the Seto Inland Sea as the envoys made their way to Yamato so that there was no doubt in the envoys’ minds about just what Yamato could do.
This is a great demonstration of how something we might consider innocuous was clearly a Big Deal for the people at the time. I suspect that there were at least two possible reasons for why this was, besides just considering themselves the arbiters of fashion. For one, remember that Yamato considered Silla to be subordinate to them, at least in their worldview. Just like they had been concerned about at least maintaining the fiction that Nimna was still an active and independent entity, this broke the illusion that Silla was a tributary of Yamato.
At the same time, it may have just been that they were putting on airs and it was seen as impersonating and even speaking for the Tang court. After all, if a Tang envoy showed up, I doubt that Yamato would turn them away.
In either instance, we can see the lines being drawn, with Silla taking a clear stance in connecting themselves with the Tang court while Goguryeo, Baekje, and even Yamato were still in contact with them, but from a more independent capacity. In 652, for instance, we know that Goguryeo again sent tribute to the Tang court, no doubt in an attempt to normalize relations. Still, the alliances were firming up.
In 653 we have two items of interest: one from the Samguk Sagi and one from the Nihon Shoki. In the Samguk Sagi it explicitly mentions that Baekje and Wa formed an alliance. This is significant in that the Samguk Sagi really doesn’t mention Wa nearly as often as we would expect it to, while the Nihon Shoki is constantly discussing Baekje and Yamato relations. I imagine that there must have been a significant escalation of Wa involvement around this time for the Samguk Sagi to mention it.
On the other hand, the Nihon Shoki doesn’t really mention it. Sure, there are annual tributes mentioned from Baekje and Silla—and occasionally Goguryeo—but they were more focused on another event: an embassy that the Yamato court sent to the Tang dynasty. This was the first embassy to be sent in some time—at least according to the Nihon Shoki—but it was quite the affair.
Two ships were prepared. The first ship was led by Kishi no Nagani and his assistant, Kishi no Koma, along with the envoy, Nunobara no Mita. They were accompanied by numerous students and student priesets, all sons of court nobility, including Jou’e, the son of none other than Nakatomi no Kamatari the “Naidaijin” or central prime minister. In total, there were 121 people on board the ship.
The other ship was led by Takada no Nemaro and his assistant, Kamori no Womaro, as well as their accompanying envoy, Hashi no Yatsute. Along with various students, they had 120 on board the ship. Two ships, each with an individual in charge of the particular embassy, meant that even if they met with an accident along the way, they would have someone to carry on the mission. And that foresight proved unfortunately necessary when the ship carrying Takada no Nemaro sank in the straits of Takashima off the coast of Satsuma. The ship went down and only five men survived, largely by lashing themselves to a plank and drifting ashore at Takashima island. There, one of the survivors, Kadobe no Kogane, gathered bamboo and made a raft, by which they made it to Shitojishima. They surived six days and nights without any food, but they made it. When he heard about it, the sovereign congratulated Kogane and rewarded him with rank and various presents for his work to bring people back home.
Another mission, launched the following year, shows that being lost at sea wasn’t the only danger for international travelers back in the day. In the 2nd month of 654, Takamuku no Kuromaro led another embassy to the Tang court. He was the Controlling Envoy, though the Chief Ambassador was Kahabe no Maro, assisted by Yenichi no Kusushi, a name that Aston suggests translates to something like “Doctor Yenishi”. A list of other names are given as well of those who were also on the mission. More sobering is the outcome of the mission, where we are told what happened to everyone. Though they reached the Tang court, not everyone would make it back. According to the author Yuki no Hakatoko—an interesting tidbit in that they seem to be giving us the author of one of the accounts that they used in the compilation of the Nihon Shoki, and we’ll come back to him in a later episode—according to Hakatoko, the student priest Enmyou died in Tang, while the student priests Chisou and Chikoku both died at sea. Another person named Chisou, but using different characters, returned in a Silla ship in 690. Gakusho died in Tang and Gitsu died at sea. Joye returned in 665 in the ship of Liu Tekao. And then others—about 12 total—along with two individuals who were considered Japanese born abroad, came back in 654 with returning envoys. We are even told that Takamuku no Kuromaro, one of the figures who helped set up the government and played a major role in diplomatic relations with the continent, passed away on this mission as well.
So going on one of these missions may have given you some awesome opportunities to see the world like nobody else, but they were anything but guaranteed. For many people, it was a one way ticket, and we should keep that in mind when we hear about the people going on them.
There were other intricacies to deal with as well—including navigating the pathways to the Tang court. You may remember that Yamato was allied with Baekje in some way. And yet the 654 mission we are told went by way of Silla and then anchored in Laichou, on the Shandong peninsula. Later that same year, the previous mission, with Kishi no Nagani and others, returned to Yamato escoted by envoys from both Silla and Baekje. While the narrative largely focuses on what they obtained, one imagines there were probably some tensions in all of that. After all, just a year before we are told that Baekje and allied with Wa—which is to say Yamato—against Silla. So had Silla not yet heard about the alliance? Or was that just considered par for the course at the time?
The year 654 would have more direct considerations for all concerned, however. In that year, Queen Chindeok of Silla died, as did Karu of Yamato. In Silla, the new King was none other than Prince Kim Ch’unch’u, known to history as King Muyeol. As we touched on, earlier, Ch’unch’u was intimately familiar with the Tang court and had spoken directly with the Tang emperor, so this likely only further cemented ties between the Tang and Silla. Meanwhile, in Yamato, Queen Takara Hime, aka Kyougyoku Tennou -slash- Saimei Tennou, was re-ascending the throne, rather than making way for Prince Naka no Oe, a truly interesting state of affairs.
Moving forward, the alliances would continue to solidify, though diplomatic missions would continue to travel between the various countries. After all, they didn’t exactly have many other means of communicating with each other—no email or telephones back then.
Tang Gaozong would continue to attack and harass Goguryeo, though Yeon Gaesomun would continue to fend off attacks, while Baekje and Silla would continue their struggles as well. Both Goguryeo and Baekje would ally against Silla, who in turn would call upon the might of the Tang empire. All in all, it was a time of great conflict, generally known as the Tang-Goguryeo War, and it was a long-term conflict punctuated with times of peace in betwetween the various offensives. Yamato was less directly involved, but still affected. After all, they were closely aligned with Baekje, and they had to wonder what would happen if Silla came out victorious. Would they be cut off from the continent entirely? Or would they be forced into a new state of having to send tribute to Silla as an inferior country if they wanted access to continental goods and knowledge? While we know how it played out, today, at the time the outcomes were far from certain.
All of that will continue to provide a backdrop for the second reign of Takara Hime, aka Saimei Tennou. A part of me wonders if this wasn’t also part of the reason to move the capital back into Asuka, in the Nara Basin. I imagine that a capital sitting on the edge of the water, relatively speaking, while good for trade and foreign relations, also felt rather exposed if anyone were to sail a fleet down the Seto Inland Sea. Or it may have just been a return to the more familiar lands of Asuka.
As conflict on the continent continued to escalate, Yamato would not be able to stay unaffected. The question is whether or not they would be ready when and if anything came their way. It was a tense period, certainly.
And we’ll get more into that as we move forward in the next episode with the second reign of Takara-hime, aka Saimei Tennou. Until then thank you for listening and for all of your support.
If you like what we are doing, please 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 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

About Upopoy. https://ainu-upopoy.jp/en/about/
Zaman, M., Charbonneau, L., & Maruyama H. (2022). Critiquing the Colonialist Origins of the New National Museum Upopoy. FOCUS Asia-Pacific, March 2022 Vol 107. 9-12. https://www.hurights.or.jp/archives/focus/section1/focus107.pdf
Hudson, M. J., lewallen, ann-elise, & Watson, M. K. (Eds.). (2014). Beyond Ainu Studies: Changing Academic and Public Perspectives. University of Hawai’i Press. http://www.jstor.org/stable/j.ctt6wqw7k
Hudson, M. J. (1999). Ainu Ethnogenesis and the Northern Fujiwara. Arctic Anthropology, 36(1/2), 73-83. http://www.jstor.org/stable/40316506
Yamaura, K. (1998). The Sea Mammal Hunting Cultures of the Okhotsk Sea with Special Reference to Hokkaido Prehistory. Arctic Anthropology, 35(1), 321-334. http://www.jstor.org/stable/40316472
Hanihara, K. (1990). Emishi, Ezo and Ainu: An Anthropological Perspective. Japan Review, 1, 35-48. http://www.jstor.org/stable/25790886
Befu, H., & Chard, C. S. (1964). A Prehistoric Maritime Culture of the Okhotsk Sea. American Antiquity, 30(1), 1-18. https://doi.org/10.2307/277625
Kitagawa, J.M. (1961). Ainu bear Festival (Iyomante). History of Religions, 1(1), 95-151. http://www.jstor.org/stable/1061972
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4

Episode 115: Red Banquets, Fashion Disasters, and Other Continental Adventures

November 16, 2024 Joshua Badgley

Ambassadors from the Korean peninsula and the Western Regions meet with members of the Tang court. From a 706 mural in the tomb of Li Xian, son of Emperor Gaozong. Photo by author.

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This episode we go back to the continent for a bit to see how things are going. Hint: not well. While Yamato was building its new bureaucratic state, Goguryeo, Baekje, and Silla were battling it out while the Tang empire and their ambitions loomed over them all. Yamato is about to get pulled into the conflicts, but before that, let's look at what was happening from the point of view of the various penninsular polities.

This episode goes back over some of the information in Episodes 107 and 109, but mainly to place it in context of what was happening in Goguryeo, Baekje and Silla as opposed to simply viewing it from the rise of the Tang Empire or the occasional mentions in the Nihon Shoki. Much of it relies on what we have in the Samguk Sagi, the Korean annals of the Three Kingdoms.

Who’s Who

Goguryeo

First thing to note is that “Goguryeo” is actually “Goryeo” or “Guryeo”, but we need to distinguish it from the later kingdom of “Goryeo”.

Pyongyang

The capital of Goguryeo. It was probably originally something like “Burana”, but the meaning is something like “Flat Land”. This was converted to Sinitic ideographs that were then pronounced with a Sino-Korean pronunciation, which we know, even today, as “Pyongyang”. This would be the capital of Goguryeo, of the later Goryeo, and similarly at different times in history.

King Yeongnyu

The King of Goguryeo during the early rise of the the Tang empire. He was largely a proponent of appeasement towards their aggressive neighbor. He was born “Geonmu”.

Yeon Gaesomun

Descended from various “Magniji”, or Prime Ministers, he was the Western and then Eastern Governor, and eventually the Dae Magniji, with “Dae” meaning “Great”. His name is based on modern Korean pronunciations of the Sinitic characters used in the annals. In the Nihon Shoki his name is “Iri Kasumi”. It is thought that his acutal name may be something like “Eol Kasum”. He was a hard-liner against the Tang empire.

King Bojang

The nephew of King Yeongnyu, who came to the throne after his father passed. During his reign, he was largely a puppet figurehead at the mercy of the Dae Magniji, Yeon Gaesomun.

Silla

Queen Seondeok

Reigned 632-647. She was the queen of Silla, and appreciated for her intelligence and perceptive nature. Still, she was not always taken seriously by patriarchal societies like the Tang empire. Even in Silla, she only came to the throne because there was no available male heir.

Queen Jindeok

Reigned 647-654. She followed Queen Seondeok and reached out to the Tang Empire with a poetic request for assistance.

Kim Yusin

Silla general who regularly fought against Baekje, with numerous victories against Baekje incursions.

Kim Ch’unch’u, aka king Muyeol

A grandson of King Jinji, who was still of “sacred bone” rank, although his line had been delegitimized when King Jinji was deposed. Still, he was a major supporter and diplomat for Silla. When Queen Jindeok passed away, he took the throne and would be known as King Muyeol

Baekje

King Uija

King Uija came to the Baekje throne in 641 and almost immediately launched military attacks on Silla. He was also an ally of Yamato.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is Episode 115: Red Banquets, Fashion Disasters, and Other Continental Adventures

It was the year 642, and the hall was decked out in the finest, with banners hung and tables set. The scene was awash in gold and silk and silver. The guests were no less opulently adorned: The crème de la crème of Burana, aka Pyongyang, capital of the state of Goguryeo. The tables were piled high with food, and there was a low murmur as the assembled guests talked quietly as they waited for their host.
These guests were among the highest nobles in the land. 180 members of the most powerful families. As they mingled, they talked. Much of it was gossip, the currency of court politicians everywhere. They discussed who was up and down in the constant fight for favor. Who had made a misstep, or was seen talking to the wrong person? Or how about that time that someone wore the wrong clothes, or misspoke in court?
Other conversations focused outward, on the threats from beyond the border. But the majority of conversation had to do with their host, a striking individual. The murmurs continued as they waited for him to arrive.. Yeon Gaesomun was a hard-liner, pushing his agenda for stronger defenses against Tang encroachment. That might be understandable for someone stationed out east, as he had been, but the King himself and his supporters felt that relations needed a more diplomatic touch. Now that Gaesomun was back in the capital of Pyongyang, would he change his approach?
The conversation continued apace as people ate and drank. The whole time they remained blissfully unaware of what was happening just outside. Drowned out by the sound of the banquet, troops were quietly assembling just outside, girding themselves for what would soon be an irrevocable step forward. As orders came down the line, they drew their weapons, and then they burst through the doors…

Last episode we talked through much of the Hakuchi era, from 650 to 654. This episode I want to finish out the era, in order to do so we’re once again going to touch on what was happening over on the continent. Some of these events we’ve talked about already: Last time we did a deep dive into this subject, back in Episode 104, we focused primarily on the Tang dynasty and its rise. We also talked somewhat about Yamato’s conflicts with Tang, Goguryeo, and others in Episode 107. But at this point it’s useful to go back and put that Continental narrative together a little bit more clearly, to set the stage for what will be happening in Yamato in the next reign after Karu. This episode we are going to go back over some of that info, but I want to center the narrative a bit more on the peninsula, rather than on the Tang dynasty.
As you may recall, the Tang dynasty started in approximately 618, taking over from the Sui. By 628, the Tang had defeated the Gökturks, and they continued to expand. They conquered Turpan and Gaochang, in the Western Regions, and their control over the Silk Road was substantial, opening up tremendous trade routes that brought in wealth and more. The capital of Chang’an became a true center of learning, and the government instituted a national university that was attended by elites from both in and outside the empire.
This episode, though, we are going to focus more on the area of the Korean and Liaodong peninsulas, where the countries of Goguryeo, Baekje, and Silla contended with each other. Goguryeo was the largest and perhaps even the most powerful of the three, but it was also on the border with the Tang empire, who were nothing to sneeze at given their own string of military victories. So Goguryeo was beset from all sides, and needed a sizeable force on their western border. Everything was in a tenuous balance, of sorts.
When it came to the Tang empire, Goguryeo walked a delicate line. On the one hand, they wanted access to the trade goods and the knowledge that was accumulating in the Tang empire and making it the envy of most other nations in the region. On the other hand, they had to be constantly on the lookout for a possible invasion, and so needed to show their strength. This wasn’t without some confidence. After all, Goguryeo had defeated attempts by the Sui dynasty to invade, and so they had proved up to the challenge—at least so far.
In 619, on the eve of the Tang dynasty’s founding, King Yeongnyu of Goguryeo, whose personal name was Geonmu, sent a tribute mission to the Tang, to encourage good relations. By 622, Goguryeo was responding to the Tang dynasty’s request to return soldiers captured during the attempted invasions by the Sui. They kept sending missions on an annual basis, playing the part of a friendly tributary.
Further on the peninsula, Baekje and Silla were likewise reaching out to the Tang dynasty, similarly hungry for the trade goods available in the markets of Chang’an. Baekje, sitting on the coast of the Bohai sea, had direct routes to the mainland; to both the Yellow river and Yangzi river deltas. They may not have had an overland border, but the sea was open to them.
Silla, on the other hand, was not so quite so fortunate. They were mainly situated on the east side of the peninsula, and though they had some access through the Han river, near modern Seoul, their access was constantly threatened by both Baekje and Goguryeo. In 626, a Silla mission to the Tang complained about this very thing, claiming that Goguryeo was attacking them. In response, the Tang requested peace, and Goguryeo apologized and backed down.
That said, it is unclear if the Tang would have taken much action. They were, at that point, more focused on the Gökturks and others. That military action ended with the defeat of the Gökturks in 628, however, a victory for which Goguryeo sent congratulations. One has to imagine, however, that the congratulations were a bit mixed. After all, without the Gökturks to hold their attention, what was to keep the Tang dynasty from looking at further conquest?
The question of how to react to the Tang Empire seems to be one that split the Goguryeo court. Some members of the court wanted to appease the giant on their doorstep, with offers of tribute and nominal submission, with the goal of making it clear that they were not a threat and that military conquest was unnecessary. They could all live in harmony, one with the other. To that end, they would not want to be too blatant about building up their forces or defenses in an act that could be seen as a prelude to military action.
On the other side were the hard-liners: members of the court that felt that they had to maintain a strong military defense against the likely possibility of a Tang offensive. To these hawks, military strength was the deterrent, as power only truly respected power. To be seen as weak and submissive would be to seem vulnerable, and an easy target.
Still, there seems to have been relative, if uneasy, peace for a time. Goguryeo continued to build their relation as a tributary state, and most of the action seems to have actually been taking place in the peninsula. For Silla, 632 was a banner year, as Queen Seondeok came to the throne. She was the eldest daughter of her father, who had no sons to inherit, and so she came to the throne. She is said to have been quite intelligent, and the Samguk Sagi gives various accounts of her Holmsian powers of deduction. For example, upon seeing a picture of flowers, she immediately concluded that, though they were beautiful, they had no fragrance. She noted the lack of bees and butterflies around the flowers, and based on that observation she deduced that the flowers must have no scent to attract them.
Queen Seondeok would oversee Silla in a time when they were growing closer to the Tang and also seeing increased pressure from Baekje and Goguryeo. We mentioned how, in 626, Goguryeo had blocked Silla’s mission to the Tang court. Then, in 636, a Baekje general led 500 troops to Mt. Doksan, to attack the Silla position there. Two years later, Silla defeated Goguryeo troops outside Jiljung Fortress.
This wasn’t constant warfare, but it did mean that the armies had to be on a constant wartime footing. You never knew when your neighbor might sense a moment of weakness and try to take advantage of it. Of course, as the old adage goes, “the enemy of my enemy is my friend”. Baekje and Goguryeo were more directly on the Tang Empire’s borders. And so we see Silla cultivating a special relationship with the Tang.
This is nothing new, by the way. Various dynasties in the Yellow River basin had used similar tactics for generations. Immediate border countries were often treated more severely, with threats of punitive expeditions if they did not fall in line or give themselves over completely to become a direct vassal of the empire. Countries just beyond the border were often treated with a lighter touch, luring them into complacency and even friendship with access to elite trade goods, and more. As borders shifted, so too did the relationship between the empire and those on its borders.
Goguryeo and Baekje fell into the former category, while Silla seems to have been in the latter—at least for now. And yet all three were still trying to get what they could.
In 640, Seondeok sent her sons to enroll in the Guoxue, or National University, that Tang Taizong had set up in Chang’an. This university had gathered Confucian scholars from all corners of the world. The school is described as having some 1200 bays, with 3,260 students. Besides Silla, Goguryeo and Baekje also sent their princes, who mingled with elites from Gaochang, Turpan, and elsewhere. It was opportunities like this that made Chang’an so attractive: a place where the elites of Silla, Goguryeo, and Baekje, could mingle with the members of the Tang Court and the western regions, beyond, sharing ideas and learning about the wider world.
The following year, in 641, there are two items of note. One is the inspection by Chen Dade of the Tang-Goguryeo border. We talked about this back in episode XXX. Under the pretense of a diplomatic mission, Dade arrived at the border with numerous gifts of silk, presenting them to the various fortress commanders and then asking to be shown around. The Commanders were more than happy to show Dade their impressive fortifications, and they were exceedingly polite, but little did they know that Dade’s true purpose was to scout for weaknesses in Goguryeo’s defensive line. His report back to Tang Taizong would be critical in what was to come.
Also in this year, King Uija of Baekje came to the throne. We talked about how Uija had sent his son, Prince Pung, to Yamato, and we’ve touched on him a few times here and there. Uija was clearly a proponent of the alliance with Yamato, and, as we’ll see, he was no friend to Silla. The following year, in 642, Ujia’s forces attacked Silla, capturing 40 strongholds, and pushing Silla’s expanding borders back to the Nakdong river, retaking much of the area that had been under the control of the various Kara, or Gaya, confederacy. This likely included places like Nimna and Ara, though we can’t know for certain. We do know that Baekje forces took Taeya fortress in the south of the peninsula, which gives us an idea of the extent of Baekje’s victories.
In response to Baekje’s brazen attacks, Silla went to a seemingly unlikely ally. They reached out to Goguryeo. In fact, they sent none other than Kim Ch’unch’u.
Kim Ch’unch’u was the grandson of the 25th king of Silla, King Jinji. Though his father, Kim Yonsu, had lost any claim to the throne when King Jinji was overthrown, he was still of “seonggol”, or “Sacred” bone rank, a concept somewhat similar to the kabane of Yamato, though in this case the “Sacred bone rank” indicated nobles specifically descended from the royal family. These would have likely been the various Royal Princes and their families in the Yamato hierarchy. Kim Ch’unch’u, in particular, seems to have been well regarded by the Silla court of his day, and since his own daughter had been killed by Baekje, he had a personal stake in the matter. And so he led the embassy to Goguryeo’s capital at Pyongyang to request that they send troops to aid Silla.
There was only one problem. Goguryeo was still fuming about territory that they had lost to Silla many years ago. They agreed to send troops, but only if Silla would agree to a little quid pro quo. Silla would need to return the Chungnyung pass and cede everything northwest of it back to Goguryeo. This would return much of Goguryeo’s territory north of the Han river and modern Seoul.
Kim Ch’unch’u rebuked their offer, calling it a threat against Silla. This angered King Yeongnyu, and Kim Ch’unch’u was jailed for his disrespect. Ch’unch’u was able to get word out of his imprisonment, however, and Queen Seondeok sent what the Samguk Sagi calls a “Death Squad” of 10,000 soldiers with the aim of breaking him out of prison. As soon as Goguryeo heard that these troops were on the move, they decided that holding onto Ch’unch’u wouldn’t be worth it, and they released him rather than fight. Kim Ch’unch’u was returned safely, but without the support that he wanted.
That said, there may have been other things going on in Goguryeo. The pro-appeasement camp and the hard-liners were fuming, and things in the court were coming to a head. The two sides pulled against each other in the way that they shaped policy. For the most part, King Yeongnyu was pro-appeasement, but there were powerful figures in the hard-liner camp, such as Yeon Gaesomun. At 46 years old, he was a descendant of at least two previous “Magniji” court officials—a title roughly equivalent to that of a Prime Minister, and one of the most powerful roles a non-royal court noble could aspire to. Gaesomun himself was the Western Governor, directly responsible for the fortresses that defended the border with the territory of the Tang Empire. As such, it is little wonder that he may have been a bit more focused on the threat that they posed, and he likely held the loyalty of not a few troops.
And perhaps this is why King Yeongnyu started to suspect him of being a problem, and why he plotted to have him killed. Word of the King’s plot reached Gaesomun, however, and he decided to take matters into his own hands.
Returning to Pyongyang in 642, Gaesomun let it be known that he was throwing a lavish banquet to celebrate his rise to the position of Eastern governor. He invited over one hundred of the opposing court nobles under this pretence. But that is all it was.
When the nobles had gathered at the banquet site, Gaesomun struck. He had loyal forces rush in and kill all of his opponents, and then, before an alarm could sound, he rushed his troops over to the palace and murdered King Yeongnyu. It was the Goguryeo’s own Red Wedding, and it would hold a particular place of infamy in Korean history, which said that the troops dismembered the corpse and discarded it without ceremony.
In place of King Yeongnyu, Gaesomun propped up Yeongnyu’s nephew, King Bojang. Gaesomun then appointed himself the Dae Magniji, the Great Prime Minister, or perhaps more fittingly “Generalissimo”. Though King Bojang sat upon the throne there was no question that it was Gaesomun who now ruled Goguryeo.
Gaesomun’s legacy is complicated. Under the Confucian values of the time, many early historians vilified him for murdering the king, and blamed him and his harsh policies for the eventual downfall of the kingdom. He is portrayed as a man lusting after power. We are given examples of his harsh demeanor, and the Annals state that when he got off of his horse he had high ranking nobles and military officials lie on the ground so that he could step on them, rather than touching the ground. Of course, some of this we should likely take with a grain of salt, given the Chroniclers’ generally dim view of him in general.
On the other hand, some modern histories believe that he wanted Goguryeo to take a tougher stance against the Tang. Early Korean nationalists rehabilitated him, exalting him for taking such a hard stance against the Tang, or, in their eyes, China. I suspect that he was a little of both. A tyrant and a despot—as many rulers of the time were—but also dedicated to the defense of his nation.
We mentioned this briefly back in Episode 107, but I wanted to touch on it here in more detail as it really leads to where we want to discuss. A very brief mention of this lies in the Nihon Shoki, where it says that “Irikasumi” the “Prime Minister” of Goguryeo slew the king and over 180 others. For the most part it tracks, though it does say that it happened in 641, which may easily just be a simple scribal error.
The general narrative from here is that the Tang dynasty used Gaesomun’s usurpation as a pretext for war against Goguryeo, but the narrative seems a bit more complex, and when we are reading we should keep in mind that none of the players in this drama knew the outcome beforehand. And so, as is often the case, things are quite as straightforward as they may seem when we zoom out and take a look at the macro level of historical events, where we’ve already decide what events we believe to be important and which were less so, often based on knowing the outcomes. Of course, the Chroniclers would have had similar narratives, but they were still trying to catalogue the events of each year as best they could.
And that brings us to the year 643. In this year, Silla went to the Tang dynasty to ask them for assistance against both Baekje and Goguryeo, who were planning to cut off Silla’s access to the Tang court. Tang Taizong agreed to help, but only if Silla would accept a Tang official who would come and oversee Silla. Taizong’s reasoning is given, which follows a typically misogynistic logic: “Because your country has a woman as a ruler, neighboring states belittle it. As you have lost the authority of the ruler, thus inviting the enemy to attack, no year will enjoy peace.” He basically said that Silla needed a big strong man to help out, and he was willing to send someone—along with troops—to do just that. Of course, I think we can all see how that was likely to end up, and any thoughts Silla had of being an equal partner in such an arrangement were nothing more than fantasies. Tang Taizong was agreeing to assist, if Silla became a protectorate of the Tang court.
The Silla envoy, for his part, took a very political stance. No doubt knowing just how bad this was for Silla, but not wanting to disrespect the Tang emperor, whose assistance they still needed, he acknowledged the emperor’s words without accepting the terms, returning without the promised help, but also without completely subordinating his country to the Tang empire.
Although the troops were not forthcoming, the envoy’s mission still had a positive impact. Having heard that the envoy was traveling to the Tang court, King Uija of Baekje proactively withdrew the troops he had that were planning to attack with Goguryeo and cut off Silla’s access to Chang’an. Thus, Silla’s corridor was maintained.
Goguryeo, for their part, continued to attack Silla’s border, but even though Gaesomun was one of the hard-liners when it came to Goguryeo-Tang relations, his initial envoys to the Tang court took a conciliatory stance towards the Tang empire. Gaesomun promoted Daoism over Buddhism, and had his emissaries request and bring back 8 Daoist sages from the Tang court.
Many historians feel that this was actually something of a show. Sure, they would get knowledge and learning from the sages, but more importantly was to put the Tang at ease and hopefully allow Goguryeo a chance to annex Silla before the Tang war machine got up and running.
For their part, the Tang were already considering their next moves against Goguryeo, with some suggesting that they use proxies, like the Khitan and the Malgal, to make an attack. Emperor Taizong’s advisors suggested that the best course of action would be to lull Goguryeo into a false sense of security prior to a massive assault. And so there were no major attacks that year.
In 644, however, the Tang sent a message to Baekje and Goguryeo that they would need to stop invading Silla, and that if they didn’t do so, the Tang would attack. Gaesomun was actually leading troops in an attack on Silla when news of the messenger arrived at Goguryeo’s court in Pyongyang. Gaesomun’s response was that he was simply trying to reclaim the territory that Silla had previously stolen from them many years earlier. Along with their excuses, they sent along gold and 50 hostages from the Goguryeo court, but they were refused by the Tang. It was probably pretty clear at this point that things were coming to a head—and diplomatic relations finally broke down in 645.
That year the Tang dynasty—in conjunction with Silla, the Samguk Sagi tells us—launched a massive invasion of Goguryeo. The pretext of which was, as I mentioned, Gaesomun’s usurpation of the throne, but let’s not kid ourselves: The Tang dynasty were not shy about pushing out their borders.
The Tang troops, who had been preparing for the past year, invaded in a two prong attack. An overland attack struck at Gaemo—modern Shenyang—while naval forces landed on the Liaodong peninsula. These forces initially swept through the border fortresses along the Liaodong penninsula with seeming ease. Remember Chen Dade and his little factfinding mission? No doubt all of his work came in quite handy.
Things were going well, and Tang Taizong himself joined the campaign. Still, each fortress took time, so that even though the invasion started in April, they reached Ansi by June.
We are told that Goguryeo had amassed over 150,000 forces at Mt. Jipul, near Ansi, a walled fortress town with an estimated population of around 100,000. Those numbers may be exaggerations, but the context is clear: This was not just a small fortress and Goguryeo sent a lot of troops to reinforce the area.
On the other side, Goguryeo was facing odds that were probably more like 3 to 1, with a massive Tang invasion force, which, since they had split, were attacking from two different directions. Sure enough, the Tang were able to catch the defenders out of position, with the troops that had crossed the sea assaulting from the front while the overland forces attacked Goguryeo’s rear. It is estimated that over 50,000 Goguryeo troops were killed or captured in the battle.
And that left only the fortress of Ansi, with a garrison of maybe 5,000 troops, to face the Tang, who had otherwise swept through previous defenses in relatively short order. It would have been understandable had they capitulated. There were still other fortresses between the Tang armies and the capital of Goguryeo at Pyongyang, not to mention the extremely mountainous terrain between the Liaodong and Korean peninsulas. And yet, the Ansi garrison refused to give in. The Tang forces, for their part, knew they could not leave an enemy to their rear, and so rather than continuing on, they set a siege to the fortress town.
Although we are told that the Tang forces brought siege engines with them, the garrison at Ansi held out. In fact, they held out for three months, and fall was beginning to turn to winter. Winter in northeast Asia would bring snow and mud. Furthermore, the Tang supply lines themselves were fairly long at this point. Eventually, the defenders won out, and the Tang forces turned back. On the march back towards Chang’an, Tang Taizong and his troops were caught in an early winter blizzard, which killed more of the soldiers. Emperor Taizong founded Minzhong Temple—known today as Fayuan Temple, in modern Beijing—to commemorate his fallen soldiers.
Although the Tang forces retreated, it is hard to say that Goguryeo was truly victorious in the outcome of the war. Many Gogouryeo troops perished in the fighting, while Tang could now regroup. Goguryeo was unlikely to be a major and immediate threat to Silla, as they would need to continue to maintain troops and rebuild the fortresses taken by the Tang, but that didn’t mean that Silla was off the hook, either.
Through this all, Baekje had taken the opportunity to harass Silla’s western border. They sent wave after wave against Silla, whose forces in that area were under the command of general Kim Yusin. The Samguk Sagi mentions that his forces would turn back one attack, and he’d be almost back home, when another attack would come and he would have to go back out. In one particularly poignant moment, he even got so close as to see his house, but he could not stop, and so he marched straight past the gates as he prepared to repel yet another invasion from Baekje.
Winter brought a pause to the fighting, and in 646, things seem to have been relatively calm, if still quite tense, as all sides recovered from the events of the previous year. Nonetheless, this is seen as the start of what is known as the Goguyreo-Tang war, a series of conflicts that would continue for approximately the next 20 years. Goguryeo, for their part, attempted to normalize relations with the Tang, even sending two women—specifically the Annals state that they were two beautiful women—as a peace offering. Tang Taizong politely refused them, however, claiming he wouldn’t dare to separate them from their families. In reality, he was rebuilding his forces, preparing for another assault, but that would take time. In the meantime, diplomatic channels remained open, which really demonstrates the political situation in general, at the time. Even if two sides were attacking one another, diplomatic envoys were still being exchanged. Furthermore, though the trade routes may have been slightly less stable, trade continued, regardless.
The following year, 647, Emperor Taizong launched fresh assaults against Goguryeo. This time, rather than a larger army, he instead had them focus on small-scale attacks that would weaken the kingdom of Goguryeo, forcing them to constantly be on guard and to pour resources into supporting their borders. At the same time, Silla suffered tragedy as Queen Seondeok died, and Queen Chindeok took the throne. Later in that year, Baekje troops attacked three Silla fortresses. They were pushed back, but the Silla troops took heavy casualties. As we can see, the fighting continued throughout the peninsula.
Meanwhile, over on the Japanese archipelago, they were busy incorporating the new reforms. Envoys from Silla, Baekje, and Goguryeo would continue to travel to the Yamato court, which one imagines made for some rather tense State dinners.
The year after that, in 648, while Tang forces continued to harass Goguryeo, Baekje attacked and took ten Silla fortresses. Upon hearing this, Silla general Kim Yusin rallied the troops, counterattacked, and destroyed the invading forces. Silla’s Prince Ch’unch’u himself, the one who had previously gone to Goguryeo to ask for support against Baekje, traveled to the Tang court in Chang’an. There he requested assistance against Baekje’s continual harassment of Silla’s borders.
It is unclear how firmly Baekje and Goguryeo were allied together and coordinating attacks, but it does seem clear that they were aligned in their goals. Baekje may not have been in direct conflict with the Tang, but their attacks on Silla likely kept Silla from further harassing Goguryeo, who was actively involved in defending against Tang attacks. So whether there were formal treaties or not, lines were drawn, but these were still independent states with their own goals and aspirations.
And so, when Ch’unch’u’s ship was returning from Chang’an and ran into a Goguryeo patrol, one can understand their apprehension. Ch’unch’u was known to Goguryeo, and if we was captured it is unlikely that he would live long enough to be rescued by an elite Silla death squad once again. And so, his men devised a plan, and a man named On Kunhae put on the clothes of a high official—possibly Ch’unch’u’s own. When the Goguryeo patrol captured the ship, they killed him, believing he was a Silla noble or at least an important envoy. Unbeknownst to them, Ch’unch’u himself had been transferred to a smaller, less assuming ship, which quietly made its way past the patrol and back to Silla controlled territory.
And so, once again, we see us how dangerous things were getting at this point. Travel was risky at the best of times, but now, with the possibility of being intercepted by a hostile country’s forces, who knew what might happen.
Hostilities continued until 649. That year, Tang Taizong passed away, and shortly before he did, he pulled back the troops. His death only brought a brief pause, however, as his son and heir, Tang Gaozong, took the throne and would launch his own series of wars against both Goguryeo and Baekje. In 650, Gaozong received Prince Kim Ch’unch’u once again as an ambassador from Silla, this time with a poem penned by Queen Chindeok herself. In the form of poetic verse, she asked for help against Baekje, who had continued their attacks. Throughout the previous year attacks had continued back and forth. Silla general Kim Yusin again managed to push back and defeat the Baekje forces, but one can only imagine the toll this was taking on Silla’s ability to defend itself over time. This was the content of the note.
Prior to this, Silla really had gone all in on strengthening their ties with the Tang dynasty, going so far as to institute Tang court dress—both in their robes and caps. This point had been specifically negotiated by Prince Ch’unch’u with the previous emperor, Tang Taizong. It sounds as if Silla was trying to have the Tang court recognize their own court nobles and put themselves in a place to receive Tang court rank, though how, exactly, they received said rank is unclear—did it come from the Tang or was it granted by the Queen of Silla.
Either way, it was clearly seen by other nations—or at least Yamato—as an unwelcome statement. In 651, Silla envoys arrived at Tsukushi—modern day Kyushu—wearing their new Tang style clothing and they were turned away. Specifically the Dazaifu sent them back claiming that they weren’t dressed as envoys from Silla should be. On top of this, we are told that Kose no Omi then suggested that rather than go to war over this, they should just make a show of force when the envoys came back. And let me reiterate that: according to the Nihon Shoki this was such an affront that Yamato was considering whether they should launch a punitive military strike against Silla for sporting the wrong fit. Talk about a fashion disaster!
In the end, they took Kose no Omi’s advice, which was that the next time Silla arrived they would have ships lined up all along the Seto Inland Sea as the envoys made their way to Yamato so that there was no doubt in the envoys’ minds about just what Yamato could do.
This is a great demonstration of how something we might consider innocuous was clearly a Big Deal for the people at the time. I suspect that there were at least two possible reasons for why this was, besides just considering themselves the arbiters of fashion. For one, remember that Yamato considered Silla to be subordinate to them, at least in their worldview. Just like they had been concerned about at least maintaining the fiction that Nimna was still an active and independent entity, this broke the illusion that Silla was a tributary of Yamato.
At the same time, it may have just been that they were putting on airs and it was seen as impersonating and even speaking for the Tang court. After all, if a Tang envoy showed up, I doubt that Yamato would turn them away.
In either instance, we can see the lines being drawn, with Silla taking a clear stance in connecting themselves with the Tang court while Goguryeo, Baekje, and even Yamato were still in contact with them, but from a more independent capacity. In 652, for instance, we know that Goguryeo again sent tribute to the Tang court, no doubt in an attempt to normalize relations. Still, the alliances were firming up.
In 653 we have two items of interest: one from the Samguk Sagi and one from the Nihon Shoki. In the Samguk Sagi it explicitly mentions that Baekje and Wa formed an alliance. This is significant in that the Samguk Sagi really doesn’t mention Wa nearly as often as we would expect it to, while the Nihon Shoki is constantly discussing Baekje and Yamato relations. I imagine that there must have been a significant escalation of Wa involvement around this time for the Samguk Sagi to mention it.
On the other hand, the Nihon Shoki doesn’t really mention it. Sure, there are annual tributes mentioned from Baekje and Silla—and occasionally Goguryeo—but they were more focused on another event: an embassy that the Yamato court sent to the Tang dynasty. This was the first embassy to be sent in some time—at least according to the Nihon Shoki—but it was quite the affair.
Two ships were prepared. The first ship was led by Kishi no Nagani and his assistant, Kishi no Koma, along with the envoy, Nunobara no Mita. They were accompanied by numerous students and student priesets, all sons of court nobility, including Jou’e, the son of none other than Nakatomi no Kamatari the “Naidaijin” or central prime minister. In total, there were 121 people on board the ship.
The other ship was led by Takada no Nemaro and his assistant, Kamori no Womaro, as well as their accompanying envoy, Hashi no Yatsute. Along with various students, they had 120 on board the ship. Two ships, each with an individual in charge of the particular embassy, meant that even if they met with an accident along the way, they would have someone to carry on the mission. And that foresight proved unfortunately necessary when the ship carrying Takada no Nemaro sank in the straits of Takashima off the coast of Satsuma. The ship went down and only five men survived, largely by lashing themselves to a plank and drifting ashore at Takashima island. There, one of the survivors, Kadobe no Kogane, gathered bamboo and made a raft, by which they made it to Shitojishima. They surived six days and nights without any food, but they made it. When he heard about it, the sovereign congratulated Kogane and rewarded him with rank and various presents for his work to bring people back home.
Another mission, launched the following year, shows that being lost at sea wasn’t the only danger for international travelers back in the day. In the 2nd month of 654, Takamuku no Kuromaro led another embassy to the Tang court. He was the Controlling Envoy, though the Chief Ambassador was Kahabe no Maro, assisted by Yenichi no Kusushi, a name that Aston suggests translates to something like “Doctor Yenishi”. A list of other names are given as well of those who were also on the mission. More sobering is the outcome of the mission, where we are told what happened to everyone. Though they reached the Tang court, not everyone would make it back. According to the author Yuki no Hakatoko—an interesting tidbit in that they seem to be giving us the author of one of the accounts that they used in the compilation of the Nihon Shoki, and we’ll come back to him in a later episode—according to Hakatoko, the student priest Enmyou died in Tang, while the student priests Chisou and Chikoku both died at sea. Another person named Chisou, but using different characters, returned in a Silla ship in 690. Gakusho died in Tang and Gitsu died at sea. Joye returned in 665 in the ship of Liu Tekao. And then others—about 12 total—along with two individuals who were considered Japanese born abroad, came back in 654 with returning envoys. We are even told that Takamuku no Kuromaro, one of the figures who helped set up the government and played a major role in diplomatic relations with the continent, passed away on this mission as well.
So going on one of these missions may have given you some awesome opportunities to see the world like nobody else, but they were anything but guaranteed. For many people, it was a one way ticket, and we should keep that in mind when we hear about the people going on them.
There were other intricacies to deal with as well—including navigating the pathways to the Tang court. You may remember that Yamato was allied with Baekje in some way. And yet the 654 mission we are told went by way of Silla and then anchored in Laichou, on the Shandong peninsula. Later that same year, the previous mission, with Kishi no Nagani and others, returned to Yamato escoted by envoys from both Silla and Baekje. While the narrative largely focuses on what they obtained, one imagines there were probably some tensions in all of that. After all, just a year before we are told that Baekje and allied with Wa—which is to say Yamato—against Silla. So had Silla not yet heard about the alliance? Or was that just considered par for the course at the time?
The year 654 would have more direct considerations for all concerned, however. In that year, Queen Chindeok of Silla died, as did Karu of Yamato. In Silla, the new King was none other than Prince Kim Ch’unch’u, known to history as King Muyeol. As we touched on, earlier, Ch’unch’u was intimately familiar with the Tang court and had spoken directly with the Tang emperor, so this likely only further cemented ties between the Tang and Silla. Meanwhile, in Yamato, Queen Takara Hime, aka Kyougyoku Tennou -slash- Saimei Tennou, was re-ascending the throne, rather than making way for Prince Naka no Oe, a truly interesting state of affairs.
Moving forward, the alliances would continue to solidify, though diplomatic missions would continue to travel between the various countries. After all, they didn’t exactly have many other means of communicating with each other—no email or telephones back then.
Tang Gaozong would continue to attack and harass Goguryeo, though Yeon Gaesomun would continue to fend off attacks, while Baekje and Silla would continue their struggles as well. Both Goguryeo and Baekje would ally against Silla, who in turn would call upon the might of the Tang empire. All in all, it was a time of great conflict, generally known as the Tang-Goguryeo War, and it was a long-term conflict punctuated with times of peace in betwetween the various offensives. Yamato was less directly involved, but still affected. After all, they were closely aligned with Baekje, and they had to wonder what would happen if Silla came out victorious. Would they be cut off from the continent entirely? Or would they be forced into a new state of having to send tribute to Silla as an inferior country if they wanted access to continental goods and knowledge? While we know how it played out, today, at the time the outcomes were far from certain.
All of that will continue to provide a backdrop for the second reign of Takara Hime, aka Saimei Tennou. A part of me wonders if this wasn’t also part of the reason to move the capital back into Asuka, in the Nara Basin. I imagine that a capital sitting on the edge of the water, relatively speaking, while good for trade and foreign relations, also felt rather exposed if anyone were to sail a fleet down the Seto Inland Sea. Or it may have just been a return to the more familiar lands of Asuka.
As conflict on the continent continued to escalate, Yamato would not be able to stay unaffected. The question is whether or not they would be ready when and if anything came their way. It was a tense period, certainly.
And we’ll get more into that as we move forward in the next episode with the second reign of Takara-hime, aka Saimei Tennou. 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. (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.
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 114: Public Land and Remote Work

November 1, 2024 Joshua Badgley

Photo of Kawaradera ruins, in Asuka. Today, there is a much smaller, modern temple, called Gufukuji, on the site, but you can see the extent of the ancient temple. This was one of the great temples of the Asuka period. Photo by author.

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This episode we are mainly talking about the Equal Fields System that they implemented with the early Taika edicts, and then we’ll look at why this wasn’t the “Naniwa Era”.

Well Field System

In the episode we talk about the “Well” Field system. This is so named because of the character for well: 井 You can see that it looks similar to #.

  
    PRIVATE
    PRIVATE
    PRIVATE
  

    PRIVATE
    PUBLIC
    PRIVATE
  

    PRIVATE
    PRIVATE
    PRIVATE
  

This system appears to work, in theory, with the middle field being used for the common good, such as storing away for periods of drought or famine. However, as the Zhou dynasty fell apart, so did this system.

“Equal Fields” were a little different. Each individual would get an “equal” amount of fields to work, with standard taxes.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is Episode 114: Public Lands and Remote Work

In the early evening, Karu paced through the halls of the inner palace. The grand scale of the construction was impressive, and it was built and furnished with the finest materials available. In all aspects it was the shining jewel. The center of the Yamato world. The entire thing still felt new.
And yet, for all of that, it now felt strangely empty. So many of those who had previously graced its halls were only memories. Karu looked over the halls and wondered: Was it worth it? He had worked with his nephew and others to build a Kingdom worthy of the name. They had instituted reforms to model themselves after the major powers of the day. They had a built a palace to last the test of time. This wasn’t just another place to be abandoned—this was meant to be the bedrock on which the new State would stand. It was the center of ritual and of the government.
But was it? The government was more than just buildings. It was the people who made up the offices and the ministries. It was the entire royal family. It was the scholars and the officials, debating just how things should work.
What would happen when Karu was gone? Would this system last the test of time? Or would it disappear, to be replaced by something new? For centuries, every sovereign had made a new home for themselves every time the previous sovereign passed away. Is that what would happen to Karu as well?
As the sun set, and darkness set in, Karu could only wonder what the future might hold.
So here we are in the Hakuchi era, during the reign of Karu, aka Ame Yorodzu Toyohi, which is to say between the years 650 and 654. The era of Great Change was now the era of the White Pheasant – listen to our last couple of episodes to understand why -- and all of the changes weve been discussing were starting to really come together. Front and center of those changes was the Nagara Toyosaki Palace, a physical manifestation of the new bureaucratic system of government that the sovereign, Karu; the Crown Prince, Naka no Oe; and others had put into place. The work of this government was happening on a stage much grander than anything that had previously been seen in the islands.
This was the start of what we know as the Ritsuryo Era, and it was finally coalescing. In this episode we’ll talk about how, in the Hakuchi era, we see the implementation of the continental system known as the “Equal Field System”, and how the bureaucratic government was extended down to the individual household.
This was all part of what we’ve come to know as the Ritsuryo state, which we talked about back in Episode 108 as we started all of these changes. We are now seeing the foundations of that new state, and we are several years into its implementation, seeing those early edicts finally starting to bear fruit.All of this, of course, was focused on the seat of government in Naniwa.
And yet, spoiler alert, this is not called the “Naniwa Era”. We are still in what many refer to as the Asuka Era. So what happened? Towards the end of the episode we’ll talk about what happened as the era came to a close, or at least as much as we know.
To kick us off, let’s talk about where we stand in the Hakuchi era, and look at the culmination of these early Ritsuryo changes we’ve been talking about. Whatever else had happened, various good omens, crises, and so on – the work of the government was continuing. Once again, we see records of various envoys from the continent —and we’ll get into the international situation, later—but for now, let’s focus on what was going on in the archipelago itself.
Specifically, I want to talk about something called the Equal Field System, another innovation that Karu and his administration introduced to Yamato. The Equal Field System goes back to at least the Northern Wei dynasty, over on the continent, in the late 5th century. It attempted to solve several issues regarding how the government could make sure that land was being worked—and that the government was also getting its cut. To that end, let’s back up a bit and talk about concepts of public versus private land, and how they apply to Yamato at the time.
The concept of “private” land may seem simplistic, as we have an idea of what it means today. Your “private” land is land you own, of course. “Public” land belongs to the government. But in Japan—and in much of East Asia—those concepts weren’t necessarily the same. In many early theories of land ownership, all land belonged to the State—individuals were simply using it. To a certain degree, even today, land is often held only so long as you have a deed or other proof of ownership that is recognized by the State, but concepts like eminent domain can supercede that ownership.
So for our purposes, here, Private land was land where all the produce went to a private individual or private interest, such as a family—or even a temple or shrine. If it was truly privately-owned land, then all of the produce of that land went to the owner. Even if the government technically owned the land, the land could still be considered private, meaning that it wasn’t considered taxable by the government – whoever controlled the land got all the produce.
In contrast to that, public land was land where the government was owed some or all of the produce. It might have been worked by individuals, but was still taxable in part or full.
An early system that goes back to at least the Zhou dynasty was known as the Well Field System. In this system, land was ideally divided into nine squares. The eight squares of land on the outside of the square would all be held and worked by private farmers, who were able to keep whatever they produced on the land. In return, they were to provide labor on the public land in the center, the produce of which went to the State, which could then be stashed away in case of famine or used to help increase the State’s coffers and thus pay for other amenities.
Of course often it just went into the pockets of various aristocrats. I also wonder just how much effort was actually put in to working the public land in the Well Field System.
That name, by the way, comes from how the whole schematic looked when drawn out. The hanzi, or kanji, for a “well”—as in a place where you draw water—is much like a modern hashtag mark. Think two horizontal and two vertical lines, like a tic-tac-toe board. This comes from the fact that wells were often square or rectangular holes, the sides of which could be reinforced with wood. At the top, the well frame was often formed with overlapping wooden beams, forming a shape similar to a hashtag. And so in the Well Field System, the center of the tic-tac-toe board was the public land, and everything else was private.
This system fell apart with the fall of the Zhou during the Summer and Autumn periods, though there were attempts to revive it. After all, it had been mentioned in the Book of Rites, the Liji, and it was praised by Mengzi—the famous scholar and philosopher we known to the West by his latinized name of “Mencius”. As such, it was officially documented as a “good idea” and so there were often attempts to revive it.
The Northern Wei, however, took a slightly different approach. In the late 5th century, they were looking for a way to curb the power of aristocratic families. Since the Qin dynasty and onwards, they had seen the growth of families accumulating land and thus wealth and power. These powerful families were both necessary and a threat, as they held the power to prop up or tear down a government. Farmers would need to rent land from the powerful landowners, paying them a portion of their harvest as rent.
To counter this, the Northern Wei instituted the Equal Field system. Under this system, they claimed government ownership of vast swaths of land and then provided equal parts of that government land to every adult person. Upon a person’s death, their land would revert back to the government, who could then redistribute it to others. The peasants would then be expected to provide a portion of the harvest as tax—they would provide food-rent for the land, as well as payment in cloth and a set number of days of corvee labor. The key was that all of this payment was due to the government, and not to private aristocratic families.
After the Northern Wei fell, the Equal Field system was reinvigorated by the Sui and Tang dynasties, who extended the system across their territories—or at least within the Yellow River and Yangzi River basins. The system did have some allowances for inheritance—especially in instances like mulberry groves, which would be maintained by successive generations. In general, however, most of the land was to be reclaimed by the government upon a person’s death or at the point that they reached 60 years of age, and then it would be redistributed.
This is still a relatively simplistic overview, and there were plenty of different adjustments and changes to the system over the years. Key for us, though, is looking at the adoption of the Equal Field concept in the archipelago.
Up to this point, land ownership in Yamato, such as it was, fell under various family groups. They would own the land and whatever was produced on it, so it was truly private land. “Yake” were set up by the families as central storehouses and administrative centers. In this case, the royal family was, in many ways, just another landowner, and their “yake” are indicated in the Chronicles with the royal “mi” honorific—hence the “miyake”.
As the reformers went about making changes in the period between 645-650, they adopted the concept of the Equal Field System. Prominent figures such as Naka no Oe himself gave up their private fields, and the royal lands were turned into government lands. They instituted the concept that all land in the archipelago nominally belonged to the State, and that others worked it at the Sovereign’s pleasure.
As we talked about in the past several episodes, this made the Sovereign and the State more prominent in people’s lives, and it built bonds with the peasants in that they were granted land on which to work and make a livelihood. They didn’t necessarily have to work out a separate arrangement with some noble family, and the fields and taxes were “equal” for every person.
Of course, surveying the land, taking a census, and distributing the land to the people didn’t happen overnight, and it isn’t even clear how well it occurred outside of the lands originally owned by the royal family, at least initially. We are told that even though the project had kicked off years earlier, back in 646, it wasn’t until the second month of 652 that we are told that the distribution of rice-land had been completed. 30 paces of land—Aston notes that it was 30 paces long by 12 paces wide—made up a single TAN of rice-land, and 10 TAN made up a CHOU. Each TAN or land a person was granted was expected to provide back to the government a sheaf and a half of rice, with each CHOU providing 15 sheaves.
This effort simplified taxation, in a way—everyone owed the same thing, based on their household and how much land they had been granted. However, it also would have required an enormous bureaucratic engine. Scribes would have been in high demand—anyone who could read and write. Without modern computers, they would need to hand count everything in a given district, then send those numbers up to the governor, and then send them again to the capital. Hence the giant government complex set up in Naniwa to oversee all of this and to ensure that the government worked as intended.
In the fourth month of 652, the work continued. We are told that the registers of population were prepared—presumably based on the information that had been previously acquired from around the provinces and sent to the court. The earlier edicts from 646 that outlined this system—which we mentioned back in Episode 109—was finally put in force.
As we noted back in that episode, 50 houses made up a township, or RI—the character used is also pronounced “SATO”, today, and often refers to a village. Each RI had an appointed elder, or head, using the term “CHOU”. This term is still found today in modern parlance: The head of a company, or “KAISHA” is the “SHACHOU”, while the head of a division, or BU, within said company would be the BUCHOU. KAICHOU is the head of an association, or “KAI” and the “GAKUCHOU” is the head of a “DAIGAKU”, a university—basically the University President. In this case the “CHOU” of the “RI” would be the “RICHOU”, using the Sino-Japanese On’yomi pronunciation, though in the vernacular they probably would have been called the “Sato-osa”. All of this just means village head or village chief.
So 50 houses made up a RI, with one RICHOU at the head. In addition, each house would have a senior member appointed as the official head of household, or KACHOU. From there, houses were associated together in groups of five for mutual protection, with one head, or CHOU, per group of five.
And okay, so they were creating groups of people for administrative purposes? Who cares? Well, the thing about this is that it was encoded into the new legal system, and it had several implications. Chief among them was the implication of primogeniture: Since the most senior person was made the KACHOU or head of household (and by “person” I think we can assume that “man” was a given, unless there were no men in the house for some reason), this meant that the eldest person in the household was automatically the one who inherited that position, along with the status and control that came with it. As we’ve seen, up to this point, it was not necessarily the case that the most senior person would inherit in ancient Yamato tradition. Inheritance could pass from a younger brother to an older brother, or to a younger son of a younger son. While there was some apparent concern over lineage and making sure that the individual was of the proper bloodline, at least for royal inheritance, there was not an automatic assumption of precedence for who would inherit.
Of course, as we’ve seen, this set off all sorts of disputes and problems, especially among the elite where wealth and power was involved. However, I think it is fair to assume that these problems weren’t relegated purely to the upper levels of society. Inheritance is always tricky, even in cases where it seems like it should be straightforward.
I imagine that the institution of primogeniture as a legal concept would have had consequences beyond just inheritance. It set up ideas of who was “important” in the family, and the family is often a microcosm of society at large. Primogeniture meant that age and masculinity were both valued over youth and femininity. That isn’t to say that pre-Taika Ritsuryo was a bastion of equality, but we do see more instances where men and women seem to be on closer to equal footing.
In the concept of primogeniture, I believe we can also see the institution of Confucian values—not surprising as this whole thing is cribbed from the continent, with a lot of it being taken from the Tang court. We’ve discussed Confucian concepts of filial piety and how that fed into patriarchal—and frankly monarchical—ideas. The Father and Son, the Ruler and Subject, the Husband and Wife, Elder Brother and Younger Brother, etc. These were the relationships that were important and they defined much of the way people were expected to interact.
As the new system being instituted copied the form of continental government, it would have also been preaching many of its values, as well.
Scholars will continue to debate how widespread the changes actually were. Did the equal-fields system exist all the way out to the edge of Emishi territory? Did it cover the mountainous regions of Honshu? How about to the West of Yamato? We don’t know, but nonetheless, we do see both the expansion and centralization of Yamato power, so there seems to be something to it.
By all accounts, the work that had taken place in this era appears to have been a smashing success. The Taika reforms had taken hold, and the Ritsuryo state seemed to be off to a roaring start. At the center of it was the newly built Nagara Toyosaki Palace, a giant stage for carrying out the business and ritual of the State. One would think that the founders of this new State would have been overjoyed. Naka no Oe, Nakatomi no Kamatari, and the sovereign, Karu, among them. And yet, the story doesn’t seem quite that simple.
The first Ministers of the Right and Left had already passed away. Abe no Oho-omi had passed of what appears to be natural causes, but Soga no Oho-omi, aka Ishikawa no Maro, was undone by slander, accused of treason, and took his own life rather than being killed by the government forces sent after him. And in the 6th month of 653, the sovereign was told that the Priest Min had passed away.
Min—Aston sometimes transcribes it as “Bin”—was one of the sources for much of the information about the continental systems of government. We’ve mentioned him on and off for the last 5 or 6 episodes, though you may not have always caught the reference. Also, since even Aston switches between pronunciations at times, I apologize if I haven’t been consistent. If I said Priest “Min” or “Bin”, we’re talking about the same person. He was a Buddhist priest who had traveled to the Sui dynasty in 608, spending 24 years there, witnessing the change from the Sui to the Tang, returning to Yamato in 632. He was consulted on various omens, and he and Takamuko Kuromaro, who had also been made a State Scholar, or Hakase, at the same time, both worked to set up the eight ministries of the state, the core of the Ritsuryo bureaucracy.
The death of Min was felt across the organs of state. Both the Queen Dowager and Naka no Oe, the Crown Prince, sent messengers to offer condolences. The sovereign commanded the painters, Koma no Tachibe no Komaro, Funado no Atahe, and others to make a large number of figures of the Buddha and Boddhisatvas. They were to be placed in the temple of Kawaradera, though other sources say Yamadadera. Both of these are in Asuka—although the capital had moved to Naniwa, and there was the temple of Shitennoji there, just south of the palace, I can’t help but notice that many of the established temples remained in and around the old capital at Asuka.
653 saw something else, which also seems a bit odd, given the apparent success of the government. We see that in this year the Crown Prince, Naka no Oe, petitioned his uncle, the Sovereign, to move the royal residence back to the Yamato capital, which is to say Asuka—in the heartland of Yamato as opposed to outside the Nara Basin, like Naniwa.
This is quite the request. They had just finished establishing a large palace complex in Naniwa. Why would they pull up stakes and move everything back to Asuka? So the sovereign, Karu, denied Naka no Oe’s petition. Regardless, Naka no Oe took his mother, the Queen Dowager, as well as Karu’s own Queen, Hashibito and the younger royal princes, and he moved all of them back to Asuka, moving into the temporary palace of Kawabe. The ministers and the various Daibu all followed him. He basically moved the royal family and the court back to Asuka, without Karu’s permission, and everyone followed him.
We aren’t told why this happened. Was there a falling out between Naka no Oe and the Sovereign? Was there some other issue that caused Naka no Oe to want to abandon the capital they had worked so hard to build?
Karu was understandably upset by this apparent betrayal. He expressed himself in a poem which he sent to his wife:
KANAKITSUKE / AGAKAFU KOMA WA / HIKIDESEZU
AGAKAFU KOMA WO / HITO MITSURAMUKA
The pony which I keep/ I put shackles on / And led it not out
Can anyone have seen / The pony which I keep?
And if it wasn’t enough that the people had left. We see once more, on the New Year’s Day of 654, that the rats likewise left Naniwa and migrated towards Asuka. This last one I certainly question as to whether or not it happened, but the meaning and symbolism is clear. The Chroniclers are telling us that the effective capital was moving back to Asuka. The time in Naniwa was limited.
This doesn’t appear to have negatively affected the fortunes of Naka no Oe and his supporters. On the contrary: Nakatomi no Kamatari no Muraji, on this same New Year’s Day, was granted the Shikwan, the purple cap, and his fief was increased. The Toushi Kaden, the History of the Fujiwara House, says that it was increased by 8,000 households.
It seems that the business of the government continued apace through 654, though it is a bit unclear just how things worked, given the split between Asuka and Naniwa. Was Karu left alone in the giant complex he had built? Or was it still where all of the government work happened? If so, just how much were the high ministers missed, or were they working remotely, via messenger and post-horse?
Whatever the situation, it would resolve by the end of the year. On the 1st day of the 10th month, Naka no Oe learned that his uncle, the Sovereign, had taken ill. Naka no Oe and the entire court returned to Naniwa to see him. Nine days later, on the 10th day of the 10th month, Karu passed away in the state bedchamber he was around 57 or 58 years old. He was temporarily interred in the southern courtyard, and Mozu no Hashi no Muraji no Doutoko oversaw the palace of temporary interment. He would be buried in the Ohosaka Shinaga Tomb, which was built near the site of tombs associated with Kashikiyahime and others, south of the Yamato river, on the west side of the mountains that separate the Kawachi plain from the Nara basin.
Two months later, Naka no Oe and his mother made it official, and formally moved to the temporary palace of Kawabe in Asuka. Naka no Oe’s mother, Takara Hime, would come to the throne on the third day of the first month of the new year, 655. It would be her second time on the throne. Since she reigned twice, the Chroniclers actually gave her two posthumous regnal names. For the first reign they named her “Kougyoku Tennou”. In the second reign they named her “Saimei Tennou”, to distinguish from her first reign on the throne. As far as I know this has only happened twice—the second time being with Kouken, aka Shoutoku, Tennou in the late 8th century.
Why she took the throne again is not addressed. She had been the sovereign, stepping down during the Isshi Incident, when Soga no Iruka was killed in front of her. At that time, Naka no Oe had been urged to take the throne, but he decided against it. After all, Furubito no Oe was still around at that time, and seems to have had his own claim. Naka no Oe couldn’t take the throne while Furubito was still alive and, at the same time, claim to be the filial person that Confucian theory said he should be. And so his uncle, Karu, took the throne, since nobody could really say anything against it. Now, though, Furubito no Oe and Karu were both deceased. Why didn’t Naka no Oe, the Crown Prince, ascend the throne?
Again, we aren’t given an answer. There is one other thing that is possibly worth noting, however: Karu had a son. This may be whom they are referring to as the “younger princes” who were brought to Asuka when everyone moved there. This was Prince Arima. He is believed to have been born in 640, so he would have been about 15 years old at the time of his father’s death. Naka no Oe was the Crown Prince, but did Arima also have a claim? He was, after all, the male son of the most recent sovereign, Karu, and his queen, Hashibito hime. This is something that we will definitely look at in a future episode.
It should be noted that Naka no Oe was born in 626. He would have been 18 or 19 years old during the time of the Isshi incident, and was only ten years old, 29 years old, when his mother took the throne for the second time, in 655. She, on the other hand, was about 62 years old when she took the throne the second time. The consensus is that even though she reigned as sovereign, the true power continued to rest with the young Naka no Oe and his clique, and they would continue to direct the government for the next several decades.
And with that we largely bring to a close the Hakuchi era. The era ended with Karu’s death, and no new era was declared for Takara Hime’s reign. The period from the Hakuchi era to the start of the Nara period is often referred to as the Hakuho period. An unofficial name taken from the names of the nengo on either side of it. It often is used specifically to reference the art of the period, as more and more continental influence continued to pour in.
Next episode, we’ll take a look at the various interactions with the continent and go a little more into the politics of the time. Takara Hime’s second reign—for which she was posthumously given the name “Saimei Tennou”—dealt a lot with the continent, among other things. Things on the Korean peninsula were heating up, and the Tang was continuing to push against those on their borders, both along the Silk Road to the West, but also against states like Goguryeo, in the northeast. And yet it wasn’t a time of constant warfare, either. We’ll do our best to look at what was happening.
Until then thank you for listening and for all of your support.
If you like what we are doing, please 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 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

Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4

Episode 113: The White Pheasant

October 16, 2024 Joshua Badgley

A model of the Early Naniwa Palace (likely the Nagara Toyosaki Palace) at the Osaka History Museum, which sits near the Naniwa palace ruins site, which is also near Osaka castle and about 3km due north of Shitennoji temple. This view is from the southern end, just inside the Suzaku gate, looking at the gate for the Chodoin and the Dairi beyond that. Photo by author.

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So the year 649 was so bad that they went and changed the whole calendar to forget about it! In 650 a white pheasant is brought to the court, and they sieze on that as a chance to rename the era from Taika to Hakuchi. That should make things better, right?

This episode we talk about this event--their reasoning, as well as what is recorded as having happened. We also take a look at the completion of the Ajifu no Miya and how it was renamed to the Naniwa no Toyosaki no Nagara no Miya, or the Toyosaki Nagara Palace of Naniwa. This is thought to be what we know today as the Early Naniwa Palace, and it was a real change, and, in many ways, the physical manifestation of the Taika era reforms.

Palaces

A big part of this episode deals with palaces and the palace layout. So let me try to cover some of that here, too, especially as the names can get tricky.

Naniwa Toyosaki Palace (難波豊碕宮) - Declared in 645, but not occupied, as far as we can tell, until

The “Detached” Palace of Koshiro (子代離宮) - Likely referring to the buildings of the government offices for the Miyake of Koshiro in Sayabe, in Naniwa, which were torn down and built into a temporary palace.

The Temporary (or Detached) Palace of Kahadzu ( 蝦蟇行宮 / 蝦蟇離宮)

Wogohori Palace (小郡宮) - Site that was pulled down and a palace erected. See also “Ohogohori”

Ohogohori (大郡) - Site where visiting dignitaries would stay in Naniwa. Also the site that the sovereign occupied before moving to the Toyosaki Nagara Palace.

Temporary Palace of Muko (武庫行宮) - Stayed there after coming back from Arima Onsen, around the time that the Crown Prince’s palace burned down

Ajifu Palace (味經宮) - Used for the New Year’s Celebration on the first day of the first month of 650, but they immediately returned, indicating that the sovereign didn’t stay there.

Naniwa Nagara Toyosaki Palace (難波長柄豊碕宮) - The name given to the “new” palace—presumably Ajifu Palace, but possibly just an update of Toyosaki?

645 - Karu comes to the throne and decides to move to the Toyosaki Palace in Naniwa
646 - 1st month - The sovereign moves to the Koshiro Detached Palace
646 - 2nd month, 22nd day - The sovereign returns from the Koshiro Detached Palace
646 - 9th month - The sovereign occupies the Kahadzu Temporary Palace
646 - During this year, the government offices at Wogohori are torn down to build the Wogohori palace
647 - 12th month, last day - The sovereign occupies the Muko Temporary Palace
648 - 1st month - The sovereign celebrates the new year at the Naniwa Toyosaki Palace
650 - 1st month, 1st day- New Year’s Celebrations are held at Ajifu Palace
650 - 10th month - Aratawi no Atahe no Hirafu sets the boundary posts of “the Palace”
651 - 12th month, last day - 2100 monks and nuns assembled to read the “Issaikyo” at the Ajifu Palace. At the end of chanting the sutras, the Palace is renamed the “Naniwa Nagara Toyosaki Palace”
652 - 1st month, 1st day - After the New Year’s celebrations, the sovereign returned to the Ohogohori Palace.
652 - 3rd month, 9th day - The sovereign moved back to the “Palace” [The Naniwa Nagara Toyosaki Palace?]
652 - 9th month - The “Palace” construction was complete.

Palace layout

Dairi (内裏) - The “Inner Palace” where the sovereign lives. It resides at the northernmost end of the palace compound. In the Early Naniwa Palace, the Dairi was about 10 acres in total size.

Daigokuden (大極殿) - In later palaces it is the main audience hall, where major ceremonies, feasts, etc. would be performed. The Early Naniwa Palace had a “Front Hall” at the southern end of the Dairi, but the Daigokuden would typically be placed at the northern end of the Chodoin.

Chodoin (朝堂院) - Literally the Court Hall Compound. It is a large, rectangular area south of the Dairi. The center is largely open space, and it is surrounded by court halls, or chodo.

Chodo (朝堂) - A court hall, usually set up for one of the offices of the government, where the head of the office would sit and direct the functions of the office. The Early Naniwa Palace had 14—seven on either side of the Chodoin. They were of different sizes, likely based on some ranking of the offices and their functions. Later palaces would standardize on only 8 halls to 12 halls.

Choshuden (朝集殿) - South of the Chodoin was an area with the Choshuden, the court gathering halls. These were areas where the court officers could change into (or out of) their official clothing. It was a waiting area for high ranking officials where they could gather prior to various court ceremonies.

Suzakumon (朱雀門) - The gate at the southern end of the court complex is the Suzaku-mon, named for Suzaku, the vermillion bird of the south.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is Episode 113: The White Pheasant.

The officials of the court stood sentinel at the palace gates, a formidable line of authority draped in flowing, vibrant robes that signified their rank. Each step down the line revealed a cascade of colors, a living tapestry of power and prestige. Only the envoys from distant shores stood apart, their unique uniforms adding an exotic flair to the proceedings, as well as a certain legitimacy as outside witnesses.

The air crackled with anticipation as the crowd waited, their breath held, until four figures emerged, bearing aloft a magnificent litter adorned with intricate decorations that shimmered as they caught the sun’s rays.

Upon that litter rested a cage, and within it,a dazzling white pheasant, plucked from the untamed wilds of Anato. Whispers rippled through the throng; some questioned the significance of this fragile creature, while others dared to see it as a divine omen. Was this bird as pure as the tales had promised? The capital had buzzed with rumors ever since its unexpected arrival, and those in the back stretched their necks, desperate for a glimpse of this rare marvel.

The past year had cast a shadow over the Yamato court, leaving the air thick with uncertainty. Yet, this ethereal bird, shimmering with the promise of renewal, seemed to herald a shift—an opportunity for rebirth that everyone craved. At the very least it was a much needed distraction from everything that had previously occurred.

As the litter glided past, the courtiers bowed deeply in reverence, forming two disciplined lines that followed through the grand gates. Together, they marched into the palace, hearts pounding with hope. They were not just entering a building; they were stepping into a new era, one that, with a whisper of fate, could rise above the struggles of the past.

This episode we kick off the start of a new era—the Hakuchi era, or the era of the White Pheasant. It followed the Taika era, and it does have a different feel. It is less about new edicts and more about how things were shaking out and coming together. And one of the things that was coming together was the Nagara no Toyosaki palace, which is believed to be the same one known to archaeologists as the “Early Naniwa Palace” unearthed in Ohosaka and dated to the mid-7th century. We’ll actually start with a look at this palace, continuing our discussion from last episode, as our sovereign, Karu, aka Koutoku Tennou, seems to have been a bit crazy about all of his palaces, and figuring out just which is which can be an issue in and of itself.
We’ll also touch on the start of this new era, and look at why and what it meant to come up with a new era name—a new “nengou”—in the middle of a reign like this.
And so we catch ourselves at the start of the year 650, still, technically, in the Taika era. The year started well enough, with the sovereign celebrating the new year at the Ajifu palace and then coming straight back—the Ajifu palace was apparently yet another new palace and it seems construction had only recently begun.
Now, There is some confusion between the Ajifu palace and the Toyosaki palace. The Ajifu palace is traditionally thought to have been located on the opposite side o f the Yodo river, in the area of modern Settsu city, on the site of what became the Ajifu Shrine. Others have suggested that it was actually on the Kanimachi plateau, which is where the Toyosaki palace was. Notably the “Toyosaki” palace is not located anywhere near the modern area of “Toyosaki” with which it seems to share a name. From what little information we have, it seems to have been quite the complex. As to why he would need yet another palace, I could not say. And yet, later we see that the Ajifu Palace is eventually named the Nagara Toyosaki Palace. So are they one and the same? Did they move the Toyosaki Palace? Or did they build the Toyosaki Palace and then rebuild it as the Ajifu Palace—aka the Nagara Toyosaki Palace?
At this point the way that the Chronicles talk about it, the Ajifu palace site seems to have been almost purely conceptual, while previous accounts seem to indicate that the Toyosaki Palace was already in use. That would have made for an interesting New Year’s celebration, probably in temporary buildings erected quickly amongst the grass and fields, with some nearby tomb mounds that would need to be leveled or moved to make room, we are later told. It seems they were still surveying the site, but I guess Karu really was looking for a change. And so he celebrated the new year at the Ajifu palace, but quickly returned back to wherever the work of the government was actually occurring.
As to where that was, well, we talked last episode about all of Karu’s meanderings from one palace to the other. The Nihon Shoki text itself is not exactly clear, as I read it. It doesn’t help that the term for palace, or “miya”, appears to refer to both a complex and a single residence, without a clear distinction given between the two. And so, though I mentioned it last episode, let’s recap what we know about the palaces this reign.
So in 645, we are told that Karu decided upon Naniwa and we are told that this is the “Toyosaki” palace. Then in 646, Karu took up residence in the “detached” palace of Koshiro in Sayabe, Naniwa. This was likely him repurposing the Miyake, the government offices with the royal granaries. He was only there for about two months, though, before he returned. Then, in the third month of 646, he issues an amnesty claiming to have taken up residence in the new palace—but we aren’t told which one.
In 647, two years into the reign, the government offices at Wogohori are torn down and a palace was built there. Now this is somewhat confusing because there appear to be two government districts: Wogohori and Ohogohori. You’ll probably notice how similar these two sound, though it may have been more like “wogopori” and “opogopori”. Back in the day. Wo-gohori, or the “Small District”, is mentioned once, but mainly just as a place name. Ohogohori, or the “Big District” has previously shown up as the place with government offices for the envoys from overseas.   Confusing matters, in a later entry, Karu eventually moves out of the palace at Oho-gohori and into the palace that would be known as the Nagara Toyosaki palace. So was he at Wogohori and then later at Ohogohori? Or was there some scribal error such that the two got confused?
And then in 648 we are told that Karu moved into the Toyosaki palace in Naniwa. Two years later, in 650, and he is now celebrating New Year’s at the Ajifu palace, which may refer to a location on the other side of the Yodo river, but is likely in the spot we now think of as the Nagara Toyosaki Palace. We then know that in 651 they were still building a palace. And it isn’t until the last day of 651 that Karu would formally move from Ohogori into the Ajifu palace, which we are told was then renamed the Nagara no Toyosaki no Miya---the Nagara Toyosaki Palace.
I have several thoughts on all of this. One, is that there may have been two “Toyosaki” palaces—there was the Toyosaki palace that he first moved into, and then there is the Nagara Toyosaki Palace. “Nagara” appears to mean something like “Long Handle”, but other than that, I don’t know that there is a good translation. It may refer to the fact that it was meant to last longer, or that it was even larger than the previous palace. It may even be that the original Toyosaki Palace was just a few of the buildings, and that eventually it grew into the larger Nagara Toyosaki Palace, but if that is the case, what is up with term “Ajifu”? Was that just one building in the larger palace? Or are earlier mentions of “Toyosaki” anachronistic, and perhaps it wasn’t until the entire thing was complete that they gave it that name? Many modern accounts appear to conflate the Toyosaki palace with the Nagara no Toyosaki Palace, saying it just took that long to build. That would imply that the Ajifu palace really was there on the Kamimachi plateau, at the known Naniwa palace site. Alternatively, “Nagara” could possibly have been a reference to the fact that the Ajifu palace was an extension of the larger Toyosaki complex, possibly built out of the government offices of either Wogohori or Ohogohori.
For all that we don’t know exactly what was happening here, we have a pretty good idea in the archaeological record about at least one of the palace sites on the Kamimachi plateau. This site has been identified as the Toyosaki palace of Karu, aka Koutoku Tennou, and it would actually be reused at a later date. Sure enough, there are remains of at least two palace complexes on the site, with the one from our period known as the “Early Naniwa Palace” site.
Based on its size and layout, this Early Naniwa palace was the first of its kind. Previous palaces in Asuka had not dissimilar designs in terms of the general arrangement, but this clearly made use of the structure of continental style palace complexes, and was likely intended to be a new, permanent capital.
The north of the palace complex consisted of a rectangular, walled section 185 meters east to west and 200 meters north to south, making up the “dairi”. That’s almost 10 acres of enclosed space, set aside as the sovereign’s personal living quarters. South of that was a smaller area with the front hall, one of the largest for its time. It was 36 meters east to west and 19 meters north to south. This would have been the hall called the “Daigokuden” in later palaces, where official rituals would take place. There was a gate between it and the Dairi, to the north, as well as a gate to the south, flanked by two octagonal buildings, which led to the Chodoin, the main working area of the court complex.
This is part of what sets this palace apart from others, and why it likely took a while to build. It may also explain all the different palace names as there was probably a lot of construction for a long time. In previous instances, as far as we can tell, the sovereign’s palace was both their home and the building where state business was conducted. Think, perhaps, of the White House, in the US, and then imagine that the White House, the Capitol Building, and the Supreme Court were all part of the same compound, with only the barest of concessions to privacy between them. In this new layout, the dairi was reserved to the sovereign, there was a small area for the official throne room, and then south of that was the Chodoin, the court hall complex.
This was a huge change to how things had operated in the past. While the main audience hall was still nominally part of the dairi, so the “private” areas of the palace weren’t entirely “private”, it was still leaps and bounds more separated than in the previous palaces we’ve uncovered. Sure, the idea of lining up buildings from the front gate to the larger buildings towards the back, making people approach successively larger and more impressive buildings, generally seems to have been a thing as far back as the Makimuku Palace near Mt. Miwa, back in the third century, but even then, there is no clearly defined separation between the public and private spaces of the sovereign. There does seem to have been restrictions on who could enter what parts of the compound, with the sovereign’s personal quarters being the most restricted, but now there were walls and gates and guards separating one area from another.
The Chodoin itself, the main “business” or “public” area of the court, appears to have been about 262.8 meters north to south and 233.6 meters east to west—a little over 15 acres. Most of that was open space between the 14 “choudou” halls lined up symmetrically, 7 on either side. These were the individual buildings where the various government officials were to meet and conduct business, as well as conduct rituals, feasts, etc. There was a southern gate that provided the entrance to the Chodoin and led to another large area with the Choshuden, the buildings where officials could change into and out of their formal court uniforms, and otherwise prepare for or close out the day. South of that was the main gate for the entire compound, the Suzaku gate, named for Suzaku, the red bird of the south, one of the four directional guardian spirits.
We know the buildings largely from their post holes. They were made of wood, and it is likely that most of them were thatched. They may have been painted white, vermillion, and green—classic paints that were based on continental styles and which were said to help prevent the wooden pillars from rotting too quickly. It is unsurprising that this would have taken years—but it is also possible that they built some quarters for the sovereign and then built out from there. This also would have been key to a lot of the governmental reforms, providing an actual location for the work that the reforms were directing.
Of course, there was a lot of work to be done, and the halls in the palace were limited, so two areas to the east and west of the complex were set aside and appear to have been built up with other government offices, suitable for carrying out the day to day minutiae that was required.
There is still a question of whether or not they also instituted the larger grid system city layout around the palace complex. Currently we have no evidence for that, though perhaps they were considering it, eventually. Unfortunately, with all of the construction in Osaka over time, I don’t know if we could be able to find or discern such a layout if we did find it. For now, we will stick with what we know: an absolute unit of a court complex that took them several years to build.
Getting back to the Chronicles: Our next entry in the Nihon Shoki, after the New Years celebration, tells us that in the second month, Kusakabe no Muraji no Shikofu, the governor of Anato Province, brought a white pheasant to the court. The report claimed that it had been caught by Nihe, a relative of Obito, the Kuni no Miyatsuko of Anato, on the 9th day of the first month, on Mt. Wonoyama.
For reference, the land of Anato was at the far western end of Honshu, part of the San’yodo, itself a designation for the lands along the Seto Inland Sea coast from Harima, modern Hyogo prefecture, out to Anato, modern Yamaguchi prefecture. It was on the Honshu side of the Shimonoseki strait, which was the main entrance from the Korean Strait and the Japan Sea to the Seto Inland Sea. The area would later be known as Nagato, which would eventually be called Choshu, an area which any students of the fall of the Tokugawa shogunate are sure to recognize.
We discussed back in Episode 94 how white or albino animals—assuming they weren’t normally white—were considered particularly auspicious. So in 598, the land of Koshi sent a white deer they had found to the court of Kashikiya Hime, which is to say Suiko Tenno.
And so the white pheasant from Anato was clearly seen as an omen—but was it truly auspicious. Here we see the court investigating this, and how exactly they go about that is somewhat enlightening as to how the court thought in general.
First, they made inquiry of the lords of Baekje—I would suspect this referred to those recognized as Baekje nobility residing in the archipelago, rather than sending a correspondence to the peninsula and back. That they went to someone from Baekje would seem to indicate the importance they placed on Baekje as a conduit for continental learning. Indeed, the answer they got back—whether from a single, unnamed individual or a group of Baekje nobility—was that White Pheasants were recorded in the 11th year of Yongping, which would be 68 CE to us, during the reign of Ming of the later Han dynasty. Han Mingdi, aka Emperor Ming of Han was born Liu Yang and also known as Liu Zhang, reigned from 57 to 75 CE. Ming and his son, Emperor Zhang oversaw a period of particular prosperity for the Eastern Han dynasty. On the other hand, there was an attempt to curse Emperor Ming in 67 CE, which ended with the death of the ambitious Prince Jing of Guanglin. Then, in 70, Prince Ying of Chu was also convicted of using magic to try and secure blessings while he fomented revolution against the emperor, and he was exiled, where he committed suicide. So I don’t know if this marks the pheasant as particularly auspicious or not.
Asking the Buddhist priests, who frequently studied not just Buddhist canon, but other continental texts, they mostly drew a blank—at least on the specifics of a white pheasant. They did recommend that a general amnesty would not be amiss, as it would bring joy to the people. I guess if you aren’t sure about the nature of an omen you can certainly do something to help it out.
And while they weren’t specifically sure about a white pheasant in Buddhist scripture, a couple of priests did have suggestions. The Priest Doutou recounted a story from Goguryeo, when the court there wished to build a new Buddhist temple, but could not divine a suitable and auspicious site. When someone witnessed a white deer, they chose that spot for the temple, which was then called the Temple of the Park of the White Deer. According to Doutou, this temple established Buddhism in Goguryeo.
Furthermore, he recounted, when a white sparrow was seen on the farmstead of another temple, or when a dead crow with three legs had been brought back from the Tang dynasty, the people had proclaimed both of these to be good omens. So given all of that, Priest Doutou concluded, a white pheasant must be especially auspicious.
The Priest Bin agreed. Bin, you may recall, had been heavily relied upon for his knowledge in setting up the new governmental structure, which would seem to indicate that he was quite well-versed in continental ideas, and he had even traveled there himself. He provided the court several different reasons that a white pheasant might appear.
First, it might appear when a ruler extended his influence to all four quarters.
Second, it might appear when the sovereign’s sacrifices are appropriate, and when his banquets and clothing are in due measure.
Third, it might appear when the sovereign cultivates frugality.
Finally, it might appear when the sovereign was humane.
He didn’t provide any specific examples of how he arrived as his conclusions—at least nothing was recorded—and so he may have been relying on his own expertise. However, he did recount one tale in particular. It was a story from the time of Emperor Cheng Wang of the Zhou dynasty. Cheng Wang is said to have reigned in the 11th century BCE, from 1042 to 1021, and so take that how you will. Important to us is not what happened so much as what the Yamato court believed had happened—what was the historical truth that they were workin with at the time?
According to Bin, during Cheng Wang’s reign, the Yuehshang family brought a white pheasant to the court. Apparently it had been three years without any exceptional storms or rains, and neither the rivers nor seas had flooded. Apparently the old men found this an extremely long time to go without some kind of disaster, indicating that the pheasant was clearly an auspicious omen in deed.
Priest Bin also mentioned other accounts, but the Chroniclers omitted them from the record.
Whatever they were, the court had heard enough. The White Pheasant was declared auspicious, and a new era was declared: the Hakuchi, or White Pheasant, era. They let the white pheasant loose in the royal garden, presumably with clipped wings or otherwise kept from flying off, and then preparations were made immediately to officially inaugurate the new era 6 days later, on the 15th day of the 2nd month of 650.
Before we get into that, though, I want to pause and take a look at something here: The authority of precedent. Time, as conceived of in the continental model, was cyclical. There was the cycle of day and night. The cycle of the year and the repeating seasons. Likewise the planets and heavens all had their own cyclical periods. In addition, there was the idea that the Yin and Yang forces in the universe likewise cycled through predictable patterns—the sexagenary cycle, or cycle of 60 years, being an example of a longer term cycle. And then there was the Buddhist cycle or death and rebirth, at least as long as one remained tied to this mortal plane of existence.
If time is cyclical, then one can look to the past to predict the present.   Stories of the past were seen as holding authority over similar events in the present. Understanding these historical stories and being able to pull from them provided its own kind of power and authority. Rather than attempting to reason from first principles, precedent was often a more convincing argument.
Being able to read and right and recall all of these stories gave scholars the ability to influence events. Of course, who had time to do all that other than people like Buddhist priests or the doctors of the court?
This is also one of the reasons that people would have had to write down histories and, eventually, to keep diaries and accounts of what happened. Those accounts would, over time, become essential records to invoke for moments like this—and even a record like the Nihon Shoki or the Kojiki would have similar significance. In many ways, it is propaganda, but not just in how it describes the past as the Chroniclers wished it to be, but it set the precedent for succeeding eras to look back on. While we may challenge that view, today, for many from the 8th century onward the events described in the Nihon Shoki were considered the gospel truth in more ways than one.
Of course, all that aside, we’ve had plenty of auspicious events before, but why, now, would they be enough to trigger a new era? Why not just note them and move on?
Well, to start with, let’s face it, nobody is likely to name 649 as the greatest year ever, any time soon, and certainly not the Yamato court. The Crown Prince, Naka no Oe, had been tricked into thinking that his co-conspirator, Soga no Kurayamada no Ishikawa no Maro, was a traitor. To be fair, Maro had been more than complicit in the murderous takedown of his own relatives to set up the current government, and history has time and again suggested that those who put someone on the throne can just as easily take them off it. That’s why they are often either brought deeper into the inner circle, or removed—either physically or more euphemistically. In this case, though, it seems that fears of Naka no Oe and others were unjustified, and they sent the royal troops after an innocent man; or at least a man as innocent as any of the other elites at that time. After all, the wealth of the elites came from the rice fields that they owned—or that were at least designated for their stipends—and they certainly weren’t working those fields themselves, so make of that what you will.
All of that had led to the death of Maro, his family, and the rest of his household. That, in turn, led to the death of his daughter, Miyatsuko Hime, who was married to Naka no Oe himself. When they finally did realize what had happened, the best justice they could figure out was to send the scandal-mongering Soga no Musa out to Tsukushi in a form of luxurious banishment. Demotion by promotion, as he was made the Viceroy of Tsukushi, the top man of the court at the edge of the archipelago.
To say that the year 649 had been a bust is an understatement. Don’t get me wrong, it was a far cry from the worst year that the archipelago had ever experienced—or would in the future, for that matter. But that was scant comfort to the folks living in it.
And so it was with some relief, I suspect, that the court welcomed news from the far flung land of Anato, because they really needed a distraction.
With that in mind, let us move on to the events of the 15th day of the 2nd month of the year 650, describing how they inaugurated the new era. Now, if the Chronicles are to be believed, this is not the first time they inaugurated a new era—we are told that year 645 was considered the first year of Taika, or Great Change. But, assuming that did happen, and that it wasn’t just named after the fact, the era would have started at the same time as a new reign. Previously, from everything we can tell, dates were based regnal years. Things are recorded as happening in the X year of Y sovereign. Some of the oldest accounts seem to even note it more as X year of the sovereign who reigned from the Y palace, as the palace was likely more distinct a feature than the names and titles that they used, and the posthumous names, like “Koutoku Tennou” were not actually used until the end of the 7th or early 8th century.
It is possible that Hakuchi is actually the first true nengo—or era name—and the first one that appears in the middle of a reign—though even here some say that the instantiation of “Hakuchi” is anachronistic.
Personally, I see no harm in taking it at face value, at least for now, while acknowledging that everything in the Nihon Shoki is suspect. Still, we are approaching a time when the events being written down may have still been in the living memory of people alive at that time. 720 is only 70 years away, and the project started even before then, so unless there are obvious discrepancies or supernatural events, we can probably assume that the Chronicles at this point are largely truthful, if possibly embellished.
And so it is we are told of what happened. To begin with, the court lined the ministers of the left and right and all of the functionaries in four lines outside the “purple” gate, as they would during a New Year’s reception, like the one they had just had at the Ajifu palace. The “Purple” gate was probably a reference to the southern gate
The fact that the courtiers lined up at the south gate in the same way that they would have during a New Year’s reception would seem to indicate that this was seen as the start of a new year. It was no longer a Taika year—starting on that day it was now the first year of Hakuchi. The month and day would not change, however, so it was still the 15th day of the 2nd month. That means that technically the first year of Hakuchi would only have ten and a half months in the year—maybe eleven and a half, if there was an extranumerary month. Likewise, the last year of Taika would only have one and a half months. And if you are thinking that must make Japanese dates really tricky around the start or end of year, you don’t know the half of it. Sometimes events will get placed in the wrong “era” because they happened a few months before or after the change, and people forget that when they are translating to and from western dates. It also means era names can’t just give you the years of the era, but really need to give you the month and date it starts and ends. Fortunately, most people are quite understanding about the occasional mistake.
But anyway, I digress.
The courtiers were lined up as though for new years, and then they watched as Ahata no Omi no Ihimushi and three others bore a litter with the pheasant on it and went ahead through the gates. The others followed in rank order—with the Ministers of the Left and Right leading the various functionaries. The Baekje prince Pungjang and his uncle, Sesyeong Chyungseung, whom we mentioned back in Episodes 105 and 107, as well as Mochi, the physician to the King of Goguryeo, a scholar attached to the court of Silla, along with other important persons all advanced as well into the Central court of the palace.
The pheasants litter was taken up by Mikuni no Kimi no Maro, Wina no Kimi no Takami, Miwa no Kimi no Mikaho, and Ki no Omi no Maro, who brought it to the front of the hall. There, the ministers of the left and right then took the front of the litter, while the Prince of Ise, Mikuni no Kimi no Maro, and Kura no Omi no Woguso took hold of the rear. Together, they placed it in front of the throne. The sovereign, Kura, and the Crown Prince, Naka no Oe, examined the pheasant together.
The Crown Prince then backed away, and the new Minister of the Left, Kose no Omi, presented a congratulatory address. He gave thanks to the sovereign and claimed that the pheasant was a sign that the sovereign would rule for one thousand autumns and ten thousand years across the Great Eight Islands—the Ohoyashima—of the archipelago and the four quarters of the earth. Effectively, this is a long-winded version of “Banzai”, the congratulatory wish of ten thousand years of life for an emperor.
Karu responded to this address by quoting auspicious times that white animals had been omens of good rule. He then gave credit to the ministers and functionaries, and urged them to continue to provide good service. Then he declared a general amnesty, forgiving various offenses, and noted that the era name would change to “Hakuchi”.
Karu then directed presents to be handed out to the Ministers, the Daibu, the officials of lower rank, all the way down to the clerks. Each received gifts commensurate with their rank. Finally, Kusakabe no Muraji no Shikofu, the governor of Anato, was commended, and granted the rank of Daisen along with what we are told were a goodly number of presents. In addition, the commuted taxes and corvees of Anato were remitted for three years, meaning that Anato would be allowed to keep all of the rice and product for themselves—something that was likely quite significant, though it is unclear whether this means that it was felt down at the level of basic workers or it just meant that the governor was able to keep what he taxed from the people for himself.
And with that, we enter a new era. Forget the unfortunate bloodshed and regrettable decisions of the previous year, this was a new start. And that is often how these eras were seen. Whether it was a new reign or things were just going so poorly that the court felt there needed to be a new start, future nengo would often follow a similar pattern.   And there was no set time for how long an era would last. In fact, here’s a little trivia for you: The shortest nengo in Japanese history was “Ryakunin”, and it lasted just under two and a half months from late 1238 to the start of 1239. It really shows how important it was to come up with a good name of these eras, as “ryakunin”, which seems to mean something like “humane period”, could also be written with characters meaning “abbreviated person”. So they decided to abbreviate the era, instead, changing the era name again.
This first year of the new era of Hakuchi continued relatively normally. In the fourth month there were envoys from Silla—another source, according to the Nihon Shoki, claimed that Goguryeo, Baekje, and Silla sent envoys every year from this reign onward. Then, in the tenth month, we see more work being done on the palace—presumably the Ajifu palace. We are told that presents were given out in respect to tombs that had been demolished to make room for the new construction, as well as for the people who had been moved off their land. Then Aratawi no Atahe no Hirafu was sent to place the boundary posts, no doubt marking out the outer extremities of the new palace precincts.
In addition, that month work began—no doubt at the court’s direction—on a giant tapestry, or mandala, with a sixteen foot tall Buddha image, attendant Boddhisatvas, and figures of all eight classes of beings according to the Buddhist cosmology. That includes Heavenly beings, such as Devas; dragons; demonic Yaksha, Gandharva, and Asura; the bird-like Garuda and Kimnara; and the snake-like Mahoraga. All told, there were some 46 figures. It doesn’t seem to say where it was to be installed, though it may have been made for the new palace complex.
Also in that year we are told that the court ordered Aya no Yamaguchi no Atahe no Ohoguchi to carve one thousand images of Buddha—but once again, we aren’t told where they resided. We do know that the 16 foot tall embroidered Buddha was completed in the 3rd month of 651: it had taken them approximately five months. The day after they were completed, the Dowager Queen, Takara no Himemiko, aka the former sovereign, Kougyoku Tennou, who had stepped down in 645, invited ten Buddhist teachers and prepared a feast and entertainment, likely to bless and show off the completed images.
At the end of 651, the palace itself was finally complete. We are told that over 2100 priests were invited to the Ajifu palace to read the Issaikyo on the last day of the year. The Issaikyo is the entirety of the Buddhsit canon, and so this was probably done in the abbreviated tendoku style, with priests just reading the chapter headings and flipping through the sutras, though with 2100 it is possible they just each red a different portion, all at the same time. As it grew dark, the palace courtyard was kept bright with 2700 lights while we are told that the Antaku and Dosoku sutras were read.
Aston notes that these “sutras” of Antaku and Dosoku don’t appear to reference any actual sutras that we know of, and posits that they may simply be rituals for home safety and the like. Given what we know about the fate of so many of these old wooden palaces, it makes sense.
After the sutras were read, the sovereign, Karu, formally moved from his residence in Ohogohori into the new palace, which was called Naniwa no Nagara no Toyosaki no Miya. As I noted at the beginning, it is unclear if this was the Ohogohori or Wogohori, and it is even somewhat murky as to whether or not it was considered a palace. Not to mention that after the New Year’s ceremonies were completed, the royal chariot—which would have been carrying the sovereign—went back to Ohogohori. I guess things weren’t quite ready yet. He would return on the 9th day of the third month, and even then we don’t see a note that the palace was completed until the 9th month of 652..
There is a lot here where we see things that appear to be scheduled so that they can occur on auspicious days, even if everything else isn’t quite ready. So, for example, reading the sutras and formally “moving” into the palace on the last day of the year so that one could host the New Year’s celebration there the next day. That seems like something that was done purely for ceremonial purposes. You may recall that in 650 they did the same thing.
There are a few more references to the palace. On the 15th of the 4th month of 652, the Buddhist ascetic E’on was invited into the Dairi to explain the Muryouju Sutra, also known as the Sukhavati Vyuha sutra. E’on was made a lecturer, and there were said to be 1,000 ascetics in the audience, listening to his teachings. That apparently went on for five days, being discontinued on the 20th day. And the power of the sutras, and E’on’s teachings, is shown in the weather, because the Chronicles claim that large rains began to fall in a monsoon that lasted for nine days. This wasn’t a gentle “water your crops” kind of rain. This was more like a “demolish your buildings and destroy your fields” kind of rain. There must have been massive flooding as men, horses, and cattle were caught up in the water and drowned.
Given the way this is written, I’m not entirely certain of the takeaway. Were the sutras that powerful that they brought rain, and E’on didn’t understand his own strength? Or was it a punishment for stopping E’on from continuing his lecture? Or was it the rains that caused the lectures to stop, perhaps making it untennable for people to sit out in the courtyard and listen as the rains came down? My rational brain suspects the latter, but I’m not sure how it was read by the people of the 8th century.
On the last day of 652, priests and nuns from around the country were invited to the dairi, to the interior of the palace, and entertained and given a feast. Alms were given and lights kindled to celebrate the new year.
But that’s the last entry I really see for the palace, as such. There was plenty more happening through the era, and we’ll touch on that. We start to see Silla and Tang dynasty getting chummy, and we also see some of the reforms still working their way across the land. We also have Yamato’s own expeditions out to the Great Tang dynasty. But we’ll save that for the next episode, as we continue to dive into the Hakuchi era.
And so, until next time, 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

Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4

Episode 112: End of an Era

October 1, 2024 Joshua Badgley

Wooden wall found at the site of Yamadadera, in Asuka. Construction on Yamadadera was started in 641, and monks moved in not long after, but the events of 649 briefly halted construction until it was revived again in the 8th century. Unfortunately the temple burned down in the 12th century, but this section of wall fell down and was recovered by archaeologists and is on display at the Asuka Historical Museum. Photo by author.

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This episode puts the cap on the Taika era, filling in the rest of what went on. A brief rundown of some of what you’ll find:

Missions to and from Silla—the tribute from Nimna was cancelled, but Silla agreed to send diplomatic hostages
Archery, and a description of the related game of “pitch-pot”
Reinforcing the northeast with barriers and towns to defend the borders against raids by the Emishi
Public works projects gone awry
A work off-site to a popular ancient resort area
Many, many palaces—most of them unburnt
Deadly politics and regrets

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is episode 112: The End of an Era
The Crown Prince, Naka no Oe, was fast asleep in his chambers when he awoke to a commotion. In the dark he could hear people running and yelling. Taking in a deep breath, he could smell smoke in the air. In a time when light was provided by burning oil or wood, the smell of smoke would not have been uncommon, but this was different—it was something more. Furthermore, there was a strange glow, almost like an early dawn, but from the wrong direction. Leaping from his bed, Naka no Oe ran outside into the corridor, where he was met with servants who hurried him and the other members of the household outside. There, the Crown Prince could see the flames rising up from the building.
How the fire itjad started wouldn’t didn’t matter much. Perhaps an oil lamp washad been knocked over by the wind, or a stray ember had caught a piece of the thatch on the roof. Once the fire was too large to put out, they could only do so much. Servants grabbed what they could, trying to rescue it from the flames.
Even though he was probably the most powerful man in all of Yamato, the Crown Prince was powerless in front of the rising flames. They consumed his palace, and he could do little more than watch.
Fire is a terrible and frightening natural force, which humans often feel like they have control over, at least in small doses—candles, cookfires, and the like. A small ember, though, can cause an entire house to go up in smoke.
And houses are not the only man-made thing that can be destroyed by a tiny spark. Institutions, and relationships, can likewise be laid low by something small: new ideas can up-end tradition, and slanderous rumors can be fanned into flames that bring nothing but destruction. This is not too dissimilar from our human institutions. They can also be put at risk, though not always in such a physical way. In a politically charged environment, however, a stray word can be just like that ember, and if it isn’t caught quickly, the damage it can do can be immense.
This episode we are going to try and finish up the Taika period. This first official nengo, or official era name, and it covers the period from 645 to 650. We’ve mostly been covering the various edicts from this period, which were bringing major changes to the way that the Yamato government was structured and extended its reach much more concretely down to the lowest levels of society. There are still a lot of questions about how complete Yamato state control was, and time and again we will see that in an age before modern vehicles and communication there was always some level of independence at the periphery, especially as politics tended to turn the attention of the elites away from the rural countryside and more towards the court and the capital. Nonetheless, I think we can say that the state of Yamato really had come together and established itself and its institutions across the entire archipelago.
This episode, however, we are going to go beyond what the edicts tell us, and look at the rest of what was going on across that very same archipelago as all of this was happening—or at least what was recorded by the Chroniclers. This includes diplomatic missions from the Korean peninsula, to the west, as well as defenses set up against the Emishi in the northeast. There was an epic work off-site for the court. And also, there was tragedy. Even as the court became more structured, and many of the older traditions were changing, the politics of the elite were still as deadly as ever.
….
We’ll start in the ninth month of 646, just after the court abolisheding the practice of allowing elites to create their own family units, which we talked about in the last episodeepisode XXX. That month we are told that the sovereign, Karu, took up residency in the temporary or detached palace of Kawazu—possibly pronounced “Koudzu”, according to Aston, who thought it could be in the same area where Ohosazaki no Ohokimi, aka Nintoku Tenno, is said to have had his digs back in the day.
This move may have to do with the Toyosaki palace still being under construction. We know that heKaru moved the capital to Toyosaki, in Naniwa, back at the end of 645, and in the third month of 646 we are told that the general amnesty given out was because of the rites involved with moving into a new palace—presumably the one at Toyosaki. However, it isn’t clear if he moved in to the Toyosaki palace, or if he did sojust resided there temporarily just to make it officially the palace and then moved out as construction continued—or perhaps they needed to make renovations. HeKaru is said to have built another palace at Wogohori in 647, and then he occupied the palace of Kawazu, and later he would occupy the temporary palace of Muko. In fact, it isn’t until the start of 648 that we are next told that he occupied the palace of Toyosaki. , and tThe reasons for all of this moving around are incredibly vague to non-existent as far as the Chronicles are concerned. They are all in or around Naniwa, however.
Speaking of moving capitals, Finally, in a month that was turning out to be quite the end to summer—and the last entry for that entire year—there was a note about the rats in the province of Koshi heading off to the east. You may recall from Episode XXX109 that in the year XXX645, rats were said to have taken flight in the direction of the new capital, Naniwa, and it seems that it was a particularly popular meme at this time. With all of Karu’s moving around, after all, it was doubtful that the rats had any time to unpack. Koshi wasn’t exactly nearthe the capital though, so what could the rats be indicating hereit mean? Well in the following year, 647, we see that the Nutari Barrier was constructed, with a local settlement to support it, presumably as an outpost to defend against possible attacks and incursions by the Emishi. There is some suggestion that the flight of rats was an omen, talking about the creation of athis new settlement—even if not a new capital—to the east of Koshi.
But with those rats, we close out 646. Heading into 647 we pick back up on the 15th day of the first month. While the courtiers were playing archery, we are briefly told that messengers from Goguryeo and Silla came with tribute.
First a note about playing archery at court: archery had long been a sport of the elites, from what we can tell, especially with their penchant for hunting. It was also something encouraged by Confucius as a way to maintain martial training. Certainly archery demonstrations, at the very least, would be something that one would see at court, and the twang of a bow was said to chase away evil spirits.
Even in the time of Confucius, however, there was another game, known in modern Putonghua as “tou hu”, or “toko” in Japanese, or “pitch-pot” in Englilsh. This was a game that often took the place of archery, where arrows weren’t shot out of a bow at a target, but instead they were thrown, by hand, at a narrow-mouthed pot that had two rings on either side of the mouth of the jar. This game is still practiced in some places, usually as part of a celebration of some kind.
As this was a kind of “arrow play”, it was considered by some to be just as good as archery—particularly for court nobles that didn’t really want to have to go through all the effort of actually drawing a bow. This game was something you could do in your court clothing and just about anywhere. Points were given based on whether the arrow landed in the pot, in the ears, or various other conditions.
The game was known in Japan from early times, and we have an extant pitch-pot in the Shosoin repository—one of the many items donated to Todaiji temple by Shomu Tenno in the 8th century and still preserved today. It is quite possible, therefore, that pitch-pot was known and even played in the Asuka era courts.
That said, the terms used in the Nihon Shoki do refer to “shooting” archery, suggesting that the courtiers were was actually using bow and arrow—a much more popular courtly pastime in Japan than the continent, at least.
Anyway, on to the fact that Goguryeo and Silla envoys arrived during the archery fun-times.
First off,To summarize a little bit of the continental politics at the this time: Goguryeo was currently fighting the Tang dynasty on their western border. This conflict would continue, and eventually the Tang dynasty would enlist the help of Silla, though alliances on the peninsula were fickle, and it is common to see various states switch alliances at the drop of a hat, if it suited their needs. At the very least, by sending tribute, Goguryeo was likely courting assistance of some kind from Yamato, but the details are sparse, as per usual.
As for Silla, even though the entry at the beginning of 647 doesn’t give us much info, we do have an entry at the end ofanother entry also dated to 647 regarding a mission that may have been this one or perhaps one that came later in the year—the fact that it was not given a specific date but stuck on the end makes it somewhat difficult to place, chronologically. We are told that Silla sent Kim Chyunchyu, who is noted to be a “superior minister” with the rank of “Greater Ason”. Aston notes that Chyunchyu is mentioned in the 15th century history of the Korean peninsula, the Dongguk Tonggam, giving us some assurances that he may have actually existed.. They were apparently coming backKim Chyunchyu was accompanied by two of Yamato’s emissaries, who had left for Silla on the 9th month of the previous year. a previous mission to Silla, headed by This was Takamuku no Kuromaro as well asand Nakatomi no Oshikumia (named Nakatomi no Muraji no Oshikuma). Those twoey had left in the 9th month of the previous year, 646crossed the strait, with the goal of acquiring a diplomatic hostage from Silla, much as Baekje had apparently done. The answer seems to have been toAnd so now Silla sentd Kim Chyunchyu, who was taken as a diplomatic hostage. It is also noted, though, that with this embassy to Silla, they cancelled the tribute from Nimna. Given the timing, I suspect that was part of the negotiations that they had, which, from Silla’s perspective, meant that they didn’t have to divvy everything up into two bucketscontinue the polite fiction that Nimna was still an independent country.
That said, even if Silla was sending a hostage, they did also thesendt tribute other diplomatic gifts from Silla was still there—a parrot and a peacock, we are told: exotic birds from faraway lands, which would no doubt have been quite the sight in Yamato. How well they dealt with the climate in the archipelago is something the Chroniclers do not comment on.
Before leaving this whole exchange, I’d like to briefly go back to the note on archery, which we told they were performing at court in the first month, when the envoys from Goguryeo and Silla arrived: archery had long been a sport of the elites, from what we can tell, especially with their penchant for hunting. It was also something encouraged by Confucius as a way to maintain martial training. Certainly archery demonstrations, at the very least, would be something that one would see at court, and the twang of a bow was said to chase away evil spirits.
Even in the time of Confucius, however, there was another game, known in modern Putonghua as “tou hu”, or “toko” in Japanese. This was a game that often took the place of archery, where arrows weren’t shot out of a bow at a target, but instead they were thrown, by hand, at a narrow-mouthed pot that had two rings on either side of the mouth of the jar. As this was a kind of “arrow play”, it was considered by some to be just as good as archery—particularly for court nobles that didn’t really want to have to go through all the effort of actually drawing a bow. This game, known in English as “pitch-pot”, was something you could do in your court clothing and just about anywhere. Points were given based on whether the arrow landed in the pot, in the ears, or various other conditions.
The game was known in Japan from early times, and we have an extant pitch-pot in the Shosoin repository—one of the many items donated to Todaiji temple by Shomu Tenno in the 8th century and still preserved today. It is quite possible, therefore, that pitch-pot was known and even played in the Asuka era courts.
That said, the terms used in the Nihon Shoki do refer to “shooting” archery, suggesting that it was actually bow and arrow—a much more popular pastime in Japan, at least. However, I couldn’t help but digress a bit to talk about pitch-pot, a game that is still practiced in some places, usually as part of a celebration of some kind.
You may recall from Episode XXXthe last episode that 647 seemed to be getting off to quite a start. You may recall that this is also when new edicts for how the court would operate were made—including showing up for work literally at the crack of dawn. In addition, the Chronicles tell us about we are told about Yamato no Aya no Atahe no Aratawi no Hirafu. Hirafu had apparently been charged by the court to dig a canal, but there was some kind of a mistake as ithe dug it was dug towards Naniwa and we are told that it caused “distress” among the people. We aren’t, told what kind of distress this wasit caused—it could just be that people were upset about being called up for labor, especially if they didn’t think itthe canal was necessary. Or perhaps they were upset because it disrupted fields and perhaps even caused flooding. Whatever the reason, the complaints made it to the ear of the sovereign, who said they had mistakenly taken Hirafu’s advice—effectively throwing him under the ox-cart, as it were—and that the canal had been dug without an actual purpose, and so they discontinued the work.
I like this entry in part because it shows an apparent mistake, but also talks about the kinds of corvee labor that people would be called up for. Digging canals was certainly something that the various governors were empowered to do, though it was supposed to be based on local advice. I suspect that this entry was intended to demonstrate that the sovereign was listening to the people, though I do wonder how many other projects continued despite people complaining, since you can’t please everyone.
And I imagine that all of this was rather stressful. Which is perhaps why, in the 10th month of the 647, the sovereign and high ministers, including the ministers of the Left and Right, all went to Arima Onsen.
We’ve mentioned Onsen before, and Arima is certainly one of the oldest that we know of. It is positioned just over the mountains to the northwest of Naniwa—modern Ohosaka—and it continues to be a resort town to this day. The natural hot springs have been a draw for centuries, clearly, and they . It must have been particularly relaxing at that time, which is listed as the 10th through 12th months, but was probably more like the modern months of late November to January, assince the lunar calendar started about a month and change later than ours today. That means they sovereign and court would have been up in the hot spring area during the turn to the colder months—as the maple leaves were turning color, and possibly enjoying a bit of snowfall, if the weather cooperated. They spent over a month up in the hot spring area: talk about the ultimate work off-site.
Unfortunately, the relaxing vacation ended on a bit of a sour note. Returning to Naniwa on the 30th day of the twelfth month, the last day of the lunar year, we are told that the Palace of the Crown Prince, i.e. Prince Naka no Oe, caught fire, which shocked everyone. Perhaps this is why the sovereign, Karu, chose to stay in the temporary palace of Muko, or maybe they were unrelated.
Fires were not entirely uncommon in a world of wooden houses. , though that doesn’t make them any less destructive and dangerous. If you wanted light in the dark or at night, you had few options, and all of them required some kind of flame. There were stone and bronze lanterns from at least the 6th century onwards, but inside you still neededhad some kind of fuel and a flame, with buildings built almost entirely of wood. In outdoor spaces you might have even had open metal baskets with wood and pitch which burned bright, but could also lead to dangerous embers floating on the wind. And if something did catch fire, your options to put it out were limited: . Bbucket brigades to help bring water, or you could trying to pull down the burning part of the structure in hopes to contain it. There were no firetrucks or extinguishers like we have today.
ThisThe fire at the princely palace must have been quite a loss, and yet it didn’t stop the work of the government -- . Thatthat had to carry on. We aren’t told where Naka no Oe took up residence next—he may have just had his palace rebuilt on the same site, or perhaps took up residence at another palace. This must have been a massive loss for him, personally, though.
Moving on to 648, we are told that the courty celebrated the new year, Karu moved into the Toyosaki palace, and then, in the second month, student priests were sent from Yamato to the peninsula, presumably to get a better handle on their Buddhist studies. A few days later, Abe no Ohoomi, the Sadaijin, or Minister of the Left, arranged a special ceremony at the temple of Shittennoji. We are told that he invited the “Four Classes”, which likely was a reference to all members of the Sangha, or Buddhist community, and he enshrined four images of Buddha in the main pagoda. He then piled up drums, one on top of the other, to simulate Vulture Peak.
Vulture Peak, or Griddhrakūta, sometimes called “Holy Eagle Peak” is a peak in modern Bihar, and is said to have been one of the historical Buddha’s favorite places. Its name is derived from the shape of the mountain, which was thought to look like a vulture—or I guess one could say an eagle—with its wings folded by its side. This is where the Buddha is said to have given many of his the Buddha’s sermons were said to have occurred, including those written down as the Lotus Sutra, the Heart Sutra, and others. The Lotus Sutra even mentions it Vulture Peak by name, so it would have likely been well known to the Buddhist community.
I would note that this is different from another mountain that often shows up in Buddhist iconography: Mt. Sumeru, or just Mt. Meru. That five-peaked mountain is considered the center of the universe, and it shares this pride of place in Buddhist, Hindu, and Jain tradition. However, whereas Vulture Peak is identified with a particular geographic feature, Mt. Meru is more theoretical, and as far as I can tell there is not single location agreed upon as Mt. Meru by the various traditions.
Two months after Abe builtding his drum-mountain, on the first day of the fourth month, the old cap rankss were discontinued, though the Sadaijin and Udaijin, the ministers of the Left and Right, continued to wear theirs. Of course, in the following year, on the second month of 649, 19 new cap ranks would be established, which we discussed last episode.
Other than that, we aren’t given a lot more details on the fifth through twelfth months of 648, other than to say that another Silla envoy apparently came with tribute—which I’m presuming isn’t the one that had arrived with Kim Chyunchyu. And then there was another barrier and barrier settlement built at Ihabune, with subjects from both Koshi and Shinano moved there to support the border station.
649 kicks off with another new year’s festival, and then the creation of new ranks and the 8 Ministries and 100 bureaus, which we discussed last episode. We are also told that there was a mission this year from the Queen of Silla—but we aren’t told exactly when it occurred, . Jjust that Kim Tasya was sent as a hostage with a household of over 30 people, presumably as a replacement for Kim Chyunchyu. His household included a Buddhist priest, various officials, artists, an interpreter, and sixteen servants to look after him and his household. All of them would presumably stay with Kim Tasya throughout his time as a diplomatic hostage.
A few months into the new year, on the 17th day of the third month, we are told that Abe no Oho-omi passed away.
I suspect that this is connected, in a way, to the extravagant celebration he threw at Shittenoji; if he were old and sickly, it is quite possible that Abe no Ohomi was trying to make sure that he had banked enough good karma before moving on to his next life.
That His death would have changed the power dynamics within the court. The Sadaijin was the more senior position. The Udaijin, or Minister of the Right, was none other than Soga no Kuroyamada no Ishikawa no Maro. As you may recall, he had been enlisted to assist Naka no Oe with the overthrow of Maro’s own kinsmen, Soga no Iruka and Soga no Emishi, and as a reward he had been granted one of the highest positions in the court. Along with Abe no Oho-omi, he had been helping Naka no Oe and his best bud, Nakatomi no Kamatari, implement their vision for a new Yamato. Being at the top, however, is bound to garner you some enemies, and in Soga no Maro’s case, the call was coming from inside the house.
Soga no Hiuga, also known as Soga no Musashi or, apparently, Soga no Musa, was apparently not much of a fan of his fellow Soga family member, : his elder brother and reluctant father-in-law, Soga no Maro. Presuming they are the same person—not always a guarantee in the Chronicles—As we noted in Episode 106, Musa no Omi, or more properly Soga no Omi no Musashi, or Soga no Musa, had taken Soga no Maro’s eldest daughter and eloped with her after she had been betrothed to marry Naka no Oe. Soga no Maro’s alliance with the Crown Prince had only been saved by his youngest daughter offering herself up in her sister’s stead. Given that Soga no Musashi had run away with Soga no Maro’s eldest without asking permission suggests that the two were not on the best of terms, and it seems that Soga no Musashi once again saw a chance to turn the tables against his unwilling father-in-law shortly after the death of Abe no Oho-omi.
For you see, one week later, Soga no Musashi went to Crown Prince Naka no Oe and told him that his elder brother, Soga no Maro, was waiting for the Crown Prince to go to the seaside so that he could do some sort of “mischief”—presumably against the Crown Prince. This alarmed Naka no Oe, who went to his uncle, the sovereign. Karu sent Ohotomo no Koma no Muraji, Mikuni no Maro no Kimi, and Hodzumi no Kurafu no Omi to question Maro about these accusations. Maro, however, refused to say anything to them. Perhaps it was his pride—after all, he was the Minister of the Right, and only a handful of people sat higher in the court hierarchy. In any normal situation, he would have had no reason to explain himself to those beneath him. He told them that he would only talk directly to the sovereign, in a face-to-face interview.
Hearing this, Karu sent Mikuni no Maro and Hodzumi no Kurafu back to try and investigate, despite objections from Soga no Maro. He gave them the same answer as before and sent them on their way.
I cannot begin to fathom what Soga no Maro’s thoughts were. Perhaps he didn’t trust the intermediaries to properly report up. He was, after all, being accused of treason. To the sovereign and the crown prince, however, it looked as though these were the actions of a guilty man.
Karu began preparations to build up an armed force, with the intention of surrounding Soga no Maro’s residence, but before that could happen, Soga no Maro fled via Chinu towards the boundary of the province of Yamato—which is to say the Nara basin. He took with him his two sons, Hoshi and Akagoma.
Maro had a third, eldest son at this point who had moved out. This son, Soga no Koshi, was staying in the Yamada area of Yamato, building a temple—possibly Yamadadera. When he heard that his father was fleeing the capital, he went out to the great Tsuki tree in Imaki to meet him and his brothers, and then they took refuge in the temple.
Koshi demanded the opportunity to stand and face the royal army that was following on his father’s heels. He offered to advance straight on them and oppose them, presumably with men of his own, but Soga no Maro would not allow it.
That evening, Soga no Koshi came up with the idea of burning the royal palace at Woharida, and started the process of assembling troops, despite his father’s insistence that he do no so thing. When his father found out, he was furious. He berated his son, and the priests of Yamada Temple. As Aston translates it he said to them: “Shall one who is in the position of vassal contrive treason against his Lord? Shall the duty of a son to a father be brought to nothing? This temple was originally built, not for me personally, but under a vow for the sake of the Sovereign. I have now been slandered by Musashi, and I fear that I shall be unjustly put to death. With so near a preospect of the yellow springs, I would withdraw from life still cherishing fidelity in my bosom, and the object of my coming to the Temple is that my last moments may be made easier.”
Essentially, he had already consigned himself to the fact that he was probably going to die, but if that happened he was going to do it on his terms, with a clear conscience that he, at least, had remained loyal.
As for the Royal Army, they were getting ready to attack. Ohotomo no Koma and Soga no Musashi were at the head of the army. However, as they came upon Yamadadera, they were approached by two figures: Hashi no Omi no Mu and Uneme no Omi no Onimaro, who had just come from Yamada temple. They told the arriving army what had just happened, and how Soga no Maro and seven of his family members, including his three sons and one daughter, had strangled themselves, rather than submitting to the kind of royal death penalty he figured he had waiting. After learning this, the generals turned the army around and headed back and encamped at Tajihi no Saka as they figured out what to do next.
The following day, the 25th day of the third month of 649, the royal army approached the temple and rounded up all of the Minister’s men. The generals had cangues placed around the necks of the Minister’s supporters—large, wooden boards that would be placed around the neck as a form of public humiliation—and their hands were tied behind them. Mononobe no Futsuta no Shiho was ordered to demean and cut off Soga no Maro’s head, presumably as proof of his death. Several days later, those considered loyal to Soga no Maro were also put to death. Fourteen were executed, while nine were strangled and fifteen were banished.
Later, as messengers were sent to take over Soga no Maro’s property, they were going through his mansion when they found several things with inscriptions indicating that they were valuable items that were noted as belonging to Prince Naka no Oe. When this was reported back, the Crown Prince realized that he had made a mistake—Soga no Maro had not been committing treason, and he apparently held Naka no Oe in such high regard that he considered those things passed down by the Crown Prince had been consideredto be particularly special.
Unfortunately, regret cannot undo the past. Naka no Oe realized that Soga no Musashi must have been misleading him all this time, but there wasn’t actually any hard evidence for this, and so he couldn’t justify executing him. Thus, Naka no Oe took the next best step: He appointed Soga no Musashi as the viceroy of Tsukushi.
Now this would seem to be anything but a punishment. After all, the Viceroy of Tsukushi oversaw all of the island of Kyushu, a seemingly prestigious position. However, even the people of the time realized that this gift was a white elephant. After all, it would mean that Soga no Musashi would be expected to move all the way to Tsukushi—about as far from the court and center of politics as was possible. This was, as the people of the time even figured out, a stealth banishment. This same tactic would be used not infrequently to move political rivals out of the court, where their influence would then be greatly reduced.
The tragedy didn’t end there, however. As you may recall, Naka no Oe’s own wife, Miyatsuko-hime, was the daughter of Soga no Maro. When she heard that heer had been decapitated by Shiho, she took it deeply to heart. She was so distraught that the word “Shiho” would trigger her. Even the mention of salt—also pronounced Shiho—caused her grief, and her attendants used another word to refer to it in her presence: Kitashi. Eventually, we are told that Miyatsuko-hime’s grief overwhelmed her and she passed away. When the Crown Prince, Naka no Oe, heard that, he found himself grieved and shocked.
Nunaka Kawara no Fubito no Mitsu, seeing the Prince’s grief, came forward and presented two verses of poetry, which Aston translates as:
On a mountain-stream
Two mandarin-ducks there be,
Well matched together:--
But the wife who was a like mate for me
Who is it that has taken away?
That first verse makes a reference to mandarin ducks, who were observed to mate for life, and were often considered a symbol of marital fidelity. The other verse is a bit more direct:
Though on every tree
The flowers are blooming,
How can it be that
My darling wife
Does not blossom again?
These verses touched the Crown Prince, reflecting as they did his own deep despair. He praised them, and gave Mitsu his own lute to sing them on. He also presented silk, cloth, and even silk floss—lavish gifts for the impromptu bard’s words.
Words would not change the fact that both the Minister of the Right and of the Left were now both dead and gone. On the 20th day of the 4th month, Kose no Tokodako no Omi was raised up as Minister of the Left, or Sadaijin, and Ohotomo no Nagatoko no Muraji, also called Umakai, was made the Minister of the Right.
The positions may have been filled, but this episode must have had a traumatic effect on the court. That This was a lot of people to be killed or banished in a short time, many of them from the upper echelons of society. And perhaps that is why, with the close of the year 649, we also see the close of the Taika era.
TThe era had certainly brought great change—and much of it would shape the direction of history for centuries to come. However, it ended on something of a sour note, with the presumably natural death of the Minister of the Left, and then the unjust slander and death of the Minister of the Right. One can only imagine that these were uneasy times for the court.
And perhaps that is why, starting in 650, we’ll get a new era name: Hakuchi. But that is something we will touch on in future episodes.
And so, until next time, thank you for listening and for all of your support.
If you like what we are doing, please 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 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

Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4
Knox, George William (1903). The Early Institutional Life of Japan, a Study in the Reform of 645 A. D. By K. ASAKAWA, Ph.D. The American Historical Review, Volume 11, Issue 1, October 1905, Pages 128–129

Episode 111: Names, Ranks, and Court Caps

September 16, 2024 Joshua Badgley

A wooden "mokkan" tablet found at the ruins of the Naniwa no Miya site in modern Osaka and displayed at the Osaka History Museum. It includes a Buddhist phrase, "Shukuse". Mokkan were wooden tablets used to jot ancient notes or similar, and were likely used by the officials working at the palace site in Naniwa. (Photo by author)

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This episode we finish out the Taika reforms, or at least the edicts of the Taika era. Some were around names, and others about the formation of the court, the various ministries, and new rank and cap systems. The latter went through at least two iterations, updating the previous twelve rank system developed under the 17 Article Constitution.

12 Rank System

The 12 Rank system that was purportedly developed by Umayado was as follows:

Daitoku (大徳) - Greater Virtue
Shōtoku (小徳) - Lesser Virtue
Dainin (大仁) - Greater Humanity
Shōnin (小仁) - Lesser Humanity
Dairai (大礼) - Greater Propriety
Shōrai (小礼) - Lesser Propriety
Daishin (大信) - Greater Faith
Shōnin (小信) - Lesser Faith
Daigi (大義) - Greater Justice
Shōgi (小義) - Lesser Justice
Daichi (大智) - Greater Wisdom
Shōchi (小智) - Lesser Wisdom

Cap Rank System of 647

Six of the ranks were divided into Greater and Lesser and the rest were

Shoku-kwan (織冠 - woven crown): It was made of woven stuff and embroidered on the borders. The color of the clothing was dark purple.
Shu-kwan (繍冠 - embroidered crown): Made of embroidered stuff. Otherwise the edges and the clothing were the same as Shoku-kwan.
Shi-kwan (紫冠 - purple crown): Made of purple material and a border of woven stuff. The clothing was light purple.
Kin-kwan (錦冠 - brocade crown): The Greater cap was made of Dai-hakusen brocade (大伯仙錦) and the cape border of woven stuff. The lesser cap was made of Shou-hakusen (小伯仙錦) brocade with a border of Dai-hakusen brocade. The clothing for both was dark red.
Sei-kwan (青冠 - blue crown): Made of blue silk. Border of Dai-hakusen brocade. The color of the clothing was deep violet [kon]
Kok-kwan (黒冠 - black crown): Made of black silk. Greater rank cap had a border of wheel-pattern brocade and the lesser cap had a border of diamond-pattern brocade. The color of the clothing was green [midori]
Kembu (建武 - establish valor) aka Risshin (立身 - Advancement): The cap was made of black silk and a border of dark violet.

They also made tou-kwan (鐙冠 - stirrup caps) with a "tail" of varnished gauze behind. A kanmuri, like the tsubo-kanmuri.

Distinctions of rank were indicated by the border and hair ornaments in the shape of a cicada. The hair ornaments of the grades from Lesser Kin-kwan upwards were a combination of gold and silver. The hair ornaments of the Greater and Lesser Seikwan were silver, and the hair ornaments of the Greater and Lesser Kok-kwan were copper. Kembu caps had no hair ornaments.

Cap Ranks of 649

Dai-shiki (大織 - Greater Woven Stuff)
Shou-shiki (小織 - Lesser Woven Stuff)
Dai-shuu (大繍 - Greater Embroidery)
Shou-shuu (小繍 - Lesser Embroidery)
Dai-shi (大紫 - Greater Purple)
Shou-shi (小紫 - Lesser Purple)
Upper Daikwa (大華上 - Greater Flower, Upper)
Lower Daikwa (大華下 - Greater Flower, Lower)
Upper Shoukwa (小華上 - Lesser Flower, Upper)
Lower Shoukwa (小華下 - Lesser Flower, Lower)
Upper Daisen (大山上 - Greater Mountain, Upper)
Lower Daisen (大山下 - Greater Mountain, Lower)
Upper Shousen (小山上 - Lesser Mountain, Upper)
Lower Shousen (小山下 - Lesser Mountain, Lower)
Upper Daiotsu (大乙上 - Greater Tiger [OR Kingfisher], Upper)
Lower Daiotsu (大乙下 - Greater Tiger, Lower)
Upper Shouotsu (小乙上 - Lesser Tiger, Upper)
Lower Shouotsu (小乙下 - Lesser Tiger, Lower)
Risshin (立身 - Advancement)

We aren’t given the specific color combinations of caps and garments for these ranks as we had with the others, above.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is episode 111: Names, ranks, and court caps.

In the early hours of the morning, the locked gates of the palace were dark against the sky. A few torches provided flickering illumination, as a crowd of officials gathered to the left and right of the doors. As they waited outside, a low murmur could be heard as they made small talk with their co-workers. Stragglers continued to join the crowd as the sky itself began to lighten, and though the sun still rested below the horizon, the stars had already given way. As the light grew, and the torches were extinguished, a few late arrivals rushed up just as sun began to peek over the horizon. At that, the doors were opened from inside, and the officials streamed in, heading to their offices where they would get to work running the country—their main tool in this task being little more than brush and paper, as they worked to bring order to the chaos.

Here we are, still in the second year of Taika, aka 646, and still going through the changes being made to the Yamato government. Last episode we went through many of the edicts made in and around the third month of the year. These include proscriptions on the size and content of various tombs, down to how many people they could have work on them and for how long. Other edicts impacted who could actually control the labor of the people. While it is likely that local officials remained in charge, there was at least a nominal understanding that the people’s labor—whether in the form of corvee labor or rice and similar products of the agricultural labor of the people working the fields—all that labor belonged to the State and, by extension, the sovereign. There were many other, specific edicts, many having to do with marriage and various instances of harai—not to mention the invention of “escrow”.
One of the themes through much of this was at least the nominal extension of the sovereign’s direct authority down to the lowest levels of society. This was accomplished by setting up offices down to the village level that would report up the chain all the way to the court. These “officers” were likely pulled from individuals who were already part of the elites, but instead of being paid by income from their own lands, they now had stipends coming directly from the court.
That was a theme that continued in the edicts that came out in the 8th month, which is where we’re going to start with today’s episode.
Before we get into that, though, a quick caveat: I am still not convinced that I fully understand what is going on with some of these edicts, especially around names. I’m not even sure the Chroniclers fully comprehended what they had put together and pulled from various sources at times, which occasionally seems like it is contradictory or repetitive. So I’ll do my best to explain it as I see it, but if you really want to get into this topic you probably will want to dig into it for yourself.
Now I want to start with Aston’s translation of part of the edict as recorded in the Nihon Shoki. Following a rather flowery introduction talking about sage kings—a topic we should touch on at some point—they get to the heart of the matter:
“Now as to the names of the early Princes: the Omi, Muraji, Tomo no Miyatsuko and Kuni no Miyatsuko have divided their various Be and allotted them severally to their various titles (or surnames). They afterwards took the various Be of the people, and made them reside in the provinces and districts, one mixed up with another. The consequence has been to make father and child to bear different surnames, and brothers to be reckoned of distinct families, while husbands and wives have names different from one another. One family is divided into five or split up into six, and both Court and country are therefore filled with contentious suits. No settlement has been come to, and the mutual confusion grows worse and worse. Let the various Be, therefore, beginning with those of the reigning Sovereign and including those in the possession of the Omi, Muraji, etc., be, without exception, abolished, and let them become subjects of the State. Those who have become Tomo no Miyatsuko by borrowing the names of princes, and those who have become Omi or Muraji on the strength of the names of ancestors, may not fully apprehend our purport, and might think, if they heard this announcement without warning, that the names borrowed by their ancestors would become extinct. We therefore make this announcement beforehand, so that they may understand what are our intentions.
The children of rulers succeed one another in the government of the Realm, and it is well known that the names of the actual Sovereign and of his Royal ancestors will not be forgotten by the world. But the names of sovereigns are lightly given to rivers and plains, or common people are called by them. This is a truly fearful state of things. The appellations of sovereigns, like the sun and moon, will float afar: the names of those of the Royal line will last for ever, like unto Heaven and Earth. Such being our opinion, we announce as follows:--'Do ye all, from those of the Royal line down to the Ministers, the Daibu, Omi, Muraji, and Tomo no Miyatsuko, who do Us service, (in short) all persons of whatever Uji [One book has 'royal subjects of whatever name'], give ear to what We say. With regard to the form of your service, We now abolish the former offices and constitute afresh the hundred bureaus. We shall, moreover, grant grades of rank and confer official dignities.”
Whew. That is a lot, and I want to try to break it down as best I can.
First off, I believe this ties in to the earlier edict, in the third month, that we mentioned last episode. In that edict, the sovereign abolished the “Iribe”—those families made for the princes and ostensibly around to keep certain names alive, though quite probably they were family groups meant to keep previous princes and others rolling in their rice payments. This new edict is continuing that trend – of abolishing the Be – but is coming at it from a different perspective.
As a reminder, the “Be” and the various “Uji”, while they were longstanding Yamato tradition by this point, were originally imported traditions from the continent. By all accounts the “Be” were the first to be created, with the “family” system creating a hereditary structure through which people would be born into particular jobs, with a familial “head” that would then organize the various members across the realm. The more aristocratic “uji” formed out of that.
Based on this edict, it seems that not only the sovereign of Yamato was using this system. In fact, I suspect that the various local “sovereigns” of other lands had adopted it for their own purposes as well, and it sounds like even the Yamato courtiers had taken to using a version of this system within the lands that they controlled. The Be and Uji system were, by this point, ubiquitous across the archipelago, at all levels, from what we can tell.
Family names, however, were not a native system in Yamato. Prior to the introduction of the Be and Uji, as best we can tell people were known by where they were from, what they did and the titles they held, and by their given names. A father and son would not necessarily have shared a name, other than those other factors that they held in common by way of ancestry.
I further suspect that ancestor worship was not so much a thing, either. Not that people in Yamato didn’t revere their parents or remember those that passed on, but there weren’t the same ideas about family as among, say, the ethnic Han, for whom ancestor worship was important, and carrying a family name was tied to larger cultural and ritual implications. In early Yamato, names were tied to jobs and position in society. If that changed, then someone could easily create a new family—a new “Be”—and people placed in that group would have both a new name and new responsibilities.
If a particular elite uji, like the Abe, the Ohotomo, the Nakatomi, or the Mononobe, needed people to set up a new income stream for a particular person—perhaps a son or daughter—or they wanted to start a new industry in their territory, they might just have easily called up various people and reassigned them from one Be to a newly created one. That would surely explain the breaking up of fathers and sons, such that each had a different name.
At the same time, this would have likely been anathema to the Confucian dogma that underlay much of the reasoning behind the reforms. Confucian theory gives much weight to the concept of filial piety, that a son should be loyal to the father. Thus to cause a father and son to be split into different families without good reason was likely at odds with what the elite were telling themselves was the proper way of Heaven.
So now we come back to the edict, which treats the entire traditional naming system as though it was in line with Confucian ideals. Moreover it places the authority to regulate these families and family names in the sovereign. This wasn’t actually a new thing: the Chronicles previously had mentioned regulating names under the reign of Woasatsuma no Ohokimi, aka Ingyou Tennou, in the 5th century. This was covered back in episode 56, where we talked about the importance of names, how they determined who you were and your position in society. This was changing, as was the concept of family, which was, once again, much more closely tied to Confucian notions of family. So controlling the names of the families was another form of power that further emphasized the position of the sovereign. Through the regulation of these corporate families, their labor, was now being brought under the nominal control of the sovereign and the state.
This edict also removed the tradition of naming corporate groups after a person. Previously that traditions seems to have started as a way to create groups that actually supported a given individual with their labor. Those groups would often persist beyond the individual, however, and I suspect that’s where they became thought of as a kind of memorial, maintaining the memory of that individual. And I can see the power in that kind of thing, especially prior to having any kind of decent written records. It is interesting to see how the practice had come to be viewed by the 7th century.
There is a mention in the edict of something that runs contrary to how we understand things actually happened, and that was in the comment that lakes and rivers and more had been named after sovereigns. The Chroniclers here are referring to the way that placenames, such as Hatsuse, or Hase, as well as Okinaga or Katsuraki, show up in the names of various sovereigns. Aston notes something that seems obvious to me, when you think about it: These places weren’t named after the sovereigns, but the other way around. Assuming that many of the names we see in the Chronicles were actually titles, they told you things about the person they were attached to, possibly where they were from. Of course, that interpretation doesn’t fit as well into the narrative of the 7th and 8th centuries and the idea that the royal lineage was a largely unbroken line back to the earliest ancestors, instead of a broken lineage of different people from different places.So with all of that, the court abolished the practice of creating all of these different family names. The edict almost makes it sound like they were abolishing those families, as well, though they make a clarifying point about that: there is a note about how some of the tomo no miyatsuko—a general name for those families that served in court—took their position by ‘borrowing the name of a prince’, and how the court didn’t want those people to be worried about how this change would affect them. The meaning would appear to be that courtly families would be unaffected, and this only affected families going forward or those that were created that were apparently below the level of the Tomo no Miyatsuko. That said, this is where it is good to remember that we are reading a Sinified version of the ancient Japanese as told by biased Chroniclers and trying to interpret it through a modern lens, often going through yet another translation in the process.
The second part of the edict mentions abolishing the former offices and constituting afresh the hundred bureaus. This is a bit difficult to parse, but Aston suggests that it refers to abolishing any actual authority attached to the old titles, many of which had become nothing more than names. So when we see things like Wake and Mimi and other such things that appear to be old titles, the court was likely making sure that everyone now understood that those no longer had any actual authority. The kabane or family ranks stayed, at least for now, greater emphasis was placed on the newly established positions that were set up as part of the new state bureaucracy, as well as the rank and stipend that was likewise given out. Aston also suggests that this change means that the rank and the title were not necessarily one and the same, though high rank often did come with a high position.
The edict doesn’t stop there, however. After talking about names and families, it goes on to talk about governors and the kuni-no-miyatsuko handing out rice land per previous edicts. It is noted that the rice land should be handed out equally to the people, and that those who live on or next to the land should be the ones to get it. I wonder about the actual execution, but at first blush, at least, this seems to make sense—don’t make families hike all the way across the village or region to till the field, but try to locate their land near their home.
It also notes that alternate taxes—when it is labor or something else in lieu of rice—should only be collected from men, presumably the head of the household. This was likely part of the shaping of patriarchal attitudes that assumed the men were the head of household and the chief laborers.
The edict went on to call up corvee labor—one from every fifty houses, as had been previously mentioned—to help survey the various provinces and create maps of the provinces and districts. This is a rather monumental task, and it is unfortunate that no actual map survives from this time as far as I’m aware, but it is one more effort to try to bring the entire realm under the control of the state. In this case you are, in a way, capturing the realm on paper and setting up a basis on which to discuss later things like land ownership and use even though the actual land might be far away from the political and administrative center.
Finally, the edict makes note that uniform provision would be made for any canals, embankments, or rice land that needed to be brought into cultivation. This likely varied in each district and province, so there is just a general note that would have required local officers of the court to determine exactly what was needed.
And that was it for the 8th month, and for edicts that year. There was more that we will cover in later episodes—rats marching to the east, the last gasps (perhaps) of Nimna as a consideration, and other such things. But no more edicts.
At least not that year. The following year, Taika 3, or 647, we see the issue of names comes up again. This time the edict came out in the fourth month, and the claims now seem similar but slightly different from before. The issue in the 4th month appears to be that some family names were derived from the names of kami or even sovereigns. Moreover, people were apparently using that connection to claim that they had certain authorities to continue to make people their slaves or to avail themselves of their labor.
In the case of the names related to sovereigns, I suspect that ties in directly with the previous discussions of creating corporate groups to support a given prince or other royal family member. As for the kami, there seems to be some idea that groups that claimed descent from a particular kami would take that kami’s name. So those claiming descent from Oho-kuni-nushi, the Lord of the Great Land, used the name “Oho-kuni-nushi” as their family name. We aren’t given specific examples, however.
There are numerous possible explanations I could see for these, especially given the way that early power structures tied themselves to the ability to appease powerful spirits. The Ohomiwa family name, for example, likely refers to their connection to the religious activities on Mt. Miwa. I also would not be surprised to learn that some of these families were ancient royalty in their own lands—the lands that Yamato now claimed as provinces.
There is the possibility, though, that all of this is just people taking names for themselves and putting on airs—trying to be important. After all, in a time before documentation, whos to say when you actually arrived at a particular name and how. This is a phenomenon seen in parts of America, especially in the early days, when many people struck off to make a life, often without the baggage attached to a previous identity. Prior to more rigorous systems of documentation, how would you know if the person you met really was “Mr. Underhill” and not someone entirely different?
Most important, to me, is the act of the sovereign, as head of the state, in actively claiming authority over these issues as well as putting a stop to the way that people were using such names to apparently make claims to certain entitlements. The message seems clear: Moving forward, everything has to go through the sovereign and the court. The previous systems of rule and governance will no longer be tolerated.
Of course, it isn’t exactly clear how this was enforced. Was it purely through the court? Or was there also some threat of force and violence if people didn’t conform? Or was it enough to make the edict and then have local governors handle it? Other than the example that was made of several of the governors, which we talked about over the last couple of episodes, I’m not sure that we fully know how it all went down.
There were a few other edicts mentioned that year, but apparently the chroniclers didn’t know exactly when they had been instituted, and so just claimed that it occurred during that year. It seems that there was a new palace built, replacing the old government offices at Wogohori, in Naniwa, and there were new rules for how the court would operate. That entry is placed between the entries of the 4th and 10th month, suggesting it was instituted around the summer period. Then, after a few more entries, including one for the last day of the year, there was the the institution of a new rank system.
As for the new court rules: all courtiers were to show up to work at the Hour of the Tiger—the period of roughly 3 to 5 AM by modern standards—and they were to stand at the gates of the palace until dawn, at which point the doors would be open and people would be allowed in. Once everyone was in, the doors would be shut, and anyone who was late, well, I guess you were calling out for the day.
We talked a little bit about this practice back in Episode 95, when we were going over Umayado’s 17 article constitution, which exhorted the court officials to arrive early and stay late. This was clearly based on continental models, and as I mentioned back in that episode, it was likely done to make sure that officials had the most daylight possible to complete their tasks.
Not that there were so many tasks. The workday ended around noon—the Hour of the Horse, which technically spanned 11 AM to 1 PM. A bell would be rung, letting everyone know that it was time to go home. Realistically this means that you are lining up at 4 AM and going home at noon—roughly an 8 hour day, not including the commute. And if 4 AM seems early, this was not an uncommon time for people to get up and prepare for the day when they didn’t have artificial light to keep them going so much later. In Medieval Europe it wasn’t uncommon for servants to be up and about by 3 or 4 am to go get food to start cooking. If you consider that it was dark by 6 or 7 pm, and you go to bed around 8 pm, you just might wake up at 4 in the morning—going to bed a little earlier, or just going with a bit less sleep, and you can be up and about by that time.
This also gave the court officials time for everything else they would need to do. From noon until sunset would have been time for the social functions; what we might consider “networking” in a modern corporate environment. Today we can shift these considerations to much later due to electricity, but when light meant fire and fire meant the possibility of burning down your entire house, then using the light you had makes sense. In fact, one has to wonder if this is what led to the fire that destroyed Naka no Oe’s own mansion—but we’ll probably want to save the rest of that story for another episode.
The other thing happening this year, and in many ways closely tied with the new court ceremonies, was the implementation of a new rank and cap system.
The previous rank system from the time of Umayado was replaced with a system of seven kinds of court caps and 17 grades. It is often assumed that court caps and clothing were instituted for the earlier system, though there isn’t a clear mention of uniforms and colors associated with the earlier ranks are largely conjecture. It isn’t clear that the court had yet picked up the continental clothing styles. By 647, however, it seems that the court was considering official court clothing.
The Tang Dynasty had instituted color regulations for clothing in the the 4th year of Zhen Guan. The style of robe, the panling lanshan, was borrowed from the Xianbei—a robe with a round-necked collar that originally appeared in the Northern dynasties. It had been previously adopted by scholars and officials in the Tang dynasty, and in the edict of 630 the Tang emperor dictated specific colors that could be worn based on the rank of the individual. Coincidentally, 630-632 is when Inugami no Mitasuki was there as an envoy of the Yamato court. He would have seen the style of the imperial Tang court.
Uniforms at the Tang court would have been quite the sight, especially if you weren’t used to it. People in the same style and cut of robe, not just for fashion purposes, but coordinated, like a modern sports team. You could immediately tell someone’s rank, and when they lined up, it would have been particularly striking.
It is unclear to me just how similar the Yamato implementation of this system was to the continental version. This may have been more like the “we have a rank system at home” version of courtly outfits. It also must have been quite the task to have all of the proper caps made from different materials for all of the various ranks and individuals. And these weren’t caps you wore all the time—only at major court ceremonies, including when official dignitaries were visiting or during various Buddhist ceremonies.
What’s more, only two years later they would change it again. This time we have the edict pegged to the second month of the year 649, with 19 court cap-ranks initiated. I’ll put the ranks themselves up on the podcast blog at sengokudaimyo.com if anyone is interested in the specifics, but a few notes.
First, the names of the ranks were based on various things, such as the color of the cloth of the cap itself and whether it was plain or embroidered. Some of the classes are based on things like “Flower”, “Mountain”, or “Tiger”, though they possibly meant “Kingfisher” for that last one. The first three classes are broken up into Greater and Lesser, or Dai and Shou, while the lower classes—ranks 7 to 18—were further broken into Upper and Lower. So you would have Upper Daikwa, Lower Daikwa, Upper Shoukwa, and Lower Shoukwa, as an example. That method of breaking the lower classes of ranks into more was something that would persist into later rank systems. The last rank, “Risshin”, just meant “Advancement” and seems to refer to the lowest grade on the scale.
In addition to the ranks, in the 2nd month of 649 Takamuku no Kuromaro and the Buddhist Priest Bin presented their work on the 8 Ministries—or Departments—and the 100 bureaus. This is work they had been tasked with at the beginning, and the eventual structure is definitely based closely on the Tang dynasty’s court, but is not necessarily a one for one adoption. At the top of it all are the 8 Ministries, or Shou, which oversaw the various bureaus—the text says one hundred, but they aren’t actually enumerated and so I think we can assume that they just meant that there were a lot of them.
The actual 8 Ministries are as follows:
Nakatsukasa Shou – the Ministry of Central Affairs
Shikibu Shou – the Ministry of Civil Office
Jibu Shou – the Ministry of Ceremonies
Mimbu Shou – the Ministry of Popular Affairs
Hyoubu Shou – the Ministry of War
Gyoubu Shou – the Ministry of Justice
Ohokura Shou – the Ministry of the Treasury
Kunai Shou – the Ministry Imperial Household
Many of these ministries would last for centuries, even as their power was eclipsed by other government institutions. Still, they would continue to be important, and today the Kunai Shou still exists, though now it is the “Kunai CHO”, often translated as the Imperial Household Agency.
These ministries each had officials at their head who reported up to the Ministers of the Left and Right. These 8 ministries would make up the core of what would come to be known as the Daijo-kan, sometimes referred to as the Great Council of State, which operated the secular government, as opposed to the Jingi-kan, which would come to oversee national Shinto, or kami-related, affairs and ritual.
And with that, we largely come to the end of what appears to be the Taika reforms. The rest of the reign could be thought of as a “burn in” period, I guess, as we assume that they continued to implement these reforms and build up this new government. It is likely relevant that the following year, in 650, they changed the era name, something that we’ll eventually want to talk about.
For now, I think we should call it here. Next episode we’ll backtrack a bit and go back to some of the other, non-edict related events in this period. It wasn’t exactly clean. There was intrigue, murder, and more. Politics at the time were anything but dull.
Still, the reforms had brought about a real change in the administration of Yamato, a change that would influence the entire nation for centuries to come. The centralization of power and the adoption of continental models would not stop simply at administrative tasks, but would find their way into many different facets of life. Naka no Oe himself would continue to refine the system, as would those who came after him. The reforms touched just about every facet of life across the archipelago, and in many ways it finally brought the archipelago under the control of the State, with the sovereign at its head.
And so, until next time, thank you for listening and for all of your support.
If you like what we are doing, please 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 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

Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4
Knox, George William (1903). The Early Institutional Life of Japan, a Study in the Reform of 645 A. D. By K. ASAKAWA, Ph.D. The American Historical Review, Volume 11, Issue 1, October 1905, Pages 128–129

Episode 110: Manual Labor, Mounded Tombs, and Marital Missteps

September 1, 2024 Joshua Badgley

Takamatsuzuka kofun from the outside. This tomb would have been one of those built after the edicts that closely regulated the size and what could be done for different members of the royal family and the aristocracy. Inside it is richly decorated in a style similar to that of Goguryeo.

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This episode covers just the first three months of year 2 of the Taika reforms, but there is a lot in the various edicts. The labor of the elites was being moved under the purview of the State, which would have wide ranging consequences. And there were restrictions placed on the size of mounded tombs—though those appear to have been falling out of vogue around this time, replaced with familial temples.

Tomb measurements were made in shaku (尺) and hiro (尋). A shaku is considered equivalent to about 1 foot, with a conversion, today, of about 0.99 feet to a shaku. A hiro was about 5 shaku. Later, a hiro would be made roughly equivalent to a European fathom, and so today it is often 6 shaku, instead. However, given that it was actually based on the distance between a grown man’s outspread arms, 5 shaku is a more reasonable distance for what we are discussing.

  
    Rank
    Interior
    Exterior
    Labor
    Time
    Other allowances
  

    Royal Prince
    9尺ｘ5尺ｘ5尺
    9尋ｘ9尋ｘ5尋
    1000人
    7 days
    White cloth hangings and transport by funeral cart
  

    Superior Ministers
    9尺ｘ5尺ｘ5尺
    7尋ｘ7尋ｘ3尋
    500人
    5 days
    White cloth hangings and transport on men's shoulders
  

    Lower Ministers
    9尺ｘ5尺ｘ5尺
    5尋ｘ5尋ｘ2.5尋
    250人
    3 days
    White cloth hangings and transport by funeral cart
  

    Ranks Dainin to Shonin
    9尺ｘ4尺ｘ4尺
    No mound (level ground)
    100人
    1 day
     
  

    Ranks Dairei to Shochi
    9尺ｘ4尺ｘ4尺
    No mound (level ground)
    50人
    1 day
  

One of the key concepts this episode is that of “harai”, or “purification”. This is a term often used in Shinto, today, often in relation to things like “tsumi”: ritual pollution. It seems to have been a bit broader in the past, however, and was something that people actively attempted to avoid having to do, likely because of the social and/or fiscal costs associated with it. Unfortunately, what it was isn’t exactly laid out, but we can make some guesses based on later centuries.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is episode 110: Manual Labor, Mounded Tombs, and Marital Missteps.
Maro sat by the small campfire he had made along the river’s edge. The water nearby was going to be the catalyst for the gruel that he was making with some of the last bit of food that he had. As he stirred the pot, he looked over at his friend, lying out, his head propped up against the rock.
Maro and Sumi had been working on one of the large tombs in Asuka at the commandof their lord, who had built it for his deceased father. Now they were released and headed back to their village, still two days out. Unlike their superiors, they didn’t get horses to ride across the landscape, so it would be a few days before they returned home. Unfortunately, Sumi had grown ill, and he was now almost delirious with fever. Maro couldn’t bear to leave his friend, but he also cursed his luck.
What if Sumi were to die? It was one thing to die at home, or even when they were working on the tomb. But now they were travelers—strangers on the road. If something happened to Sumi, Maro knew he couldn’t just leave him, but neither could he go trudging through the countryside with a dead body. Even association with death would bring problems for him, and if local villagers were to find out, they could force him to pay for the necessary ritual purification—or worse. Heck, even something as simple as cooking rice on the side of the road could bring problems for a poor traveler—hence why Maro had found some place off the beaten path and away from prying eyes.
Under his breath he prayed to whatever powers were listening to help Sumi recover. If they could only make it back to their village, then everything would be alright.
Once again, we are looking at the second year of Taika, 646. As we heard in the past couple of episodes, the first year of Taika saw a plethora of edicts that would bring radical change to the way that the sovereign interacted with the land and the people. These provided the start of much more direct rule,   and yet also set the stage for a new bureaucratic state, with various new officials up and down the hierarchy.
This episode we are continuing to look at what happened in the first several months of 646, largely because there was so much going on that it’s worth focusing in on this short time period.   For one thing, we really should talk a little bit more about how this entire Taika era is reflecting the culmination of what appears to have been a major change to Yamato’s cultural identity over the preceding century or so—a change in perspective that may not have even been entirely apparent to them, but which allowed Naka no Oe and the sovereign, Karu, aka Koutoku Tennou, to get away with these pronouncements that restructured the basic foundations of the Yamato state. These changes include the death knell of the kofun period, with new restrictions on how mounded tombs were to be created, including how large they were allowed to be. We’ll also look at a litany of items being called out in the third month of the year—many of which directly affected people at the lowest ends of the economic spectrum and which give us a view of some of the practices that had presumably been going on prior to the edict.
As we’ve already discussed, the early part of the year 646 saw quite a few quote-unquote “normal” things happening. The sovereign moved into a new detached palace, perhaps while the Toyosaki Palace was being built. This was the Koshiro Palace of Sayabe, in Naniwa. Emissaries were sent out to restore—or possibly build—the arsenals; you may recall that the governors were supposed to gather up all of the weapons and armor in a single place so that it could be available, just in case. Envoys from the Emishi came to do homage, and there was another round of envoys from Goguryeo, Baekje, and Silla. Apparently, this time, there were no complaints about the tribute. That was all in the first two months. By the third, the governors had been called to account for their misdeeds, but also pardoned – we talked about this two episodes ago, when we explored the new system of governors, but this is when their pardons happen – and the sovereign moved out of the Koshiro Palace, presumably to take up residence in the shiny new Toyosaki palace that was just getting blessed and which was the nominal reason for the general amnesty across the land.
And with all of that over… well, it was time to get back to figuring out what part of the traditional order they would overthrow next. And apparently, Karu, our sovereign, had an idea. He sent a question to the Crown Prince, Naka no Oe, to see what he thought about it, and we are given the Prince’s response in a letter back to the crown on the 20th day of the 3rd month of 646.

The question Karu had askedwas roughly: what should be done about a group of families called the Iribe, including the Koshiro no Iribe of the Omi, Muraji, the Tomo no Miyatsuko, and the Kuni no Miyatsuko; and the Mina no Iribe of the Royal Princes. Karu had also evidently asked what should be done about the Miyake.
Now the question reading as “what should be done about these people” sounds a bit ominous, so before we get to Naka no Oe’s suggestions, let’s explore just who were the “Iribe” mentioned here. As far as I can find, there doesn’t appear to be another use of that word in the Chronicles, but the other terms around it provide clues and we have a general consensus about what this is all about. “Koshiro”—the Child’s Generation—and the “Mina”—the exalted name—suggest that the Iribe were those families set up in the name of a given prince or person. As we’ve talked about on the podcast in the past, from the start of the various “Be” families, there was a longstanding tradition of creating specific families to support given individuals: for former queens, princes, and more. These families often took the name of the palace where these individuals resided. The output of these families and worker groups would then go to support that individual and their relatives.
The language used in Naka no Oe’s letter, here, suggests that various other elites had set up similar groups for themselves or their own relatives This is supported by the fact that the Miyake are also mentioned. The Miyake were the royal granaries, and while they had a political significance in extending the presence of the Yamato throne, they were also supplying income, in the form of rice, to the throne and various members of the royal family.
So, Karu’s question basically boiled down to: what do we do about all of these groups that exist purely to support elite families? Naka no Oe’s response reflects the new order that he was pushing for in this period. He notes that there is only one sovereign, and only the sovereign was owed the labor of the populace—suggesting that the labor of the Iribe and those otherwise conscripted into labor should be done according to the new labor laws they had just enacted. This also suggested that even the Miyake should be abolished.
This was another Big Change in the Taika era, and once again, this would have large ramifications, as it suggested, once again, that the traditions of people providing labor to these elite families would go away—although not entirely. As we will see, elites would still get an income, but it would no longer be based on your hereditary rank and position and provided by groups bound to your service alone, but instead based on your appointed rank and position in the new government. Those serving in government would continue to receive a stipend based on the labor of agricultural workers on land allotted to such purpose by the state, and in fact we’ve already seen where stipends were increased for some officers.
This goes along with the idea, at least, of a more merit-based society. Those who worked hard and proved themselves would find their way to the highest positions and thus the greatest income for themselves and their families. In reality, these promotions were highly political affairs, and most likely to go to those who came from the families already in power. How that was envisioned, though, changed in this period, and it really emphasizes the shift that must have occurred within the cultural imaginary of the time.
I’ve mentioned before the concept of the cultural imaginary, and it is something that I think we really need to talk about during this period—during the Great Change. It is clear that, even if the term “Taika” was applied after the fact, people recognized that there was a sea change going on. That change is externally represented by the edicts and the change going on in the way the government was operating. However, this couldn’t have happened without at least the tacit approval of the rest of the elites. If Naka no Oe had just been a lone voice preaching the benefits of a more centralized state, with the sovereign at the top of a bureaucratic system that had never before been seen in the archipelago, then he could easily have been dismissed. The other members of the court could have effectively revolted, refusing to comply and possibly even forcing a change in government. And of course, that may have been part of what was behind the attempted revolt around Prince Furubito no Ohoye, which we talked about last episode.
However, enough people continued to side with Naka no Oe and Nakatomi no Kamatari and their ideas that any opposition was unable to overcome their momentum. So why?
I would suggest that this was the result and culmination of a new way of envisioning—of imagining, if you will—the Yamato state. It is an image that would have been familiar to the Chroniclers, and we see it throughout their narrative: the image of an imperial state, with the sovereign—known to the Chroniclers as the Sumera no Mikoto, or Tennou—at the very top. The Sumera no Mikoto, as the sovereign would eventually be known, held authority not only in the secular realm, but also in the spiritual—in the Buddhist and in matters of the kami. It envisioned the sovereign as the natural ruler of all of the archipelago, and even beyond.
This was an image that is very much in line with the thinking of continental scholars. It conforms, to a point, with Confucian and Buddhist ideas of what a Good Ruler should be, and, by extension, what the role of the State was and how the people should operate within that realm.
Prior to the 6th century, there had been another image of the sovereign—the image of the Oho-kimi. There are similarities—after all, power is power and humans are going to human. But there were clearly other prevailing ideas in play back then. We’ve talked about the idea of co-rulers, who ruled in tandem. And we’ve seen examples of female and male rulers at various levels of society. Spiritual authority came from the ability to intercede with the kami, and there were no native Buddhist traditions prior to 538—despite attempts by the Chroniclers to paint prior generations with the brush of Buddhist and Confucian morality. One’s place in society wasn’t dictated by their own personal accomplishments as much as it was the accomplishments of their extended family, though even some of that may have come about as late as the 5th or 6th centuries.
Perhaps more importantly, prior to the 6th century, the sovereign’s direct control only extended so far. They were the sovereign of Yamato, and though they may have had influence over others in the archipelago, they did not necessarily have direct control over their lands and people. By all accounts, the people owed their service not to the sovereign in Yamato, but to their local elites, who in turn may have had duties to those above them.
But along with books and immigrants from the continent, the people of the archipelago got new ideas of what the government should look like. These may have been foreign ideas, but over time we had new generations growing up with new and different examples of how things should work. These new ideas worked their way into their thinking about how elited should behave and act, and colored their image for what a proper State should look like. Sure, they understood how their own traditions worked, and that is still the mode under which they operated, but they were ready to change.
Some of this change started back in the era of Prince Umayado and the sovereign, Kashikiya Hime. Umayado’s purported 17 article constitution, as we noted, didn’t exactly lay out specific laws and punishments. It wasn’t a true legal code, though it was accompanied by a few legal changes, including the first attempt at a rank system for individuals. More importantly, though, it articulated a set of values on which the government should be founded. Whether or not these values were actually articulated to Prince Umayado, aka Shotoku Taishi, or even whether they were written down before the Chronicles were put together is debatable, but that whole episode certainly suggests that these kinds of ideas, which were rife with continental thought, were making their way into society.
And thus, Naka no Oe was able to suggest his and Karu’s reforms based on arguments that no doubt resonated with the people of the time, as many of those in government would have been reading similar texts. So even while it was seemingly against their immediate interests to give up control of labor or production, they had already been provided an exemplar of how this would work. They had a new imagination of what their culture should be and look like.
And that’s why I bring up the idea of a new cultural imaginary taking hold. A cultural imaginary is the collection of various shared values and concepts that a group envisions for themselves. If we think of modern countries, one can look at American culture, where there are shared values of freedom, individuality, etc. These are backed by common, shared ideas and stories—stories of the Founding Fathers, separating themselves from Great Britain, but also ideas of the Old West and concepts of the rugged cowboy on his horse. These stories and images help us to determine our shared values and understanding. It also tends to define the “us” versus “them”. Why are we the way we are and why are they different?
To be clear, these stories are not always true, and can change over time. Early visions of America included some people, but not everyone. Stories turned George Washington into an almost mythical figure, with an emphasis on his heroic qualities and his honesty. Our modern version of the Old West is often driven by what we saw in movies, which in turn were influenced by dime novels of the late 19th and early 20th centuries. The historical Old West tended to be quite different—and much more complex and diverse—than our modern visions of it.
We can see similar forces at work in the Nihon Shoki and the Kojiki. These were written with the cultural values of the 8th century, and deliberately or not, their values are reflected back into the past, which is then what later generations would hold onto, defining their own image of who they were and how things should be.
When the cultural imaginary of what your society or culture should be conflicts with what people actually see happening, that often creates tension. That tension can be resolved in a variety of ways, but it often requires something to change. In this case, the cultural imaginaries of the elite had been flooded with examples of Confucian and Buddhist morals. The stories and values had been passed along with knowledge of astronomy, mathematics, and more, in the media they were consuming from the continent. There were also those who had come from the continent—from Baekje, Silla, and beyond—who no doubt also had absorbed some of these stories and values and were passing them on, as well.
And so it wouldn’t have taken that much for Naka no Oe to point out how the system that they were laboring under differed from what a so-called “good” government should look like. So in a way, there was already buy-in for a change, at least at the top. And thus it appears as though Naka no Oe and Karu were able to get many of the elites to give up a measure of their own autonomy under the old system for the benefits of the new system that was being created. Mind you, it likely didn’t hurt that the throne was also ensuring that they gave out lavish gifts of silk, gold ingots, and hefty stipends to many of the more influential members of society as well.
There are still questions as to how much actually changed, initially. Sure, we see the edicts and an intent to change, and the local elites of Yamato seem to have been going along with it, but we don’t quite see how quickly these edicts were accepted in places like Izumo or Kibi, and I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that, at least initially, many people just paid the edicts lip service, waiting to see whether or not they would actually be enforced. Still, these are definite changes away from the previous cultural norms.
Which leads into the next big edict, which focused on regulating tombs.
While the ancient burial mounds which could be called “kofun” continued to be built into the 8th century in one form or another, by most timelines, the Kofun period ended around 538 with the introduction of Buddhism and the start of what is known as the Asuka period. As we’ve noted, even the kingly tombs of the royal family from the end of the 6th century stopped relying on the round-keyhole shaped tomb shape. By the early 7th century the building of temples had become the new memorial for the ultra-wealthy of Yamato—a temple being a memorial that could be built before you passed and carry on your memory to later generations as a place of worship. This was no doubt helped by the idea that you would also accrue a fair bit of karma, the spiritual capital of the Buddhist worldview.
However, a mounded burial was still de rigeur for the elites and certain families, including those who had come over from the continent. The last keyhole style tombs known to have been built appear to be out in modern Chiba prefecture, in the Kanto region, in the first half of the 7th century. From then on, we largely see round, square, or octagonal tombs. Some of the latest tombs that we know of, in the late 7th and early 8th centuries, show clear signs of continental influence. Kitora kofun and Takamatsuzuka Kofun, both in the Asuka area, are decorated in ways similar to tombs in Goguryeo, including paintings of the four directional animals mentioned in the Liji, the Confucian Book of Rites: Suzaku, the red bird of the south; Byakko, the white tiger of the west; Genbu, the black tortoise of the north; and Seiryuu, the blue dragon of the east. Takamatsuzuka also contains murals of courtiers dressed in clothing that would be quite at home on the continent and which looks quite different from the clothing seen on haniwa figures from only a century or so earlier.
Tombs were also more likely to be clustered together, and often only contained a single burial, rather than evidence of a double burial. This was likely influenced by the edict of 646. That edict also gives us ideas on what was considered to be reasonable for that era, and provides some of our best descriptions in the written record to help us better understand tomb construction.
I would also note that the court had moved to Naniwa, and near to Naniwa were some of the largest of the kofun, including Daisen-ryo, the largest kofun in Japan and one of the largest mausoleums in the entire world. So perhaps that was also influencing their thoughts.
The edict starts out noting that large, mounded tombs are wasteful. This shouldn’t be a surprise: large tombs were always about conspicuous consumption as a sign of the wealth and power of the occupant and their family. As noted earlier, however, a lot of that seems to have shifted to the building of temples, and as such, tombs were no longer seen as something to waste resources on. However, since it was still tradition, it was still happening, hence the edict.
And so it goes on to limit the size of the tombs. At the largest, it says a tomb should be no more than about nine shaku wide and 5 shaku wide on the inside—one shaku being approximately 1 foot—and no more then 9 hiro to a side and 5 hiro in height. A “Hiro” was an ancient measure that was generally the length of two outspread arms. This was about 5 shaku, or 5 feet.    That means that we are still talking about a mound 45 feet on a side, which is nothing to sneeze at. But this size was reserved for princes and up. The Daijin—the great ministers of State—could have similar inner dimensions for their sarcophagus, but the outside was limited to only seven hiro to a side and three hiro in height. Lesser ministers only got 5 hiro to a side and 2.5 hiro in height, while others were allocated no mound at all, and a smaller inner chamber.
In addition, the number of laborers and how long they could work on a tomb was also capped. The largest tombs were allotted 1,000 laborers for 7 days. The Daijin received 500 laborers over 5 days. Other ministers received 250 laborers for 3 days, while below that you received 100 laborers for 1 day or 50 laborers for no more than 1 day. Here we see the state once again asserting itself into the relationship between the various individuals and the laborers—previously, an elite family would have just used as many laborers as they had private access to, but now things were being regulated and it was all based on your rank and position within the civil service of the new government.
In addition, how the deceased was delivered to the monument also was regulated. A carriage was permitted for the highest ranked individuals—the members of the royal family. Ministers could be placed on a bier and carried by pall-bearers. No mention is made of people of the lower class, with the assumption that they likely didn’t get such a ceremony.
White cloth hangings were allowed in many cases—white is practical, in that it isn’t dyed and so it wouldn’t be as expensive, but it was also considered the color of death in Buddhist and continental tradition, so not surprising. They also allowed small stones to be used for princes down to the rank of “sho-chi”—that was the lowest official rank. These stones could refer to several things, and we aren’t quite sure. According to Aston, the compilers of the “shukai” edition of the Nihon Shoki attributed this to memorial stones set up with inscriptions about the deceased, but as he points out, we haven’t found anything that really correlates to that. Aston instead suggests that what is meant are the stones used to build the roof of the main chamber. If you look at tombs like Ishibutai kofun, you can see the large stones used there, but this may be referring to something similar, possibly using smaller stones that took less effort to haul into place. There were also stones used on the outside to decorate the kofun back in the day, and I suppose that they could have meant that as well.
More than just regulations, there were prohibitions placed on burials. For one thing, the concept of a temporary interment was discontinued for everyone. In the past, a body would be buried or even placed in a hut for some time and then the burial would take place at a later date. There are several reasons this may have been done in the past, from the purely ritual to the more practical. However, that was no longer considered to be appropriate. Likewise, commoners were required to be buried within a day of their death. This goes along with talk about reducing “pollution”, which may have referred to spiritual as much as physical pollution, and so plots of ground were set aside specifically for burials, and people were not allowed to be buried outside of those official locations. That could certainly help explain why we see more clusters of burials in this later period. Using the sides of hills and ridges may have also meant that the tombs didn’t take up important agricultural lands.
There were also prohibitions on sacrifices to the dead. For one thing, nobody was permitted to sacrifice themselves through strangulation—which apparently had been a thing even though we are told that human sacrifice was prohibited back in the time of Mimaki Iribiko, and the reason that haniwa were invented. You also weren’t allowed to sacrifice someone’s horse or bury valuables along with the dead. These are all things that we see in the early mounded tomb culture, including burials in the Kara, or Gaya, region of the Korean peninsula, and we certainly find plenty of grave goods in the archipelago. It makes me wonder if this is one of the reasons that painted tombs, like Kitora and Takamatsuzuka, were used, perhaps in place of more lavish grave goods going into the burial. There was also a prohibition on an apparent custom where people would cut their hair and stab themselves in the thigh prior to pronouncing a eulogy. Similar traditions are found elsewhere, often to emphasize that people were grieving the dead.
And since you can’t punish the dead, if there were any problems then it would be the dead person’s relatives who would be punished, instead.
Speaking of punishments, this starts to get into a part of the Taika reforms that really focuses on the various offenses that people were apparently committing and needed to be stopped. It is unclear to me how often these offenses occurred, and in some cases I wonder if they were things that were actually happening or if they were carryovers from the continental tradition. Still, I tend to come down on the idea that these were likely things that were actually happening, and didn’t fit in with the social norms and values that Naka no Oe and his cohorts were attempting to put in place. Some of these will likely resonate with us, today, but others are a bit more difficult to fully grasp.
One of the things that is perhaps most difficult for us to grasp today is the concept of “harai”, which Aston translates as “purgation” and is most commonly translated, today, as “purification”. “Harai” is an important concept in Shinto, and has been something that seems to have been there in some form from the earliest times.
In Shinto there is a concept of “pollution” or “tsumi” that can occur, and it may or may not be something that a person has control over. For example, blood and death are forms of pollution—which also means that, by extension, birth also includes pollution in the form of blood. “Tsumi” can also be something that occurs because of things that a person does, where they break the social mores or norms. A number of examples are contained in the stories provided during the Age of the Gods. In particular, you can see in the tales of Izanagi and Izanami, where Izanagi, coming back from the land of the dead, dips himself into the ocean to wash away any impurities—any pollution. We talked about that back in episode 14. In episode 15, we talked about some of the not-so-great actions of Susano’o. Some of these, like the backwards flaying of the colt and flinging it through the roof of his sister’s building is somewhat obvious. But then there were things like moving the stakes delineating the rice fields, or letting livestock in to trample the young growth. Those were some other examples of tsumi that were part of the many things that got him kicked out of Takamagahara, the High Plain of Heaven.
An important thing here is that tsumi is not necessarily about a person’s intentions, motives, nor responsibility. For all types of tsumi, some form of harai, or purification, is called for. Today, there are various ceremonies that can be performed by Shinto priests to help remove the effects of tsumi, and that seems to have been the case back in the Kofun and Asuka periods as well, but there was a catch: it wasn’t without costs. And apparently those costs could be significant—significant enough that it was almost like a kind of punishment. Aston suggests that harai could include various payments, perhaps seen as a kind of sacrifice, but that could be more than some people could afford. If we look back on the story of Susano’o, he had to have his hair and nails cut as part of his penance—his harai. There is also some thought that this may have just been a literal payment to the community, like a fine. I would note that “harai” can mean either purification or payment, depending on the kanji used.
So just keep that in mind when we talk about “harai”.
Now here are some of the things that, according to the new edicts, people were to stop doing.
First, there were people who saw or heard something—presumably something important—and yet they wouldn’t say anything. That wasn’t going to fly anymore. So I guess this is the pro-snitching rule—if you see something, say something.
Then there were enslaved people who apparently would leave poor masters to find someone wealthier to serve, hoping to improve their lot. Again, this was right out. We are reminded that Yamato was a slave-holding society, and they weren’t going to allow that.
On the other hand, the new rules also put a stop to husbands who would dismiss their wives and then, when the wives remarried, try to make a claim on the new husband’s property. Similarly, there were some men who demanded a family’s daughter for his wife, but before they consummate the marriage, she marries someone else. In some of those cases, the men would, again, make demands on the property of the new husband’s family as well as the wife’s family. The new edict put that strictly out of bounds.
Following on a theme of women and marriage: there was a tradition in some places that widows who, when they married after 10 or 20 years, or even unmarried women got married for the first time, they would be forced by the community to pay for some kind of “harai”. This, along with the other practice mentioned, was forbidden. No longer would they have to pay for getting married.
Now in some cases, it looks like men who wanted to divorce their wives wouldn’t just let them out of the arrangement. Rather, they would sell their wives into slavery—another thing that the new edicts said would no longer be tolerated.
And then there was the case of a man who believed his wife was having an affair. In that case he now had to obtain at least three credible witnesses before bringing it up to the authorities. One presumes this was to protect women from men simply making a baseless claim with no proof. Not that a determined man couldn’t find—or even bribe—three witnesses to come forward and accuse his wife, but it at least upped the ante a little bit. Whether this was to provide protection to women or whether it was just to reduce the amount of work on government officials who would have to investigate and come to a decision isn’t exactly clear.
I would note that while many of these new rules were coming down on the side of protecting women, to some degree, there is still a very heavy patriarchal bias demonstrated throughout.
In addition to all the information on marital affairs, there were a few other, unrelated issues, but all of them were connected to the need to do harai. And now we come back to our story about poor Maro and Sumi from the beginning of the episode: let’s say a man, finishing his forced labor, is returning back when he falls ill on the road and dies in some village. According to established traditions, the people there could then require his companions or even family members to perform harai—presumably meaning that they would have to pay the village something or at least pay for the ritual cleansing, to compensate for the tsumi that the death caused. Similarly, if someone were to drown, his companions would be held responsible. Even if someone were to stop and cook rice by the roadside while traveling, they could be made to perform harai. And the harai for all of this was so onerous that we are told that even a younger brother might completely ignore the body of his elder brother, just to avoid being associated with him and thus forced to perform harai.
In all of these cases, the edict said that this would no longer be acceptable. You couldn’t just put the squeeze on someone to perform harai just because their companion happened to pass away.
Being on the road and traveling—especially for official government service—was clearly something that was on their mind. Moving on from the list of things that were to be discontinued without exception, there were a few other cases that were dealt with in the same edict.
First, there was the case where peasants, heading to the capital, would leave their horses with someone in Owari or Mikawa, for example. They would leave cloth and bundles of hemp as payment for the person to look after their horses, and even procure a spade as a gift when they returned. However, when they got back, they would find that their horse had died, or else the horse had been sold, but the owner was told it had died. The last trick, if it was a mare, was to get the mare pregnant and then claim that the pregnancy had polluted their house, therefore the owner would have to do harai, meaning that the horse usually ended up staying with the person who was supposed to be holding onto it.
The solution was to use the new bureaucracy. The owner and the person who agreed to keep the horse would make their statement to the village elder and the owner would hand over the renumeration to the elder as the third party. This payment would be held by the elder until the owner returned, at which point it was handed over to the person who had kept the horse. This way the person keeping the horse knew that he would be paid for his troubles, but only if the horse was still around when the owner returned.
So they effectively invented the concept of escrow.
I suspect that such a system could be applied to many other such endeavors as well, where there was otherwise no guarantee of payment at the end of a task nor guarantee that the task would completed as agreed if they got the money up front.
Besides that, the edict also had a short note about dues payable to Market Commissioners for main roads and to ferrymen—likely various fees. Instead, these kinds of positions would be granted rice-land which could be cultivated and they could receive a stipend from that.
Finally, during the key agricultural months, everybody was to be working on cultivating rice-land. The edict specifically calls out that they should not eat dainty food nor drink sake, I suspect because dainty food wouldn’t give you enough energy and drinking sake would impair your ability in the field. Each quarter, the Kuni no Miyatsuko were to send messengers to remind the people of this edict—a kind of human public service announcement.
So all of that was part of an edict on the 22nd day of the 3rd month of 646. I am not sure that there is a clear theme to all of it, other than calling out old practices and describing how things would be done from here on out. There is clearly a concern with harai and how it would affect people’s willingness to do the right thing.
The next set of pronouncements would come almost five months later, and a lot of that had to do with names, as well as further work on the creation of the government bureaucracy, but that is going to take a lot more time, and so I think that for now we’ll end this here: The link between the state and laborers has been changed, the tomb-building has been strictly regulated, and a series of rather specific pronouncements and prohibitions has been issued.
And so, until next time, thank you for listening and for all of your support.
If you like what we are doing, please 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 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

Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4
Knox, George William (1903). The Early Institutional Life of Japan, a Study in the Reform of 645 A. D. By K. ASAKAWA, Ph.D. The American Historical Review, Volume 11, Issue 1, October 1905, Pages 128–129

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Who’s Who

Goguryeo

Pyongyang

King Yeongnyu

Yeon Gaesomun

King Bojang

Silla

Queen Seondeok

Queen Jindeok

Kim Yusin

Kim Ch’unch’u, aka king Muyeol

Baekje

King Uija

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Well Field System

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Palaces

Palace layout

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12 Rank System

Cap Rank System of 647

Cap Ranks of 649

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