Episode 137: Courtly Fashion

November 1, 2025 Joshua Badgley

Depiction from the Takamatsuzuka tumulus of four women—possibly Palace attendants. This is a late 7th or early 8th century tomb with some of the best—and dare I say the only—preserved images of this particular style of clothing from the Asuka period. The originals have deteriorated significantly, but fortunately we have images of the painted sections from around the time when they were first pulled out of the ground. Image in public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

This episode we are digging into (pun intented) the material culture of Ōama’s court in Asuka. This will hopefully help us to have a better understand of what things may have looked like, but it also helps to understand changes more generally, at least at court. The move towards more continental styles of clothing and fashion demonstrate the popularity of continental ideas, which follows with the importation of Buddhism and new government structures. We might also have a better idea of the cultures that were particularly influential at this time.

Unfortunately, clothing is notorious ephemeral. Silk, in particular, deteriorates quickly, and many colors fade. Even various paintings that may have been created are no longer extant. As such, we have only a few key references from which to draw our conclusions.

Before delving much further into this blogpost, I would be remiss if I didn’t point out our own resources—though mostly focused on later fashion, you may find our section on Clothing and Accessories useful, which you can search for many of the terms we use.

Sources

There are a few different sources that we have for our understanding of clothing prior to the Nara period. All of these have their own problems, not the least of which being that each one is only a snapshot in time and even place. For example, is a 6th century image from modern Gunma prefecture relevant to Kyushu of the 6th century, let alone the 5th century? Without any contradictory evidence, we generally go with what we have.

Weizhi

The Wei Chronicles describe the clothing of the people in quite general terms that give us very little to go on, and which are not necessarily verifiable to the archipelago of the 3rd century:

All the men wear their topknots uncovered, with cotton cloths draped over their heads. Their clothes are made of wide strips of cloth tied together, with little or no sewing. The women's hair was tied in a knot, and their clothes were made like a single-layered robe with a hole in the middle, through which they stuck their heads.

It also contains mention of silk, as well as the use of tattoos.

Archaeological Evidence

Archaeologically speaking, we have pulled up certain things from sites, but nothing like a full set of clothes. There are fragments of cloth—or the impressions of cloth left in clay—which can help us understand the types of fabric, and even some of the dyes and colors that were used. We have examples of various ornaments and adornments that were a bit more sturdy—lacquered combs, shell bracelets, and the famous magatama come to mind. These come from a variety of sites, from the Yayoi through Kofun periods. It includes sites from different regions and time periods, including Yoshinogari, in Kyushu, clearly situated in the Yayoi period, to the Haruna eruption site of 550. There are also numerous items found in kofun, those ancient mounded tumuli, but that doesn’t always mean we have a clear idea of how they were worn, and by whom. In some cases we have multiple examples, but often we just have a single example of something here or there.

Embassies to the Liang Court

The Zhigongtu records embassies in the early 6th century. While the original is not extant, we have copies that were made. They show a variety of embassies from different countries including one from the “Wo” or “Wa”; the people of the Japanese archipelago. The images are great, but we have to wonder: how accurate are they? For one thing, they were likely drawn from memory, and the artist, the future Emperor Yuan of Liang, aka Xiao Yi, probably wasn’t examining their clothing too carefully. It is also possible that they were using the description in the Weizhi to guide their depiction.

Image of a copy of the original, showing ambassadors with notes on each figure. Public domain image via Wikimedia Commons

Image (and updated conceptual drawing) of the “Wo” ambassador in the Liang Zhigongtu. Image from Wikimedia Commons. For another take on this outfit, see the Kyoto Costume Museum’s reconstruction.

Haniwa

Another source that we have are Haniwa figures. While the majority of the haniwa were simply clay cylinders, there were certainly others that were topped with bowls and various figures. Some of these were quite abstract, while others were fairly detailed. Most of the human figures show up only in the latter part of the kofun period, and styles vary greatly from region to region. It also isn’t like any of this is clearly labeled as to what they mean to represent, so we have to make some educated guesses based on what we know and context, but that could still be missing important pieces of information.

Based on those models, the Kyoto Costume Museum reconstructed them as follows:

Tenjūkoku Mandala

This embroidered mandala was made for Chūgūji, the temple built for Princess Anahobe, the mother of the famous Shōtoku Taishi, in 621. This mandala is thought to be from the 7th century.

Takamatsuzuka Kofun

Takamatsuzuka, a circular kofun in the Asuka area, is extremely important to our understanding of the clothing at the time for the intricate paintings which were in incredible condition when the tomb was first found and opened. The paintings depict eight women and eight men, which give us some idea of what people of the time wore. Or so we presume. The tomb shares characteristics with Goguryeo style tombs, and it is possible that the images are not depicting locals, but they do seem to accord well with the outfits in the mandala.

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Click the below links to see images of the Kyoto Costume Museum’s reconstructions of these outfits:

Court Rank Color Chart

Click here for a color chart of the formal garments of the Asuka period onwards. Please note that the colors you see on the screen may be affected by many factors, just as dye lots for actual clothes wouldn’t always match exactly. So these are what we think they meant, but the color may be more of a range rather than just one, pure color.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is Episode 137: Courtly Fashion.
In the New Year’s ceremony, the court officials lined up in front of the Kiyomihara Palace, arranged by their relative court rank, dressed in their assigned court robes. The effect was impressive—the rows of officials painting the courtyard like the bands of color in a rainbow, albeit one with only a couple of hues. The fact that they were all wearing the same style of dress and black, stiffened gauze hats only added to the effect. The individual officers were all but lost in what was, at least in outward form, a single, homogenous machine of government, just waiting for the command of their monarch to attend to the important matters of state.
We are covering the reign of Ohoama no Ohokimi, aka Ama no Nunahara oki no mabito no Sumera no Mikoto, aka Temmu Tennou. Last episode we went over the changes he had made to the family titles—the kabane—as well as to the courtly rank system. For the former, he had consolidated the myriad kabane and traditional titles across Yamato into a series of eight—the Yakusa no Kabane.   These were, from highest to lowest: Mabito, Asomi, Sukune, Imiki, Michinoshi, Omi, Muraji, and Inaki. By the way, you might notice that “Mabito” actually occurs in Ohoama’s posthumous name: Ama no Nunahara oki no mabito, which lends more credence to the idea that that kabane was for those with a special connection to the royal lineage.
Besides simplifying and restructuring the kabane, Ohoama also reformed the court rank system. He divided the Princely ranks into two categories: Myou, or Bright, and Jou, or Pure. For the court nobles the categories were:
               Shou – Upright
               Jiki – Straight
               Gon – Diligent
               Mu – Earnest
               Tsui – Pursue
               Shin – Advancement
Each category was further divided into four grades (except for the very first princely category, Myou, which was only two). Each grade was then further divided into large, “dai”, or broad, “kou”.
And this brings us to our topic today. Along with this new rank system, Ohoama’s administration also instituted a new set of court sumptuary laws. Some are vague in the record—we can just make assumptions for what is going on based on what we know from later fashion choices. Others are a little more clear. We’ll take a look at those sumptuary laws, particularly those that were directly associated with the new court rank system, but we’ll also look at the clothing styles more generally.
To start with, let’s talk about what we know about clothing in the archipelago in general. Unfortunately, fabric doesn’t tend to survive very well in the generally acidic soils of the Japanese archipelago. Cloth tends to break down pretty quickly. That said, we have fragments here and there and impressions in pottery, so we have some idea that there was some kind of woven fabric from which to make clothing out of.
And before I go too far I want to give a shout out to the amazing people at the Kyoto Costume Museum. They have a tremendous website and I will link to it in the comments. While there may be some debate over particular interpretations of historical clothing, it is an excellent resource to get a feel for what we know of the fashion of the various periods. I’ll also plug our own website, SengokuDaimyo.com, which has a “Clothing and Accessory” section that, while more geared towards Heian and later periods, may still be of some use in looking up particular terms and getting to know the clothing and outfits.
At the farthest reaches of pre-history, we really don’t have a lot of information for clothing. There is evidence of woven goods in the Jomon period, and we have Yayoi burials with bits of cloth here and there, but these are all scraps. So at best we have some conjecture as to what people were wearing, and possibly some ability to look across the Korean peninsula and see what people had, there.
There are scant to no reliable records from early on in Japanese history, and most of those don’t really do a great job of describing the clothing. Even where we do get something, like the Weizhi, one has to wonder given how they tended to crib notes from other entries.
There is at least one picture scroll of interest: Portraits of Periodical Offering of Liang, or Liáng -Zhígòngtú. It is said to have been painted by Xiao Yi in the early 6th century, and while the original no longer exists there is an 11th century copy from the time of the Song Dynasty. The scroll shows various ambassadors to the Liang court, including one from Wa. The Wa ambassador is shown with what appears to be a wide piece of cloth around his hips and legs, tied in front. His lower legs are covered in what we might call kyahan today: a rather simple wrap around leg from below the knee to the foot. He has another, blue piece of cloth around his shoulders, almost like a shawl, and it is also tied in front. Then there is a cloth wrapped and tied around his head. It’s hard to know how much of this depiction is accurate and how much the artist was drawing on memory and descriptions from things like the Weizhi or Wei Chronicles, which stated that the Wa people wore wide cloths wrapped around and seamlessly tied
As such, it may be more helpful to look at depictions actually from the archipelago: specifically, some of the human-figured haniwa, those clay cylinders and statues that adorned the burial mounds which gave the kofun period its name. Some of these haniwa are fairly detailed, and we can see ties, collars, and similar features of clothing. These haniwa primarily seem to cluster towards the end of the Kofun period, in the later 6th century, so it is hard to say how much they can be used for earlier periods, though that is exactly what you will typically see for periods where we have little to know evidence. I’m also not sure how regional certain fashions might have been, and we could very much be suffering from survivorship bias—that is we only know what survived and assume that was everything, or even the majority. Still, it is something.
Much of what we see in these figures is some kind of upper garment that has relatively tight sleeves, like a modern shirt or jacket might have, with the front pieces overlapping create a V-shaped neckline. The garment hem often hangs down to just above the knee, flaring out away from the body, and it’s held closed with ties and some kind of belt, possibly leather in some cases, and in others it looks like a tied loop of cloth. There is evidence of a kind of trouser, with two legs, and we see ties around the knee. In some cases, they even have small bells hanging from the ties. Presumably the trousers might have ties up towards the waist, but we cannot see that in the examples we have. We also see individuals who have no evidence of any kind of bifurcated lower garment. That may indicate an underskirt of some kind, or possibly what’s called a “mo”—but it could also be just a simplification for stability, since a haniwa has a cylindrical base anyway. It is not always obvious when you are looking at a haniwa figure whether it depicts a man or woman: in some cases there are two dots on the chest that seem to make it obvious, but the haniwa do come from different artisans in different regions, so there is a lot of variability.
We also see evidence of what seem to be decorative sashes that are worn across the body, though not in all cases. There are various types of headgear and hairstyles. Wide-brimmed and domed hats are not uncommon, and we also see combs and elaborate hairstyles depicted. On some occasions we can even see that they had closed toed shoes. For accessories, we see haniwa wearing jewelry, including necklaces (worn by both men and women), bracelets, and earrings. In terms of actual human jewelry, early shell bracelets demonstrate trade routes, and the distinctive magatama, or comma shaped jewel, can be found in the archipelago and on the Korean peninsula, where it is known as “gogok”.
Based on lines or even colored pigment on the haniwa, it appears that many of these outfits were actually quite heavily decorated. Paint on the outfits is sometimes also placed on the face, suggesting that they either painted or tattooed themselves, something mentioned in the Wei Chronicles. We also have archaeological examples of dyed cloth, so it is interesting that people are often depicted in undyed clothing.
There is one haniwa that I find particularly interesting, because they appear to be wearing more of a round-necked garment, and they have a hat that is reminiscent of the phrygian cap: a conical cap with the top bent forward. These are traits common to some of the Sogdians and other Persian merchants along the silk road, raising the possibility that it is meant to depict a foreigner, though it is also possible that it was just another local style.
If we compare this to the continent, we can see some immediate difference. In the contemporaneous Sui dynasty, we can see long flowing robes, with large sleeves for men and women. The shoes often had an upturned placket that appears to have been useful to prevent one from tripping on long, flowing garments. Many of these outfits were also of the v-neck variety, with two overlapping pieces, though it is often shown held together with a fabric belt that is tied in front. The hats appear to either be a kind of loose piece of fabric, often described as a turban, wrapped around the head, the ends where it ties together trailing behind, or black lacquered crowns—though there were also some fairly elaborate pieces for the sovereign.
As Yamato started to import continental philosophy, governance, and religion, they would also start to pick up on continental fashion. This seems particularly true as they adopted the continental concept of “cap rank” or “kan-i". Let’s go over what we know about this system, from its first mention in the Chronicles up to where we are in Ohoama’s reign. As a caveat, there is a lot we don’t know about the details of these garments, but we can make some guesses.
The first twelve cap-ranks, theoretically established in 603, are somewhat questionable in their historicity, as are so many things related to Shotoku Taishi. And their names are clearly based on Confucian values: Virtue, Humanity, Propriety, Faith, Justice, and Wisdom, or Toku, Nin, Rei, Shin, Gi, and Chi. The five values and then just “Virtue”, itself. The existence of this system does seem to be confirmed by the Sui Shu, the Book of Sui, which includes a note in the section on the country of Wa that they used a 12 rank system based on the Confucian values, but those values were given in the traditional Confucian order vice the order given in the Nihon Shoki.

The rank system of the contemporaneous Sui and Tang dynasties was different from these 12 ranks, suggesting that the Yamato system either came from older dynasties—perhaps from works on the Han dynasty or the Northern and Southern Dynasty, periods—or they got it from their neighbors, Baekje, Silla, and Goguryeo. There does seem to be a common thread, though, that court rank was identifiable in one’s clothes.
As for the caps themselves, what did they look like? One would assume that the Yamato court just adopted a continental style cap, and yet, which one? It isn’t fully described, and there are a number of types of headwear that we see in the various continental courts. Given that, we aren’t entirely sure exactly what it looked like, but we do have a couple of sources that we can look at and use to make some assumptions.
These sources l ead us to the idea of a round, colored cap made of fabric, around the brim that was probably the fabric or image prescribed for that rank. It is also often depicted with a bulbous top, likely for the wearer’s hair, and may have been tied to their top knot.

Our main source for this is the Tenjukoku Mandala Embroidery (Tenjukoku-mandara-shuuchou) at Chuuguuji temple, which was a temple built for the mother of Prince Umayado, aka Shotoku Taishi.

This embroidery was created in 622, so 19 years after the 12 ranks would have been implemented. It depicts individuals in round-necked jackets that appear to have a part straight down the center. Beneath the jacket one can see a pleated hem, possibly something like a “hirami”, a wrapped skirt that is still found in some ceremonial imperial robes. It strikes me that this could also be the hem of something like the hanpi, which was kind of like a vest with a pleated lower edge. Below that we see trousers—hakama—with a red colored hem—at least on one figure that we can see. He also appears to be wearing a kind of slipper-like shoe.
As for the women, there are a few that appear to be in the mandala, but it is hard to say for certain as the embroidery has been damaged over the years. That said, from what we can tell, women probably would have worn something similar to the men in terms of the jacket and the pleated under-skirt, but then, instead of hakama, we see a pleated full-length skirt, or mo. We also don’t have a lot of evidence for them wearing hats or anything like that.
The round necked jacket is interesting as it appears to be similar to the hou that was common from northern China across the Silk Road, especially amongst foreigners. This garment came to displace the traditional robes of the Tang court and would become the basis for much of the court clothing from that period, onwards. The round necked garment had central panels that overlapped, and small ties or fastenings at either side of the neck to allow for an entirely enclosed neckline. This was more intricate than just two, straight collars, and so may have taken time to adopt, fully.
The next change to the cap-rank system was made in 647, two years into the Taika Reform. The ranks then were more directly named for the caps, or crowns—kanmuri—and their materials and colors. The ranks translate to Woven, Embroidered, Purple, Brocade, Blue, Black, and finally “Establish Valor” for the entry level rank.
The system gets updated two years later, but only slightly. We still see a reference to Woven stuff, Embroidery, and Purple, but then the next several ranks change to Flower, Mountain, and Tiger—or possibly Kingfisher. These were a little more removed from the cap color and material, and may have had something to do with designs that were meant to be embroidered on the cap or on the robes in some way, though that is just speculation based on later Ming and Qing court outfits.
Naka no Ohoye then updates it again in 664, but again only a little. He seems to add back in the “brocade” category, swapping out the “flower”, and otherwise just adds extra grades within each category to expand to 26 total rank grades.
And that brings us to the reforms of 685, mentioned last episode. This new system was built around what appear to be moral exhortations—Upright, Straight, Diligent, Earnest, etc. And that is great and all, but how does that match up with the official robes? What color goes with each rank category?
Fortunately, this time around, the Chronicle lays it out for us pretty clearly. First off we are given the color red for the Princely ranks—not purple as one might have thought. Specifically, it is “Vermillion Flower”, hanezu-iro, which Bentley translates as the color of the “Oriental bush” or salmon. In the blogpost we’ll link to a table of colors that the founder of Sengoku Daimyo, Anthony Bryant, had put together, with some explanation of how to apply it. I would note that there is often no way to know exactly what a given color was like or what shades were considered an acceptable range. Everything was hand-dyed, and leaving fabric in the dye a little longer, changing the proportions, or just fading over time could create slightly different variants in the hue, but we think we can get pretty close.
From there we have the six “common” ranks for the nobility. Starting with the first rank, Upright, we have “Dark Purple”. Then we have “Light Purple”. This pattern continues with Dark and Light Green and then Dark and Light Grape or Lilac. Purple in this case is Murasaki, and green here is specifically Midori, which is more specifically green than the larger category of “Aoi”, which covers a spectrum of blue to green. The grape or lilac is specifically “suou”, and based on Bentley’s colors it would be a kind of purple or violet.
The idea is that the official court outfits for each rank would be the proper color. And yes, that means if you get promoted in rank, your first paycheck—or rice stipend—is probably going to pay for a new set of official clothes. Fortunately for the existing court nobles at the time, in the last month of 685, the Queen provided court clothing for 55 Princes and Ministers, so they could all look the part.
And the look at court was important. In fact, several of the edicts from this time focus specifically on who was allowed—or expected—to wear what. For instance, in the 4th month of 681, they established 92 articles of the law code, and among those were various sumptuary laws—that is to say, laws as to what you could wear. We are told that they applied to everyone from Princes of the blood down to the common person, and it regulated the wearing of precious metals, pearls, and jewels; the type of fabric one could use, whether purple, brocade, embroidery, or fine silks; and it also regulated woollen carpets, caps, belts, and the colors of various things.
And here I’d like to pause and give some brief thought to how this played into the goals of the court, generally, which is to say the goal of creating and establishing this new system of governance in the cultural psyche of the people of the archipelago. From the continental style palaces, to the temples, and right down to the clothing that people were wearing, this was all orchestrated, consciously or otherwise, to emphasize and even normalize the changes that were being introduced. When everything around you is conforming to the new rules, it makes it quite easy for others to get on board.
The court had surrounded themselves with monumental architecture that was designed along continental models and could best be explained through continental reasoning. Even if they weren’t Confucian or Daoist, those lines of reasoning ran through the various cultural and material changes that they were taking up. Sure, they put their own stamp on it, but at the same time, when everything is right in front of you, it would become that much harder to deny or push back against it.
And when you participated in the important rituals of the state, the clothing itself became a part of the pageantry. It reinforced the notion that this was something new and different, and yet also emphasized that pushing against it would be going against the majority. So court uniforms were another arm of the state’s propaganda machine, all designed to reinforce the idea that the heavenly sovereign—the Tennou—was the right and just center of political life and deserving of their position.
Getting back to the sumptuary laws and rank based regulations: It is unfortunate that the record in the Nihon Shoki doesn’t tell us exactly how things were regulated, only that they were, at least in some cases. So for anything more we can only make assumptions based on later rules and traditions. A few things we can see right away, though. First is the restriction of the color purple. Much as in Europe and elsewhere in the world, getting a dark purple was something that was not as easy as one might think, and so it tended to be an expensive dye and thus it would be restricted to the upper classes—in this case the princely and ministerial rank, no doubt. Similarly brocade and fine silks were also expensive items that were likely restricted to people of a particular social station for that reason.
The mention of woolen rugs is particularly intriguing. Bentley translates this as woven mattresses, but I think that woolen rugs makes sense, as we do have examples of woolen “rugs” in Japan in at least the 8th century, stored in the famous Shousouin repository at Toudaiji temple, in Nara. These are all imported from the continent and are actually made of felt, rather than woven. As an imported item, out of a material that you could not get in the archipelago, due to a notable lack of sheep, they would have no doubt been expensive.
The funny thing is that the carpets in the Shousouin may not have been meant as carpets. For the most part they are of a similar size and rectangular shape, and one could see how they may have been used as sleeping mattresses or floor coverings. However, there is some conjecture that they came from the Silk Road and may have been originally meant as felt doors for the tents used by the nomadic steppe peoples. This is only conjecture, as I do not believe any of these rugs have survived in the lands where they would have been made, but given the size and shape and the modern yurt, it is not hard to see how that may have been the case. Either way, I tend to trust that this could very well have meant woolen rugs, as Aston and the kanji themselves suggest, though I would understand if there was confusion or if it meant something else as wool was not exactly common in the archipelago at that time or in the centuries following.
The last section of the regulations talks about the use of caps and belts. The caps here were probably of continental origin: The kanmuri, or official cap of state of the court nobles, or the more relaxed eboshi—though at this time, they were no doubt closely related.
In fact, a year later, we have the most specific mention to-date of what people were actually wearing on their heads: there is a mention of men tying up their hair and wearing caps of varnished gauze. Earlier caps related to the cap rank system are often thought to be something like a simple hemisphere that was placed upon the head, with a bulbous top where the wearer’s hair could be pulled up as in a bun.
The kanmuri seems to have evolved from the soft black headcloth that was worn on the continent, which would have tied around the head, leaving two ends hanging down behind. Hairstyles of the time often meant that men had a small bun or similar gathering of hair towards the back of their head, and tying a cloth around the head gave the effect of a small bump. This is probably what we see in depictions of the early caps of state. Sometimes this topknot could be covered with a small crown or other decoration, or wrapped with a cloth, often referred to as a “Tokin” in Japanese. But over time we see the development of hardened forms to be worn under a hat to provide the appropriate silhouette, whether or not you actually had a topknot (possibly helpful for gentlemen suffering from hair loss). And then the hat becomes less of a piece of cloth and more just a hat of black, lacquered gauze made on a form, which was much easier to wear.
At this point in the Chronicle, the cap was likely still somewhat malleable, and would made to tie or be pinned to that bun or queue of hair. This explains the mention of men wearing their hair up. This pin would become important for several different types of headgear, but ties were also used for those who did not have hair to hold the hat on properly.
Two years after the edict on hats, we get another edict on clothing, further suggesting that the court were wearing Tang inspired clothing. In 685 we see that individuals are given leave to wear their outer robe either open or tied closed. This is a clue that this outer robe might something akin to the round-necked hou that we see in the Tenjukoku Mandala, where the neck seems to close with a small tie or button. However, we do see some examples, later, of v-necked garments with a tie in the center of the neck, so that may be the reference.. Opening the collar of the formal robes was somewhat akin to loosening a necktie, or unbuttoning the top button of a shirt. It provided a more relaxed and comfortable feeling. It could also be a boon in the warm days of summer. Leaving it closed could create a more formal appearance.
The courtiers also had the option of whether or not to wear the “Susotsuki”, which Bentley translates as “skirt-band”. I believe this refers to the nai’i, or inner garment. This would often have a pleated hem—a suso or ran—which would show below the main robe as just a slight hem. Again, this is something that many would dispense with in the summer, or just when dressing a bit more casually, but it was required at court, as well as making sure that the tassles were tied so that they hung down.
This was the uniform of the court. We are also told that they would have trousers that could be tied up, which sounds like later sashinuki, though it may have referred to something slightly different. We are also given some regulations specifically for women, such as the fact that women over 40 years of age were allowed the discretion on whether or not to tie up their hair, as well as whether they would ride horses astride or side-saddle. Presumably, younger women did not get a choice in the matter. Female shrine attendants and functionaries were likewise given some leeway with their hairstyles.
A year later, in 686, they do seem to have relaxed the hairstyles a bit more: women were allowed to let their hair down to their backs as they had before, so it seems that, for at least a couple of years, women under the age of 40 were expected to wear their hair tied up in one fashion or another.
In that same edict, men were then allowed to wear “habakimo”. Aston translates this as “leggings” while Bentley suggests it is a “waist skirt”. There are an example of extant habakimo in the Shousouin, once again, and they appear to be wrappings for the lower leg. It actually seems very closely related to the “kyahan” depicted all the way back in the 6th century painting of the Wo ambassador to Liang.
Even though these edicts give a lot more references to clothing, there is still plenty that is missing. It isn’t like the Chroniclers were giving a red carpet style stitch-by-stitch critique of what was being worn at court. Fortunately, there is a rather remarkable archaeological discovery from about this time.
Takamatsuzuka is a kofun, or ancient burial mound, found in Asuka and dated to the late 7th or early 8th century. Compared to the keyhole shaped tombs of previous centuries, this tomb is quite simple: a two-tiered circular tomb nestled in the quiet hills. What makes it remarkable is that the inside of the stone burial chamber was elaborately painted. There are depictions of the four guardian animals, as well as the sun and the moon, as well as common constellations. More importantly, though, are the intricate pictures of men and women dressed in elaborate clothing.
The burial chamber of Takamatsuzuka is rectangular in shape. There are images on the four vertical sides as well as on the ceiling. The chamber is oriented north-south, with genbu, the black tortoise, on the north wall and presumably Suzaku, the vermillion bird, on the south wall—though that had been broken at some point and it is hard to make out exactly what is there.
The east and west walls are about three times as long as the north and south walls. In the center of each is a guardian animal—byakko, the white tiger, on the west wall and seiryuu, the blue—or green—dragon on the east. All of these images are faded, and since opening of the tomb have faded even more, so while photos can help, it may require a bit more investigation and some extrapolation to understand all of what we are looking at.
On the northern side of both the east and west wall we see groups of four women. We can make out green, yellow, and red or vermillion outer robes with thin fabric belt sashes, or obi, tied loosely and low around the waist. There is another, lightly colored—possibly white, cream or pink—that is so faded it is hard to make out, and I don’t know if that is the original color. These are v-necked robes, with what appear to be ties at the bottom of the “v”. Around the belt-sash we see a strip of white peaking out from between the two sides of the robe—most likely showing the lining on an edge that has turned back slightly. The cuffs of the robe are folded back, showing a contrasting color—either the sleeves of an underrobe or a lining of some kind. Below the outer robe is a white, pleated hem—possibly a hirami or similar, though where we can make it out, it seems to be the same or similar color as the sleeves. Under all of that, they then have a relatively simple mo, or pleated skirt. The ones in the foreground are vertically striped in alternating white, green, red, and blue stripes. There is one that may just be red and blue stripes, but I’m not sure. In the background we see a dark blue—and possibly a dark green—mo. At the base of each mo is a pleated fringe that appears to be connected to the bottom of the skirt. The toe of a shoe seems to peek out from underneath in at least one instance. They don’t have any obvious hair ornaments, and their hair appears to be swept back and tied in such a way that it actually comes back up in the back, slightly. They appear to be holding fans and something that might be a fly swatter—a pole with what looks like tassels on the end.
In comparison, at the southern end of the tomb we have two groups of men. These are much more damaged and harder to make out clearly. They have robes of green, yellow, grey, blue, and what looks like dark blue, purple, or even black. The neckline appears to be a v-necked, but tied closed, similar to what we see on the women. We also see a contrasting color at the cuff, where it looks like the sleeves have turned back, slightly. They have belt-sashes similar to the women, made of contrasting fabric to the robe itself. Below that we see white trousers, or hakama, and shallow, black shoes. On some of the others it is suggested that maybe they have a kind of woven sandal, but that is hard to make out in the current image. On their heads are hats or headgear of black, stiffened—probably lacquered—gauze. They have a bump in the back, which is probably the wearer’s hair, and there is evidence of small ties on top and larger ties in the back, hanging down. Some interpretations also show a couple with chin straps, as well, or at least a black cord that goes down to the chin. They carry a variety of implements, suggesting they are attendants, with an umbrella, a folding chair, a pouch worn around the neck, a pole or cane of some kind, and a bag with some kind of long thing—possibly a sword or similar.
The tomb was originally found by farmers in 1962, but wasn’t fully examined until 1970, with an excavation starting in 1972. The stone at the entryway was broken, probably from graverobbers, who are thought to have looted the tomb in the Kamakura period. Fortunately, along with the bones of the deceased and a few scattered grave goods that the robbers must have missed, the murals also survived, and somehow they remained largely intact through the centuries. They have not been entirely safe, and many of the images are damaged or faded, but you can still make out a remarkable amount of detail, which is extremely helpful in determining what clothing might have looked like at this time—assuming it is depicting local individuals.
And there is the rub, since we don’t know exactly whom the tomb was for. Furthermore, in style it has been compared with Goguryeo tombs from the peninsula, much as nearby Kitora kofun is. Kitora had images as well, but just of the guardian animals and the constellations, not of human figures.
There are three theories as to who might have been buried at Takamatsuzuka. One theory is that it was one of Ohoama’s sons. Prince Osakabe is one theory, based on the time of his death and his age. Others have suggested Prince Takechi. Based on the teeth of the deceased, they were probably in their 40s to 60s when they passed away.
Some scholars believe that it may be a later, Nara period vassal—possibly, Isonokami no Maro. That would certainly place it later than the Asuka period.
The third theory is that it is the tomb of a member of one of the royal families from the Korean peninsula—possibly someone who had taken up refuge in the archipelago as Silla came to dominate the entire peninsula. This last theory matches with the fact that Takamatsuzuka appears to be similar to tombs found in Goguryeo, though that could just have to do with where the tomb builders were coming from, or what they had learned.
That does bring up the question of the figures in the tomb. Were they contemporary figures, indicating people and dress of the court at the time, or were they meant to depict people from the continent? Without any other examples, we may never know, but even if was indicative of continental styles, those were the very styles that Yamato was importing, so it may not matter, in the long run.

One other garment that isn’t mentioned here is the hire, a scarf that is typically associated with women. It is unclear if it has any relationship to the sashes we see in the Kofun period, though there is at least one mention of a woman with a hire during one of the campaigns on the Korean peninsula. Later we see it depicted as a fairly gauzy piece of silk, that is worn somewhat like a shawl. It is ubiquitous in Sui and Tang paintings of women, indicating a wide-ranging fashion trend. The hire is a fairly simple piece of clothing, and yet it creates a very distinctive look which we certainly see, later.
Finally, I want to take a moment to acknowledge that almost everything we have discussed here has to do with the elites of society—the nobles of the court. For most people, working the land, we can assume that they were probably not immediately adopting the latest continental fashions, and they probably weren’t dressing in silk very much. Instead, it is likely that they continued to wear some version of the same outfits we see in the haniwa figures of the kofun period. This goes along with the fact that even as the elite are moving into palaces built to stand well above the ground, we still have evidence of common people building and living in pit dwellings, as they had been for centuries. This would eventually change, but overall they stuck around for quite some time. However, farmers and common people are often ignored by various sources—they aren’t often written about, they often aren’t shown in paintings or statues, and they did often not get specialized burials. Nonetheless, they were the most populous group in the archipelago, supporting all of the rest.
And with that, I think we will stop for now. Still plenty more to cover this reign. We are definitely into the more historical period, where we have more faith in the dates—though we should remember that this is also one of the reigns that our sources were specifically designed to prop up, so we can’t necessarily take everything without at least a hint of salt and speculation, even if the dates themselves are more likely to be accurate.
Until then, 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

Bentley, John R. (2025). Nihon Shoki: The Chronicles of Japan. ISBN 979-8-218634-67-4 pb
Izutsu, Yohei; et al (Last Reviewed 2025). The Kyoto Costume Museum Website. https://www.iz2.or.jp.
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4.

Episode 136: Kabane and Court Rank

October 16, 2025 Joshua Badgley

An artist’s depiction of Ōama no Ōkimi, aka Temmu Tennō. He continued the work of his brother, Naka no Ōe, and made significant changes to the social and political landscape of Yamato. Image in public domain, from Wikimedia Commons.

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This episode we look at “kabane”—ancient titles used in the Japanese archipelago that were often, though not exclusively, attached to the uji, the large corporate families, or clans, set up as part of the early Yamato government. We’ll also talk about the newest innovations in the court rank system.

Kabane (姓)

The kanji for “kabane” actually translates, today, as family name.

  
    




Kabane according to MillerNew Kabane (684)
Kimi (公)Mabito (眞人)
Omi (臣) Asomi (朝臣)
Sukune (宿禰) 
Kimi (君) Asomi (朝臣) 
Muraji (連) Asomi (朝臣)
Sukune (宿禰) 
Obito (首) Muraji (連) and then…
Sukune (宿禰)
Imiki (忌寸) 
 (Kuni no) Miyatsuko (国造)  Muraji (連) and then…
Sukune (宿禰)
Imiki (忌寸) 
Kishi (吉士)  Muraji (連) and then…
Sukune (宿禰)
Imiki (忌寸) 
Atahe (値)
also: Atahi/Atai Muraji (連) and then…
Imiki (忌寸) 
Fubito (史) Muraji (連) 
Agata-nushi (県主) Muraji (連) 
Suguri (村主)Muraji (連) 
Kurabito (蔵人)Muraji (連) 

  

The above lacks data for the last four of the new kabane, so here are the Eight Kabane of 684:

Mabito (眞人)
Asomi [aka Ason] (朝臣)
Sukune (宿禰)
Imiki (忌寸)
Michinoshi (道師)
Omi (臣)
Muraji (連)
Inaki (稲置)

Court Ranks of 685

Ranks for those not lower than Prince (王):

Myō-dai-ichi-i　明大一位 (Great Bright First Rank)
Myō-kō-ichi-i　明黄一位 (Broad Bright First Rank)
Myō-dai-ni-i　明大二位 (Great Bright Second Rank)
Myō-kō-ni-i　明黄二位 (Broad Bright Second Rank)
Jō-dai-ichi-i　浄大一位 (Great Pure First Rank)
Jō-kō-ichi-i　浄黄一位 (Broad Pure First Rank)
Jō-dai-ni-i　浄大二位 (Great Pure Second Rank)
Jō-kō-ni-i　浄黄二位 (Broad Pure Second Rank)
Jō-dai-san-i　浄大三位 (Great Pure Third Rank)
Jō-kō-san-i　浄黄三位 (Broad Pure Third Rank)
Jō-dai-shi-i　浄大四位 (Great Pure Fourth Rank)
Jō-kō-shi-i　浄黄四位 (Broad Pure Fourth Rank)

Ranks for other court officials:

Shō-dai-ichi-i　正大一位 (Great Upright First Rank)
Shō-kō-ichi-i　正黄一位 (Broad Upright First Rank)
Shō-dai-ni-i　正大二位 (Great Upright Second Rank)
Shō-kō-ni-i　正黄二位 (Broad Upright Second Rank)
Shō-dai-san-i　正大三位 (Great Upright Third Rank)
Shō-kō-san-i　正黄三位 (Broad Upright Third Rank)
Shō-dai-shi-i　正大四位 (Great Upright Fourth Rank)
Shō-kō-shi-i　正黄四位 (Broad Upright Fourth Rank)
Jiki-dai-ichi-i　直大一位 (Great Straight First Rank)
Jiki-kō-ichi-i　直黄一位 (Broad Straight First Rank)
Jiki-dai-ni-i　直大二位 (Great Straight Second Rank)
Jiki-kō-ni-i　直黄二位 (Broad Straight Second Rank)
Jiki-dai-san-i　直大三位 (Great Straight Third Rank)
Jiki-kō-san-i　直黄三位 (Broad Straight Third Rank)
Jiki-dai-shi-i　直大四位 (Great Straight Fourth Rank)
Jiki-kō-shi-i　直黄四位 (Broad Straight Fourth Rank)
Gon-dai-ichi-i　勤大一位 (Great Diligent First Rank)
Gon-kō-ichi-i　勤黄一位 (Broad Diligent First Rank)
Gon-dai-ni-i　勤大二位 (Great Diligent Second Rank)
Gon-kō-ni-i　勤黄二位 (Broad Diligent Second Rank)
Gon-dai-san-i　勤大三位 (Great Diligent Third Rank)
Gon-kō-san-i　勤黄三位 (Broad Diligent Third Rank)
Gon-dai-shi-i　勤大四位 (Great Diligent Fourth Rank)
Gon-kō-shi-i　勤黄四位 (Broad Diligent Fourth Rank)
Mu-dai-ichi-i　務大一位 (Great Earnest First Rank)
Mu-kō-ichi-i　務黄一位 (Broad Earnest First Rank)
Mu-dai-ni-i　務大二位 (Great Earnest Second Rank)
Mu-kō-ni-i　務黄二位 (Broad Earnest Second Rank)
Mu-dai-san-i　務大三位 (Great Earnest Third Rank)
Mu-kō-san-i　務黄三位 (Broad Earnest Third Rank)
Mu-dai-shi-i　務大四位 (Great Earnest Fourth Rank)
Mu-kō-shi-i　務黄四位 (Broad Earnest Fourth Rank)
Tsui-dai-ichi-i　追大一位 (Great Pursuit First Rank)
Tsui-kō-ichi-i　追黄一位 (Broad Pursuit First Rank)
Tsui-dai-ni-i　追大二位(Great Pursuit Second Rank)
Tsui-kō-ni-i　追黄二位 (Broad Pursuit Second Rank)
Tsui-dai-san-i　追大三位(Great Pursuit Third Rank)
Tsui-kō-san-i　追三位 (Broad Pursuit Third Rank)
Tsui-dai-shi-i　追大四位(Great Pursuit Fourth Rank)
Tsui-kō-shi-i　追黄四位 (Broad Pursuit Fourth Rank)
Shin-dai-ichi-i　進大一位 (Great Advancement First Rank)
Shin-kō-ichi-i　進黄一位 (Broad Advancement First Rank)
Shin-dai-ni-i　進大二位 (Great Advancement Second Rank)
Shin-kō-ni-i　進黄二位 (Broad Advancement Second Rank)
Shin-dai-san-i　進大三位 (Great Advancement Third Rank)
Shin-kō-san-i　進黄三位 (Broad Advancement Third Rank)
Shin-dai-shi-i　進大四位 (Great Advancement Fourth Rank)
Shin-kō-shi-i　進黄四位 (Broad Advancement Fourth Rank)

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is Episode 136: Kabane and Court Rank

Mononobe no Muraji no Ujimaro was in a foul mood. Once more he had been passed over for promotion, and so he continued to toil away, tallying reports as they came in from the various provinces across the kingdom. Meanwhile, Hasama no Atahe no Woshibi was now his superior, with an exalted rank and the generous stipend that came with it. Ujimaro fumed—he was Mononobe, and his family had once all but ruled Yamato. Though they had been perhaps reduced in circumstances since then, they still proudly held to their place as a Muraji family—a distinction that demonstrated their superior pedigree. Meanwhile, Woshibi was from the Hasama family. Sure, his relative, Nemaro, had been one of those on the front lines in the recent conflict, but still, his family was only atahe. Honestly, a Mononobe was supposed to take orders from someone of an Atahe family?
But this was the new way of things. The ancient traditions were no longer enough—you had to work hard and make sure way up through this new court rank system if you wanted to succeed. Ujimaro grumbled, but there was little he could do in the moment. Nonetheless, he couldn’t help but think about how the natural order of the world was somehow turned upside down…

Greetings and welcome back, everyone. We are working our way through the reign of Ohoama, aka Temmu Tennou. This reign spanned fourteen years, if you include the Jinshin year of 672, though it is broken into two narratives in the Nihon Shoki. The first chapter covers the year of the disturbance, the Jinshin no Ran, when Ohoama fought with the Afumi court, who supported his nephew, Ohotomo, on the throne. We’ve covered that turbulent period previously. The second chapter covers the other 13 years of Ohoama’s reign.
Last episode we covered the first year of Ohoama sitting properly on the throne. The year 673 included Ohoama’s ascension; the confirmation, continuation, and evolution of the Ritsuryou system instituted during Naka no Oe’s time; as well as various ceremonies around Ohoama’s ascension to the throne, including the first verifiable “Daijosai”, the specialized harvest ceremony for the first harvest season of the reign.
This episode we are going to try and tackle something that people have sent in questions about. We’ve touched on it here and there, but I really want to get into the Kabane system—that ancient practice of family titles that were like a collective rank system. It was during Ohoama’s reign that the court made major reforms to the kabane system and restructured it pretty extensively. At the same time, the kabane system was gradually being replaced by other systems of displaying one’s status in society—such as the court rank system, which was also revised this reign. Eventually, without the same purpose as before, kabane would fade away, with a few remaining as honorifics and titles, but at this point they were still important.
So we’ll get into both of these status systems and discuss a little bit about what that meant for the people of the late 7th century court.
From the beginning of Ohoama’s reign, the court had continued to implement the cap-rank system, most recently amended in 664, by Ohoama’s brother, Naka no Ohoye. With the new rank system of 685, the format changed considerably. To better understand this, let’s talk about the rank systems in Yamato and how we have gotten to this point. We’ll want to start with the kabane, and to do that, I want to take us back to a much earlier time.
As you may recall, in the oldest stories in the Nihon Shoki, the Kojiki, and the Sendai Kuji Hongi, most individuals only have a single name, or they are known by the name of a location and a title. Iware Hiko, for example, with Hiko and Hime being general masculine and feminine terms for elites from a given area.
From this, it would appear as though there was no such thing as a “family” name in early Wa societies. As I’ve pointed out before, that does not mean that there were not families, of course, or that lineage and family relationships were not important; we do see familial relationships, and we see concepts of lateral inheritance—from brother to brother rather than necessarily from father to son. The rules behind such inheritance seem to have been rather malleable, however.
And that all makes some sense in a society where most people are dealing with the people of their village and surrounding communities—there is no need for anything more than a given name. Otherwise one’s place of origin or their profession could easily be used to identify any given individual. Even the elites would be known by the territory they control.
I mention all of this because some of the earliest terms we see as “kabane” appear to be titular in nature—that is to say they are derived from ancient titles. Hiko, Hime, Wake, Mimi, and Ushi are all terms we see from the ancient past, commonly found in the names of sovereigns, among other things.
It isn’t until some time in about the 5th century that we start to see the family units arise. These started as something like a corporate group or guild: Those who looked after horses were all labelled as Umakai, while those who worked jade and made magatama jewels were labelled as Tamatsukuribe. These groups or “be” were familial in that they were structured much as a family, with a single family head. That gave the ruler a single point of contact to presumably administer all of the work that particular corporate group was expected to perform. Furthermore, the name passed to their children, who would presumably have been brought up in the family business.
For some of these families, rather than overseeing a business, craft, or similar thing, they were, instead, administrators of a given region or locality. We might think of these as chiefly families, overseeing domains of varying sizes.
These families were known as “uji”. This is often translated in English as “clan”, which is an overloaded term used to describe a group that all claim familial descent from a single putative ancestor—whether real or fictional. Many of the earliest uji were created as “-be” groups: Abe, Mononobe, Imbe, Kataribe, etc., but they eventually started dropping “-be” altogether: Inukahi, Umakahi, Soga, Nakatomi, Wani, and the like. For these Uji, many were connected to various deities, or kami, from which they claimed descent. These kami are thought to be some of the original ujigami, though that term later came to be applied to various kami that were seen as guardians of a particular locale, and later uji need not claim direct descent from a kami for it to be special. For example, the main deity of Kasuga Taisha, the shrine built in Nara in the 8th century, said to house the ujigami of the Nakatomi and Fujiwara, primarily pays worship to Takemikazuchi no Mikoto and Futsunushi no Mikoto, deities brought from the east. Takemikazuchi is considered an ujigami of the two uji, but the oyagami, the actual parent or ancestral kami from which they claim direct lineage, would be Ame no Koyane no Mikoto, who is also worshipped as the third deity at the shrine.
The fact that these uji operate more like clans means that they were made up of numerous family units, who might be scattered across the archipelago. At the head of each uji would have been a central family to provide the uji leadership and interface with the court. Nonetheless, they were all considered the same uji, and a rise in the fortunes of the uji applied to all of its disparate members.
To be clear, there were titles attached to individual names, Sukune, for example, which is one we’ve encountered several times in the narrative.
Professor Kan’ichi Asakawa, in his work “The Early Institutional Life of Japan”, provides an overview of some of these corporate titles, that came to be known as “kabane”.
In all likelihood, they all had a straightforward meaning at some point. “Omi” means minister, for example, and continues to be used in that sense—as well as as a title—up through at least the 7th century. Another common kabane that we see is “Muraji”, which appears to originally reference someone in charge of a village or similar polity. Asakawa suggests that it comes from Mura no Ushi, with “Ushi” meaning something like “lord” and showing up elsewhere as well. “Kimi” also appears to be demonstrating some kind of hegemony over a land.
Beyond that, here are a few others that we have seen: Atahe—or Atai—as well as Suguri, which appears to truly be a lower level village headmaster. Then there is Agata-nushi, aka Agata No Ushi, the Lord of an Agata, or district. Asakawa also notes Wake, Inaki, Sukune, Kishi, and Tamitsukasaas other kabane.
The kabane are interesting in that they do appear to be precedental—that is to say that there does appear to be some kind of hierarchy in terms of the social position of each uji. The kabane did not, however, confer any particular resources. There was no stipend attached to a given kabane, though certain court positions were only open to members of uji with the appropriate kabane. Perhaps most notable in this are the Omi and the Muraji, which were the only two family types that held the supreme court positions—what we would likely refer to as “Prime Minister”. These included families such as the Ohotomo no Muraji, the Mononobe no Muraji, the Kose no Omi, and the Soga no Omi. The heads of these families had a special title—the Ohomuraji or the Oho-omi, the Great Muraji and the Great Omi. These positions were placed at the top of the court system, allowing them unrivaled access to the levers of power. Typically there were two to three of these individuals at any given time, down to as few as one during the height of the Soga no Omi’s power and influence.
It is unclear if all uji at the Omi and Muraji level had a designated Oho-Omi or Oho-Muraji at their head, or if that was only for those who were in actual positions at the top of the court structure.
It is also unclear if the precedence between the Omi and Muraji was always fixed. Early on, we see Muraji houses that appear to be holding the majority of the powerful positions, and later we see the ascendancy of the Omi households. By the 7th century, however, it appears that Omi came first, followed by Muraji, based on the order that individuals are frequently named in the Chronicles, among other things.
As for the other titles, some of them we believe we know, and others are more of a mystery. The origin of “wake” and “kimi” are rather obscure, though they both appear to have something to do with territorial rule and belong to uji that lay some kind of claim to a blood relationship with the royal house. Some of them may have been rulers in their own lands, prior to Yamato hegemony.
“Inaki” may be related to rice castle, or storehouse, and seems to have referred to one of the smallest local units. That also means we rarely see it in the narrative, which tended to focus on those more closely tied to the court and the royal house. Asakawa notes that the Atahe, or Atai, seems to be for uji who possessed some amount of private land and private soldiery, but we don’t know much more. Asakawa also points out that the Suguri, Tamitsukasa, and the Kishi kabane all seem to be related to groups with ties to the continent—perhaps descended from immigrant groups.
The Kuni no Miyatsuko and the Agata-nushi are the titles with the clearest seeming ties to territorial hegemony. “Kuni” is the term for the ancient lands, such as Yamato, Kibi, Kenu, Koshi, etc. There seem to be around 140 such “kuni” described in the archipelago. Agata, on the other hand, were much smaller districts. While some of these district names have survived, it is hard, if not impossible, to know exactly how many of them there were.
Then you have this term: “Miyatsuko”. Breaking that apart, he translates it as child or servant—ko—of the exalted house—miya. Taken together, these appear to reference the elite families in charge of overseeing territorial lands.We also see another term that uses “Miyatsuko”: Tomo no Miyatsuko. Unlike Kuni no Miyatsuko, Tomo no Miyatsuko is a term representing a group, rather than a kabane attached to an individual family. When the sovereign addresses the court, for example, he typically addresses the Omi, the Muraji, the Tomo no Miyatsuko and the Kuni no Miyatsuko.
Asakawa proposed that, technically, all of these could fall under the term “Miyatsuko” as servants of the sovereign’s house. Rather than focusing on specifics of all the myriad kabane, however, Asakawa treats them broadly as the Omi, Muraji, Tomo no Miyatsuko, and Kuni no Miyatsuko.
The Omi and the Muraji we already touched on. They were the houses that could, among other things, supply the court with their Ohoomi and Ohomuraji—their prime ministers. So it makes some sense. The Tomo no Miyatsuko and the Kuni no Miyatsuko are a little more tricky to pin down, but Asakawa suggests that, ased on what we can tell, the heads of the Omi, Muraji, and Tomo no Miyatsuko likely attended court on a regular basis and lived nearby, whereas the Kuni no Miyatsuko were those whose heads dwelt elsewhere, likely because they were the local elites in various other areas of the archipelago. This is in the name—the term “tomo” might be thought of as being “with” someone, and at one point it is suggested that the Tomo no Miyatsuko are related to those who traced kinship back to the kami who originally descended from the Plain of Heaven. However, among the myriad kabane, not all of them were strictly local, and we find some kabane doing double duty for both local and geographically dispersed uji.
Thus he also suggested that Kuni no Miyatsuko, though it was a kabane in its own right, also represented the other forms of territorial elite titles—all those who did not regularly attend the court, but instead administered their own lands.

Richard Miller, in his work, “Ancient Japanese Nobility”, does provide a suggested hierarchy of the kabane. I don’t know if I completely agree, as I think that it was a lot more complicated across the entire archipelago, but nonetheless I’ll add the information to the blogpost page if you want to see at least one suggestion of relative precedence between uji of different kabane.
Now let’s not forget that not everyone was a member of an uji. For one thing, the royal family—both the sovereign’s immediate family and Princes who claimed a more distant relationship—were exempt from the Uji-Kabane system. Also, the commoners, those who actually toiled and worked the land, likewise would not have been included in a given Uji. The Uji may have directed production, and even included certain artisans, but it still only included those who were tied, in some way, to the government.
Now while the Uji-Kabane system may have started as titles with actual meanings—that is to say that the names and titles were essentially indicative of a group’s role in society—it didn’t take too long for it to become a little more abstract. After all, generation after generation, people change. Individuals vied for power and position in the court and elsewhere, and one’s uji may rise, and even fall, depending on how they were able to succeed in the political climate of the day. This was augmented with the marriage politics which no doubt was conducted as much between the elite families as well as with the royal family.
And then there were the branch or cadet families. For example, let’s say that the head of a family has four children. Each one of those children could theoretically succeed their father—if his own siblings don’t do so. With each generation, the familial ties get weaker, and smaller, sub-houses could form. If the uji was geographically dispersed, then local branches could become more or less independent.
All of this seems to have caused not a small bit of confusion, and thus we get an edict in the last months of 682: it instructed all of the uji to ensure that they had a senior member—an uji-no-kami or ko-no-kami, with “kami”, in this instance, meaning top or head, rather than deity. This family head was to be reported to the government, presumably so that the government knew exactly who was in charge of each family. If there were too many people in a given uji, then they were encouraged to split themselves up and submit their own heads, with government officials adjudicating the decision. Finally, they are exhorted not to include any people that do not belong.
A few things this seems to indicate. First is that the government did not have a handle on all of the different families out there, which makes some sense. It had been many generations since the uji had been initially set up, and the State had gone through a lot in that period. It may also indicate that there were those making a false claim to a family name specifically for the added prestige. How difficult would it be to claim to be a member of a prominent family that just happened to have been from a far-flung, out of the way branch? We see this in the 10th century with the Oushu Fujiwara—a family in Tohoku, around the region of Hiraizumi, who claimed descent from the famous Fujiwara family. Of course, the Fujiwara family by that point had grown so large, that it was next to impossible to check any such claim. How much moreso in the age before written records were common?
We’ve seen examples where different parts of a given Uji were recorded separately. For example, the Aya were split early on into different groups, with the Yamato no Aya being perhaps the most often referenced, but we also have the Kawachi no Aya—the Aya from Kawachi. And then we have the Inukahi, where we see the Ama no Inukahi and the Agata no Inukahi, referring to the Inukahi of the Sea and the Inukahi of the District, though sometimes just a reference to “Inukahi”.
Of course, it also seems that these branch families maintained the kabane of the original. Over time, uji were promoted, but rarely were they demoted. And so, over time, more and more uji are counted among the ranks of the Omi and the Muraji.
At the same time, the court was changing. With the Taika reforms and the development of the ritsuryo codes, the Uji-kabane system was no longer required for managing the realm. Furthermore, the government was centralizing land and the produce thereof. And so they instituted the cap-rank system, a more explicit system of rank within the court that was held by the individual, not by the entire uji. In addition, cap-rank could be tied directly to a stipend, making the court officers more dependent on the central government, rather than on their own uji’s resources.
Early on, it is likely that higher cap rank was given to members of the more highly exalted uji, as those were the uji that also filled the upper echelons of government and therefore would have been best prepared to succeed in those roles. However, as things continued, it was likely that it was going to get even more confused. Or they would need to raise up all of the families to Omi and Muraji status, but as that happened, the meaning of the kabane themselves became less and less clear. After all, if everyone is an “Omi” and “Muraji” than, really, nobody is.
In 681, we are told that they began to put together a law code, and later a law code of 92 articles is said to have been established. However, it seems it was still being updated, and wasn’t until 689, after Ohoama’s death, that all 22 volumes would be distributed to the various governors. It became known as the Kiyomihara Codes. In 684, Ohoama’s reforms attacked the problem of the Kabane. The record complains that the various titles had become confused. That there were people out there taking kabane they were not entitled to, and just a general confusion because it no longer aligned quite so well with the evolving cultural norms of the new Yamato state.
Early attempts to deal with this appear to have been, in the years since they began codifying it all in 681, to raise up families and individuals to the rank of “Muraji”. There are several records where lists of families are all given “Muraji”. In the case of individuals being granted Muraji, it is unclear if that was going just to them or to their entire family, though there are some examples where it seems an individual was granted the title and then their uji was separately awarded the same.
This seems like an initial attempt to straighten things out. With the new bureaucratic system and the court ranks, no doubt there were people of worth from uji with less prestigious kabane who now outranked individuals from uji that were, at least on paper, more prestigious. This can’t really have solved the problem. If anything, it just watered down the meaning of “muraji” even further, since now everyone and their brother seemed to have been granted that title.
Ohoama’s solution was to pare down the system to only eight kabane, total. Some of these were existing kabane, and others were entirely new.
At the bottom of this new system was the title of Inaki, which had been about the lowest territorial kabane of the existing system. I suspect that this included all of those families that were still below the rank of Muraji, who had not been raised up in the preceding years. However, from there it immediately jumped up to the Muraji and Omi, in that order. And so the kabane that were previously at the top of the system were now towards the bottom. That way, they could “promote” families into greater kabane, without needing to “demote” a bunch of existing families at the same time.
Above the Omi were mostly new kabane, except for one. The first was “Michinoshi”, a Master of the Way. It is unclear what this was intended for, as we aren’t told who was promoted to this kabane. Based on the name, it is thought that this may have been for uji that had demonstrated a mastery of learning or perhaps some other pursuit, such as medicine, science, crafts, etc.
Above the Michinoshi title was the kabane of Imiki, the fourth of eight. This may mean something like “One who arrived”. Some suggest that it may have originally been “imaki”. Richard Miller, in his work “Ancient Japanese Nobility” suggests that this was effectively the equivalent of the old title of “Atahe”. That said, most of those who received this kabane had previously been promoted to the old title of “Muraji”, though before that they were mostly Atahe, or else Obito, Kishi, or Miyatsuko.
There is a thought that Imiki had something to do with “coming” and was meant for uji descended from immigrant families. Miller notes that this is not immediately born out in the data from the Nihon Shoki, where we see about a 50:50 split between immigrant and native uji. However, in the following chronicle, the Shoku Nihongi, we see about 100 of 150 of uji with the Imiki kabane that were of immigrant origins, so 2/3rds. That still isn’t entirely conclusive, but does add some weight to the idea.
Continuing to the 3rd kabane from the top we are at “Sukune”. This was previously used as a kabane, but from what I can tell it was given to an individual and was not passed down to the entire uji. Now it was something different. Miller suggests that this kabane was for those uji who claimed descent from one of the kami, but not necessarily from the royal lineage.
In contrast, Asomi, later read as “Ason”, the 2nd of the 8 kabane, literally reads as “court minister”. It appears to be for those who claimed some connection to the royal family. It is notable that Ohoama awarded this to some 52 families during his reign. Compare that with making 11 Imiki and 13 Mabito, the next and highest ranking kabane. Asomi would be the most common kabane among those at the top of the court bureaucracy. Of all of them, this one seems to linger, perhaps because it is the kabane that was given to the Fujiwara family, who then carried that with them into later centuries.
Finally, there is Mabito. Mabito means something like “True Person” or perhaps “Upright Person”, and it seems to have gone exclusively to families with the old kabane of “kimi”. An examination of the thirteen uji in this group indicates that they were those with close royal ties, who claimed a descent closely related to that of the royal family.
So those were the new kabane. Although they were declared in 684 and handed out through the following year, we do see some individuals referenced with these kabane earlier in the narrative. This is likely just due to the fact that it is how they were eventually known, and so they are given an anachronistic kabane, which was probably much easier for the compilers than trying to make sure that all of the names were exactly correct for each record.
With the kabane thus dealt with, Ohoama then went on to make some major changes to the court rank system as well. In many ways I would say that his ranks were quite novel—previous changes to the cap-rank system had largely been additions or slight modifications but had left many of the names intact with each change. As such, the rank system decreed in 664 was really just an update to the previous cap-rank system of 649 and earlier. And so even through 664 you still had things like “Greater brocade” as someone’s rank. Towards the end of his reign, though, along with other reforms to the government,
Determining what exactly the rank system was at any given point can be a little confusing. Depending on the record being used, names are sometimes referenced anachronistically: That is they are given with the ultimate title, kabane, or rank by which they were known. This could sometimes be after multiple phases of reform, and so the honors mentioned may not necessarily reflect that individual’s ranks and position at the date of the entry. Also the various rank systems are close enough, sharing many of the various rank names, such that it isn’t immediately obvious if something different is being used. This is true of both kabane and court ranks. Furthermore, as many individuals may only be mentioned once or twice, we may not always have a lot of data on how things may have changed.

The new system enacted in 685 was different in several ways that make it quite distinct. In fact, we see in the record of this reign earlier mentions of individuals where their rank is given in terms of the new system even in records predating 685. So what did that look like?
The rank system of 685 still used various signifiers, which broke things up into categories, but these were broken up into 2-4 numerical grades: Ichi-I, Ni-I, San-I, Shi-I, or first rank, second rank, third rank, and fourth rank. This gets us closer to what was eventually an almost purely numerical system. Each grade was then divided further into “Larger”: “Dai”; or “Broader”: “Kou”
This is also where we see Princely ranks enumerated for the first time. As we noted, previously, princely rank was something that we started to see at the beginning of this reign in the Nihon Shoki, with Prince of the third rank, etc. In 685, however, we get an actual proclamation.
The Princely ranks are broken into two large categories—the bright, or Myou, ranks and the Pure, or Jou ranks. There were two grades of Myou—Ichi-I and Ni-I, and four grades of Jou—Ichi-I, Ni-I, San-I, and Shi-I. Each grade was further divided twice into large, dai, or broad, kou. So you had Myou-dai-ichi-I, Myou-kou-ichi-I, Myou-dai-ni-I, Myou-kou, ni-i… et cetera. That translates to something like Large First Bright rank, Broad First Bright rank, Large Second Bright rank, and Broad Second Bright rank. This would continue with “Jou” replacing “Myou”, and provided a total of 12 princely ranks.
As for how they were divvied out, we only see the granting of “Jou” ranks. In fact, Kusakabe, the Crown Prince himself is given Broader Pure First Rank (Jou-kou-ichi-i). His brother, Prince Ohotsu, was given Larger Pure Second Rank, their brother Takechi, who had helped lead the forces in the Jinshin war, was given Broader Pure Second Rank, one lower than his younger brother. Both Kawashima and Osakabe were given Larger Pure Third Rank. So if the highest “Pure” rank was going to the Crown Prince, then who were the Myou ranks going to? Unfortunately, thou the system would last until the development of the Taihou code, in 703, we don’t have any clear examples of the Myou ranks being handed out, so that may be a puzzle we don’t unravel.
Beyond the ranks for the various princes, there was another, similar set of ranks for the common court nobles. This system had 6 categories, broken up, like the Princely ranks, into four grades, each further divided into Larger and Broader, as before. In this case the categories were:
Shou – Upright
Jiki – Straight
Gon – Diligent
Mu – Earnest
Tsui – Pursue
Shin – Advancement
This created 48 total rank divisions, which gave an unprecedented granularity for the court.
As for granting rank, we have a couple of examples of that, beyond just the posthumous grants. In 686, Ohoama conferred Gon-I, the Dilligent rank, on six ministers who attended to him, personally. There was also a request that provincial governors should select nine people of achievement who could likely be given the same.
There is one strange account: in 685, Awata no Asomi no Mabito—Mabito, in this case, being his given name—requested permission to transfer his rank to his father, but this was refused.
And I think this gets to the heart of the cultural change that was underway, and which Ohoama and the court was actively encouraging. Although the kabane titles were a collective rank, court rank, and the accompanying stipend, was for the individual. This wasn’t something that could accrue to the head of a family. That would have been an important point at a time when the traditions of the uji system were still quite strong.
So there we have it. Hopefully there was something new for you to take away as we come to better understand Ohoama and his court.
We still have plenty more to discuss—probably enough for a few more episodes as we cover some of the natural events and disasters, the ties between the court and religion, as well as what was going on with peninsular affairs, not to mention the myriad other little random tidbits. We’ll get to all of that as we can.
Next episode we’ll take a look at the material culture of the court. Specifically we’ll take a look at what we know about their dress and clothing, much of which was influenced by that sumptuary laws that were, themselves, tied in closely with this new rank system.
Until then, 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

Bentley, John R. (2025). Nihon Shoki: The Chronicles of Japan. ISBN 979-8-218634-67-4 pb
Miller, Richard J. (1973). Ancient Japanese Nobility: The Kabane Ranking System. University of California Press. ISBN 0-320-09494-8.
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4.
Asakawa, K. (1903). The Early Institutional Life of Japan: A Study in the Reform of 645 AD. Tokyo Shueisha. Reprint (1963): Paragon Book Reprint Corp., New York, N.Y. 10016

Episode 135: Year One

October 1, 2025 Joshua Badgley

The Reiwa Daijokyu (大嘗宮), the temporary palace complex erected in the honmaru area of Edo Castle for the Daijousai conducted in the first year of the new reign of emperor Reiwa (Reiwa 1, or 2019 CE). Influence of ancient Japanese architecture can be seen in the structures, though it has no doubt evolved some over the centuries since Temmu. Photo in public domain, by user Abasaa, taken 21 November 2019 and hosted on Wikimedia Commons.

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This episode we look at the first year of the reign of Ōama, aka Temmu Tennō, who formally ascended the throne in 673. We see feasts, and ceremonies associated with his ascension, as well entreaties to both Buddhism and Kami worship. We talk about the various missions from across the seas, and we touch on the numerous death notices in this reign—where there is mention of the death of one or more of Ōama’s supporters from the Jinshin War. We also talk about the rank that he handed out.

The end of the year we see the Niinamesai (新嘗祭) turned into the Daijōsai (大嘗祭). This tradition would continue through the centuries, and continues to be celebrated even today upon the ascension of a new emperor to the throne. For more on the Daijōsai, you may want to check out Robert S. Ellwood’s monograph: The Feast of Kingship: Accession Ceremonies in Ancient Japan.

Ranks of 664

These were the ranks that were created in 664. For older rank charts, check out Episode 111.

Dai-shiki (大織 - Greater Woven Stuff)
Shou-shiki (小織 - Lesser Woven Stuff)
Dai-hou (大縫 - Greater Sewing)
Shou-hou (小縫 - Lesser Sewing)
Dai-shi (大紫 - Greater Purple)
Shou-shi (小紫 - Lesser Purple)
Upper Daikin (大錦上 - Greater Brocade, Upper)
Middle Daikin (大錦中 - Greater Brocade, Middle
Lower Daikin (大錦下 - Greater Brocade, Lower)
Upper Shoukin (小錦上 - Lesser Brocade, Upper)
Middle Shoukin (小錦中 - Lesser Brocade, Middle)
Lower Shoukin (小錦下 - Lesser Brocade, Lower)
Upper Daisen (大山上 - Greater Mountain, Upper)
Middle Daisen (大山中 - Greater Mountain, Middle)
Lower Daisen (大山下 - Greater Mountain, Lower)
Upper Shousen (小山上 - Lesser Mountain, Upper)
Middle Shousen (小山中 - Lesser Mountain, Middle)
Lower Shousen (小山下 - Lesser Mountain, Lower)
Upper Daiotsu (大乙上 - Greater Tiger [OR Kingfisher], Upper)
Middle Daiotsu (大乙中 - Greater Tiger, Middle)
Lower Daiotsu (大乙下 - Greater Tiger, Lower)
Upper Shouotsu (小乙上 - Lesser Tiger, Upper)
Middle Shouotsu (小乙中 - Greater Tiger, Middle)
Lower Shouotsu (小乙下 - Lesser Tiger, Lower)
Daiken (大建 - Greater Building)
Shouken (小建 - Lesser Building)

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is episode 135: Year One
The officials of the Ministry of Kami Affairs bustled to and fro as they prepared the ritual grounds and the temporary buildings. They were carefully erecting the structures, which would only be used for a single festival, and then torn down, but this would be an important festival. It was the harvest festival, the Niiname-sai, the festival of the first-fruits. Rice, from the regions of Tamba and Harima, specifically chosen through divination, would be offered to his majesty along with the kami who had blessed the land. But this time, there was more.
After all, this was the first harvest festival of a new reign, and they had orders to make it special. The ascension ceremony had been held earlier in the year, but in some ways that was just a prelude. There had been various rituals and ceremonies throughout the year emphasizing that this year was special—even foreign lands were sending envoys to congratulate him on the event. But this wasn’t for them. This was the sovereign taking part, for the first time, in one of the most important ceremonies of the year. After all, the feast of first-fruits was the culmination of all that the kami had done, and it emphasized the sovereign’s role as both a descendant of heaven and as the preeminent intercessor with the divine spirits of the land.
And so they knew, that everything had to be bigger, with even more pomp and circumstance than normal. This wouldn’t just be about the new rice. This would be a grand ceremony, one that only happened once in a generation, and yet which would echo through the centuries. As the annual harvest festival, it was an ancient tradition. But as something new—as the Daijosai—it was something else all together.
And it would have to be perfect!

Last episode we talked about the Kiyomihara palace and a little bit about what it was like in the court of Ohoama, aka Temmu Tennou. After defeating the Afumi court supporting his nephew, Ohotomo, in 672, Ohoama had taken control of the government. He moved back to Asuka, and into the refurbished Okamoto palace, building a southern exclave known to us today as the Ebinoko enclosure, which held one large building, which may have been a residence or a ceremonial structure—possibly the first “Daigokuden” or ceremonial hall.
Ohoama’s court built on the ideas that his brother, Naka no Oe, aka Tenji Tennou, had put forth since the Taika era. This was a continuation of the form of government known as the Ritsuryo system, or Ritsuryo-sei, literally a government of laws and punishments, and Ohoama had taken the reins. He seems to have taken a much more direct approach to governance compared to some of his predecessors. For instance, the role of the ministerial families was reduced, with Ohoama or various princes—actual or invented relatives of the throne—taking a much more prominent role. He also expanded access to the central government to those outside of the the Home Provinces. After all, it was the traditional ministerial families—the Soga, the Nakatomi, and even the Kose—who had been part of the Afumi government that he had just defeated. Meanwhile, much of his military support had come from the Eastern provinces, though with prominent indications of support from Kibi and Tsukushi as well.
This episode we are going to get back to the events documented in the Chronicles, looking just at the first year of Ohoama’s reign. Well, technically it was the second year, with 672 being the first, but this is the first year in which he formally sat on the throne. There’s plenty going on in this year to fill a whole episode: it was the year of Ohoama’s formal ascension, and there were numerous festivals, ceremonies, and other activities that seem to be directly related to a fresh, new start. We will also look at the custom of handing out posthumous ranks, particularly to those who supported Ohoama during the Jinshin no Ran, and how that relates to the various ranks and titles used in Ohoama’s court. We have envoys from three different countries—Tamna, Silla, and Goguryeo—and their interactions with the Dazaifu in Tsukushi. Finally, we have the first Daijosai, one of the most important ceremonies in any reign.
And so, let’s get into it.

The year 673 started with a banquet for various princes and ministers, and on the 27th day of the 2nd month, Ohoama formally assumed the throne at what would come to be known as Kiyomihara Palace. Uno, his consort, who had traveled with him through the mountains from Yoshino to Ise, was made his queen, and their son, Royal Prince Kusakabe, was named Crown Prince. Two days later they held a ceremony to convey cap-ranks on those deemed worthy.
We are then told that on the 17th day of the following month, word came from the governor of Bingo, the far western side of ancient Kibi, today the eastern part of modern Hiroshima. They had caught a white pheasant in Kameshi and sent it as tribute. White or albino animals were seen as particularly auspicious signs, and no doubt it was taken as an omen of good fortune for the reign. In response, the forced labor from Bingo, which households were required to supply to the State, was remitted. There was also a general amnesty granted throughout the land.
That same month we are also told that scribes were brought in to Kawaradera to copy the Issaiko—aka the Tripitaka, or the entirety of the Buddhist canon. That would include hundreds of scrolls. This clearly seems to be an act of Buddhist merit-making: by copying out the scrolls you make merit, which translates to good karma. That would be another auspicious start to the reign, and we see frequently that rulers would fund sutra copying—or sutra recitations—as well as temples, statues, bells and all other such things to earn Buddhist merit. As the ruler, this merit didn’t just accrue to you, but to the entire state, presumably bringing good fortune and helping to avert disaster.
However, it wasn’t just the Law of the Buddha that Ohoama was appealing to. In the following entry, on the14th day of the 4th month, we are told that Princess Ohoki was preparing herself at the saigu, or abstinence palace, in Hatsuse—known as Hase, today, east of modern Sakurai, along the Yonabari river, on the road to Uda. Ohoki was the sister of Prince Ohotsu. Her mother was Ohota, the Queen’s elder sister, making her a grandchild of Naka no Ohoye as well as the daughter of Ohoama.
Princess Ohoki’s time at the abstinence palace was so that she could purify herself. This was all to get her ready to head to Ise, to approach none other than the sun goddess, Amaterasu Ohokami.
With all of these events, we see the full panoply of ritual and ceremony on display. The formal, legal ceremonies of ascension and granting of rank. The declaration of auspicious omens for the reign.   There is the making of Buddhist merit, but also the worship of the kami of the archipelago. This is not an either-or situation. We are seeing in the first half of this first year the fusion of all of these different elements into something that may not even be all that sensational to those of us, today. After all, anyone who goes to Japan is likely well-accustomed to the way that both Buddhist and Shinto institutions can both play a large part in people’s lives. While some people may be more drawn to one than the other, for most they are complimentary.
That isn’t how it had to be. For a time, it was possible that Buddhism would displace local kami worship altogether. This was the core of the backlash that we saw from groups like the Nakatomi, whose role in kami-focused ceremonies was threatened by the new religion. Indeed, for a while now it seems like mention of the kami has taken a backseat to Buddhist temples and ceremonies in the Chronicles. Likewise, as a foreign religion, Buddhism could have also fallen out of favor. It was not fore-ordained that it would come to have a permanent place on the archipelago.
This tension between local kami worship—later called Shinto, the Way of the Kami—and Buddhist teachings would vary throughout Japanese history, with one sometimes seen as more prestigious or more natural than the other, but neither one would fully eclipse the other.
One could say that was in part due to the role that Amaterasu and kami worship played in the court ceremonies. However, even there indigenous practices were not necessarily safe. The court could have just as easily imported Confucian rituals, and replaced the spiritual connection between the sovereign and the kami with the continental style Mandate of Heaven.
And thus, the choices that were being made at this time would have huge implications for the Japanese state for centuries to come.
I should note that it is unlikely that this spontaneously arose amongst the upper class and the leadership. I doubt this was just Ohoama’s strategy to give himself multiple levers of power—though I’m not saying he wasn’t thinking about that either. But the only way that these levers existed was through their continued life in the culture and the people of the time. If the people didn’t believe in Buddhist merit, or that the kami influenced their lives, then neither would have given them much sway. It was the fact that these were a part of the cultural imaginary of the state, and how people imagined themselves and their surroundings, that they were effective tools for Ohoama and his government.
And so it seems that Ohoama’s first year is off to a smashing success. By the fifth month he is already issuing edicts—specifically on the structure of the state, which we discussed some last episode.
But the high could not be maintained indefinitely. And on the 29th day of the 5th month we have what we might consider our first negative entry, when Sakamoto no Takara no Omi passed away.
You may remember Sakamoto, but I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t. He was the commander in the Nara Basin, under general Wofukei, who took 300 troops to Tatsuta. From there he advanced to the Hiraishi plain and up to the top of Mt. Takayasu, to confront the Afumi forces that had taken the castle. They fled, and Takara and his men overnighted at the castle. The next day they tried to intercept Afumi troops advancing from the Kawachi plain, but they were forced to fall back to a defensive position.   We covered that in Episode 131 with the rest of the campaign in the Nara Basin.
Takara’s death is the first of many entries—I count roughly 21 through this and the following reign—which, for the most part, are all similarly worded. Sakamoto no Takara no Omi, of Upper Daikin rank, died. He was posthumously granted the rank of Shoushi for service in the Year of Mizu-no-e Saru, aka Jinshin. We are told the individual, their rank at the time of their death, and then a note about a posthumous grant of rank.
Upper Daikin was already about the 7th rank from the top in the system of 664, and Shoushi would be the 6th rank, and one of the “ministerial” ranks. This is out of 26, total. “Kin” itself was the fourth of about 7 categories, and the last category that was split into six sub-ranks, with greater and lesser (Daikin and Shokin), each of which was further divided into Upper, Middle, and Lower ranks. There’s a lot to go into, in fact a little too much for this episode, so for more on the ranks in use at the start of the reign, check out our blogpost for this episode.

The giving of posthumous rank is mostly just an honorific. After all, the individual is now deceased, so it isn’t as if they would be drawing more of a stipend, though their new ranks may have influenced their funerary rites and similar things.
As I said, on a quick scan of the text, I counted 21 of these entries, though there may be a few more with slightly different phrasing or circumstances. Some of them were quite notable in the record, while others may have only had a mention here or there. That they are mentioned, though, likely speaks to the importance of that connection to such a momentous year. The Nihon Shoki is thought to have been started around the time of Ohoama or his successor, along with the Kojiki, and so it would have been important to people of the time to remind everyone that their ancestors had been the ones who helped with that momentous event. It really isn’t that much different from those who proudly trace their lineage back to heroes of, say, the American Revolution, though it likely held even more sway being closer to the actual events.
After the death of Sakamoto no Takara, we get another death announcement. This is of someone that Aston translates as “Satek Syomyeong” of Baekje, of Lower Daikin rank. We aren’t given much else about him, but we are told that Ohoama was shocked. He granted Syomyeong the posthumous rank of “Outer Shoushi”, per Aston’s translation. He also posthumously named him as Prime Minister, or Desapyong, of Baekje.
There are a few clues about who this might be, but very little to go on. He is mentioned in 671, during the reign of Naka no Oe, when he received the rank of Upper Daikin along with Minister—or Sapyong—Yo Jasin. It is also said in the interlinear text that he was the Vice Minister of the Ministry of Judgment—the Houkan no Taifu. The Ministry of Judgment—the Houkan or perhaps the Nori no Tsukasa—is thought to have been the progenitor of the later Shikibu, the Ministry of Ceremony. One of the major roles it played was in the selection of candidates for rank, position, and promotion.
We are also told that in the year 660, in the reign of Takara Hime, one of the nobles captured in the Tang invasion of Baekje was “Desapyong Satek”, so perhaps this Syomyeong was a descendant or relative of the previous prime minister, who fled to Yamato with other refugees. We also have another record from 671 of a Satek Sondeung and his companions accompanying the Tang envoy Guo Yacun. So it would seem that the Sathek family was certainly notable
The name “Satek” shows up once more, though Aston then translates it as “Sataku”, like a monk or scholar’s name. “Sataku” would be the Japanese on’yomi pronunciation of the same characters, so perhaps another relative.
What we can take away from all of this is that the Baekje refugee community is still a thing in Yamato. This Satek Seomyeong has court rank—Upper Daikin rank, just like Sakamoto, in the previous entry. And we know that he had an official position at court—not just in the Baekje court in exile. We’ll see more on this as the community is further integrated into the rest of Society, such that there would no longer be a Baekje community, but families would continue to trace their lineages back to Baekje families, often with pride.
The other odd thing here is the character “outer” or “outside” before “Shoushi”. Aston translates it as part of the rank, and we see it show up a total of four times in some variation of “Outer Lesser X rank”. Mostly it is as here, Outer Lesser Purple. Later we would see a distinction of “outer” and “inner” ranks, which this may be a version of. Depending on one’s family lineage would denote whether one received an “outer” or “inner” rank, and so it may be that since Satek Syomyeong was from the Baekje community, it was more appropriate for him to have an “outside” rank.
“Outer” rank would also be given to Murakuni no Muraji no Woyori, the general who had led the campaign to Afumi, taking the Seta bridge. He was also posthumously given the rank of “Outer Shoushi” upon his death in 676. Murakuni no Woyori is the only person of that surname mentioned around this time, so perhaps he wasn’t from one of the “core” families of the Yamato court, despite the service he had rendered. We also have at least one other noble of Baekje who is likewise granted an ”outer” rank.
On the other side there are those like Ohomiwa no Makamuta no Kobito no Kimi, who was posthumously granted the rank of “Inner” Shoushi. Here I would note that Ohomiwa certainly seems to suggest an origin in the Nara Basin, in the heartland of Yamato.
The terms “Inner” and “Outer” are only used on occasion, however, and not consistently in all cases. This could just be because of the records that the scribes were working off of at the time. It is hard to say, exactly.
All of these entries about posthumous ranks being granted tend to refer to cap ranks, those applying to members of various Uji, the clans that had been created to help organize the pre-Ritsuryo state. The Uji and their members played important roles in the court and the nation, both as ministers and lower functionaries. But I also want to mention another important component of Ohoama’s court, the members of the princely class, many of whom also actively contributed to the functioning of the state.
Among this class are those that Aston refers to as “Princes of the Blood”, or “Shinnou”. These include the royal princes, sons of Ohoama who were in line for the throne, but also any of his brothers and sisters. Then there were the “miko”, like Prince Kurikuma, who had been the Viceroy in Tsukushi, denying troops to the Afumi court. Those princes claimed some lineal descent from a sovereign, but they were not directly related to the reigning sovereign. In fact, it isn’t clear, today, if they were even indirectly related to the reigning sovereign, other than through the fact that the elites of the archipelago had likely been forming marriage alliances with one another for centuries, so who knows. And maybe they made their claims back to a heavenly descendant, like Nigi Hayahi. Either way, they were the ones with claims—legitimate or otherwise—to royal blood.
Notably, the Princes did not belong to any of the Uji, , and they didn’t have kabane, either—no “Omi”, “Muraji”, “Atahe”, et cetera. They did, at least from this reign forward, have rank. But it was separate and different from the rank of the Uji members. Members of the various Uji were referred to with cap rank, but the Princely ranks were just numbered—in the Nihon Shoki we see mention of princes of the 2nd through 5th ranks—though presumably there was also a “first” rank. It is not entirely clear when this princely rank system was put into place, but it was probably as they were moving all of the land, and thus the taxes, to the state. Therefore the court would have needed to know what kind of stipend each prince was to receive—a stipend based on their rank. These ranks, as with later numbered ranks, appear to have been given in ascending order, like medals in a tournament: first rank, second rank, third rank, etc. with fifth rank being the lowest of the Princely ranks.
Many of these Princes also held formal positions in the government. We saw this in Naka no Oe’s reign with Prince Kurikuma taking the Viceroy-ship of Tsukushi, but during Ohoama’s reign we see it even more.
Beneath the Princes were the various Ministers and Public Functionaries—the Officers of the court, from the lowest page to the highest minister. They were members of the elite noble families, for the most part, or else they claimed descent from the elite families of the continent. Either way they were part of what we would no doubt call the Nobility. Their cap-rank system, mentioned earlier, was separate from that used by the Princes.
And, then at the bottom, supporting this structure, were the common people. Like the princes, they did not necessarily have a surname, and they didn’t really figure into the formal rank system. They certainly weren’t considered members of the titled class, and often don’t even show up in the record. And yet we should not forget that they were no doubt the most numerous and diverse group for the majority of Japanese history. Our sources, however, have a much more narrow focus.
There is one more class of people to mention here, and that is the evolving priestly class. Those who took Buddhist orders and became Buddhist monks were technically placed outside of the social system, though that did not entirely negate their connections to the outsided world. We see, for example, how Ohoama, even in taking orders, still had servants and others to wait on him. However, they were at least theoretically outside of the social hierarchy, and could achieve standing within the Buddhist community through their studies of Buddhist scripture. They had their own hierarchy, which was tied in to the State through particular Buddhist officers appointed by the government, but otherwise the various temples seem to have been largely in charge of their own affairs.
But anyway, let’s get back to the Chronicles. Following closely on the heels of Satek Syomyeong’s passing, two days later, we have another entry, this one much more neutral. We are told that Tamna, aka the kingdom on Jeju island off the southern tip of the Korean peninsula, sent Princes Kumaye, Tora, Uma, and others with tribute.
So now we are getting back into the diplomatic swing of things. There had been one previous embassy—that of Gim Apsil of Silla, who had arrived just towards the end of the Jinshin War, but they were merely entertained in Tsukushi and sent back, probably because Ohoama’s court were still cleaning house.
Tamna, Silla, and Goguryeo—usually accompanied by Silla escorts—would be the main visitors to Yamato for a time. At this point, Silla was busy trying to get the Tang forces to leave the peninsula. This was partly assisted by the various uprisings in the captured territories of Goguryeo and Baekje—primarily up in Goguryeo. There were various attempts to restore the kingdom. It isn’t clear, but I suspect that the Goguryeo envoys we do eventually see were operating largely as a vassal state under Silla.
Tamna, on the other hand, seems to have been outside of the conflict, from what we see in the records, and it likely was out of the way of the majority of any fighting. They also seem to have had a different relationship with Yamato, based on some of the interactions.
It is very curious to me that the names of the people from Tamna seem like they could come from Yamato. Perhaps that is related in some way to theories that Tamna was one of the last hold-outs of continental proto-Japonic language prior to the ancestor of modern Korean gaining ascendancy. Or it could just be an accident of how things got copied down in Sinitic characters and then translated back out.
The Tamna mission arrived on the 8th day of the 6th intercalary month of 673. A Silla embassy arrived 7 days later, but rather than tribute, their mission was twofold—two ambassadors to offer congratulations to Ohoama and two to offer condolences on the late sovereign—though whether that means Naka no Oe or Ohotomo is not exactly clear. All of these arrived and would have been hosted, initially, in Tsukushi, probably at modern Fukuoka. The Silla envoys were accompanied by Escorts, who were briefly entertained and offered presents by the Dazaifu, the Yamato government extension on Kyushu, and then sent home. From then on, the envoys would be at the mercy of Yamato and their ships.
About a month and a half later, on the 20th day of the 8th month, Goguryeo envoys also showed up with tribute, accompanied by Silla escorts. Five days later, word arrived back from the court in Asuka. The Silla envoys who had come to offer congratulations to the sovereign on his ascension were to be sent onwards. Those who had just come with tribute, however, could leave it with the viceroy in Tsukushi.    They specifically made this point to the Tamna envoys, whom they then suggested should head back soon, as the weather was about to turn, and they wouldn’t want to be stuck there when the monsoon season came.
The Tamna cohort weren’t just kicked out, however. The court did grant them and their king cap-rank. The envoys were given Upper Dai-otsu, which Yamato equated to the rank of a minister in Tamna.
The Silla envoys—about 27 in total—made their way to Naniwa. It took them a month, and they arrived in Naniwa on the 28th day of the 9th month. Their arrival was met with entertainments—musical performances and presents that were given to the envoys. This was all part of the standard diplomatic song and dance—quite literally, in this case.
We aren’t given details on everything. Presumably the envoys offered their congratulations, which likely included some presents from Silla, as well as a congratulatory message. We aren’t given exact details, but a little more than a month later, on the first day of the 11th month, envoy Gim Seungwon took his leave.
Meanwhile, the Goguryeo envoys, who, like Tamna, had arrived merely with tribute, were still in Tsukushi. On the 21st day of the 11th month, just over two months after they arrived, we are told that they were entertained at the Ohogohori in Tsukushi and were given presents based on their rank. The Ohogohori, or “Big District”, appears to mirror a similar area in Naniwa that was likewise known for hosting diplomatic envoys.
With the diplomatic niceties over, there was one more thing to do in this first year of the new reign: the thanksgiving ritual always held at the beginning of a new reign, the Daijosai, or oho-namematsuri. This is a harvest ritual where the newly enthroned sovereign offers new rice to the kami and then eats some himself. At least in the modern version, he gives thanks and prays to Amaterasu Ohomikami, as well as to the amatsu-kami and kunitsu-kami, the kami of heaven and earth.
The Daijosai shares a lot in common with another important annual festival, the Niinamesai, or the Feast of First Fruits. This is the traditional harvest festival, usually held in November. The Daijosai follows much the same form as the Niinamesai, and as such, in years where there is a new sovereign, and thus the Daijosai is held, the Niinamesai is not, since it would be duplicative.
Many of the rituals of the Daijosai are private affairs and not open to the public. There are various theories about what happens, but only those who are part of the ritual know for sure, and they are sworn to secrecy.
The first instance of the Daijosai in the Chronicles is during the reign of Shiraga Takehiko Kunioshi Waka Yamato Neko, aka Seinei Tennou, in the 5th century, but we should take that with a huge grain of salt. Remember, one of the purposes behind the chronicles was to explain how everything came to be, and saying “we just made it up” wasn’t really going to fly.
I’ve seen some sources suggest that the Daijosai can be attributed to the first reign of Ohoama’s mother, Takara Hime, aka Kougyoku Tennou. The term used in her reign, though is Niiname, which seems to refer to the annual Niinamesai, though she is the first in the Chronicles that seems to celebrate it in the first year of her reign, sharing with the Crown Prince and Ministers.
It is likely that the ritual is much older in origin. After all, giving the first fruits of the harvest to the kami to thank them for their assistance seems like the core of harvest festivals around the world. We see it mentioned as the Niinamesai in much of the rest of the Nihon Shoki, even back to the Age of the Gods, when it played an important part in the stories of Amaterasu and Susanowo.
It is in Ohoama’s reign, though, that it seems to first take on its character as a true ritual of the state. We see that the Nakatomi and the Imbe were involved. Together these two families oversaw much of the court ritual having to do with kami worship. We also know that the officials of the Jingikan, the Ministry of Kami Affairs, were also present, as they were all given presents for attending on the sovereign during the festival. We also see that the district governors of Harima and Tamba, which were both in the area of modern Hyougo Prefecture, as well as various laborers under them, were all recognized with presents as well. We can assume that this was because they provided the rice and other offerings used in the festival. In addition to the presents they received, the two governors were each given an extra grade of cap-rank.
Another Daijosai would be carried out in the first year of Ohoama’s successor, and from there on it seems to have become one of if not the major festival of a reign. It marks, in many ways, the end of the first year of ceremonies for the first year of a reign. And even in other years, the Niinamesai is often one of the pre-eminent festivals.
The Daijosai may have been the climax of the year in many ways, but the year was not quite done yet. We have two more entries, and both are related to Buddhism. First, on the 17th day of the 12th month, just twelve days after the Daijosai, Prince Mino and Ki no Omi no Katamaro were appointed Commissioners for the erection of the Great Temple of Takechi—aka the Ohomiya no Ohodera, also known as the Daikandaiji.
The Daikandaiji was a massive temple complex. It is thought that it was originally a relocation of Kudara Ohodera, and we have remains at the foot of Kaguyama—Mt. Kagu, in the Asuka region of modern Kashihara city. Many of the ruins, however, seem to date to a slightly later period, suggesting that the main temple buildings were rebuilt after Ohoama’s reign. Still, it is quite likely that he had people start the initial work.
In setting up the temple, of course it needed a head priest. And so Ohoama called upon a priest named Fukurin and made him an offer he couldn’t refuse… literally. Fukurin tried to object to being posted as the head priest. He said that he was too old to be in charge of the temple. Ohoama wasn’t having any of it. He had made up his mind, and Fukurin was in no position to refuse him.
A quick note on the two commissioners here. First off, I would note that Prince Mino here isn’t mentioned as having Princely rank. Instead, he is mentioned with the ministerial rank of Shoushi. Ki no Katamaro, on the other hand, is Lower Shoukin, several grades below. Once again, a bit of confusion in the ranks, as it were.
The final entry for the year 673 occurred 10 days after the erection of the great temple, and it was a fairly straightforward entry: The Buddhist Priest, Gijou, was made Shou-soudzu, or Junior Soudzu. Junior Soudzu was one of the government appointed positions of priests charged with overseeing the activities of the priests and temples and holding them to account as necessary. Originally there was the Soujou and the Soudzu, but they were later broken up into several different positions, likely due to the proliferation of Buddhism throughout the archipelago.
There doesn’t seem to be much on Gijou before this point, but we know that he would go on to live a pretty full life, passing away over thirty years later, in 706 CE. He would outlive Ohoama and his successor.
And with that, we come to the end of the first year. I am not planning to go year by year through this entire reign—in fact, we have already touched on a lot of the various recurring entries. But I do think that it is worth it to see how the Chronicles treat this first year for a reign that would have been considered pretty momentous to the people of the time.
Next episode we’ll continue going through the reign of Ohoama, aka Temmu Tennou. There is a lot going on, which, as I’ve said, will influence the nation for centuries—even up until the modern day.
Until then, 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

Ellwood, R. S. (1973). The Feast of Kingship: Accession Ceremonies in Ancient Japan. Japan: Sophia University.
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4.

Episode 134: An Image of the Court at Kiyomihara

September 16, 2025 Joshua Badgley

Model of the palace at Kiyomihara and conjectural buildings around it. From the Asuka Historical Museum. Photo by author.

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Ōama, aka Temmu Tennō, is also known as the Sovereign of the Kiyomihara Palace, but what was the Kiyomihara Palace?

The Kiyomihara Palace is the reused and renovated (Later) Okamoto Palace. This was the palace built after the Itabuki Palace burned down, and from which Takara Hime, aka Saimei Tennō, ruled. It was a bit of a stepdown from the grand plan of the Naniwa Palace, arguably the first to try and really replicate the palace structure that would go along with the Ritsuryo Court, which may have been because it was more of a residence—it is possible a lot of work was still done in Naniwa. The Naniwa Nagara Toyosaki Palace was built in 651 and although Naka no Ōe—later Tenji Tennō—would move out and take most of the royal family with him, it stood until its destruction in 686—the same year that the Kiyomihara Palace would get its name. In the meantime, the palaces of Itabuki, Later Okamoto, and even Ōtsu seem small, relatively speaking, but we know that the palaces were still in operation. Okamoto palace was still operating as a governmental seat in Asuka with a Prince as its caretaker. Perhaps the Naniwa Toyosaki palace was still being used in some capacity for the bureaucratic business without being used for the ceremonial purposes. Or was it just mothballed, waiting for the time when it might be needed again?

To get a better idea, let’s take a look at these different palaces.

(Former) Okamoto (岡本宮) and Itabuki (板蓋宮) Palaces

Layout of the archaeological findings at the Asuka Palace site, corresponding to different periods, believed to be the Okamoto, Itabuki, Later Okamoto, and Kiyomihara palaces. From the Asuka Historical Museum, with English overlay by author.

Built in Asuka, both of these were more modest affairs, probably built largely as the residence of the sovereign where court rituals could also take place. We have some idea of what a palace compound might have looked like, with a series of buildings of various sizes, since at least the Makimuku palace near Mt. Miwa. But these also followed some of the continental geomantic details, such as being, as far as we can tell, south-facing.

Naniwa Nagara Toyosaki Palace (難波長柄豊碕宮)

Composite Image showing the layout of the Naniwa palace (from the Ōtsu History Museum) and a model from the Ōsaka Museum of History, with explanatory labels.

This is remarkable as it appears to be the first palace truly built for the new system described by the Ritsuryō laws and state bureaucracy.

Suzaku-mon (朱雀門)

The southernmost gate of the compound is known as the Suzaku mon. Suzaku is one of the four directional guardians—the red bird of the south. Thus the southernmost gate.

Chōshūden (朝集殿)

Literally the place that people gather. This has a few buildings for changing out of civilian clothes and into one’s official court uniform. This is where people would come and prepare and get ready to enter at the start of the workday, which went from sunrise until just about noon.

Chōdōin (朝堂院)

The chōdōin is the central area of the palace, and contains the chōdō (朝堂), the main “office” buildings of the court. Each ministry had one, and presumably people could go to the appropriate office to address their concerns. At the south was the chōdōin’s south gate, and north was the south gate of the dairi, leading to the private quarters of the sovereign and main ceremonial compound.

Dairi (内裏)

The dairi was the area of the sovereign. Just past the southern gate, flanked by two octagonal buildings—possibly Buddhist in nature—were two large halls. These are the forward and rear halls of the Dairi, and probably served a function similar to the later daigokuden (大極殿), with different halls for ceremonies involving individuals of different ranks. North of those halls were the actual living quarters for the sovereign and their household.

Ōtsu Palace

We only have a little to go off of for the Ōtsu palace, and it is possible it was larger, but it seems to have been reduced, similar to the Okamoto Palace before it.

Later Okamoto (後岡本宮) and Kiyomihara (浄御原宮) Palace

The later Okamoto and the Kiyomihara Palace are really the same palace, but in different periods. They served Takara Hime (Saimei Tennō), Naka no Ōe (Tenji Tennō), Ōama (Temmu Tennō), and eventually Uno (Jitō Tennō). We mostly have the postholes, gravel, and paving stones. A noticeable lack of rooftiles suggests that the buildings had wooden roofs, which may have been the origin of the previous “Itabuki” palace name.

Uchi no Andono (内安殿)

The “Inner” palace (so presumably the one farther north, closest to the personal quarters). It was a three part hall, which is all we can really tell. This was probably only for ceremonies with higher ranked individuals.

To no Andono (外安殿)

The “Outer” palace, and thus presumably the one slightly more south. At some point the western wing was destroyed—accidentally or on purpose—and a pond was put in.

Ōandono (大安殿)

This was the southernmost of the various “andono” within the main enclosure. North of this area we see the courtyards paved with river stones, but here it is just gravel, suggesting that this was for ceremonies with various court functionaries. To the south was the main gate of the palace, the South Gate.

Ebinoko enclosure (エビノコ郭)

Built specifically for the Kiyomihara Palace, this enclosure sits to the southeast of the main palace site and has only a few buildings. We aren’t exactly sure of the function, and the gate to the enclosure opens west, towards the courtyard between the two compounds, rather than south, to the buildings that were lined up in front of it. Perhaps this was a personal building of the sovereign, or perhaps this was an expansion because the rest of the palace was too small and cramped? It is hard to know for sure.

A model of Asuka during the time of the Asuka Kiyomihara Palace based on archaeological finds and conjecture. It shows the Kiyomihara palace, Ebinoko enclosure, and various other possible buildings around it. You can also see the Asuka river and Kawaradera temple. In the north is Asuka Temple, aka Hōkōji, as well as the guesthouse for visiting envoys and what is believed to be the water clock installed by Naka no Ōe. Model from the Asuka Historical Museum. Photos by author.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is episode 134: An Image of the Court at Kiyomihara
Maro sat under the eaves of the hall to which he was assigned. The journey from Mino hadn’t been so hard, but he was still far from his family, back home. He knew as much as they did that serving at the court of the Great Lord was a tremendous opportunity. He would be at the heart of the court, in the presence of those running the country, and he could learn a lot from them. After passing his internship, he would have a chance to prove himself. If he worked hard, he could look forward to continued promotion, with the greater stipend and influence that came with it.
Maro had no illusions that he would someday be at the top of the court hierarchy, but perhaps he could make some modest improvements in his station. His elder brother was expected to inherit their father’s position back in Mino, but the court provided a different opportunity. Maro had always been a quick learner, and had learned to read and write at an early age, devouring whatever knowledge he could get his hands on – and that had helped make him that much more desirable to the court. Now he was learning the ins and outs of how it worked, mostly by doing odd jobs while observing the various interactions, the politics, and the rhythm of it all. Life at the Court really was something.
And yet he still felt homesick. And so here Maro sat, looking out at the full moon in the sky, its light so bright that he barely needed any other illumination. Maro wondered at the idea that his family might be looking up at the same moon at the very same time. As that image took hold, he could feel in the experience a poetic verse. He took out one of the wooden slips used for labels and notes, scraped off the previous writing, and began jotting down his composition.
He only got through a couple of lines before he heard his name being called, and since he was on night duty he put down the brush and the wooden slip. Poetry would have to wait. With everything put back away, he rushed off to find out what new task awaited him.
So here we are, the year is 673 and we are at the start of a new era. Ohoama, aka Temmu Tennou, had defeated his enemies and was now in the process of taking the reins of power and officially ascending the throne. In so doing he was moving the capital from Ohotsu, on the shores of Lake Biwa, back to Asuka. Arriving back, he took up residence in what is called the Shima palace for a few days, presumably as they prepared the Okamoto Palace for him. At the same time, we are told that a “palace” was erected for Ohoama south of the Okamoto Palace, and this was called the Kiyomihara Palace.
I’d like to spend this episode talking about this Kiyomihara Palace, and what life was like there, not just for Ohoama but for his new court. While we talked about some of the other palaces, this is perhaps one of the better known from the archaeological record, and it is the backdrop for so much that happens. Ohoama is even known as the Sovereign from Kiyomihara. So let’s talk about what the palace consisted of, and what it was, and a little bit about what life was like there.
In addition to that, we’ve discussed in previous episodes how Ohoama’s ascension to the throne kicked off a whole new era in the evolution of the Yamato state, with numerous innovations and new paradigms in the idea of the ruler and the court and their relationship – so it’s worth taking a closer look at the setting where all of that was happening, so we can try and put ourselves in the shoes of those doing the work, and understand their daily grind, as it were.
There is unfortunately plenty about the Kiyomihara Palace that we don’t know - it isn’t like there is a detailed account of the palace in the records - but its ruins are probably the most complete of all those found in Asuka. This makes sense, given that it would have been built over the earlier palace sites. In fact, for the most part, the Kiyomihara Palace is just the Later Okamoto Palace, in other words where Takara Hime, aka Saimei Tennou, ruled, but updated and expanded to fit Ohoama’s and his court’s needs.
Archeological work in Asuka has done some tremendous work to help us understand the Asuka Palace Site. By studying the various post holes, ditches, and other evidence, along with occasionally discarded items, we have a general idea of the palace’s shape, and when we combine this with what we know from other sites—the Naniwa Palace ruins in Ohosaka, the Fujiwara palace ruins in Kashihara, and the Heijo-kyo ruins in Nara, among others—along with an understanding of how palaces were being built on the continent, we are able to piece together what we think was going on. Of course these interpretations aren’t unanimous, and there are parts that scholars will no doubt quibble over—such as the use of the Ebinoko compound, which I’ll talk about in a bit—but in general we have a picture of what things probably looked like, at least from a layout perspective, and how the site may have been used.
To start, let’s go back for a moment to the Toyosaki Palace in Naniwa, the first palace purpose built for the new governmental system being brought over from the continent. This was the palace of Karu Ohokimi, aka Koutoku Tennou, uncle to Naka no Ohoye. It was built in the aftermath of the Isshin Incident of 645, an architectural centerpiece of the Taika reforms. As you may recall, this was a massive undertaking. This palace was largely rectangular, and consisted of three compounds from south to north, ranging from most to least public.
Most people would enter from the south gate, later known as the Suzaku-mon, the gate of the crimson bird of the south, a pattern that would generally hold true for other palaces. Entering the compound, you would find yourself in the Choshuden, a space holding two pavilions with several rooms where officials could change into or out of their official robes. The gates to the Choshuden would open at sunrise for the clerks and functionaries would enter.
At the northern end of the Choshuden was the Southern gate of the Chodoin, the main working area of the court. There were 14 halls, or Chodo, each one dedicated to a different ministry. The size of these halls varied, likely based on importance or at least the size of their government portfolio.
Most of the middle area of the Chodoin was open, but at the northern end was the gate to the Dairi, the inner palace. This gate was flanked by two octagonal buildings, and it led to an area between the Chodoin and the Dairi where there sat the building that would become the Daigokuden. This was the main audience chamber for meetings with the sovereign, who would preside and make pronouncements in the early morning hours, at the start of the day.
To the north of the Daigokuden was the rest of the Dairi, where the sovereign’s personal quarters lay, including the quarters for his consorts and children, maintained by his personal servants.And there were other gates into and out of the Dairi—after all, the palace was so large you didn’t want to have to go through the Choushuden and Choudouin just to get to the sovereign’s quarters. Those who lived in the Dairi and those who worked there would be able to have their own entrances and exits.
Let’s contrast all of this with the Okamoto Palace in Asuka. More precisely the Later Okamoto Palace. This was the successor palace to the Itabuki palace, both of which were built for Takara Hime, aka Kougyouku—and by this point Saimei—Tennou. In fact, Itabuki palace burned down at the end of 654, just as Takara Hime came to the throne a second time. This palace was, in total, maybe the size of the Chodoin of the Toyosaki Palace, if that. For one thing, there wasn’t as much flat land easily available in the valley, but for another, the builders maybe didn’t think they needed quite that much space and that many buildings. You see, while the Toyosaki palace in Naniwa was likely meant to model the kind of infrastructure necessary for the Tang court, in Chang’an, Yamato was still building up its fledgling bureaucracy. It wasn’t like there were a flood of reports and correspondences coming in from all over the archipelago that had to be handled by an army of clerks. At least not yet.
The Okamoto palace, from what we can tell, was also a rectangle, once again facing south , on the east side of the Asuka river. This palace did not necessarily have the same kinds of dedicated spaces as the Toyosaki Palace.
The main gate that we know of was in the south, leading to a courtyard with another building—possibly the Ohoandono, alternatively the Ohoyasumidono or the Daianden. This may have been an audience hall for meeting with public officials. The ground here was covered in gravel, a fairly common thing for palace compounds.
Though we don’t know exactly what the buildings looked like, we have some idea based on the size and number of post-holes. We also haven’t found any ceramic tiles in or around the ruins so far, which suggests that Okamoto Palace did not have ceramic tile roofs as were common on temple architecture, but instead were likely covered with wooden shingles, like the Itabuki Palace that used to be in relatively the same spot. From an archeological perspective, any tiled building of this size leaves a lot of indications behind: over the years tiles fall off, break, get buried, etc. Even if, as was common, the court meticulously dismantled the buildings down and reused as much as they could, we would still expect to see some tiles or tile fragments in the ground where the pillars are found, and yet we find nothing of the sort.
To the east and west of the Ohoandono were long, narrow structures, oriented north to south rather than east to west. These are thought to have been the offices where government officials could do their work.
Moving into the northern section of the palace, the ground was paved with river stones. There were two large buildings with small wings, running east to west, lengthwise, and situated on the same line as the Ohoandono. These may have been what have been called the To no Andono, or outer Hall, and the Uchi no Andono, the inner hall, and they would have been used for ceremonies for those of the appropriate rank.
The middle hall it seems was modified from its original form. While it was similar in size and footprint to the hall north of it, the western wing of the southern hall at some point was destroyed—whether on purpose or accidentally—and it was replaced with what appears to have been a pond.
On each side of this central area we see more space for buildings, but only some of the post holes have so far been uncovered. There were other buildings further in the northernmost third of the compound that were likely for the sovereign’s private usage, as well as a well, and what may have been a building for some kind of semi-private religious ceremony.
This palace, the Okamoto Palace, was essentially what Ohoama started from when he relocated the capital back to Asuka – but when he ascended to the throne, he did make a few changes. Most notable was the creation of something called the ebinoko-kuruwa, the Ebinoko enclosure. This was to the southeast of the main palace, and had a rectangular wall surrounding one large building and two smaller ones. Interestingly, the buildings would appear to be oriented in a symmetrical shape that would suggest a southern entrance, like the other palace compounds we’ve been discussing, and yet the gate was to the west, opening to the area between the Ebinoko enclosure and the main palace. And based on postholes and other evidence, there appear to have been at least four other rectangular buildings stretching out to the south, outside of the walls.
Some have theorized that the large building in the Ebinoko was an early form of the Daigokuden, a ceremonial hall where Ohoama held court, rather than reusing the facilities of the old Okamoto palace. Alternately, perhaps it was actually more like the buildings of the Chodoin in Naniwa, where the different departments of the court actually did business, but here with all of the officials working in one, single building. A third idea that others have suggested that this was actually Ohoama’s private residence—again, somewhat odd given the size and shape and the fact that there were the seemingly larger facilities of the Okamoto palace already right there for the taking.
So which is it? We do have a clue in the record of the 15th day of the 9th month of 672, and the lines following it. According to the Aston translation of the Nihon shoki:
He removed his residence from the Palace of Shima to the Palace of Okamoto.
In this year a Palace was erected south of the Palace of Okamoto, and the Emperor removed his residence thither that same winter. This was called the Palace of Kiyomibara in Asuka.
So it does seem like something was built south of Okamoto and that is where Ohoama resided.
It is somewhat uncommon for a sovereign to reuse an old palace like this. Traditionally, sovereigns had regularly moved to new palaces, seemingly because of the attempts to avoid ritual pollution associated with death. Of course, it had been a while since Takara hime had passed away, and Naka no Ohoye had moved everything to Ohotsu, but nonetheless, is it possible that the Ebinoko kuruwa was built to, in some way, give Ohoama new quarters?
We may never know for sure. There are plenty of inconsistencies. For one, if it was meant as a residence, I would expect more buildings for his consorts and others. There are also some things to note about the account in the Nihon Shoki. For one thing, although the initial account calls this the Kiyomihara Palace, the Chronicles also suggest that it wouldn’t actually get that name until the 20th day of the 7th month of 686, about 14 years later. That record describes how a new era name was also announced: the Akamitori, or red bird, era. I don’t want to get too much into it right now, but suffice it to say that a red, three legged crow is often depicted as the symbol of the sun; and the important south gate of the palace, the Suzaku-mon, is named for the vermillion bird of the south, one of the four guardian animals. When this era name—more commonly read as “Shucho”, today, since era names are commonly red in on’yomi reading rather than kun’yomi—well, when it was declared, we are told that the palace was titled the Palace of Kiyomihara of Asuka.
What are we to make of this? Well, today, it is assumed that the Kiyomihara palace refers to the Okamoto Palace starting from the creation of the Ebinoko-kuruwa and its occupation during what is assumed to be Ohoama’s rule. Earlier in the Nihon Shoki we are told that Ohoama was known as the Kiyomihara sovereign, and so even though that name technically wasn’t applied to the palace until later, it makes some sense just to assume it applied from the start of Ohoama’s renovations.
One more thing that I would point out. While we talked about the original Okamoto Palace and the newly built Ebinoko enclosure, they were arranged as though around a large open area, like a courtyard. The original palace stood at the north, where one could enter the south gate of the palace, and then the Ebinoko enclosure sat on the east side of the courtyard, with its western gate between the two. The southern and western sides of the courtyard, on the other hand, followed the snaking flow of the Asuka River.
From about 675 to 681, on or about the 17th day of the first month of the year, it’s recorded that the court held an annual archery shoot in the court of either the West or South Gate—which would seem to refer to this large area. This makes sense, as the space is large enough to accommodate plenty of room for the range and for others to watch The archery exhibition was held here, in the space between the two compounds, like clockwork until 681, when we are just told that it was held in the “Courtyard”, which feels like it is referring to an area inside the main compound of Kiyomihara.
There are no more mentions of the tradition after 681, though there is an archery shoot in front of the South Gate on the 5th day of the 5th month of 685, but that was probably done as part of the regular 5/5 celebrations—a holiday today known as Kodomo no Hi, or Children’s Day, but more traditionally known as Tango no Sekku, the Iris festival. Some form of celebration on this date seems to have occurred throughout East Asia up until the modern day.
Whether the archery stopped or just became such a standard thing that it was no longer noteworthy in the record, I can’t really say. However, one can possibly imagine what it was like, with all of the courtiers out there watching as the arrows shot down the field. The occasional twang of bows and the faint whistle as it sped towards its target, hitting the target with a sharp thwack. Murmurs from the crowd regarding how well—or how poorly—any given person was doing.
Beyond the courtyard and what we know of the two compounds—the Kiyomihara palace and the Ebinoko Enclosure—there is plenty still to discover. There were likely other compounds around the palace, possibly as an extension of the palace. And then there were the temples: west, across the river, was Kawaradera, and north of the palace and surrounding compounds was Houkouji, or Asukadera. There is even some evidence on the northwest edge of the compounds, southwest from Asukadera, of an ancient garden surrounding several manmade ponds.
And so, the entire valley appears to have been filled with buildings and official spaces , running up against and being constrained by the natural features of the valley itself. As I mentioned above, there just isn’t that much buildable space in the Asuka valley, compared to other places like Naniwa. And this contributed to one of the other problems that the court would have experienced: according to tradition, the front of the palace and other buildings were all oriented south, but for this location, this meant that they didn’t face the expansive fields of the Nara basin, but instead they faced the mountains themselves. All in all, there was not much room here to grow, and yet the government and the court had grown, at least by all accounts.
Though, how much had the court grown? Maybe not as much as we might expect, despite Ohoama’s ambitions. First of all there had been the purge of the powerful ministers at the head of the Afumi court, but there are some startling omissions in the records from the beginning of Ohoama’s reign. There is no mention of the Daijin, or Great Minister. There is no Minister of the Right or Minister of the Left. There is no Inner Minister, and there is no Great Minister of State. There are mentions of the “kugyou”, or “Ministers of State”, which traditionally includes the Daijin, but there is no mention of the Daijin, suggesting that the “kugyou” of this time may have only referenced the heads of the 8 ministries of the Dajokan, the Council of State.
What does this mean? Many scholars interpret this period as a time of extremely centralized power. Coming off of his military victory, Ohoama seems to have ridden a wave of support and control. Combine that with the continued absorption of Tang dynasty propaganda-slash-government theory that saw the sovereign—the emperor—as the central authority, and one can see how Ohoama may have been able to do something that few sovereigns in Japanese history were able to actually do, which is to wield real power. This may seem odd for a position translated into English most commonly as “Emperor,” but as we’ve seen, in glimpses through the way they are depicted in the Chronicles, or through the archaeological record, which shows different loci of power and authority across the archipelago in ancient times, the Ohokimi, later dubbed the Tennou or Sumera no Mikoto, was not necessarily all powerful. Not only did they have to contend with rivals to the throne, but even various court nobles who made their way into the centers of power. From figures like Takeuchi no Sukune, to the Ohotomo, the Mononobe, and more recently the Soga—in all of these cases various nobles often held considerable power, though often in tension with one another.
Sources of authority also varied. There were the individual religious centers through which families exercised some ritual authority, while there was also more secular authority in the various court positions. The Ohokimi certainly were respected, from what we can tell, and had a powerful source of authority going back to at least the holy kami of Mt. Miwa. They even spread that authority through their kannushi, their priests, which they sent out as an extension of the state. But they weren’t entirely independent, either.
But Ohoama seems to have reached a point where he did hold a tremendous amount of authority. Because there is another telling omission from the chronciles: we don’t see any more Soga members. With the death of Soga no Akaye, the Soga family’s influence seems to have disappeared this reign. We also don’t see that much about other prominent families compared to earlier: we see the Mononobe as ambassadors, and we see the Nakatomi are still conducting rituals. But we don’t see any of them rising to the same positions as their forebears. Instead, we see a lot of focus on the Princely class—those members who claim some descent from a previous sovereign, or even the current sovereign, and how they, themselves, are divided up with their own system of ranks that are outside the civil service ranking system.
Speaking of civil service, it does always strike me that the ranking systems of various east Asian courts very much resemble the way that, even today, many modern bureaucracies create wage scales for their civil servants. In the US the most common such scale is the GS or “General Schedule” pay system. In that system, positions are associated with a particular grade, between 1 and 15, and federal employees are also referred to in terms of those grades. Grade typically reflects some level of seniority and pay. It isn’t a one-for-one analogy, of course: the court ranks in Yamato were handed out by the sovereign, or at least through their authority, as were the various court positions, though I doubt that Ohoama was spending much personal time approving promotions for a low level clerk writing down inventories and suchlike—but who knows. But it does emphasize that this system is built to be a centralized bureaucratic monarchy, based on the continental model, and it now seems to have come into its own. The court seems to have bought into the idea, and now, intentionally or not, much of their own position in society was directly tied to the autocratic whims of the monarch, or Ohoama himself.
Indeed, some of the first records from the year 673 are focused on the court and court system. The very first thing this entailed: a banquet on the 7th day of the first month of the new year. We are told that it was a “drinking party” or “shuen”, and boy does that draw some parallels with modern Japanese companies. We aren’t exactly given the form of this party, but we do have later examples. There was likely a formal start, with various nobles set out at assigned seats based on their rank. It was an official event, so officials would have been expected to wear the appropriate clothing, including their caps of rank, letting everyone know exactly who’s who, and reinforcing the social hierarchy imposed by the rank system in the first place. I suspect that it started with ritual and formality. Later, you would have the after party, where people might more freely mingle and drink and recite poetry. This was both an official and social occasion, because there really wasn’t much of a line drawn between the two. As a ritual, it displayed Ohoama’s power over the state through his ability to host them all. As a social function it was an important time in the political life of the court, where everyone was together, and you could find your cliques and supporters.
Drinking alcohol, while being something that many enjoy for its own sake, was also a kind of religious observance. Sake was made to be offered to the kami, as well as to be used at parties. It was made from rice, the staple on which the agricultural success of the archipelago was based, and which held a particularly sacred place in other rituals and ceremonies.
And then there was the poetry. As would be true for much of Japanese history, poetry infused all aspects of life at the court, and being able to compose good poetry was just as important to one’s social standing as reading, writing, and other such skills. There were generally two kinds of poetry practiced at the court. There was the traditional Japanese poetry, or waka, with alternating verses of 5 or 7 syllables—more properly morae, but no need to get into that. Then there was poetry composed in the Sinitic style. Known as “Kanshi”, which translates directly as “Han Poetry”, this mimics the poetic forms brought over in literature from the continent. It required a certain amount of education to be able to compose and was based on the characters, or kanji, used. Kanshi can generally be divided into at least two categories. There is the Kotaishi, or the Old Style Poetry, which consists of poetic form used prior to the Tang dynasty. Then there is Kintaishi, or Modern Style Poetry, which is based on the forms from the Tang dynasty and later. Kintaishi is usually recognized for adhering to more rules of structure and composition, usually using lines of 5 or 7 characters, while Kotaishi is more fluid and less concerned with specific rules and rhythms.
Poetry was also not necessarily a solo activity. It was common in later eras to arrange poetry competition, where the court would divide itself, much like the bureaucracy, between the Left and the Right. Each group would compose poetry, often on a set theme, and then put up the poems they felt were the best against those of the other side and then the entire court would listen and judge. The only tangible reward, assuming the sovereign was not so moved as to do something extraordinary, was bragging rights. And yet, that social capital was important among the nobles of the court. Image was extremely important to individuals, and embarrassment could be a political death sentence. And so many would work hard at these poems to make sure that they were the best they could be.
At this point, though, we are still in the early years of many of these traditions. The poetry that we have appears to be less formulaic than we see in later eras, when there were so many precedents to which one was expected to adhere. Poems could be about feeling and were not required to hearken back to previous poems and poetic allusions.
By the way, official events like this are also one of the ways that we get compilations of poems, later on. These events would get transcribed and then later those poems would be referenced, particularly if they were noteworthy or by noteworthy individuals. This kind of event may have been where a lot of the poems from works like the Man’yoshu and the Kaifusou, the earliest compilations of Waka and Kanshi, respectively. At some point I”d love to dig into the poetry more in depth, but for the moment, I think it is best to leave it there.
Now besides one’s skills at poetry there were other skills that the court was interested in. The court system that they had lifted from the continent was based, at least theoretically, on the idea of a meritocracy. The monarch, of course, was judged to be worthy to rule through the mandate of Heaven, which often demonstrated itself early in the regime through the Emperor’s forces defeating their enemies, much as Ohoama had defeated his rivals in the Afumi court. However, for the rest of the government, the sovereign needed to make sure that he had qualified individuals. From an early point in history, people recognized that not everyone born into power and wealth was necessarily the best person to help run things. If you could only find those of the greatest intellect, discernment, and moral compass, then those are the ones you would want to have running things, right? And this is fine in theory.
However, determining who has those qualifications can be a bit tricky. We talked about this back in episodes 71 and 72 when we talked about the Han dynasty more generally. In that case, while the civil service exam was open to any person, the reality was that only those with enough wealth and leisure time could afford to study to take the test. And so while it did open up opportunities for some, it did not truly apply equally across all classes of people. And this was likely fine with most of the ruling class at the time, since there were also still theories that there were different classes of people, and it simply reinforced their ideas that those in the lower classes just didn’t have the same capabilities that they had.
In the Yamato court early in Ohoama’s reign it isn’t clear to me exactly how individuals were being chosen for service. We know that rank was handed out as a reward for service, varying with the individual. Ohoama handed out rank at the end of 672 to those who had helped him to come to power, and then, on the 29th day of the 2nd month of 673, just two days after he formally ascended the throne, we are told that he conferred cap-rank on those who had performed good service, each according to their situation.
Of course, that is about how promotions were rewarded. But what about how people entered into service in the first place? How did you get introduced to a job in the bureaucracy in the first place? Well for that we have Ohoama’s pronouncement on the first day of the fifth month. He addressed the court and set it up as follows:
First, anyone who would take a government position would begin their career as an “ohotoneri”. These were low level functionaries who supported the various bureaus as guards, messengers, and whatever else was needed. Previously, this all would have fallen under the general term of “toneri”, who were those members of the nobility who had been sent to serve in the royal palace. Aston translates this as a “chamberlain”, and thus equates oho-toneri—literally “great toneri”—as “high chamberlain”, though I’m not sure if that was actually the distinction or not. It looks like the term “toneri” itself may pre-date the Ritsuryo system, but now was being more standardized, with expanded categories of “toneri” within the system itself. Interestingly, there is only one other example I could find of Ohotoneri before the reign of Ohoama and that was in the account of Waketakeru no Ohokimi, aka Yuryaku Tennou, which makes me think that might be an anachronism. We definitely see “toneri” used since just before that reign and continuously onward, and we see them in regards to not just the royal house, but as the functionaries and servants in various places and for other aristocratic families, but the “ohotoneri” seem to have been specifically connected to the royal family… and thus the state.
Ohotoneri, despite being quote-unquote “great” toneri, were at the relative bottom of the hierarchy. They were the night shift, the guards, the messengers, and the general go-fers. They were essentially paid interns. As they did their tasks, they were learning about how the various offices and ministries worked, and they were demonstrating their own aptitude. Based on how they did, they would then be assigned to various offices as seemed most suitable.
There were also offices that were staffed by women. Though separate and distinct, women also had a role in the palace and thus the maintenance of the court and the state. They were to be selected for service regardless of their age or even whether they were married or not, but they fell under a separate set of rules from the men, because, well, patriarchy.
So that’s what happened when people were selected to serve, but who was selected? The chronicles don’t say explicitly until a decree about three years later in the 4th month of 676, when it was decreed that all those from provinces outside of the Home Provinces could enter the service of the sovereign, no matter their family’s rank, whether Omi, Muraji, Tomo no Miyatsuko, or Kuni no Miyatsuko. They would also allow men of quote-unquote “distinguished ability” enter service, even though they were commoners.
From that we can surmise that when they are talking about “all” people really they are talking about “all” the nobility—the only people for whom the Nihon Shoki was really intended, if you think about it. Thus, logically it would seem that prior to this only members of the nobility were allowed to enter government service—but there is even more. Because before this pronouncement in 676, only people in the Home Provinces were theoretically allowed to enter government service.
The Home Provinces, or Kinai, are traditionally the five provinces of Yamato, Kawachi, Izumi, Yamashiro, and Settsu. At this point, though, Izumi was still a part of Kawachi, so it would have just been the four. These provinces were likely the first lands to really come under Yamato’s direct control, and as such they all held a certain pride of place. This is also where we assume that the powerful families of Yamato had their strongholds. Certainly the Soga, the Mononobe, and the Ohotomo all had claim to traditional land in and around this region. When the court had moved to Ohotsu it would have been the first time in many years that the capital was moved out of the Home Provinces, which was probably a large part of the dissent expressed at the time. How would you like it if your job up and moved two states away and forced you to relocate with them, likely at your own expense?
In 676, though, the court decreed that it would no longer restrict itself to noble families of the Home Provinces, but instead would open up service, and the lucrative stipends that came with it, to members of the nobility in the rest of the archipelago.
This seems particularly intriguing given the two swords we have from the time of Waketakeru no Ohokimi, aka Yuryua Tennou, in the 5th century, where elites had served—or at least claimed to serve—at his court. It is possible that during his day the influence of Yamato was more expansive, and that influence contracted after him. Or it could be that it was a different type of service that they had provided.
And then there is the comment in Ohoama’s decree that the court would also allow men of “distinguished ability” to also enter service, even if they were commoners. How very progressive. This seems clearly designed to suggest the meritocratic system that was the ideal, even if it was only truly observed in the breach.
I can’t help but think about how this symbolizes the court’s expanded control across the archipelago, and the idea that all of the archipelago was truly under their control. It also meant that they had opened up the candidate pool to a wider audience. Does that mean that they were growing the size of the government, too?
I also can’t help but wonder how the old guard took this—the traditional families from the Home Provinces who suddenly found themselves competing with people from the periphery. Did they see them as equals, or the equivalent of upstart country bumpkins? And let’s not even get started on anyone who joined government service as a Commoner.
On the other hand, I suspect these new functionaries would have owed their position even more directly to the sovereign and the court, and they might not have strong familial ties to the local area. This is all just theory, but seems to follow with Ohoama’s general efforts at centralization and accretion of power and authority to himself whilst further building out the structure that his brother, Naka no Ohoye, had set up.
Along those lines, at the same time that the sovereign opened up membership in the court to those outside of the Kinai region, he also meddled with the incomes of the various Princes and Ministers. He insisted that those Princes and Ministers who were receiving taxes from fiefs in the West—by which I assume is meant western Honshu, Shikoku, and Kyushu—they should instead get their income from fiefs in the East. So he was taking away the western fiefs and instead swapping them with eastern fiefs. Those western taxes could then, presumably, come straight into the government coffers, and the princes and ministers would be connected with land in the east, which I suspect meant they would be expected to invest in those fiefs and encourage them to produce.
This feels like it goes along with something from two years earlier, in 675, the third year of Ohoama’s reign. In the second month of that year he abolished the serfs granted to the various Uji back in 664, and he abolished any claims by Princes—Royal or otherwise—as well as Ministers and Temples to any mountains, marshes, islands, bays, woods, plains, and artificial ponds. It seems clear that he claimed the right of eminent domain to himself and the state. By extension, all land effectively belonged to Ohoama, and everyone else became, de facto, his tenants. They paid taxes up to him, and he had the right to grant or take away the land as he saw fit.
I can’t imagine that went over well with those who had lost their rights to those lands, but either he compensated in them in some other way or his power had grown such that they didn’t dare to oppose him. Certainly not everyone was happy.
In 677, Saita no Fubito no Nagura was banished to the island of Izu for apparently scoffing—or otherwise disrespecting—Ohoama. Well, it says his vehicle, but Aston notes that this is probably just a polite euphemism for the sovereign himself.
But that rebuke seems to have been pretty light compared to two years earlier when a man—we aren’t even given his name, assuming it was known, hiked up the hill east of the palace, cursed Ohoama, and then cut his own throat. How it was known that he had been cursing anyone isn’t explained—though perhaps he had written it down or otherwise communicated his intentions. Either way, it was certainly a rebuke.
But if it phased Ohoama, we can’t tell. He did give those on duty that night a step in rank, presumably for the trauma they had experienced in dealing with everything.
Possibly related—we are told that same month there was a great earthquake. So was that thought to be the curse being fulfilled? There is nothing to connect them except that the one immediately follows the other.
And yet, Ohoama would continue to rule as he saw fit. In fact, he would rule roughly 14 years, in total, right up to his death in 686. A rather substantial reign compared to so many other sovereigns. And he would continue to make his mark.
Next episode we will continue our journey through the reign of Ohoama, aka Temmu Tenno.
Until then, 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.

Traveling Through the Ancient Nara Basin, Part 2

March 2, 2024 Joshua Badgley

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

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

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

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

Ikatsuchi Gion Castle Ruins

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

Asuka today

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

7th century Asuka

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

Entrance to Okayama Castle ruins

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

Old houses

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

Genbu (玄武)

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

Courtiers

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

Takamatsuzuka

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

Yamadadera Gallery Wall

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

Yamadaera depiction

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

Yamadera ruins

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

Asuka Exhibition Room of Archaeological Artifacts

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

Model octagonal kofun

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

Soga memorial

Memorial to the Soga family outside Asukadera.

Asuka Daibutsu

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

Asuka palace diagrams

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

Mizuochi site

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

Palace excavations

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

Palace postholes

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

Asuka palace sites

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

Ishibutai kofun

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

Kameishi (replica)

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

Kameishi

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

Kawaradera

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

Kawaradera ruins

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

Tachibanadera

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

Noguchi no Ō no Haka

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

Oni no Manaita

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

Oni no Setchin

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

Umeyama kofun

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

The grave of Kibi Hime

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

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

Sources

Weizhi

Archaeological Evidence

Embassies to the Liang Court

Haniwa

Tenjūkoku Mandala

Takamatsuzuka Kofun

Court Rank Color Chart

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References

Kabane (姓)

Court Ranks of 685

Ranks for those not lower than Prince (王):

Ranks for other court officials:

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References

Ranks of 664

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References

(Former) Okamoto (岡本宮) and Itabuki (板蓋宮) Palaces

Naniwa Nagara Toyosaki Palace (難波長柄豊碕宮)

Suzaku-mon (朱雀門)

Chōshūden (朝集殿)

Chōdōin (朝堂院)

Dairi (内裏)

Ōtsu Palace

Later Okamoto (後岡本宮) and Kiyomihara (浄御原宮) Palace

Uchi no Andono (内安殿)

To no Andono (外安殿)

Ōandono (大安殿)

Ebinoko enclosure (エビノコ郭)

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References

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