(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.
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And that’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

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