Episode 46: I Stan Takechi no Sukune

August 1, 2021 Joshua Badgley

Takechi no [Sukune] no Ōmi on a Japanese 1 yen note from 1916.

This episode we cover the life of Takechi no Sukune, whom we’ve partially covered in past episodes, but this episode we take a look at his whole life, including records of his actions during the reign of Homuda Wake. There is a lot of discussion of different reigns, so I’ll try to lay out some of what is going on with each one. This might help give an idea of what we are seeing, but there are still a lot of questions and supposition in all of this:

Iribiko Dynasty

Mimaki Iribiko

Nominally the “first” dynasty of Yamato (despite the 10 reigns before), and contemporary with Yamato Totohi Momoso Hime, who might be “Himiko” by some estimations. She is buried in Hashihaka kofun, which dates from the 3rd century.

Ikume Iribiko

Mimaki Iribiko’s successor. This reign, which likely was in the later 3rd century, assuming Mimaki Iribiko’s reign ended somewhere near the time Hashihaka Kofun was built. During this period, there is early connection to the continent, and many of the traditions—sumō and the situating of Ise Shrine—that are placed in this reign.
Theoretically both Waka Tarashi Hiko and Takechi were born during this reign, it would seem, though it is likely that any direct connection between the Iribiko and Tarashi dynasty is fiction to try to connect these ancient stories together.

Tarashi Dynasty

Ōtarashi Hiko

The first of the “Tarashi” dynasty. During Ōtarashi Hiko’s reign we see the “conquest” of much of the archipelago, including subduing the Kumaso in the south and the Emishi in the north, along with the occasional Tsuchigumo. It was during this reign that Takechi first starts to take on official duties. His charting of the East sets the stage for Yamato Takeru’s later campaign, during the same reign.
If this was really the reign that introduced Takechi, then one would have to assume that, given what we know about other reigns, it should probably be assumed to be somewhere in the mid-4th century.

Waka Tarashi Hiko

Despite a relatively long reign, very little is actually written about Waka Tarashi Hiko’s reign. He is said to have reigned well, but when he dies, the throne passes to his nephew, rather than to a son.

Tarashi Naka tsu Hiko

In comparison to the previous sovereigns, his reign was amazingly short—only 9 years. Despite that he still gets more written about him than Waka Tarashi Hiko. During this reign, we first meet Okinaga Tarashi Hime and Takechi no Sukune is clearly helping out with some of the ritual components.

Okinaga Tarashi Hime

Known for her raids against the peninsula, Takechi no Sukune seems to be her partner in her campaigns on the peninsula and in the archipelago. Later, Takechi is seen accompanying the young prince, Homuda Wake. Based on the connections with Baekje, this reign would need to have been in the later 4th century.
Many people have suggested that Tarashi Hime is completely fictional. She is definitely used as a stand-in for the Himiko of the Wei Chronicles.

Middle Dynasty

Homuda Wake

The first reign of the Middle Dynasty. He is probably the sovereign at the end of the 4th century and into the 5th century, though some doubt his existence as well. This is the last “reliable” reign where we see Takechi no Sukune.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is episode 46: I Stan Takechi no Sukune
Well, we’re back and we are still talking about the reign of Homuda Wake, aka Oujin Tennou. Last episode we talked about incidents recorded on the stele of Gwangaetto the Great, which provide some important contemporary context for everything going on both on the peninsula and the archipelago at this time. These next couple episodes we’ll turn back to the Chronicles for most of our information, and we’ll look at some of the so-call “supporting” characters, those outside of the royal line, that are now starting to play larger and larger roles. And we’ll start with someone whom we already talked about in a previous episode, but whose exploits continue through the reign of Homuda Wake, and that is the legendary Takechi no Sukune. Now, I started this episode with the idea that we would just quickly cover a few things from Takechi no Sukune during the reign of Homuda Wake, but the more I started to get into the material the more I realized that I really want to do something of a deep dive. And I know we’ve talked about Takechi in the past, but I don’t think that did him justice.
I am finding that, the more I learn about him, the more fascinated I am about this character, in part because, before undertaking this project, I didn’t even know he existed. Or at least that stories about him existed—we can’t really say much of anything for the existence of any particular individual in the Chronicles, really, until we have corroborating sources and unfortunately I don’t know of any source that can corroborate the existence of this character—he exists purely in chronicles and related stories, from what I can tell.
And yet, I can’t shake this feeling that he is actually rather important to trying to understand some ground truth to all of this.
Now you may recall Takechi no Sukune—also known as Take-uchi no Sukune—from when we talked about the reign of Homuda Wake’s mother, Okinaga Tarashi Hime, aka Jinguu Tennou. Now during Homuda Wake’s reign, Takechi no Sukune continued on in his role as Prime-minister-for-life.
His exploits, of course, begin well before this period, and even before that of Okinaga Tarashi Hime, Takechi no Sukune supposedly came into the world the same year as Homuda Wake’s great-uncle, the sovereign Waka Tarashi Hiko aka Seimu Tennou, which would put his birth during the reign of Ikume Iribiko, or Suinin Tenno. That’s about five reigns back from where we are now, and probably in the latter half of the 3rd century, assuming the Iribiko dynasty fills in for the time around Queen Himiko’s reign. And so the Chronicles already have him living well over a century at this point in the narrative, surviving several contemporary sovereigns and would-be sovereigns, and providing a rather storied career in the process. Of course, despite everything he accomplished, the chronicles aren’t really about him, so they still treat him like a background character, kind of like Rex in the Clone Wars, or even Wedge in the original trilogy—though in this case we may be more in R2D2 territory, given the scope of his involvement. Sure, the story may be focused on members of a particular dynasty, but when you really look, he always seems to be there at those critical moments.
As I said before, Takechi no Sukune had quite the life. During his youth, he purportedly marched out to the east, to explore and open up those lands.Of course, Yamato Takeru took most of the credit for all of that, his own legends far outstripping, and possibly even replacing, those of young Takechi. Furthermore, despite his youth, he displayed uncommon loyalty and good sense from the get-go. For instance, there was that time that Oho Tarashi Hiko threw a party so grand that all of the court officials were basically secluded in a drunken bender for several days. All, that is, except for Takechi no Sukune and Prince Waka Tarashi Hiko, who stood guard over the palace to make sure that none of the court’s enemies decided that this was a good time to get up to some shenanigans.
For his loyalty and good sense, Oho Tarashi Hiko made him Oho-Omi—the Prime Minister, and the next several sovereigns also confirmed him in this role. This would mean that he was not only involved in administering the affairs of Yamato, but also he would be heavily involved in the rituals as well. This shouldn’t be at all surprising since the two went hand in hand—in fact, you can’t really separate the two, and this would remain the case for much of Japanese history. Thus, when the kami contacted Tarashi Naka tsu Hiko and Okinaga Tarashi Hime and commanded them to invade the Korean peninsula, he was there, assisting with the rituals, helping to cover up Naka tsu Hiko’s death, and eventually supporting Tarashi Hime as she sailed forth. Later, during the formation of the Wa-Baekje alliance, we once again find Takechi no Sukune at the wheel, delegating who would be the ones to represent Yamato in negotiations.
Beyond helping to direct overseas negotations, he also seems to have had quite the hand in Homuda Wake’s own upbringing. Not only did he help keep him safe as a child, but he later took the young Prince around Lake Oumi, and to Tsuruga Bay, where Homuda Wake exchanged names with the kami, which we discussed back in episode 41.
And so, other than the incredible lifespan that it would seem to imply, it should be no surprise that Takechi no Sukune continued to be deeply involved with government affairs during the reign of Homuda Wake, as well. For example, given increased traffic with the peninsula, there were more and more people coming to the islands from elsewhere. Most of these visitors are identified with either Baekje, Silla, or Kara, though in this reign we do start to see some discussion of Goguryeo as well—we’ll spend a lot of time on everything going on here next episode, as there is a lot happening, especially at the end of the 4th century and into the early 5th. For whatever reason that people are coming—whether by choice, seeking greater opportunities, or fleeing war and conflict, or possibly even as slaves, captured in raids—the Chronicles give Takechi no Sukune command of these immigrants, who are immediately put to work building ponds.
As a quick reminder, building ponds was actually something that was quite important. Up to this point it has largely been sovereigns and royal princes who were building ponds, and so this isn’t just about digging ditches somewhere. These are effectively community hydrological works, and seem to have been important irrigation projects. The pools themselves are named things like the “Baekje Pond” and the “Kara Pond”, seemingly referencing the labor used in their construction. Though it is odd that the Baekje Pond, which is mentioned in the Kojiki, was apparently built by immigrants from Silla. Meanwhile, the Kara pond, mentioned in the Nihon Shoki as being made specifically under Takechi no Sukune’s supervision, with labor by people from Baekje, Silla, Goguryeo, and, interestingly, Nimna, aka Imna or Mimana. Of course, most of those aren’t “Kara” or “Kaya” as we know it, though “Kara” would eventually become a general term for anything from the peninsula and even from the continent.
So here we see that Takechi no Sukune continued to have significant influence in the court. He had a hand in just about everything. But it wasn’t all just administration of the state, and there is a story in this reign that I think talks to the personal influence he had with the sovereign and the royal family.
The story revolves, as many of them do, around a woman. Her name was Kaminaga Hime, and she was the daughter of the Muragata no Kimi no Ushimoroi in the land of Himuka, on the eastern shores of Kyushu, and news of her exceeding beauty had reached the ears of the Yamato court. Now we are told that Ushimoroi had long served Yamato, but he was getting on in years and thinking of retiring. As he did so, he offered his daughter’s hand to the sovereign—which would seem to be another example of those marriage politics we’ve seen used to create bonds between various parts of the archipelago. Ushimoroi’s title of “Kimi” would seem to imply that he was some kind of local ruler, possibly over an independent country or region. So this would have been an offer with some political weight beyond just the fact that she was a beautiful woman. Homuda Wake was greatly intrigued, and so he sent for her to come and to become one of his many wives at the palace.
Now neither communication nor travel were instantaneous back in those days, and so it was that six months went by. Homuda Wake went on with his life, and one day he and his retinue had traveled to Awaji Island, on the Seto Inland Sea, to take part in some hunting, when he spided something rather odd. Looking out to sea, towards the Harima coastline, and he saw what appeared to a herd of stags swimming towards him in the water. They eventually stopped at the harbor of Kako in Harima, a little ways east from the modern city of Himeji. Intrigued by what he had seen, Homuda Wake sent a messenger over to Kako to find out what was happening. It turned out that what they had seen, off in the distance, were actually the boats accompanying Kaminaga Hime on her journey to Yamato. The men rowing the boats had all donned deerskins, with the horns still attached, apparently as part of some ceremonial garment.
And if you would, just take a moment to imagine what that must have been like as they cut through the water.. From far away, it very much may have looked like a herd of stags, all in a line, swimming through the water—and deer are known to swim between islands, so that wouldn’t have been so strange, but for them to be lined up in two neat rows, all with impressive racks, well, it is no wonder that Homuda Wake sent someone over to figure out just what was going on.
It seems that Kaminaga Hime wasn’t playing around. She was coming in all of the glory of her station, and nobody was going to question who she was or the power of her people.
When the impressive, antler-clad retinue finally made landfall, they were greeted by the court. The Chronicles then tell us that immediately one of the royal princes, Ohosazaki, one of Homuda Wake’s many sons, became awestruck by her beauty, and fell immediately in love.
Of course, lovestruck though he might have been, the prince had a problem, becuase she had come to marry his father, not him. Perhaps if it had been anyone else, he could have easily claimed some prerogative, but it would probably be a bit awkward to ask his dad to just stand aside.
And so who did Ohosazaki turn to in order to help him out? You guessed it, the trusted advisor and prime minister, Takechi no Sukune.
I imagine the scene playing out as if this were some anime—or possibly even a Shakespearean play, the tropes surrounding lovestruck youth are plenty old. Anyway, I imagine Ohosazaki, his heart beating with his young crush, storming into Takechi no Sukune’s quarters and swooning all over the furniture while pouring out his grief at his hopeless case, Takechi, of course, just patiently taking it all in and consoling the young Prince. Of course, the Chronicles aren’t nearly so dramatic and simply note that Ohosazaki asked Takechi no Sukune to intercede on his behalf in hopes that he could make Kaminaga Hime his wife.
Well, if there was anyone who could help the young prince, it was Takechi no Sukune. And so he found an appropriate time to bend the ear of Homuda Wake, probably taking him aside and letting him know about his son’s longing. Of course, had Ohosazaki asked for her hand directly, that might have been considered improper. However, Homuda Wake had several wives at this point, and for all of Kaminaga Hime’s connections, it was unlikely that she would take the place of his primary queen..
And so, with Takechi no Sukune’s help, Homuda Wake could make it look like giving Kaminaga Hime to his son was his idea, all along.
And in case you are wondering, no, the Chronicles don’t give any thought about Kaminaga Hime’s position on all of this, which may say more about the 8th century than about the 4th or 5th.
So Homuda Wake gave a banquet in the Hinter Palace—that is, the women’s quarters of the palace, and depending on the source he either gave her the upper seat, or kamiza, or else he set it up so that she would serve wine to Ohosazaki in a special cup. Either way, the conspirators had ensured that Kaminaga Hime would be the center of attention when Homuda Wake launched into an impromptu bit of suggestive poetry—given here in Aston’s translation from the Nihon Shoki:
Come! My son!
On the moor, garlic to gather,
Garlic to gather
On the way, as I went
Pleasing of perfume
Was the orange in flower.
Its branches beneath
Men had all plundered
Its branches above
Birds perching had withered
Of three chestnuts
Mid-most, its branches
Held in their hiding
A blushing maiden
Come! And for thee, my son,
Let her burst into blossom.
Ohosazaki took his meaning immediately and answered with an impromptu poem of his own:
In the pond of Yosami
Where the water collects,
The marsh-rope coils
Were growing, but I knew not of them :
In the river-fork stream,
The water-caltrops shells
Were pricking me, but I knew not of them.
Oh, my heart !
How very ridiculous thou wert !
The Kojiki has a few other songs, though I think you get the picture. The others, by Ohosazaki, talk about her laying by his side and another has a rather, well, questionable line that states that “she slept with me / unresisting”, which, just, ugh. Sigh. Because yes, “resisting” was a thing and consent wasn’t considered necessary, and at some point here we will spend some time on this rather distasteful aspect of court culture, with plenty of appropriate content warnings up front.
But that is all tangential to our main thread, which is the role of Takechi no Sukune and the trust and loyalty he seems to have had at court, which this whole story illustrates very well – and which makes the next story so very strange, when you stop to think about it.
Now it is unsurprising that in all of his work for the state, Takechi no Sukune was not universally appreciated. In fact, it seems that there were those who were rather jealous of his success and his control over the administration of the state. It is a tale as old as time, really—in any political system with limited positions at the top of the heap, there is only room for so many people up at that rarified altitude. And so people were regularly jockeying for position, and even friends could become rivals in their pursuit of status. In Takechi’s case, however, trouble didn’t just come from some random colleague trying to impugne his character. No, the dagger that was thrust towards the Prime Minister came from another direction: His own younger brother, Umashi no Sukune.
It makes a perveted sort of sense, when you think about it. As brothers, they both came with a similar lineage—though we aren’t told if they were full brothers or only half-brothers. But as far as their lineage went, there was likely not much to distinguish one from the other. Even so, it seems that Takechi no Sukune’s own position was, from an early period, based on his personal relationship with the sovereigns and their family, and then it built upon that with all of his works. Meanwhile, we haven’t heard from Umashi no Sukune until now, though his title of Sukune would seem to indicate he’d done something right, though that could have all been due as much to his elder brother’s influence than anything he had personally accomplished.
It is unclear exactly why Umashi no Sukune decided to betray his older sibling—whether he hoped to inherit his powerful station, or whether he just had a grudge from some perceived slight that he had been nursing for some untold period of time.
Whatever the cause, there is no indication that Takechi no Sukune had even the faintest hint that something was amiss. And so, as he embarked on a trip to Tsukushi to inspect that region, he likely had no thought as to the dangerous situation that would soon unfold.
At the court, with his brother gone, Umashi no Sukune seized his opportunity.
He found his way into the good graces of Homuda Wake and, like Wormtongue whispering his dark thoughts to Theoden, he started to slander Takechi to the sovereign. He intimated that Takechi had treasonous plans on the country, and claimed that while he was in Tsukushi he would start to enact plans to break the entire island off from the rest of Yamato. From there he would control all trade and communication with the continent, and that would eventually give him control over the entire archipelago.
One might question if Homuda Wake would truly be swayed by such an outlandish and audacious story. After all, this was Takechi no Sukune, who had served loyally for so many years and had basically helped raise the young sovereign. On the other hand, the accusations were coming from his own younger brother. Furthermore, remember how Homuda Wake had come to power, and the many roles that Takechi no Sukune had played leading up to that. I mean, if anyone knew how to rally and lead an army to put himself or someone else on the throne, it would be Takechi no Sukune
In the end, whether fully convinced or just deciding that he couldn’t take the chance that Umashi no Sukune could be right, Homuda Wake decided he must take action. Fearing the damage that would happen to the realm--not to mention what might happen to him—Homuda Wake had Takechi no Sukune branded as a traitor and sent warriors out to track him down and kill him for his alleged crimes.
Fortunately, Takechi no Sukune’s time as Prime Minister hadn’t just garnered him enemies, but he seems to have had quite a few friends as well. In fact, given how he seems to have operated, I suspect he had made as many, or more, friends than enemies in his long and highly successful career. And so word reached him of the warriors that were hunting him well before they arrived.
Takechi no Sukune was crestfallen by what must have felt like a massive betrayal. After all he had done, had it really come to this? Could Homuda Wake really think so little of him? I can hardly imagine the turmoil he was going through trying to understand how this had happened. But ancient politics were brutal, and having skin in the game wasn’t just a metaphor. For someone in power as long as Takechi no Sukune had been, he must have known that his position at the top made him a target.
While Takechi no Sukune was still reeling from his misfortune, no doubt trying to strategize a way out of this mess, he was approached by a man named Maneko. Apparently this man bore an uncanny resemblance to the prime minister, and he offered to be his stand in—his Kagemusha, if you will. It is unclear whether he made this offer purely out of some sense of civic duty, or if there was some greater obligation that he felt towards the prime minister, but Maneko made his offer freely, knowing full well what it would mean. Nonetheless, he felt it was worth it if it would give Takechi no Sukune time to return to the court and make his case to the sovereign in person.
And so, to throw the assassins off Takechi no Sukune’s scent, Maneko made himself up to look as much like the Prime Minister as possible and then he threw himself onto his own sword.
Local people must have been shocked when they heard the news, and it likely spread quickly through the archipelago. Eventually the news reached the assasins who were still on the road. They were told that Takechi no Sukune had taken his own life rather than let himself be killed. Without a mission left to accomplish, the would-be assassins apparently turned around and headed back home.
And so, making the most of Maneko’s sacrifice, Takechi no Sukune himself—very much not dead—made his way quietly back to the court. One can imagine that he must have done his best to hide his identify, lest word get back to his rivals that he was still alive. We are left to imagine just how he made his way back, but eventually he he snuck back into Yamato.
Once back, he slipped into the palace without being recognize, and once there, he revealed his presence and threw himself at Homuda Wake’s feet. He explained everything, at least as he knew it, refuting any accusations of disloyalty from his brother.
Homuda Wake was in something of a bind. Which brother was really telling the truth? Unsure, and, now presented with two different stories, Homuda Wake interrogated both Takechi and his brother, Umashi. All he had to go on, though, was their individual testimony. There was no evidence that Takechi was plotting anything, other than his own brother’s say-so, but then again, there was no clear evidence to exonerate him, either—and this is well before any concept of “Innocent until proven guilty”. And so, in order to get at the truth, they were both submitted to the ordeal of boiling water.
I am not exactly sure what form this took, but it sounds like they would have had to endure boiling water in some form or fashion, and one imagines that the one who better endured the pain would be the winner. We are told that it took place on the banks of the Shiki river, and Homuda Wake called upon the gods of Heaven and Earth to help decide the case.
Personally I’m imagining that this was something similar to the ordeals imposed in Europe, operating along similar lines. A person would be submitted to boiling hot water, which should severely scald or even burn them. Theoretically some great power—God in Europe, or the kami in Japan—would intervene on behalf of the innocent to ensure that they came out unscathed. Hardly the kind of justice system that I would want to be subject to, but apparently it worked, and Takechi no Sukune was, of course victorious.
As soon as the verdict was read out, Takechi leapt into action. He didn’t even wait for sentencing; he may have been an old man by this time, but he was still spry, and he jumped on his traitorous brother. Gone was any sense of the calm, cool-headed administrator. This was the Takechi who had traveled out to the east and raided the coasts of the continent with Tarashi Hime. He was angry, and he was out for blood.
Apparently such a reaction caught the entire court offguard. They were probably expected him to be nursing his wound from the ordeal. Wrestling on with his startled brother, Takechi quickly pulled his own cross-sword and was about to kill him when Homuda Wake suddenly intervened and parted the two men.
In the end, Umashi no Sukune wasn’t killed, but he was handed over to the lord of Kii. Of course they didn’t exactly have a prison system that we are aware of, so we have to make some assumptions as to what this meant. Perhaps Umashi no Sukune was forced to work as an enslaved servant, or, given his status, he may have simply been held under a kind of house arrest, away from the politics and power of the court. Enforced exile seems to be a common punishment for more high ranking individuals, and perhaps that is what happened here. Either way, we don’t hear any more from him in the Chronicles.
As for Takechi no Sukune, he returned to his work, and despite everything that had passed, he would continue to serve the court until at least the reign of Homuda Wake’s son, Ohosazaki no Mikoto.
He isn’t as prominent, however—in fact, we have only a single reference—a set of poems by the sovereign and Takechi no Sukune referencing the odd occurrence of a wild goose found laying an egg—odd in that geese do not typicallylay their eggs in Japan, preferring their summer nesting grounds up in the arctic tundra, so this would have been an odd occurrence indeed, though why it would be connected to Takechi no Sukune is beyond me, to be honest.
Interestingly there is also a similar entry in the Harima Fudoki that similarly talks about an area named “Kamo”. It was apparently so-named because the wild geese used to gather in that area, and, again, they talk about them laying eggs, which must have been an odd find. In that story, however, the eggs were laid in the reign of Homuda Wake, not that of his son, suggesting that this incident, like so many others, may not be in exactly the right spot.
Regardless, that is the last we hear from Takechi no Sukune, aka Takeuchi no Sukune, at least in the Chronicles. From there we need to look at other sources to see what might have happened to him.
A Kamakura source, claiming to be from the no longer extant Inaba no Fudoki, claims that Takechi no Sukune retired around the ripe old age of 360 years old and headed north, to the country of Inaba. He lived there for a time, and then one day he just disappeared. They found a pair of his shoes at Kamegane hill, or so we are told. Today, you can actually visit the site of Kamegane Hill at Ube Shrine, in the southeast of modern Tottori City, near the Fukuro River. It is just north of the archaeological site thought to be that of the old Inaba provincial office, and the shrine claims the title of the Ichinomiya, or principal shrine, of that ancient country. Here they proudly lay claim to the tradition of Takechi no Sukune, which holds that he was buried in a kofun whose remains can be seen on the shrine grounds.
Other sources—all much later than the Chronicles—suggest he died some time during the reign of Ohosazaki, aka Nintoku Tennou, sometime between the 55th year of that reign—the same year that those goose eggs were found—and the 78th year of the same. These accounts then put him at various ages, all on the upper side of his third century, however. As for the actual place of his death, that’s also scattered across the country, with some traditions having him pass away at Kai, others at Mino, and still others having him remain in the Nara region.
Likewise, his actual kofun is also unclear, though we know he had one. One of his descendants, Tamada no Sukune, is depicted escaping to it in one account of the Nihon Shoki, but they don’t actually tell us where it was. The traditions at Ube Jinja obviously have it up there, but in the Nara basin there is a round keyhole shaped tomb known as Muromiyayama Kofun, formerly known also as Muro no Ohobaka. It sits at the foot of the mountains that form the southern extent of the Nara Basin, in Gose city. Some traditions claim that this is where they laid to rest the famed courtier.
The kofun is the correct age, dating to about the start of the 5th century. It is 238 meters long—about 40 meters shorter than Hashihaka Kofun, thought to be the resting place of Queen Himiko, and less than half the size of the giant Daisen Kofun of Nintoku Tennou. So while it may be similar in scope to previous kingly tombs, it doesn’t really hold a candle to what was going on over in the Furuichi-Mozu area of Kawachi—modern Ohosaka. Still, it is impressive, and if it really was for Takechi no Sukune then it seems like a decent kofun for someone of his status, though its placement in the southern edge of the Nara Basin strikes me as slightly odd—I would imagine a tomb mound closer to the court in the Kawachi area, nearer to the kingly Furuichi-Mozu tombs, but perhaps there was some significance in the Gose region that we don’t have the context for, today.
And that is it for the life of Takechi no Sukune—or at least the life that the Chronicles lay out for us to find. But we are still left with quite a few mysteries. Perhaps the largest amongst them is what, in all of this, is actually true?
Well, most of this is going to be conjectural, but I’ll provide some of my own theories. First off, I think that it’s important to note that Takechi no Sukune features in the lineages of some rather important families in the 7th and 8th centuries. Not only is he linked as an ancestor of the royal lineage, but he is also said to be one of the ancestors of the Soga family. The Soga were extremely powerful in the 7th century, to the point that they were effectively running the government, with power that rivaled that of the royal house, itself. There were also numerous other families that traced their lineages back to Takechi no Sukune through one means or another.
So it would make some sense that the ancestor of these powerful families would be an important figure that couldn’t just be written out of the story.
On the other hand, it is possible that we have the opposite effect, here—rather than Takechi no Sukune being important because those families claimed him as an ancestor, it could just as easily be that those families claimed him as an ancestor because he was important. I mean, everyone tried to claim some connection to the royal family, if they could, and Takechi no Sukune is said to have descended from one of the likely fictional sovereigns before Mimaki Iribiko. So there’s that. But also, if he was a known character in so many of the oral histories, it may be that he was a great legendary figure to help bolster your own family’s position in the status-conscious court of the 8th century.
And there is some evidence to suggest that this is the case. You see, many of the more famous families claiming him as an ancestor appear to be doing that through another legendary figure of this time—someone I had actually planned to talk about this episode but, well, we’re already getting a bit long so I think we’ll cover him next time. His name is Katsuragi no So tsu Hiko.
And what stands out, here, is that title: “Hiko”. Now we’ve seen many examples of “Hiko” already. Today it is often translated as Prince or Lord, and we often talk about the Hiko-Hime ruling pairs that are a staple of the earliest stories, where “hiko” appears to be an old word for some kind of territorial ruler or authority.
The key there is that it is an older title. Sukune, and even Wake, appear to be later signifiers of authority, and, in fact, we have one piece of evidence that appears to help place all three of these titles in context for us.
You see, we have a sword dated to the late 5th or early 6th century—probably about a century out from our current temporal coordinates within the narrative. It had been buried at Inariyama Kofun, and it is important because it contains a lineage inscribed on the blade that takes us up to the time of the sovereign Wake Takeru, aka Yuuryaku Tennou. This lineage, starts with Oho-hiko, who may have been the same one mentioned as one of the four generals of Mimaki Iribiko, and it progresses through several generations. In the earliest generations we see a transition in the titles from Hiko, to Sukune, to Wake. If we assume that the family continued to grow more powerful, with successive generations ascending to new heights, then we would expect to see the same kind of progression and escalation of titles in other lineages as well.
For the offspring of Takechi no Sukune, the vast majority of them are also given the title of Sukune, presumab ly inherited from their father. One notable exception to this pattern is So tsu Hiko—if he was truly Takechi no Sukune’s son, then we would expect that he would also have a title like Sukune, or possibly even Wake.
In all likelihood this stems from the fact that So tsu Hiko wasn’t Takechi no Sukune’s son at all.
But, if that is the case, it just leaves us with more questions. If there was no direct connection to these families other than one they made up, then why, again, was he mentioned so many times and in so many places?
Personally, I can’t help but wonder if he was more than what he is made out to be in the text—and that is quite a lot. Perhaps “Prime Minister”, or “Oho-omi”, was a convenient way to explain all the things the stories said he had done. He may have even been something of a legendary figure, but they couldn’t quite slot him into the royal lineage in the way they did with everyone else.
I also wonder if he wasn’t, in fact, a co-ruler. If the theory of co-rulership is true—and it wasn’t actually gendered—then perhaps he wasn’t just an administrator, but was actually a co-sovereign. To that point, I can’t help but notice the similarities between his title, Oho-omi, the Great Minister, and the 5th century title used for the sovereign, “Oho-kimi”.
There is also the business of him and Okinaga Tarashi Hime, where the two often look like they are working extremely closely together, and while that could be explained as the natural response to their situation, I can’t help but wonder if it is more than that.
Another possibility is that he wasn’t a co-ruler, but that he was the chief of one of the other countries in the archipelago—perhaps even a king in his own right. Remember, we are still seeing evidence of some independence in places like Kibi, Izumo, and Tsukushi, even if they may have largely been working with the Yamato hegemon.
If that were the case, it seems the most logical place for him to have been was probably somewhere in Kyushu, which many of the stories connect him to. Perhaps the story of him possibly breaking away and declaring himself the sovereign was not just a fanciful conspiracy theory, but an actual threat to Yamato’s dominance. After all, we’d already seen rulers at the Shimonoseki Straits reportedly telling people that they were the actual rulers of the archipelago. Some have even suggested that most of the actions of the Wa on the peninsula were actually referencing some powerful, northern Kyushu entity, rather than Yamato as we think of them.
There is a less exciting possibility. That one suggests that these stories aren’t actually of the same person, but that Takechi, or perhaps Takeuchi, was actually more like a title that got passed down over time, and that multiple different people held this position during different reigns.
Of course, none of that is really provable without corroborating evidence, and given the lack of any written history prior to the early 5th century, it seems unlikely that we’ll get much more than speculation, at least for now. Heck, there are even those who don’t believe that any of this is even remotely historical, so there’s that, too.
Before we close, though, I do want to touch on one more thing. It is impressive that Takechi no Sukune is so prominent across so many stories, but the Chronicles don’t seem particularly interested in how long-lived he had to have been. Which may give us some evidence, however sketchy, to take another look at just how long people were reigning.
For example, let’s make the assumption that Takechi no Sukune was, indeed, extremely old at the time of his death. While it would probably be odd, let’s assume that he lived for roughly 80 years, and that he died during the reign of Homuda Wake—the incident with Ohosazaki could have just as easily happened when the sovereign was still a young prince. If we assume he passed away in the first or second decade of the 5th century, then he would have come into the world some time towards the start of the 4th, perhaps even as early as the 320s or 330s, with him only being in power from the latter half of that century, since he wasn’t running a country just after he was born. So looking at his professional career, starting with the Oho Tarashi Hiko and continuing to Homuda Wake, we have all four sovereigns of the Tarashi dynasty and then Homuda Wake—five reigns in total. Even allowing that he likely wasn’t in power until late in Oho Tarashi Hiko’s reign, that gives us reigns averaging about 15 years a piece. That’s much shorter than anything claimed in the Chronicles, of course, but much more realistic. Average reign lengths in the latter part of the chronicles, not including Homuda Wake and his immediate successor, average about 11 to 12 years, which makes sense if you assume that typically a reign starts after the death of the previous sovereign—most monarches are coming to the throne when they are much older.
That doesn’t entirely solve our issue of dates, but I do think that it is a useful tool to try to see how, rather than Takechi no Sukune’s lifespan being incredibly long, it is more likely that the reigns that we’ve been seeing up until now were much shorter.
And so, there you have it. The life and times of Takechi no Sukune. I really do think that he is one of the interesting figures in this period, perhaps in part because I suspect he was largely ignored as the Chroniclers were messing with everything. Sure, his timeline gets dragged out with everything else, but I can’t help but wonder if he wasn’t actually a real person, and probably there for the actual coalescing of the early hegemony. The story suggests that when he started his career, Yamato was still largely just a powerful central state, with no real hegemony much beyond the Nara Basin, and that by the end of it Yamato was making alliances and working as a mover and shaker on the Korean continent. The latter half of the 4th century in particular had seen tremendous growth, and if Takechi no Sukune were there for it, well, I think that would be pretty exciting.
Next we’ll talk about someone whose feet are more firmly planted in history—he even gets some love from the continental sources. He is Katsuragi no So tsu Hiko, and though his exploits may not quite rival those of Takechi no Sukune, he was party to some rather important events, especially dealing with Silla and the continental powers.
So, until next time, thank you for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us on iTunes, Spotify, or wherever you listen to podcasts. If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate through our KoFi site, kofi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the link over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Questions or comments? Feel free to Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.
That’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

Ō, Yasumaro, & Heldt, G. (2014). The Kojiki: An account of ancient matters. ISBN978-0-231-16389-7
Bentley, John. (2006). The Authenticity of Sendai Kuji Hongi: a New Examination of Texts, with a Translation and Commentary. ISBN-90-04-152253
Best, J. (2006). A History of the Early Korean Kingdom of Paekche, together with an annotated translation of The Paekche Annals of the Samguk sagi. Cambridge (Massachusetts); London: Harvard University Asia Center. doi:10.2307/j.ctt1tg5q8p
Chamberlain, B. H. (1981). The Kojiki: Records of ancient matters. Rutland, Vt: C.E. Tuttle Co. ISBN4-8053-0794-3
Shichirō, M., & Miller, R. (1979). The Inariyama Tumulus Sword Inscription. Journal of Japanese Studies, 5(2), 405-438. doi:10.2307/132104
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4
Philippi, D. L. (1968). Kojiki. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press. ISBN4-13-087004-1

Episode 45: The Stele of Gwangaetto the Great, Part II

July 16, 2021 Joshua Badgley

Image of a horsed warrior from the Goguryeo tomb known as the “Twin Pillar Tomb”, from the 5th century. Though a bit later than our current story, perhaps it was warriors like this that charged down across the peninsula in the late 4th and early 5t… — Image of a horsed warrior from the Goguryeo tomb known as the “Twin Pillar Tomb”, from the 5th century. Though a bit later than our current story, perhaps it was warriors like this that charged down across the peninsula in the late 4th and early 5th century, expanding the realm of Goguryeo under the rule of Gwangaetto the Great. The Twin Pillar Tomb was in Nampo, near modern Pyongyang, the Goguryeo capital after Gwangaetto’s reign. At the National Museum of Korea in Seoul.

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This episode talks about the rest of the inscription on the stele, and takes us through the invasion of Silla and other conflicts.. We’ll also touch on King Silseong and his rise to power.

A lot of the discussion of this period revolves around the question of who are being referred to as the “Wa” (倭) and debates over just what was the state of the archipelago—pun fully intended. While it is hard to say exactly who might have been included as “Wa”, we might be able to shed a bit more light on this concept of statehood, which sometimes may seem to be splitting hairs for those not entirely familiar with the concept.

First off, I think we all are well familiar with the idea of the modern nation state, which is how most modern countries are organized. But where is that line between early societies—organized in family units, clans, or even villages—and then what we think of as a state, with an organized bureaucracy and some form of centralized authority?

There are plenty of early titles that seem to indicate some level of authority among the Wa, and there seem to be various paramounts with authority. Early on there are discussions of even a kind of taxation system. At what point do the traditions of the culture get codified into laws? How much were things held together through the personal charisma of a given leader vice some larger state apparatus?

The formation of the kofun is a good indicator. With the kofun, you had to mobilize a large amount of labor, meaning that you needed influence and organization to do so. But just how far did that organization extend? Was it centralized in the court? Or was it a series of family alliances, with the elites in various regions paying a kind of tribute up the social ladder, but maintaining direct control of what happened in their own lands and under their own authorities?

Without clear evidence, it is very difficult to say. Furthermore, because of the language used to describe everything, the Chroniclers uses sinographic characters with meaning over on the continent that may be used in an overblown sense in the archipelago.

And so, even if we don’t see a “state” as such over the archipelago, we may see hegemons who are able to command large forces and draw on a variety of resources—possibly even speak for the archipelago on various matters, but do they have the kind of organization that we would refer to as a state?

If we do believe we have a central state, how far did the “state” actually control?

These are all questions that make this period interesting but also frustrating to study—and perhaps it would be easier if our sources were more trustworthy. But that’s what we have.

Specific questions or comments? Feel free to post them, below.

Haniwa depiction of a boat from the 5th century. Was the Karano just a larger version of this?

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is episode 45: The Stele of Gwangaetto the Great, Part II
So last episode, in Part I, we talked about the stele of Gwangaetto the Great, and how useful a historical resource it is, since it was erected shortly after the period of time it describes—starting in 391—and therefore is fairly close to the action. Of course, that doesn’t remove its own biases, such as attempting to aggrandize King Gwangaetto of Goguryeo, the ancient ruler the stone was created to eulogize in the first place. It also doesn’t mean that it is perfect—there are plenty of lacunae in the inscription and the ancient sinographic script is open to various interpretations by modern scholars. And that is without the modern political and cultural issues surrounding the stone, its finding, and its use as propaganda in the early 20th century, which leaves us with some controversial and questionable interpretations. Nonetheless, it is the closest we have to an eye witness to this period and thus we find ourselves piecing together the story in the inscription along with those in the Japanese and Korean Chronicles—specifically the Nihon Shoki, the Kojiki, the Kujiki, and the Samguk Sagi. Where possible, we are also trying to square this with the archaeological evidence as well.
As a reminder, this is all ostensibly happening during the reign of Homuda Wake, though that is hard to corroborate. The Korean sources don’t mention a Wa king by name, and although there are episodes we can match up between the Japanese and Korean chronicles it is by no means certain that everything is in the appropriate chronological order. Still, it is what we have to work with—the truth, as you might say, that the Chroniclers left us with—and so it is the story that we have to go off of at this time.
So far that has left us with the story of a powerful Goguryeo state in 391 who was making claims, justified or not, on both Shilla and Baekje as tributary or subordinate states. Certainly Silla seems to have been in some kind of direct relationship with Goguryeo, while Baekje was more on again and then violently off again. Goguryeo of course did not find any fault in their own belligerent activities, but blamed disorder on the peninsula largely on the Wa, whom they seem to have seen as the primary disruptors of the peace.
We discussed the conflicts with Baekje and the eventual death of King Jinsa of Baekje, followed by the ascension of king Asin of Baekje and his reinvigoration of the alliance with the Wa, despite—or perhaps because of—Goguryeo’s invasion and forced subjugation of Baekje, including the delivery to the Goguryeo court of top officials of the Baekje court. King Asin sent his own son, Crown Prince Jeonji, as a hostage to the Yamato court to help reinforce the good relations between those two allies, and then he turned around and began and aborted attempt at a military campaign against their northern rivals.
Meanwhile, the Wa had been continuing their own on again, off again attacks against Silla, who was ruled at this time by King Naemul, the first Silla king that we know from external records to have actually existed, as he sent emissaries to the Eastern Jin court. King Naemul had previously sent a nephew as a hostage to Goguryeo, hoping to enlist that more powerful state as an ally in their own struggles against Baekje and the Wa.
Now, the Silla Annals in the Samguk Sagi claim that the Wa attacked in 393, and that they encircled the capital of Geumseong, at modern day Gyeongju, besieging them for about five days. The soldiers of Silla wanted to go out and take the fight to the Wa troops, or so we are told, but the King told everyone to just sit tight—eventually they would have to leave. This actually seems to have been the tactic most often used in similar accounts in the past. The Samguk Sagi claims that the besieging Wa forces did eventually give it up and began to head back to their ships, at which point the Silla troops were able to heroically sally forth and attack them as they retreated.
The whole encounter leaves me with some questions, but the large question is perhaps why they mention this event, which may, perhaps, have been the impetus on the stele for saying that the Wa had subjugated Silla in the early 390s, but then the Annals don’t mention the other, seemingly much greater conflict in 399 and 400s.
You see, according to the stele, around 399, King Gwangaetto learned that Baekje and the Wa had formed an alliance, and he marched south from Jian to the fortifications at Pyongyang. I suspect that he was intending to punish Baekje for breaking their agreement—one suspects he may have already dealt with the hostages in one form or another, as we don’t hear from them again, but if so, that probably wasn’t enough.
Whatever he may have been planning, however, things changed when he got to Pyongyang, as a messenger arrived from his ally, King Naemul of Silla. According to the message, the Wa were at it again and had invaded that country. As a nominal vassal to the Kingdom of Goguryeo, Silla requested King Gwangaetto’s assistance in removing the Wa from their lands.
King Gwangaetto sent the messenger back with a promise to help, and assurances for the king for Silla. He then made sure to gather all of his forces and they marched down to Silla together.
If the stele is to be believed, this was perhaps one of the largest forces the peninsula had ever seen. It claims that there were 50,000 soldiers in the army that marched south. Even accounting for the exaggerated numbers that were typical of the time, it seems undeniable that it was a large and, shall we say, persuasive force.
It is not quite clear to me if the forces that were occupying Silla at this time were just Wa, or if was a combined Baekje-Wa alliance. The stele gives the Wa top billing, but unfortunately this section is one of the most heavily damaged sections of the stele, leading to a lot of potential interpretations depending on the reader. My sense, however, is that it was likely Baekje and Wa, and possibly some of their allies from Kara as well. That most of the stele seems to rail against the Wa could have been for a variety of reasons, including not wanting to give Baekje too much credit in the campaign—perhaps even trying to hold onto some sense of the fiction that Baekje was a Goguryeo subject and not a rival kingdom.
Now, does anyone remember watching Game of Thrones, and how, when they finally got to the Battle of Winterfell, everything was so dark you couldn’t actually make out any of the action? Yeah, that’s what reading this section of the stele feels like. All of a sudden there are a huge number of missing characters, which no doubt were recounting the triumphs of the Goguryeo soldiers, but most of it is gone, forever lost to history. But at least we can get the gist of it.
What we can be sure of is that Goguryeo repelled the Wa forces and their allies, and pushed them out of Silla. But they didn’t stop at the borders. Gwangaetto and the Goguryeo forces continued with their advance, pushing to the southernmost tip of the peninsula. The stele tells us that the Ara—one of the Kara states—also joined in the fighting, though I’m hard-pressed to tell you whose side they were on, exactly. Eventually, though, the Wa—and likely Baekje—forces gathered at a fortress in the country of Nimna-Gara, which appears to have been somewhere along the southern coast. There they held out for as long as they could, but eventually the fortress fell.
Nimna will show up later in the Japanese chronicles as an allied state, though the nature of that alliance has been contested. Some have even suggested that this could be related to the state of Thak-syun, who had helped facilitate the earlier alliance between Baekje and Yamato. It does show up in the chronicles in an entry with a corrected date of about 396, which claims that Men of Goguryeo, Baekje, Nimna, and Silla all attended the Yamato court, and they were then made to dig a pond, known as the Pond of the Men of Kara—which honestly sounds more like the story of people captured in war and raids and then put to work than any kind of official envoy, but it still is notable for its inclusion among the other kingdoms of the peninsula.
Whatever its status at this time, we will definitely see them later on in the narrative, but this is the first reliable instance of a place by this name, and given the contemporary nature of the stele, well, despite concerns about possible exaggeration on numbers and just how firm things like “subjugation” really were, I think we can have some reasonable confidence that a place called Nimna—known as Imna in Korean and Mimana in Japanese—existed. This was a pretty big deal for the Japanese when they first found it, as much of Japan’s later claims to anything on the peninsula would hearken back to the idea that there was an ally-turned-puppet state-turned Japanese colony on the peninsula until it was wiped out in the wars that would eventually see the peninsula united under a single kingdom. We’ll probably be referencing this again in the future as Nimna—or Mimana—coms to play a larger part in our narrative. For now, we’ll just leave it there in the stele, with the idea that they at least appear to be allied with the Wa at this point in the late fourth century.
Now, I have to admit, I find this whole story rather incredible. Not only for the broken glimpse it gives us into the wars swept through the peninsula at this time, but for the fact that it seems to have not been recorded anywhere else that I can see. It is somewhat understandable that it isn’t in the Baekje or Yamato histories—why would they want to memorialize such a defeat? It may be understandable that it is not found in the Silla annals—unless the earlier account from 393 is expected to cover this period. But the real question is: Why would this not have been included in the Goguryeo annals, at least? Instead, the Goguryeo annals record these years as ones of defeat at the hands of the King of Yan, a rivalry that never makes its way onto the stele.
It is possible that the original records were lost. Or they just weren’t considered important enough by later scribes to include. As we mentioned last episode, the stele itself seems to have been abandoned and forgotten, and so if written annals for this period were not available to the later chroniclers then they may have only been working with external sources.
Or, perhaps, the victory wasn’t all it was cracked up to be on the stele. Sure it was an impressive feat, but was it truly as all-encompassing a defeat as the stele seems to portray?
Whatever the reason, we are left to wonder about just what happened here.
Now, speaking of the stele, what happened when Goguryeo had defeated the Wa and their allies? Did they turn on Baekje and march on their capital? Did they consolidate their power and install governors over the southern territories? Did they exact tribute on the Kara states?
Actually, the stele doesn’t record any of that. Instead, they just seem to have withdrawn their troops. There is no mention of taking more prisoners or hostages. No indication that they required submission and further subjugation. Nor did they march back up through Baekje and take out their anger on them.
Now it is possible that Baekje wasn’t very involved. Perhaps, despite the alliance between the Baekje and the Wa, this was really more of the Wa and other allies on the peninsula, and Baekje wasn’t involved at all. That seems odd, however, given that the authors of the stele’s inscription seem to make a point of how Baekje and Wa had made another alliance, angering Goguryeo. Why would that be mentioned at the top of this particular conflict if it wasn’t relevant?
I have a couple theories on that point. First, I wonder if Baekje was seen as subjugated by the Wa, and therefore, portrayed as they were as the junior partner, it was the Wa, and not Baekje, that Goguryeo focused on. This could also be a bit of politicking—after all they still claimed Baekje as a vassal state, but the Wa were clearly viewed as an external threat. I wonder if this didn’t lead the court to focus the story on the evil Wa and downplay, to some extent, the role that Baekje had played. Heck, if that were the case, it is even possible that Baekje played a much greater role and may have been the lead figure in the invasion force, and they were just written out of the story because it didn’t fit the narrative.
Unfortunately, we just don’t know, and we can speculate all we want, but without more evidence I doubt we’ll reach any firm conclusions.
There is still the question, though of why Goguryeo didn’t do more to solidify their victory, as they had done against Baekje, earlier.
Perhaps they trusted Silla to handle things on their own. Or they just couldn’t keep their troops in the field for too long—a large force, whether 50,000 troops or smaller, was likely a significant portion of the Goguryeo forces, and Goguryeo had expanded significantly. Plus, as the saying goes, “an army marches on its stomach”, and they had traveled a fair distance away from their traditional lands. Even with their victories, I doubt they could exactly rely on the local populace to be friendly and submissive. So sure, they could bring the violence, but once that was over, where do you go from there?
Furthermore, they had other problems. Indeed, as I mentioned before, the Goguryeo annals claim that King Gwangaetto was involved in a separate conflict with the King of Yan—a conflict that must not have been going too well as it never seems to have made it onto the stele. Yan reportedly marched some 30,000 troops across the border with Goguryeo in response to a perceived slight. Perhaps the date on that was slightly off, and that is why Goguryeo forces were pulled back, or perhaps they just didn’t want to leave themselves exposed for any longer than they had to.
Or perhaps the victory wasn’t quite as complete as the stele makes it out to be. Perhaps they had chased their enemies off the Peninsula and back to the archipelago, but were they equipped to follow them?
Whatever the reasons there seems to have been an uneasy peace that existed, though perhaps that was due, in part, to droughts and famine that are mentioned in the Samguk Sagi across the peninsula in the succeeding year. And so it seems that Goguryeo was handling its affairs in the north, and Baekje and Silla were rebuilding and working their way through drought and famine. If there were more attacks, the record seems to be silent.
Then, in 402, the King of Silla, Isageum Naemul, died. According to Silla’s annals in the Samguk Sagi, he had been ruling for almost 50 years, starting in 356. Even if it hadn’t been that long, he is recorded in the Jin court chronicles as having sent an embassy in 381, so he had at least been on the throne for the past 20 years, which was nothing to sneeze at. Quite likely he was the longest reigning king in the region at that time.
That said, his death formed an interesting transition. Despite having several sons of his own, they did not succeed him—not directly. King Naemul had several sons, whom one would expect would have inherited the throne, but we are told they were still young, and so Prince Silseong, who had been a hostage in Goguryeo for the past decade, returned and took on the title of Isageum, or King. One can imagine that this must have only further cemented the alliance between Goguryeo and Silla—the King of Silla wasn’t simply a friend of Goguryeo, but he had spent the last decade in the Goguryeo court. He knew the court, the nobility, and likely knew King Gwangaetto as well. In fact, it is hard not to see the hand of the Goguryeo Court itself in this move, ensuring that they have a friendly ruler overseeing Silla for them.
And that may be why we don’t get Silseong merely as a regent—he seems to have desired more than that. He did marry his daughter to King Naemul’s eldest son, Prince Nulchi. But he would eventually send off Nulchi’s two younger brothers, Misaheun and Bokho, as hostages themselves.
Of particular interest to our narrative is the position of Prince Misaheun. It seems that as soon as Silseong came to the throne in Silla he sent Misaheun as a hostage—but not to Goguryeo as one might think. Instead, he reached out to an unlikely source—the King of the Wa.
Now this seems rather odd, doesn’t it? It isn’t as if the Wa and Silla had been exactly friends. And hadn’t the Wa just taken a severe drubbing from their last run-in with Silla and their Goguryeo allies? So why is Misaheun being sent to the Wa as a hostage?
And this isn’t just in one source. Both the Silla Annals in the Samguk Sagi and the Japanese Chronicles record the incident—though the Japanese chronicles do have a few issues with just where and when it is all happening, as the story got sliced up a bit in the Cuisinart of the Chroniclers own fumbling around with the chronology. Still, it seems likely it actually did happen, so what is up?
One option is that the dates are off. It is possible that Misaheun wasn’t sent to Wa by his uncle, King Silseong, but rather by his father, King Naemul. This is the story given in the Samguk Yusa, and it is dated to about 391.
According to that source, the Wa envoys of the time denounced Baekje’s attacks on Silla and then demanded that Silla return their courtesy by sending a prince to their court. This was around the time of King Jinsa of Baekje—he was the one who noped out of the fighting with Goguryeo, somehow got himself on the outs with Yamato, and eventually died, somewhat suspiciously, during a quote-unquote “hunting trip”, so perhaps there really was some truth to this. According to the story, King Naemul sent 10 year old Prince Misaheun—named Mihae in the Samguk Yusa story, but clearly the same person—back with the Wa. Of course, shortly thereafter the Wa found a new friend in Baekje’s King Asin, and the Samguk Yusa tells us that the Wa immediately treated Prince Misaheun not as an envoy but as a hostage, holding him as leverage over the Silla Kingdom. He would remain in Yamato for the next three decades.
Of course, it is possible that the truth lies somewhere in the middle—sending royal hostages certainly seems to have been a diplomatic tool that we see showing up in this period, and we’ve seen them sent proactively, to help cement an alliance—as was the case with Silseong of Silla and Jeonji of Baekje—but we also have seen them taken by force, such as Goguryeo’s abduction of King Jeonji’s own brother and ten high court officials. Personally, I tend to lean towards that explanation—especially if the invasion of Silla by the Wa and their allies was as complete as the stele makes it sound.
The Silla annals also impart a bit of bias on King Silseong’s part—upset that he had been sent away at such a young age to a foreign court by his own brother, he decided to do the same thing to his brother’s sons, exiling Misaheun to Yamato and eventually sending another nephew to Goguryeo and then, ultimately, attempting to kill the eldest of the three, Prince Nulchi. Thus, the exile of Prince Misaheun may have just been easier for the scribes to pin on Silseong, clearing the name of the revered King Naemul of any failure or misstep.
Either way, King Silseong seems to have garnered some ire from the Chroniclers—possibly for good reason, or possibly because they considered him tainted given his time in Goguryeo. Remember, he hadn’t been living in Silla for the past decade, and if the youngest of Naemul’s sons, Misaheun, was already 10 years old in 391, then that would suggest that his brothers were at least 20 years old, if not more—hardly children at the time, and not so young that one would expect they would need a regent. My personal head canon is that Silseong was likely forced on the Silla court by Goguryeo, and likely leveraged his Goguryeo allies to stay in power. That likely would have done little to endear him to his Silla subjects, and may also explain his attempts to prune the royal line, as it were.
Whatever the reason that Misaheun was sent—whether as an envoy or forced to go at swordpoint—if Silla was hoping that, like Baekje, this would give them some kind of leverage with the Wa—or at least respite from their raids—they were mistaken. The Baekje-Wa alliance under King Asin was strong, and Wa ships continued to plunder the coast.
Speaking of Wa ships, there is one more item of note on the stele having to do with Wa, and it is, frankly, the most difficult of the various claims for me to fully believe. According to the stele, in 404, a Wa fleet arrived at the district of Daifang, the location of the old Daifang commandery, which had fallen to Goguryeo at the start of the 4th century.
We aren’t told exactly what the purpose of such a fleet was—were they simply trying to assist their ally, Baekje, reclaim some of the territory they had lost? Was this an attempt to strike at the heart of Goguryeo and repay them for being kicked out of Silla? Or was it something else? But whatever the purpose, we can be sure they didn’t have Goguryeo’s best interests at heart.
Once again, I’m left to wonder if this was really just the Wa, or if the Wa are just the big scary bogeymen used on the stele. In later centuries it is almost a trope that any pirates, especially in northeast Asia, are attributed to the Wa and the Japanese archipelago. Known as “Wakou” by the mainland—the Japanese typically refer to them as “Kaizoku”, or similar—their reputation was such that almost any raids or violence was attributed to them, whether or not any Japanese were actually involved. It may be that such a reputation was already well-established in this much earlier period.
If so, this could as easily have been a combined fleet—possibly sponsored by Baekje. After all, Daifang is a little farther out than the Wa have typically been traveling—most of their raids so far have been recorded as against Silla and the eastern side of the Korean peninsula, rather than along the Yellow Sea shoreline, most of which was under the control of their ally, Baekje. It would have been extremely odd, therefore, to sail a fleet all the way to Daifang without Baekje’s support. Once again, I suspect Baekje played a larger part in this than they are given credit for.
Unfortunately, once again we just don’t know. What we do know, at least from the stele, is that Goguryeo successfully repelled the invasion, but once again this isn’t recorded in any of the 8th century or later chronicles, whether in Japan or Korea. Once again, perhaps the Chroniclers left out potentially embarrassing episodes in the other sources.
The rest of the stele then continues with King Gwangaetto’s military conquests. It is no wonder that he was known, posthumously, by this moniker, Gwangaeeto: The King who expanded the territory. The other two campaigns mentioned on the stele were a dispatch of troops to either Baekje or Houyen in 407 and the subjugation for “Tung-fu-yu” in 410. The king finally died in 412 or 413, and his tomb and stele seem to have been erected in 414.
Regrettably, that’s all we have from this period—at least in writing. Our next window, outside the Chronicles and archaeological finds, will come at the end of the 5th century in the form of the Song Shu, which will provide some glimpse into five named kings of Wa—but that will need to wait, for now.
Speaking of archaeology, though, what do we see there? Well, starting in the 5th century we see more and more evidence of Korean technology coming to the archipelago. In the Kawachi area in the 5th century we see the rise of Sue ware, which is very similar to a type of pottery found on the peninsula, and we see the development of more and more iron smithing, as well as horses and their associated accoutrements. Whether through conquest or friendship, it is clear that the archipelago was continuing to grow from its contact with the peninsula.
But, as I said, this is still where the text on the stele ends, leaving us with just our familiar companions, the Chronicles and the Korean Annals to help us make sense of what we see in the archaeological record. And as you may have sensed throughout this episode, there isn’t exactly a full agreement between the various sources. While the Stele may have exaggerated various actions, and was possibly even off by a year or two here or there, it was written during the living memory of the events it records. It was likely that they had people who could help them and who remembered what had happened, at least regarding Goguryeo. In contrast, our written sources were all compiled hundreds of years later, and we no longer have the original documents they used to compare them to. There are a few other things as well.
First, there is still the question of who are the “Wa”. Even in the Chronicles, we are confronted with this to an extent, as the Chroniclers used an extant copy of Baekje’s chronicles—along with other continental records—when they put together their own history. They weren’t just going off of the old court records and insular oral histories, but they were using other sources. And since, at that time, “Wa” was known as another name for the country of Japan, it is easy to understand how they would assume that all of those events were actually part of the Yamato court, which, at least at this point, was said to be headed up by Homuda Wake.
Many of the records, though, may have only mentioned the “Wa” or the “King of Wa”, without naming names. Without names, it really is difficult to tell if they are talking about the court of Yamato or if they are talking about other, ethnically Wa groups in Kyushu or elsewhere. Many archaeologists still seem unsure about the overall cohesion of the archipelago at this time. Could a sovereign ruling out of the Kinki region—whether the Nara basin or the Kawachi plain—actually mobilize enough people from across the islands, like the stele and other accounts would seem to claim?
I really struggle with this, and I think part of it goes to definitions of “state” and “kingship”. And I think we get a hint of this from the Japanese word for the sovereign around this time: Ohokimi. This term, which I believe is first written down in relation to Homuda Wake’s successor, was likely the actual term used for Homuda Wake as well. He wouldn’t have been Tennou or, as it was read in a more natural Japanese sense, Sumera no Mikoto, as that was clearly a later title, and so Homuda Wake—and possibly others before him, were likely Ohokimi, a term we see glossed with the sinographic character for “King”. But what does that really mean?
Well, I can’t say for certain, but I would point out that we see “Kimi” as a common title in the chronicles, and it appears to reference important people and families—perhaps even the ancient rulers—of various countries in the archipelago, such as Izumo, Kibi, Izumo, etc. It would be natural to assume, then, that Ohokimi was simply the Great Kimi, or the Great Lord—or perhaps the great sovereign or king.
To be honest the only thing that makes real sense to me, from the period of Queen Himiko to our present point in the narrative, is that there must have been networks of alliances, more like a kind of confederation, with Yamato as a nominal head. Even as the dynasties changed and the courts moved about the Kinai region, I find it telling that the name “Yamato” appears to have persisted from the period of Queen Himiko up through the current. Even in the unified period of the Sengoku period, there were identities tied up in the ancient provinces—what used to be the old independent states of the archipelago. That would indicate that even if the territory and even dynasties may have shifted some over time, the name itself seems to have held some cachet and identity with the people throughout the centuries.
Personally, I suspect that the Wa were not a unified state, but neither should we assume that they were all acting unilaterally. Rather, I tend to think that the ruler in Yamato may have acted in a role that was, quite often, primus inter pares—the first among equals. I see a parallel in how the shogunal authorities managed affairs, and even during the powerful reign of the Tokugawa there were those domains that were more independent, held together less by the strict threat of violence and more through an intricate web of politics and consequences.
If that were not the case, then we are left truly wondering: Who are these Wa that are apparently having such an effect on the continent that they are a thorn in the side of King Gwangaetto the great? Why would they be mentioned in so many of the conflicts that were ongoing? Why would Silla and Baekje be sending their princes as hostages?
Hopefully this will get somewhat easier as we move through the 5th century and cover the rest of this Middle Dynasty. Over time, Yamato authority would continue to expand. Where they previously had direct control over the Nara Basin, the Middle Dynasty seems to have had direct control over a larger area, but I suspect that just means that they had a more indirect control over the rest of the islands. This is portrayed, in the Chronicles, as a divine imperial authority, but that is no doubt an exaggeration. Still, the evidence that we have so far does seem to suggest that the Wa could somehow field enough troops to be of concern to their peninsular neighbors.
Speaking of which, there is a story in the Chronicles that I think might fit well in here. It is the story of a ship, of all things: The Karano.
The Karano was built, we are told, by the people of the country of Izu. This country was located on the mountainous, forested peninsula of the same name, at the eastern edge of modern Shizuoka prefecture, south of Mt. Fuji, between Sagami and Suruga Bays. This ship was tremendous for its day—the chronicles say it was 10 rods long, which is estimated to be around 100 feet in length. For reference, that is just 17 feet shorter than the Santa Maria, the flagship of Christopher Columbus when he sailed from Europe to the Caribbean. This thing must have been massive for its day, and it said to have been fast, as well—likely because of the number of rowers it could accommodate.
Now, as usual, we may be getting a bit of hyperbole in all of this. I doubt someone took a measuring stick out, and if they did, that it was precisely written down. I’m not even sure if the measurements they use—often translated as “rod”—were actually the lengths we ascribe to them. Many of these kinds of measurements could vary slightly from place to place until there was a single authority to provide a standard. And most of the time it didn’t matter. Whether it was 60 feet long or 100 feet long the point was that it was big.
And what was the purpose of building large ships if not to carry lots of men and equipment?
The Karano—meaning “Light and Swift—was built around 394, and it was supposedly called that because, well, was said to be light and swift. Based on when it was built, it would have been in service for most of the encounters on the peninsula. It remained in service until about 420, a total of 26 years, but by the end of that time, it was done. Seawater and time are not kind to wooden vessels, and over time, it started to break down. We are told that it had rotted out and was in disrepair. And so they decided to honor the ship, which had doubtless seen its share of action by then. They disassembled the ship and decided to use the wood to burn seaweed for salt, which would, in turn, be sent out to the various countries in return for ships, built as the spiritual ancestors of the grand Karano.
The salt fires were lit, and the salt collected, but at the end of it, they realized that not all of the wood had burned through. Some of it had survived, and so they took the unburnt wood and made a zither, or koto, and a song was composed to commemorate the event.
By the way, the fleet of ships? Well, they didn’t fare quite so well as the Karano. Apparently as they came in they were gathered as a fleet in Muko Bay. As they were sitting there, likely pulled up onto the beach, a fire broke out in the buildings on shore. Apparently the fire quickly spread and it must have caught the boats, and the entire fleet went up in flames.
So once again we have a story emphasizing the nautical nature of Yamato’s power, and describing some truly impressive ships for the time. Even if they are exaggerations, we can see that it was an important aspect of the culture and people of the 4th and early 5th century archipelago. A people we will try to get to know more in subsequent episodes.
But for now, that’s probably enough. Thank you for listening, and I hope you were able to follow along. This period is confusing, but fascinating at the same time. Perhaps the main takeaways are the chaos and violence on the peninsula, which are often times of growth and change, and the involvement of the Wa in so much of what was going on. Plus the various alliances—in particular that of Baekje and Yamato. This would be crucial in later years.
Of course, there is a lot more to come—we haven’t even touched on our long lived prime minister, Takechi no Sukune, and I want to introduce another figure of some note, whom we have perhaps briefly made mention of, Kazuraki no Sotsuhiko. We’ll also go into details on just what became of the princely hostages. There is so much going on this reign, I don’t think we’ll cover all of it—we probably don’t need to talk about the 200th time that the Silla coast was raided, for instance, but we’ll see where the narrative takes us.
So, until next time, thank you for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us on iTunes, Spotify, or wherever you listen to podcasts. If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate through our KoFi site, kofi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the link over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Questions or comments? Feel free to Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.
That’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

Ō, Yasumaro, & Heldt, G. (2014). The Kojiki: An account of ancient matters. ISBN978-0-231-16389-7
Kim, P., & Shultz, E. J. (2013). The 'Silla annals' of the 'Samguk Sagi'. Gyeonggi-do: Academy of Korean Studies Press.
Kim, P., Shultz, E. J., Kang, H. H. W., & Han'guk Chŏngsin Munhwa Yŏn'guwŏn. (2012). The Koguryo annals of the Samguk sagi. Seongnam-si, Korea: Academy of Korean Studies Press.
Rhee, S., Aikens, C., Choi, S., & Ro, H. (2007). Korean Contributions to Agriculture, Technology, and State Formation in Japan: Archaeology and History of an Epochal Thousand Years, 400 B.C.–A.D. 600. Asian Perspectives, 46(2), 404-459. Retrieved June 18, 2021, from http://www.jstor.org/stable/42928724
Bentley, John. (2006). The Authenticity of Sendai Kuji Hongi: a New Examination of Texts, with a Translation and Commentary. ISBN-90-04-152253
Best, J. (2006). A History of the Early Korean Kingdom of Paekche, together with an annotated translation of The Paekche Annals of the Samguk sagi. Cambridge (Massachusetts); London: Harvard University Asia Center. doi:10.2307/j.ctt1tg5q8p
Shultz, E. (2004). An Introduction to the "Samguk Sagi". Korean Studies, 28, 1-13. Retrieved April 11, 2021, from http://www.jstor.org/stable/23720180
Iryŏn, ., Ha, T. H., & Mintz, G. K. (2004). Samguk yusa: Legends and history of the three kingdoms of ancient Korea. Seoul: Yonsei University Press.
Chamberlain, B. H. (1981). The Kojiki: Records of ancient matters. Rutland, Vt: C.E. Tuttle Co. ISBN4-8053-0794-3
Hatada, T., & Morris, V. (1979). An Interpretation of the King Kwanggaet'o Inscription. Korean Studies, 3, 1-17. Retrieved June 18, 2021, from http://www.jstor.org/stable/23717824
Kiley, C. (1973). State and Dynasty in Archaic Yamato. The Journal of Asian Studies, 33(1), 25-49. https://doi.org/10.2307/2052884
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4
Philippi, D. L. (1968). Kojiki. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press. ISBN4-13-087004-1

Episode 44: The Stele of Gwangaetto the Great, Part I

July 1, 2021 Joshua Badgley

Detail of the stele honoring Gwangaetto the Great

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This episode we look at the late 4th century history of the peninsula—especially the role of the “Wa”—with the addition of what we are told by the inscription on the stele outside of the tomb of the Goguryeo king, Gwangaetto the Great, whose posthumous name even references his work expanding the territory of the Goguryeo kingdom.

We talked about Goguryeo somewhat when we discussed the Three Kingdoms of the Korean peninsula. It is the oldest of the Three Kingdoms, but because of its position at the head of the peninsula it has not generally had direct contact with the people in the southern tip of the peninsula and the archipelago. Instead, the people of the archipelago mainly seem to have dealt with the Samhan—the three states of Mahan, Byeonhan, and Jinhan—and then the successor states of Baekje, Silla, and the independent states of Kara. But with the Wa raids on Silla, who then allies with Goguryeo, sending one of their princes to the Goguryeo court, and the Wa alliance with Baekje, a traditional rival with Goguryeo, the Wa and Goguryeo would start to come into conflict.

The territory of Goguryeo fluctuated over the centuries, but largely seems to have centered between the Yalu River and Pyongyang, at least in the 4th century. The Yalu River, for those who aren’t familiar with peninsular geography, is the modern border between China and North Korea. In fact, that border, at the head of the peninsula, is largely the Yalu River to the southwest and the Tumen River to the northeast, both of which flow to the sea. In fact, across the river in China are areas of ethnic Koreans who are, in fact, living as an ethnic minority in PRC controlled territory in the modern states of Liaoning and Jilin.

The old capital of Goguryeo and the royal tombs of the 4th century are located at modern Jian in Jilin Province, just on the PRC side of the Yalu River. Later, the Goguryeo capital would move back down to Pyongyang, the current capital of North Korea. Of course, the current political climate tends to make sites in North Korea difficult for others to gain access at this time.

Regardless, we do have some access to the Goguryeo stele and to the various tracings and rubbings that have been made over the years, and in the podcast we talk about some of how that came about.

The Kings of Goguryeo

So let’s quickly recap the kings of Goguryeo. I’m mostly going to use the posthumous names by which they are largely known and this is just a very quick overview:

King Bongsang (r. 292-300) - Not treated well in the Annals, he killed many of his rivals and was eventually killed himself. This or the next reign may have been the point when some nobles fled Goguryeo for Mahan, eventually founding the state of Baekje.

King Micheon (r. 300-331) - Fled the tyranny of King Bongsang and was invited back after the latter’s death. This is the other reign that may have seen an exodus of Goguryeo officials. This is the reign when Goguryeo destroyed the old Commanderies on the peninsula, which allowed Goguryeo to start expanding south but also provided room for the other states on the peninsula to start to expanding and solidifying into independent states as well.

King Gogugwon (r. 331-371) - Gogugwon followed King Micheon. His reigns suffered from numerous foreign invasions. He eventually died defending Pyongyang from Baekje forces, and is the only Goguryeo king to actually die in battle.

King Sosurim (r. 371-384) - He strengthened Goguryeo, who was still involved in numerous military conflicts, especially with the peninsular state of Baekje. It is also said that it is in this reign that Buddhism first came to Goguryeo—but we’ll talk about that in a later episode when we get to Buddhism and how it came to the archipelago.

King Gogugyang (r. 384-391) - He continued to build up the Buddhist and Confucian institutions in Goguryeo, continued to push back against Baekje and others, and allied with King Naemul of Silla, taking in Prince Kim Silseong, King Naemul’s nephew, as a royal hostage.

King Gwangaetto (r. 391-413) - King Gwangaetto the Great is the king in our current moment in the podcast, and his expansionist wars helped grow the boundaries of Goguryeo, and would spark over a century of growth in what was one of the high points of the Goguryeo kingdom.

The Kings of Baekje

Below is a short summary of the Kings of Baekje of interest to us.

King (Geun)Chogo (r. 346-375) - Called the “Later” Chogo in the Samguk Sagi he was probably just King Chogo, originally. He is considered the first historical sovereign of Baekje, though Baekje history claims a much lengthier lineage, all the way back to the mythical King Jumong, just like Goguryeo. It was during his reign that friendly relations were first established with the Wa, which is also mentioned in the Japanese Chronicles. It was also during his reign when Baekje attacked Pyongyang and killed King Gogugwon of Goguryeo.

King (Geun)Gusu (r. 375-384) - Like his father, he was also a “Later” king Gusu according to the Samguk Sagi, but many believe the previous Gusu was fictional, added to pad the lineage. He kept up the fight against Goguryeo and, from all accounts, maintained friendly relations with the Wa.

King Chimnyu (r. 384-385) - He is considered the first king to actually recognize Buddhism. Other than that, his reign was cut short due to his untimely death.

King Jinsa (r. 385-392) - He was the brother of King Chimnyu, and came to the throne because the Crown Prince, Prince Abang, was still considered too young. Under his rule, Baekje suffered major defeats by Goguryeo, and relations with the Wa appear to have fallen apart. He died while off on a hunting expedition, according to the Samguk Sagi, while the Japanese Chronicles claim that he was killed by his own people.

King Asin (r. 392-405) - King Asin (formerly Crown Prince Abang) came to power after his uncle, King Jinsa, passed away. He suffered initial defeats by Goguryeo and, according to the inscription on the Gwangaetto Stele, was made to submit to Goguryeo. Afterwards, he strengthened the friendship with the Wa, sending his own son, Prince Jeonji, to the Wa court as a hostage, much as Silla had done with Prince Silseong. This alliance appears to have further angered Goguryeo, who went back on the warpath.

King of Silla

Surprisingly, there is only one king of Silla that seems to have been active through most of the time that we are largely concerned with in this episode:

King Naemul of Silla (r. 356-402) - Ruling under the title of maripgan, he was recorded as king in the annals of the Eastern Jin. He was likely the king for the early alliance of Baekje and Wa, which may be the reason for his alliance with Goguryeo, sending his nephew, prince Silseong, as a hostage to that country. Later, when Baekje and Wa allied again under King Asin of Baekje, he would call on Goguryeo’s aid.

A note about “Wa”

So I want to talk a bit about the “Wa”. This is how most of the continental sources refer to the Japanese until they rename themselves as “Nihon”. In later Chinese records there are notes that the character for “Wa” should be understood as “Yamato”. But there are still questions about whether that actually encompassed all of the Wa ethnic groups. There are many who feel that Yamato, though a powerful Wa state, was just one of many. It could be that the original Wa-Baekje alliance was with a different state of the Wa, and that the raids against Silla were likewise made by another state, one situated in Northern Kyushu, most likely.

When the Japanese chroniclers in the 8th century were compiling everything, they made the assumption that “Wa” always referred to “Yamato” and therefore deftly added them into the narrative where they felt it was appropriate. As such, it is possible that all of the records from the Baekje Annals, while likely accurate, are not, strictly speaking, about Yamato. I am trying to be careful about which one I’m using, but I won’t guarantee that I don’t switch them up here and there, but just realize that does cause a bit of confusion.

One piece of possible evidence for the idea that this was Yamato all along is, in my opinion, the seven-branched sword commissioned in 372, which was sent to the Isonokami Shrine in the Yamato region. If that sword, which seems to clearly link a state of the Wa with Baekje, was indeed sent to some other group, then one assumes that it was later taken, possibly as a spoil of war or conquest—or possibly as part of the accumulation of shrine treasures that we see discussed in the earliest part of the Chronicles—and moved to Isonokami. If it was placed at Isonokami from the get-go, that seems to be an indication that it may indeed have been Yamato that Bakeje was allying with. Regardless, just know that it is more than a bit confused.

That should give you much of the background for this episode. If you have any questions, feel free to reach out to us!

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is episode 44: The Stele of Gwangaetto the Great, Part One
Today we are going to head back to the peninsula for a bit and talk about what was going on there, ostensibly during the reign of our current sovereign in Yamato, Homuda Wake. This is going to be the first of two episodes—I was initially just planning to do one but, honestly, I felt there was enough here to break it into two shorter pieces.
As I’ve alluded to in previous episodes, one of the frustrating things about this period in Japanese history is how far all of our sources are from the actual events that are happening. I mean, sure, the writers of the Chronicles were bringing in fragments of records that were probably closer to the source, but they were compiling this all with their knowledge of events some 3 to 4 centuries later. We have enough trouble figuring out what happened in the 17th and 18th centuries, today, and that was with all of the things that actually got written down. And a lot of historical records are not the most detailed—people tend to leave out a lot of the whys and wherefores and simply give you the bare bones details. Consider: if you are going to write an account of what is going on around you, what do you include, and what do you leave out with the assumption that it is obvious to readers? Filling in the missing pieces is a constant practice for historians. I mean, if 2020 were recounted in ancient histories it probably would be something like: In the 2nd month of 2020, a great plague infested the land and there was great suffering. And that literally might be about it. Perhaps in 2021 you’d see a note about vaccines being distributed for the Great Plague, but you wouldn’t get a blow-by-blow of what happened, who said what, when, etc. And then, hundreds of years later, someone has to find that particular entry of interest for their purposes and include it in their compilation of events. It is no wonder things get lost.
And so whenever we can get a contemporary account to compare the Japanese Chronicles to, it is priceless. And that’s why the Gwangaetto stele is so impressive. I mean, don’t get me wrong, the fact that it is a huge slab of stone is rather impressive. Specifically it is a large slab of natural stone, 6.2 meters, and about one and a half to two meters on a side. It is covered in Sinographic characters—Chinese writing—and these tell the story of King Gwangaetto the Great of Goguryeo.For us, though, the most important part is that it was erected in 414 and it tells the story of Gwangaetto the Great and his reign, covering the period from about 390 to Gwangaetto’s death – so, in other words, it was written down shortly after all of those events happened. And even that might not mean much to our story except that many of his dealings specifically mention the Wa, or Japanese. So, this stone slab is possibly the closest we have to a contemporaneous, eyewitness account of what was happening on the peninsula, and what role the Wa had in it.
Before we get to what it says—and match that up with what we know in our other sources, let’s talk briefly about the history of this monument so we can gain a little bit of context. We know that it was erected in 414 outside of the tomb of King Gwangaetto the Great of Goguryeo. His tomb lies just outside of the capital at that time in Jian, in the middle reaches of the Yalu River in what is today part of the People’s Republic of China. Shortly after the stele was erected, Gwangaetto’s successor moved the capital south, to Pyongyang, leaving several families in charge of taking care of the tomb and the stele. Eventually, Goguryeo itself fell, becoming part of a single, unified kingdom that would become what we know as Korea, and over time the area of the old capital site was completely abandoned. The grand tombs of the kings of old became overgrown, and their monuments were lost, except to the odd traveler who would pass by and remark on them, but whether it was because they were so overgrown, or just a general apathy, nobody seems to have bothered to record what they had to say. Despite this, the monument continued to stand, alone, for centuries.
It wasn’t until the late 19th century that the stele gained renewed interest. The Qing dynasty had decided to open up land in the area of modern Jian, and numerous farmers, lured out with the promise of new land to open up, started to come in and cultivate the area. This was no doubt driven in part by the encroachment of Russia and the European powers, creating a very dynamic situation. Into this mix came Japanese adventurers as well.
When some farmers reported their find of a large stone slab, the local Qing official came out to investigate. To get a better look, he had all of the vegetation covering the stone burned off, leaving only the stone itself, and using tracing paper he had the first ever copy made. Holding the tracing paper up to the stone, the characters were individually traced, one by one, and then everything outside of them was filled in with black ink. This kind of copy is less accurate than a rubbing, and prone to error, but may have been done because of the stone’s rough, uneven surface. Eventually there would be rubbings made as well.
Only a few short years after its discovery, the stele was noticed by a Japanese man named Sakao Kagenobu. He was an army officer and an intelligence agent of the Japanese General Staff office, and he was charged with investigating conditions in Manchuria and China. Since the Meiji Revolution in 1868, which overthrew the shogunate and put in place a new government under the head of Emperor Meiji, Japanese, particularly military officers, had been traveling around the world in an effort to help gather information and modernize their newly opened state. Japan had a particular interest in the continent, and was already building its influence in part through the rapid acquisition of western technology. When Kagenobu sent an outline tracing of the stele back to the Japanese General Staff Office there was a lot of fascination with it because this object—situated at the head of the Korean peninsula—contained numerous references to the “Wa”, a known reference to Japan and the Japanese, such that even the kanji for Yamato can be translated as the Great Wa. Moreover, these references included language that could be interpreted to say that the early Japanese state had actually subjugated the kingdoms of Baekje and Silla, enhancing the idea of Japan as a powerful early state with historical claims on the ancient Korean entities.
There was also mention of another important location in the stele’s text: Nimna, or as the Japanese knew it, Mimana.
Now as we’ve discussed on previous episodes, the Japanese Chronicles mention Mimana, and in the early 19th century it was specifically believed in Japan that ancient Yamato had a colony on the Peninsula which was referred to as “Mimana Nihonfu”—a phrase used in the chronicles for the 6th century, during the reign of the sovereign known posthumously as Kinmei Tennou. This phrase has raised a lot of speculation and debate, but in the 19th century the Japanese—particularly members of the General Staff—latched onto this idea of Japan’s historical role on the peninsula as a rationalization for their own desires to gain a foothold on the continent. A team of military scholars and civilian historians were convened to go over the stele, which does mention both the Wa and the country of Nimna. They published their findings in 1889 under the authorship of Yokoi Tadanao, who was a professor at the Military Academy and the director of the research into the stele’s inscription.
Of course, Japan would go ahead and continue to push forward their continental ambitions, and in 1895 they would go to war with the Qing in what has become known as the first Sino-Japanese war. Ostensibly this was to protect Japanese interests in Korea, and it largely put Korea under Japanese influence. Japan would eventually set up the puppet state of Manchu-kuo and generally continue to be belligerent until they were defeated at the end of World War II. And while the interpretation of the Gwangaetto stele had not exactly caused the war, it was one more factor seen as pushing the Japanese in that direction.
And so it should be unsurprising the Korean scholars have challenged the interpretation of the stele by the Japanese military. There are even claims that the Japanese military defaced the inscription, changing, adding, or erasing characters to ensure that it fit with their interpretation. This was first brought up by Yi Chin-hui, a Korean scholar living in Japan in the early 1970s who published his own work, studying the various tracings, rubbings, etc. that had been made by that point. This had intense repercussions throughout the scholarly community, with some looking to reexamine the inscription and others attacking Yi’s work. Since then independent Chinese scholars have verified the authenticity of the inscription as it is known—though there are certainly parts missing, there is no indication of deliberate tampering with the passage that has been found.
In fact, in more recent years, another stele was found that seems to authenticate some of the Gwangaetto stele’s inscription—or at least the characters used in it. Though the other inscription was more administrative in nature, the characters used seemed to match those found on the Gwangaetto stele. Similar characters have also been found in metal engravings from this period. All of that helps vouch for the veracity of the inscription as it is.
That hasn’t exactly settled the debate, however, and arguments about the authenticity still come up from time to time. The stele is worn and some of the characters are missing—or may never have existed in the first place, given the irregularities of the stone, which may have forced the authors to shorten some of the lines. In addition, the language it is written in does not lend itself to easy translation. Scholars have made various interpretations of the stele by breaking sentences at different points. Since the ancient Chinese that was the early written language of the peninsula and the archipelago didn’t exactly use punctuation like we do today, and even the meaning of certain characters has changed over time, there is a lot of room to interpret the stele in different ways, and some of the missing characters could drastically affect a reading if they were something unexpected. Scholarly arguments exist for various readings, most biased in some way towards a particular scholar’s pre-existing understanding of this history of this period.
On top of questions of authenticity and interpretation there are also questions about the veracity of what was written on the stele. Though many of the sections of interest to us were written in a matter-of-fact style, we must remember that this was, primarily, a political tool, written to aggrandize a deceased monarch. Gwangaetto himself is referred to specifically as a “King” or even “Great King”, while the rulers of other states are given lesser titles of sovereignty—a not-so-subtle dig at their status vis-à-vis Goguryeo.
Some of these even get downright rude. While the character used for the Wa is the same derogatory character that showed up in the Wei and Han chronicles, the Wa forces are usually referenced as either pirates or brigands rather than with more martial or military terms. Likewise the state of Baekje is actually referred to as Baekchan, or just “Chan”, using a character that means “crippled”. It has been suggested that this was an attempt to label Baekje as a morally crippled state, likely named such because of the opposition they presented to Goguryeo.
There is also a debate on just who is meant by the “Wa” in this inscription. Many have debated that the actions taken by Wa seem much too grandiose to be referring to the archipelago, which many see at this point as not yet unified into the kind of kingdom that could be participating in military expeditions over on the peninsula; certainly the keyhole tomb mound culture is still growing across the archipelago, but there are plenty of regional differences such that many don’t consider the unification of the islands entirely complete. Others have suggested that the “Wa” mentioned here are simply ethnic Wa pirate groups, likely based out of North Kyushu. Others have suggested that the Wa were an extension of Baekje. Still others have suggested that they were a completely different group.
All that said, I think there is still plenty in here to give us an idea of what was happening, and I tend to think that the Wa here is, indeed, referring to the Japanese of the archipelago. It may not necessarily mean that every instance of Wa was a formally sanctioned military endeavor by the court at Yamato. Which gets to one more thing about the stele: the events it talks about don’t necessarily have clear connection with anything in the other written records. Neither the Samguk Sagi nor the Japanese chronicles reference the information from the stele directly. That doesn’t mean they disagree, though: when you look at the events, many seem to line up, even if years don’t exactly correlate.
Now the content of the stele itself can largely be broken up into three parts. The opening lines are about the mythical founding of Goguryeo, all the way back to the legendary King Jumong, and then the rise of the stele’s main subject, King Gwangaetto.
The second part of the stele, which is the area that we are most interested in at this point, recounts his military exploits and expeditions. All told,there are roughly seven different campaigns that are mentioned on the stele. Along with the subjugation of various groups, some of whom we have no other clear records for, like the Pi-Li, the Po-Shen, and the Tung-fu-yu, the stele also details one campaign specifically against Baekje and several campaigns, against the Wa, including not a few invectives thrown at them for good measure. It is these latter campaigns that will be our primary focus.
The last part of the stele includes instructions for the tombs caretakers—those families who were put in charge of tending to the tomb and its environs. Though a fascinating look at Goguryeo culture and society, we’ll leave that for other scholars to ponder.
So enough with the context. We’ll be looking at what was happening during the time covered in the stele’s inscription, and we’ll be placing it in context with the information from the Korean annals of the Samguk Sagi and what we find in the Japanese Chronicles as well to try to get a handle for just what might have been happening. So let’s get into just what we think is going on here, and to start with, let’s check back in with the Kingdom of Goguryeo.
Now several episodes back when we were talking about Baekje we mentioned that Baekje under King Chogo, who reigned from about 346-375, was at the height of its power. During his reign they had pushed north, all the way to Pyongyang, where they had even killed king Gogugweon of Goguryeo, giving him the dubious distinction of being the only king of Goguryeo to ever actually die in battle.
Of course, that didn’t put an end to the violence. Baekje may have had a significant victory, but it appears they did not have the forces to keep it—something we’ll see time and again. So after sacking Pyongyang, rather than occupying the city for themselves, Baekje pulled back, keeping only a portion of the territory they had conquered. Back and forth fighting continued along the border between Baekje and Goguryeo through the next several reigns. But it wasn’t just Baekje that Goguryeo was fighting. Positioned as they were at the head of the Korean peninsula, straddling the areas of modern Liaoning and Jilin, they were also contending with various tribes in the north, as well as with natural disasters—in the years 388-389 there was drought and locusts leading to severe famine.
Then, in 391, the King died, and the Crown Prince, Tamdeok, came to the throne. He would be the one who would later be known as Gwangaetto the Great, and he’s the one for whom this stele was eventually erected.
Now, spoiler alert: if you know Korean history you likely know about Gwangaetto the Great. His full posthumous title is Kukkangsang Kwanggaet'ogyeong hot'ae-wang, and sometimes he is known as Hot’ae and sometimes as Yeongnak. He was probably known as Tamdeok until after his death, but for our purposes I’m going to refer to him as Gwangaetto. If you go out looking there are movies and even miniseries about him as one of the truly legendary figures in Korean history. Even without the stele, he’s a badass who expanded his nation’s reach over the course of his reign. It is in this expansion that he came into contact with the Wa, and thus our interest.
Despite the trials of the previous reign, Goguryeo seems to have been doing alright when Prince Tamdeok assumed the throne. The stele, which was written some 2 decades later, claims that Baekje and Silla had long been subjects of Goguryeo, but in 391 Wa came in, and, well, basically they messed everything up. If we are to believe the stele, Goguryeo was sitting sweet and pretty at the top of the heap on the peninsula and, well, it would have stayed that way if it weren’t for those meddling Wa.
This is perhaps the most controversial part of the entire stele, because one interpretation is that the Wa came in and effectively subjugated both Baekje and Silla. This is based on a particular reading of the characters and an assumption of one missing character. This reading, of course, fits in beautifully with that of the Japanese Chronicles, which does make the claim that Yamato did cross the waves and subdue Silla and at least ally themselves with Baekje. But yet, when we look at the archaeology, do we really see a state ready to take on this kind of an expansionist challenge? According to the archaeological record, the islands themselves weren’t fully unified at this time, so how is it that they are quote-unquote “subjugating” others?
And maybe part of it has to do with that word, “subjugate”. To quote Inigo Montoya: “You keep using that word… I do not think it means what you think it means.”
For most of us, I suspect when we hear “subjugate” we think of the meaning “to bring under dominion or control”, and it is that last piece, “control”, that I’m not sure is entirely accurate. From what we’ve seen of the Wa at this time, their modus operandi appears to be that of a seaborne raiding culture, when it comes to the peninsula. If they can get the resources they need without raiding—for instance if someone is willing to pay them to get out of the fighting and inevitable destruction that would come with it—then that suits their needs. And so I wonder if “subjugate”, to them, was little more than ensure promises of payment.
There was no need for direct interference in their local affairs. As long as people paid lip service to your authority and the prestige goods, kept making their way through—by which Yamato could pay off the other states in the archipelago and keep them on their side, then what more is needed?
But the language that they are using to record all of this is the language of empire. And so I take it that everything could be skewed through that lens as well. The words and terms that were likely expected by the scribes, who have inherited their arts from the courts of the Jin, the Wei, and going back to the Han and Qin states, well, those were based on a concept of statehood and control that may have far outpaced what we actually have in the peninsula—let alone the archipelago—at this time.
There is also the thought here that the scribes of Goguryeo may have been exaggerating for effect. This is the tomb of Gwangaetto the Great, after all! Of course Baekje and Silla had been their subjects. You know… in the past… at some point…. Hey now, let’s not get caught up in all the minutiae, alright? They were ours and you all know it and you can just shut up about it.
Seriously, though, this was meant to be a monument, and claiming some kind of ancient status over the peninsula was just the kind of power move that one would expect here, so I don’t think we need to pay it too much mind, honestly.
That said, in support of the stele’s take on things, we are told in the Samguk Sagi that the king of Silla sent his nephew, Silseong, to live in Goguryeo as a hostage, so one assumes that they were fairly close. Or at least, Silla wanted to be close—probably influenced by the fact that they had pirates on their coastline and Baekje at their front door. That said, I’m not sure I’m buying it that Baekje was in the same position: There are numerous accounts of Goguryeo raiding the Baekje border, and vice versa, and, again according to the Samguk Sagi, in 392, King Gwangaetto of Goguryeo attacked Baekje with such ferocity that of the King of Baekje at that time pretty much refused to go out and face them. He just noped himself into his capital city and allowed the Goguryeo to do their thing.
It is possible that the stele could be referencing the much older connection—that Baekje claimed descent from the same Buyeo nobility as Goguryeo. If they really were founded by nobility from Buyeo or even from Goguryeo itself, the Goguryeo court may have honestly seen Baekje as their traditional subjects, regardless of how Baekje saw things.
And speaking of Baekje, let’s switch focus for a moment: According to the Baekje annals in the Samguk Sagi, this historical noping-out was in the 8th year of King Chinsa, a grandson of King Chogo, who had previously opened up relations with the Wa. He had taken over when his brother, King Chim’nyu, unexpectedly died just two years into his reign. As it turned out, Chim’nyu’s own son, Abang, was still young, and so Chinsa came to the throne instead. Japanese records, based on their own copy of the old Baekje annals, also acknowledge Chim’nyu’s death and Chinsa’s ascension, but claim that Chinsa effectively usurped the throne. If that is the case, one has to wonder just how much of the court supported his reign at this time. The official record paints a rather flattering picture of him, but what wasn’t written down? Rarely do you see this kind of usurpation without some hard feelings.
The Nihon Shoki goes on to provide an account from 392 that claims that Chinsa was disrespectful towards Japan—a rather vague causus belli that goes hand-in-hand with the exaggerated position that they were somehow suzerains of the southern peninsula—so Homuda Wake sent a force to call him to account. However, by the time they arrived they found that he had died—specifically the Nihon Shoki claims that the people of Baekje killed him by way of apology and established his nephew, Abang, as King.
Could it be that with all of Baekje’s defeats at the hands of Goguryeo—especially the latest by King Tamdeok, aka Gwangaetto—he offered some form of submission to Goguryeo? If so, Yamato may have seen this as disrespectful if they believed that Baekje had pledged their submission—or at least allegiance—to *them* instead. After all, Goguryeo appears to have been allied with Yamato’s traditional rival, Silla, and so if Goguryeo asserted dominion of some kind over Baekje as well, Yamato would be isolated. That could disrupt the flow of goods to the islands, and, as we’ve seen multiple times in the past, when the trade spigot is turned off or disrupted the archipelago often experiences chaos. I even wonder if this isn’t the basis for the apparent unity within the archipelago—even if the countries themselves are independent, they would band together to keep the routes to the continent open for trading—not to mention the occasional raid.
That said, only the Nihon Shoki claims that the King Chinsa was killed by his own people. It would be understandable—if he wasn’t standing up to Goguryeo, Baekje’s long-time rival, that may have been seen as grounds for some sort of coup. But the Korean sources we have claim that he actually spent time hunting out at a place called Kuweon, around the time that Goguryeo attacked and overran the seemingly impregnable fortress of Kwanmmi. The King was gone for 10 days, never returning back to the court, and he finally died at his temporary residence.
It is easy, here, to see a King that has abdicated his responsibilities. While he doesn’t have a golf course to go to, hunting was effectively the noble equivalent at the time—a leisure pastime for the wealthy, as opposed to subsistence hunting for your daily meal. And here he’s out gallavanting at the same time that Goguryeo is devastating the north of the country. It would hardly be unusual in human history for members of his court to be eager to do something about a King that wasn’t governing, regardless of whether his actions would have actually affected the outcome or not.
Then there is also that question about what happened with the succession. If he really had come to power under questionable terms, and there was a legitimate heir waiting in the wings, perhaps there was already an anti-Chinsa faction at the court who questioned his legitamacy, and, well—let’s just say that I wonder what actually happened out on that hunting trip, you know?
Regardless of what actually happened, it seems clear that King Chinsa was dead, and Prince Abang, the son of King Chimnyu, was crowned as the new King of Baekje, and he would be known to posterity as King Asin. Now King Asin’s reign was almost immediately faced with the threat of Goguryeo and King Gwangaetto’s expansionist intentions. There were successive campaigns between Baekje and Goguryeo. In fact, there was a campaign of some sort each year for the next three years, in 393, 394, and 395. So if there were any concessions that Goguryeo had extracted from King Chinsa, it seems those were already as dead as season two of Jupiter’s Legacy.
Things came to a head in the autumn of 395. Baekje’s annals in the Samguk Sagi claim that King Asin ordered his troops to attack Goguryeo, and King Gwangaetto himself rode out to meet them, personally commanding 7000 of his own soldiers. The resulting battle above the P’aesu River was a huge defeat for Baekje, who lost 8,000 soldiers in the engagement. King Asin then attempted to personally lead an army to avenge the loss of their soldiers, but they were caught in a snowstorm in the mountains. Many of their officers froze to death, and the King withdrew to Hansan Fortress.
Given the scale of their loss—first at the hands of Goguryeo, and then at the hands of General Winter herself—it puts the information on the stele in perspective, for that stone edifice claims that in the following year King Gwangaetto personally sailed down with a fleet to Baekje—though perhaps that was actually part of this same campaign.
Now, according to the stele, the Goguryeo forces swept through, capturing 18 fortress and eventually making their way to Baekje’s own capital, where they forced King Asin to submit and swear his allegiance. As part of his submission they took away a great number of people—likely to be enslaved—and great quantities of cloth. They also required territorial concessions and forced King Asin to send his younger brother and ten high officials as hostages to the Goguryeo court.
One can only imagine the devastation that this invasion wrought on the state of Baekje, but it is interesting to note that while Goguryeo took people and material, but there is no mention that they left anyone behind to govern or otherwise attempt to directly control Baekje. Instead they left the king on the throne and took hostages as assurances that Baekje would not attack again.
This is the first campaign mentioned against Baekje on the stele, despite the other records of fighting, above, possibly because it was the most significant, or possibly aggregating all of those assaults into one. After all, there was only so much stele to go around. Either way, the Baekje Annals conveniently left this out of their own story, it seems—or at least the later compilers of the Samguk Sagi opted not to include it—or perhaps something happened to it.
This all may explain the corresponding entry for the next year in the Nihon Shoki, though, where we are only told that King Asin “disrespected” Wa—which seems similar to the language used when they sent a force to call to task his uncle, King Chinsa. What form this “disrespect” took is, again, not defined. One could presume that Baekje signing their allegiance to Goguryeo was the offense. But what if it was something else? What if some sort of expected bribe, um, I mean tribute payment never made it? After all, Goguryeo had just devastated Baekje, and whatever trade missions had been going on between the Baekje and the Wa may have been disrupted. The “disrespect” could basically have just meant that they didn’t have anything to offer in whatever trade agreements they had made with each other.
As we’ve seen already, when the flow of trade stopped, that seems to be when Yamato would mount another expedition to the peninsula.
In this case, however, there was no force necessary, because King Asin preemptively reached out making assurances to Yamato, and both the Nihon Shoki and the Samguk Sagi mention that King Asin sent his own son, Crown Prince Jeonji, to the Wa as a hostage at this time.
Since we’ve mentioned hostages a couple of times already, let’s pause a moment to talk about what this likely meant. We’ve seen what looks like two different kinds of hostages, though for similar purposes I suspect that Prince Jeonji’s status in Yamato was much more amicable than that of his uncles’ as hostages in Goguryeo. After all, Baekje had submitted to Goguryeo, but only under extreme duress, and the hostages were there specifically as leverage to ensure obedience. Baekje, however, was under no such threat from Yamato—at least, not that we are aware of. Certainly the Japanese chronicles talk a good game, but as we saw it looks like they may have been more about rading than actually subjugating per se. Granted, Baekje was likely were ensuring good relations and preventing potential pirate raids along the coast, but even the Baekje annals mention that this was a friendly exchange, and make no intimations whatsoever that it was performed under duress of any kind.
That said, it strikes me that King Asin had to have realized how precarious his position was. What if Goguryeo had required the Crown Prince as a hostage, and not just King Asin’s brothers? Sending the young Prince Jeonji to a friendly Yamato court got him out of harm’s way and it helped cement their alliance with the Wa, a potential ally against an increasingly powerful and belligerent Goguryeo. King Asin was playing a dangerous international game—as soon as Goguryeo caught wind of the alliance they would know that something was up and likely attempt to punish Baekje.
For Yamato, this must have been emboldening. To have another kingdom send their Crown Prince to their court must have been a huge boost in prestige. Also, I would suspect that a number of Baekje officials and servants may have come with him—after all, as Crown Prince of Baekje he no doubt had a household to maintain. And maintaining close ties with Baekje is what would lead to them eventually receiving horses for the first time, brining Ajikki, and then Wang’in, to help teach the court how to read and write—and perhaps as the young Crown Prince’s tutor as well.
Now as it stands, Yamato hadn’t been sitting on the sidelines all this time. Besides involving themselves with Baekje when Chinsa submitted to Goguryeo in 392, a year later the Silla Annals in the Samguk Sagi tell us that the Wa invaded that country once again. It isn’t clear if this was a force from Yamato or an independent group of raiders—if it is mentioned in the Chronicles then the dates don’t match up clearly, and there isn’t enough to definitively say which attack this was, but it fits a general pattern, regardless. Clearly there was still animosity between Silla and Yamato, and the alliances were shaping up. It seems as thought it was Silla and Goguryeo against Baekje and Yamato—and possibly some of the states of Kara as well. This was where things were headed on the Peninsula at this point—it seems everyone was picking side, lest they find themselves caught in the middle.
Now if King Asin of Baekje was afraid of Goguryeo finding out about his alliance with the Wa, he wasn’t trying to hide it. Instead it looks like he went on the offensive, himself. A year after sending his son to Yamato, King Asin of Baekje began preparations to attack Goguryeo again, hostages be damned. Goguryeo had been in constant struggle, and in 398 the stele tells us that King Gwangaetto had sent out a small force to subjugate the Su-shen, another independent group in their orbit,, so Baekje may have seen this as a chance. However, as they were gathering the troops they witnessed a falling star—actually, the Samguk Sagi claims that the star fell into the Baekje camp—and King Asin decided to hold off. This was likely a wise decision, as the stele’s text makes it seem like the bulk of Goguryeo’s forces were still available to be deployed.
That said, word would soon reach Goguryeo about the Baekje-Wa alliance and when it did, King Gwangaetto was not a happy camper. He gathered his forces, and he started moving south. And heaven help anyone who stood in his way.
And that’s where we are going to wrap it up for now. This gives us most of the background, including the continuing relations between Baekje and Wa, the conflicts between Baekje and Goguryeo, and the continued attacks by Wa on Silla. Soon we’ll get into perhaps the greatest conflict detailed on the stele, especially as it concerns us and the history of Japan.
Until then, thank you for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us on iTunes, Spotify, or wherever you listen to podcasts. If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate through our KoFi site, kofi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the link over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Questions or comments? Feel free to Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.
That’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

Ō, Yasumaro, & Heldt, G. (2014). The Kojiki: An account of ancient matters. ISBN978-0-231-16389-7
Kim, P., & Shultz, E. J. (2013). The 'Silla annals' of the 'Samguk Sagi'. Gyeonggi-do: Academy of Korean Studies Press.
Kim, P., Shultz, E. J., Kang, H. H. W., & Han'guk Chŏngsin Munhwa Yŏn'guwŏn. (2012). The Koguryo annals of the Samguk sagi. Seongnam-si, Korea: Academy of Korean Studies Press.
Rhee, S., Aikens, C., Choi, S., & Ro, H. (2007). Korean Contributions to Agriculture, Technology, and State Formation in Japan: Archaeology and History of an Epochal Thousand Years, 400 B.C.–A.D. 600. Asian Perspectives, 46(2), 404-459. Retrieved June 18, 2021, from http://www.jstor.org/stable/42928724
Bentley, John. (2006). The Authenticity of Sendai Kuji Hongi: a New Examination of Texts, with a Translation and Commentary. ISBN-90-04-152253
Best, J. (2006). A History of the Early Korean Kingdom of Paekche, together with an annotated translation of The Paekche Annals of the Samguk sagi. Cambridge (Massachusetts); London: Harvard University Asia Center. doi:10.2307/j.ctt1tg5q8p
Shultz, E. (2004). An Introduction to the "Samguk Sagi". Korean Studies, 28, 1-13. Retrieved April 11, 2021, from http://www.jstor.org/stable/23720180
Chamberlain, B. H. (1981). The Kojiki: Records of ancient matters. Rutland, Vt: C.E. Tuttle Co. ISBN4-8053-0794-3
Hatada, T., & Morris, V. (1979). An Interpretation of the King Kwanggaet'o Inscription. Korean Studies, 3, 1-17. Retrieved June 18, 2021, from http://www.jstor.org/stable/23717824
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4
Philippi, D. L. (1968). Kojiki. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press. ISBN4-13-087004-1

Episode 43: Finally, Some Real History (and Some Horses Too)

June 16, 2021 Joshua Badgley

Crude image of what appears to be a man riding a horse inscribed on a 5th century cylindrical haniwa. From the Chikatsu Asuka Museum while on loan to the Tokyo Museum for the Fall 2014 exhibition 「西日本の埴輪－畿内・大王陵古墳の周辺」. Photo by author.

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This episode we’ll talk about the history of, well, history. Homuda wake is seen as a pivotal figure in many ways, and stands at the head of what is thought to be by some a completely new dynasty. This episode we get into some of that, but we also talk about the actual start of historical record-keeping with the coming of writing to the court, including a court record keeper. Of course, that doesn’t entirely mean that just because they started writing things down everything we have from here on out is a 100% accurate representation of the facts.

One of the things that we don’t exactly know is just when this was happening. Despite the Kojiki and the Nihon Shoki being largely in agreement on most of the details, they place the advent of writing at two different points in the late 4th century. The Kojiki claims that the Baekje king at this time was our good friend Chogo, while the Nihon Shoki claims that it was Asin. King Chogo’s reign ended with his death in 375 CE and King Asin reigned from about 392-405, so there is a bit of a gap. It is quite possible that it was even a different sovereign altogether. In the case of the Kojiki, they may have simply been attributing it to the most notable sovereign, the one who first opened relations with Yamato, and who had just started a written record for Baekje through Gao Xing, while in the Nihon Shoki they don’t expressly name a sovereign so much as date this whole thing to a year that, when corrected, would line up with the dates of King Asin. One possible hint in all of this is the mention, in the Nihon Shoki, of Areda Wake as the lead envoy to request Wang’in’s presence. Areda Wake, you may recall from last episode, was one of the generals sent to the peninsula during the Yamato-Baekje campaigns in 369. Either way, they both agree that this was during Homuda Wake’s reign, whenever that actually was and we can probably assume that was some time between the 370s and 405, during which time there was plenty of contact between the archipelago and the peninsula.

The other big thing we talk about in this episode is the advent of horses.

We talk about what a big deal the horse is in the episode, and what we find in the 5th century tombs, so here is a gallery of just a few of the horse items that we find, from haniwa to actual tack.

Haniwa horse

An example of a horse from about the 6th century. Much of the tack shown is similar to earlier examples.

Iron banner holder

An iron banner holder meant to fit to the back of a saddle, from the 5th or 6th century in Japan. Compare to the similar Korean example.

Korean banner holder

A Korean horse banner holder. Note the similarities with the same version from the archipelago. There was a clear link between the islands and the continent at this early date, though later they would diverge.

Horse bits

Horse bits from the 5th through 6th centuries found in kofun on the archipelago

One more thing—we previously mentioned that Homuda Wake’s name seems to come from something that was later referred to as a “tomo”. That appears to be this item shown on this 6th century haniwa warrior. There are also examples that we have in the Shōsōin repository from the 8th century. Those are made of a stuffed leather. It is unclear to me exactly how they were used—they seem extremely bulky, and they aren’t used in any modern tradition that I am aware of. Nonetheless, one could get an idea of how a fatty growth on the arm could be seen as something similar, though I still am not sure about calling them “homuda”.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is episode 43: Finally, Some Real History (and Some Horses Too).
Alright, so I know I keep saying we are almost there. We are almost to real historical stuff. You know, stuff that was written down, so we have some idea that it actually happened and we aren’t just dealing with oral history. And I think we are finally there. Well, sort of. Okay, let me explain.
This episode we are finally talking about Homuda Wake, aka Oujin Tennou, the first sovereign traditionally considered truly historical in that it was during his reign that the court started to keep records. Or at least that’s what we are told. You see, we aren’t quite sure because those particular records no longer exist, and where they were incorporated into the Chronicles they aren’t exactly highlighted as such AND there was still plenty of oral history going on at the same time.
You know, let me start back at the beginning. Just know that we are going to talk about several things this episode. Homuda Wake is something of an interesting and pivotal figure in this period, and we’ll talk about why that is, including some talk about the 20th century scholarship about him, and how that has affected our current views of this reign. We’ll also discuss some of the big things that happened during this time—primarily the advent of record-keeping, as I already mentioned, but also the first evidence of horses coming to the archipelago.
But first, let’s recap where we are. Supposedly, we are somewhere at the end of the 4th century. Probably some time after 371—possibly later, though it could be earlier—with the previous sovereign-slash-regent Tarashi Hime’s death tied to that of Queen Himiko, the exact timing is confused, but we are still generally assuming that the dating in the Nihon Shoki is about 120 years or so off of what was actually happening.
Tarashi Hime’s death finally put her son, Homuda Wake, firmly in the driver’s seat. Whether or not he was part of a ruling pair before this, he was certainly the one handling things from here on out. And he was inheriting the throne at a highly dynamic period. While I’m not quite sure there was an archipelago spanning government—local countries were probably still operating under their own systems—the influence of Yamato and the surrounding area, as well as the keyhole tomb culture in general, seem to have gained prominence, and they had relations—friendly and otherwise—with at least two of the more powerful kingdoms on the peninsula, Baekje and Silla.
From here on out, though as I said, we supposedly start to get actual written accounts that were included into the Chronicles, the dates for many things are still quite sus. The Chronicles from this point were probably a combination of information from written sources from the peninsula and the archipelago as well as various oral histories that were handed down separately. We see a lot of poetry, written in a style of Man’yogana, that is using the Sinitic, or Kanji, characters for their sound and very deliberately reproducing the Japanese poetry styles that would become popular later on. We also see various accounts from the continent that may or may not have lined up appropriately with things happening in the archipelago.
Time wise, you have two major reigns coming up—Homuda Wake, aka Oujin Tennou, and his son, Oho Sazaki, aka Nintoku Tennou. Once again it is somewhat difficult to tell if they actually reigned separately—heck, some people even claim they may have been the same person! Either way, I suspect both reigns were considerably shorter than they are written, especially when you look at other reigns that are only a handful of years. Remember, the historians needed to “find” a couple of 60 year cycles in all of this, to make the math work out according to plan.
One more thing about this period is that there seems to be a bit of a disconnect between our continental and archipelagic sources. Continental sources talk about the fighting and conflict on the peninsula at this time, while the Japanese chronicles focus on more inward matters. And so while there may be some hints of where the two come together, it isn’t at all clear every time.

So where do we get started? Well, we already know a few things about Homuda Wake. For one thing, he was miraculously carried in his mother’s womb for up to three years, if the Nihon Shoki is to be believed, and his name supposedly comes from a growth on his arm that looked like a “Homuda”, or an archer’s wrist-guard. Of course, he also went up to Kehi, at Tsunoga Bay, and exchanged names with the kami of that area. But beyond that, we know very little.
We know that the Nihon Shoki dating is off, and he probably wasn’t in his 69th year when his mother died and he came to the throne. Beyond that there isn’t a lot we can be sure of.
He does seem to have many wives and a fair number of children, at least according to the stories, though whether they are all his or not we can’t be entirely sure, and the kofun attributed to him, Konda yama Kofun, in modern Ohosaka—which may or may not be his, mind you—is definitely in the kingly category in terms of size.
Perhaps most relevant for us to keep in mind that is that Homuda Wake is is considered by many to be at a turning point, and he is placed at the head of the “Middle Dynasty” or the “Kawachi Dynasty”, a potentially new group of regents, despite the orthodox view of an unbroken lineage. Along with the influx of various technologies from the continent, this makes this a very interesting period. I’ve made mention of this before, here and there, but I would like to talk about what this all means.
The Japanese Imperial Household Agency maintains the orthodox view expressed in the Chronicles that the current emperor can trace an unbroken lineage all the way back to the Sun Goddess, Amaterasu Ohokami. That doesn’t mean that every sovereign is necessarily the direct descendant of the previous one—we see brothers and cousins and nephews inheriting the throne, instead—but they are all part of that lineage with a direct tie back to the lineage of the Sun Goddess herself. This is the official line coming out in the 8th century that can be seen in all of the various Chronicles, to include the Kujiki, the Kojiki, and the Nihon Shoki. Even if there are some things that may be fantastical legends, this view holds that the lineage is basically correct, even if some of the details might be a little bit fuzzy.
This orthodox view was largely maintained up through the end of WWII in the early 20th century. There may have been those who questioned parts of the lineage, and even those who considered that many of the details were added or lifespans enhanced in order to extend the lineage back to around 663 BCE, but even though they may have questioned some of it, the orthodox view still held as true that the imperial lineage traced back to Amaterasu Ohokami, at least.
In the early 20th century, a right-wing nationalist fervor overtook Japan, and much of it centered around the concept of Kokutai, the government of the state, based on the idea of a Heavenly-descended Imperial Line. I won’t try to pass myself off as a student of these modern times, but suffice it to say that there was a clear party line on what constituted the Japanese state and the Emperor was at its head. Proponents of this view set themselves up against what they saw as Marxist and left-wing Socialists, whom they believed would destroy the character of the country. In such a heated political climate, discussion of the Imperial lineage became more than just a matter of history.
Enter one Tsuda Soukichi. In the early 1900s he wrote up his belief that much of the lives of the first fourteen sovereigns—so up through and even including Okinaga Tarashi Hime—was fictional. While some of the stories may have come from actual incidents, Tsuda claimed that the overall history was written merely to support the central raison d’etre of the Chronicles—codifying the divine lineage of the Imperial line. For the most part this was an academic discussion and seems to have stayed in academic circles, and I don’t know that he saw his own view as particularly radical, but in 1942 he was actually taken to court for his views, accused of profaning the imperial house. He was actually sentenced to 3 months in prison, but was later pardoned. All because his theories questioned what some considered the foundation of the Imperial Household.
After the war, there was a much greater freedom to investigate the origins of Japan and the Emperor, though the imperial household agency continues to control certain aspects tightly to maintain the dignity of the imperial family. Still, many theories have flourished, often building off of Professor Tsuda’s work.
For example, moving beyond the idea that the first fourteen sovereigns are purely fictional, there is some thought that the earliest sovereigns may have simply been unrelated lords of various areas in and around the Nara basin, though I tend to agree that for those first nine sovereigns there is very little evidence of their existence at all.
Another scholar, Mizuno Yu, who studied at Waseda University around the same time that Tsuda was teaching there would go ahead and divide the sovereigns into three dynasties, suggesting even further that while some of the sovereigns may have existed, they were not actually linked hereditarily. Under Mizuno’s system, the first nine sovereigns were considered completely fictional, while the emperors from Mimaki Iribiko through Tarashi Nakatsu Hiko are considered part of the ancient dynasty, sometimes called the “Miwa” court, due to the location of the court at the foot of Mt. Miwa in the southeast corner of the Nara Basin. The site of this court was attested to in the Nihon Shoki, and of course there were numerous kofun and the holy mountain of Miwa itself, but there was still some doubt about whether there had actually been any kind of a court here until 2009, when an excavation found an extremely large structure, thought to be a palace or ritual center, which dated from about the 3rd century, which would seem to confirm the Chronicle’s account, though the dating was clearly off. This dynasty is sometimes referred to as the “Iri-“ dynasty due to the prevalence of the term in various names. For example, Mimaki IRI-biko and Ikume IRI-biko.
Mizuno also included the Tarashi dynasty in this same general category, although there seems to be more support for the Mimaki and Ikume Iribiko than for the various Tarashi’s, including Oho Tarashi Hiko, Waka Tarashi Hiko, Tarashi Naka tsu Hiko, and Okinaga Tarashi Hime. While Mimaki and Ikume are assumed to be actual names, the other rulers of this ancient period seem to be marked with titles, with the exception of the name “Okinaga”, and so there are much greater doubts about their actual existence.
Mizuno’s next dynasty was the Middle dynasty, sometimes called the Kawachi court and that started with our current subject, Homuda Wake, aka Oujin Tennou, and continues until the 25th sovereign, wo-Hatsuse no Waka Sazaki no Mikoto, aka Buretsu Tennou. His successor, Wohodo, aka Keitai Tennou, was not directly related to him. In fact, Wohodo’s lineage goes separately back some five generations to our current sovereign, Homuda Wake. From Wohodo to the current Emperor, Mizuno considered that the New Dynasty.
We do know that the center of building for the giant, kingly kofun transitioned around this time from the Nara Basin out to the country of Kawachi, in the area of modern Ohosaka. Large tombs were built in this area until the time of Wohodo, aka Keitai Tennou, in the early 6th century. Together they are known as the Furuichi and Mozu tumulus groups. They are the most dramatic evidence of the court having moved to this area around this time, and it includes the largest of the keyhole shaped tombs, Daisen Kofun. If that name sounds familiar it has been in the news of late as they have allowed some very basic excavations to take place recently on the outside of the tomb as part of the necessary upkeep. This tomb is actually said to belong to Homuda Wake’s successor, and is an indication of the power of the early Kawachi court.
Now here’s the thing about this and Mizuno Yu’s theory: He not only noted that the courts had moved, but he also suggested that these three dynasties weren’t actually related to each other despite what the Chronicles say. Or at least, not significantly. According to Mizuno, the Chroniclers pasted the various dynasties together into a single lineage to support the legitimacy of the current sovereigns in the 8th century, but prior to that, these dynasties may have actually descended from separate groups of local rulers, who may have had varying degrees of control, though generally ruling from the modern Kinai region, around the country of Yamato. The 6th century Wohodo’s own tenuous link to Homuda Wake may be little more than a genealogical fiction designed to support his legitimacy and connect him back to an older dynasty, and likewise the Tarashi lineage may have been little more than a bridge from the Iribikos up to Homuda Wake.

As it stands, there is still plenty of debate and conjecture over Homuda Wake. Some conflate him and his successor, Oho Sazaki, aka Nintoku Tennou, and others would suggest that the events of his mother’s regency were actually his, and that her existence is largely just a correction in the Chronicles for Queen Himiko.
If I were to suggest anything to take a way from this it is to understand that there is a lot of evidence that the story of a single, unbroken, royal lineage is likely a fiction. Rather, there were several different dynasties that supplied sovereigns at different times. We already know that the chronology is demonstrably incorrect, to the point that some would write it off altogether.
So what is it about Homuda Wake’s reign that makes all of this relevant? Why do these theories all seem to come to a head right here?
Well, that probably has to do with one of the more significant events attributed to Homuda Wake’s reign, and although they can’t agree on the exact details, both the Kojiki and the Nihon Shoki do agree on one thing: This was the first reign whose events were, in some form or fashion, written down. And not only were they written down, but they were written down by the court itself. I can’t stress how important this is to us. Up to this point, our assumption has been that we only had the oral histories to go on, which were then written down at a later point. Now it looks like we have one of the most important events in the history of the archipelago—writing had come to Japan.
This event is recorded in both the Kojiki and the Nihon Shoki in such a similar manner that it certainly seems that they were pulling from the same source for how it came to be. They do have differences, and I’ll get to that in a second, but for the most part it is the same. So the stories go, the King of Baekje sent a pair of horses, along with an envoy, who is named in both Chronicles as either Ajikki or Achikishi. The horses were stabled on the slopes of Karu, and Ajikki was given charge of their care and feeding—apparently this was a long-term posting for Ajikki.
Now the horses are certainly interesting—this is likely the beginning of a long culture of horse cultivation in the islands, built off of the peninsular traditions—but there was something more interesting to the people of the time and this is that Ajikki had another skill that the court wanted to cultivate beyond his animal husbandry skills. You see, unlike many others in Yamato at that time, Ajikki could read, and because of that, the young Crown Prince asked him to become his tutor, so that the Crown Prince could learn to read the Classics himself.
Now I doubt that writing was completely new to the people of Yamato, but it is unclear just what sort of grasp they had on the skill. After all, this wasn’t just as simple as learning an alphabet and then learning how to write words with those letters. Literary culture in east Asia at this time relied on Sinitic writing—that is to say the ancient literary Chinese. Of course, Sinitic languages are from a completely different linguistic family than Japonic or even Koreanic. Grammar and word order, in particular, are different. Sinitic actually has more in common with Tibetan than with the languages of the Korean peninsula or the Japanese archipelago. So that means that it wasn’t enough to learn individual characters, or logograms, but you had to learn an entirely new language.
Speaking of the logograms, I’d like to touch on one misconception. Many people consider Chinese to be made up of pictograms, where a picture represents a given word. The issue is that Chinese, or Sinitic, characters aren’t actually pictures. There are certainly symbols that represent particular things, like trees or people, and a direct link can be seen between those characters and earlier pictures. However, by the time of the 4th century, the characters had grown much more complex. They contained symbols with meaning, but also symbols that were used more for the sound they made, and still other symbols represented more abstract concepts. Referring to them as logograms better emphasizes their actual use. Each character, often made up of various parts, represents a single word, concept, or morpheme, and are pronounced as a single syllable.
Now there is evidence of writing in the archipelago from an early date. For example, we have inscriptions on bronze mirrors from at least the start of the Kofun period, if not earlier, and of course the seven branched sword, which had come over from Baekje in the latter half of the 4th century. We also have a few examples of what may be writing on pottery, though usually that is just a character here and there. Most of this writing, however, either came from the continent or it was more decorative or even performative—it demonstrated a certain level of culture and sophistication, but it wasn’t necessary for understanding the meaning. It may have also had a kind of magico-symbolic quality. After all, in many places the idea that you can put ideas into sound and then inscribe those thoughts onto things is really remarkable in a way that those of us in the Computer Age might not always consider. I’m reminded of the various written prayers for the Dead included with the mummies of Egypt, as well as the Tibetan prayer wheels, where the written words stand in for the mantras and prayers of those who turn them round.
But in the 4th century, Yamato was prepared to take the next step. It was more than just performative—this was also basically a request to learn more about the classics of continental literature, such as Confucius and Laozi. Homuda Wake asked Ajikki if there was any one who could teach him and his court how to read the Classics as well. Ajikki, though literate himself, demurred and recommended another Baekje scholar known variously as Wanikishi or perhaps Wang’in.
We don’t know much about Wang’in. The name certainly strikes me as Sinic, though that could just be an artifact of how the name has come down to us. Most likely, if he wasn’t an immigrant to Baekje from the continent, he may have been a descendant of the administrators who had served the Han commanderies in the Korean Peninsula. Either way, he knew the art of writing and could teach it, and so Homuda Wake sent a request to Baekje to send Wang’in over.
With his arrival at the court, Wang’in not only started to teach writing to others, but he also started to chronicle the history of the court—or so we are told. There is no extant evidence of his chronicle, and nothing that I have seen to indicate whether a particular event came from his records or from oral history, which no doubt continued as another source of lore and memory. I mean, it wasn’t like people just stopped telling stories, and even in the reign of Oama in the 8th century the court was still commissioning storytellers to recount history at court.
Since there were records being kept and written down, many consider Homuda Wake to be the first truly historical sovereign, even if we aren’t sure how much of that history is accurate. The point is that for the first time the Yamato court was starting to write out its own records and keep its own annals.
In fact, even the character of the Chronicles themselves, written in the 8th century, would still have elements that link their literary tradition to that of Baekje, and various scholars have drawn a connection between the formulation of the Baekje Annals, as passed down in the Samguk Sagi and elsewhere, and the formulation of Japan’s own chronicles.
Beyond just keeping a record of things, though, writing would also bring other benefits to the archipelago. For one thing, once literacy could be spread, it would increase communication. No longer would you have to rely on the memory of a messenger to relay information, but rules, laws, and edicts could be written down and communicated directly. Likewise, information from the provinces could easily be sent back to the capital. In this way, it was a technological advancement for the state itself, and may have helped to solidify the archipelago even further along its march to status as a unified kingdom.
On top of that, it opened the doors to a host of continental ideas and philosophy. While there is evidence of ideas that entered previously through contact with the continent, being able to read and write would open up so much more to consider. Of course, this would also bring some amount of turmoil, as the indigenous ideas and philosophy that had grown up on the archipelago came into potential conflict with ideas and philosophies from the continent—but that is all still a ways out at this point.
Of course, all of this talk about writing—which is a huge step, by the way, don’t get me wrong—and we didn’t even touch on the other big thing that happened. In fact, it almost got swept aside for all of the literary geekiness. The second big thing that happened in this exchange was that this is the first recorded instance of Japan getting horses.
I know we’ve mentioned this in past episodes. In the discussion of Yamato Takeru, for instance, they talk about how the bridges and mountain pathways through the Japan Alps were often so narrow that a horse wouldn’t be able to make it, but that was before we have evidence of horses or of horsemanship on the archipelago. Up to this point we had seen domestication of some animals, including pigs, but there was scant evidence of horses. There is perhaps evidence of some horse remains from before the Kofun period, but what I’ve seen suggests that there is still a lot of doubt over those finds. And most of the time travel has been via boat, using the sea lanes to cross from one point of the land to another. And horses weren’t exactly needed for rice cultivation—cattle are actually much more useful in that capacity.
But here we have at least two horses given by Baekje and maintained in stables of some sort. The fact that Ajikki, the envoy who brought them, was also there to see to their care and feeding suggests that there weren’t people in the archipelago who already had the knowledge and skills required for horse husbandry.
As a gift from Baekje, this seems to have been not uncommon. Baekje is also recorded as providing a gift of horses to Silla in the Samguk Sagi. Furthermore, if the nobility of Baekje really did descend from the Buyeo people then it was likely that horse culture was a big part of their ethnic identity, and so I have no reason not to believe that horses would have been a suitable and not uncommon gift to other state leaders.
By the way, there is another theory of how horses came to the islands. This theory, known as the “Horse-Rider Theory” is one we’ve touched on before. It claims that the horses came with an invasion force from the Peninsula—likely led by the Buyeo descended nobility of Baekje, who then put their own descendant, Homuda Wake, on the throne. I’ve already mentioned that this theory is accepted about as well as the second Highlander movie, at least these days, but you still see it pop up now and again, and since we already talked about Tsuda and Mizuno we may as well touch on this as well, since it was formulated around the same time and derived from some of the same scholarly lines of questioning.
You see, following on behind Tsuda Soukichi’s work describing many of the earlier sovereigns in the Chronicles as fictional, and while Mizuno Yu was still laying out his ideas for breaking the royal lineage into separate dynasties, another professor, Egami Namio, published his theory, known as “The Horse-Rider Theory” that similarly questioned the lineage as written, though it had a much more radical concept.
Now, I don’t really want to get too much into the politics in Japan post World War II, but there was something of an explosion of ideas as previously taboo areas of discussion were suddenly opened up for debate. There had also been a lot of archaeological research being carried out during the occupation of the peninsula. Egami Namio’s theory certainly combines both of these, I’d say.
Professor Egami looked at the assembly of horse equipment and armor that seems to typify burials from the 5th century onward, which has many ties with the material culture of the peninsula, and he proposed that there must have been some event to create such a rapid change. Why would these assemblages suddenly show up in kofun from this date onward? To add to that, you have several narratives of ancient sovereigns marching armed forces in from the west, from Kyushu along the Inland Sea Route. First, there is Iware Biko’s march east when he conquered the Yamato basin, and then Okinaga Tarashi Hime traveling east and defeating the forces of Princes Kakosaka and Oshikuma to put her son, Homuda Wake, on the throne. On top of that were the connections between Okinaga Tarashi Hime and Homuda Wake with Kehi and the so-called Silla prince, also known as the kami Ame no Hiboko. Professor Egami suggested that these were all stories of conquest from the Korean Peninsula, suggesting that the Buyeo nobility of Baekje were the actual founders of the Middle Dynasty. According to this theory, the lack of horses in the archipelago made them an easy target for the horse-riding warriors from the peninsula.
Archaeologists have since shown that the increase in horse assemblages in the archipelago can be explained through the natural acquisition of horses from the continent, and it doesn’t otherwise demonstrate a wholesale replacement of local material culture that would be expected with an invasion as suggested.
It should probably come as no surprise that certain Korean scholars have latched on to this idea, and though it has largely been disproven, it still comes up now and again.
Also, even though we don’t see a large invasion from the peninsula, we do see a number of artifacts and the Chronicles definitely seem to demonstrate more and more people from Baekje, Silla, and Kara arriving—willingly or not—in the archipelago. It is also quite possible that Homuda Wake’s own lineage included peninsular nobility—perhaps nobility that was erased in favor of a connection to the previous Iri- dynasty.
Now however they first came to the archipelago, the usefulness of the horse was quickly recognized and while the horse-rider invasion theory of Egami Namio may go a bit too far, there certainly was an increase in horse trappings found in Kofun era tumuli from the 5th century onwards, as well as more armor and weapons. Furthermore, I’m sure you won’t be surprised to know that much of what we find in the tombs matches up with continental fashion and technology, right down to the banner pole holders that would attach to the rear of the saddles. It is quite clear that it wasn’t simply horses that were brought over, but the material culture of equestrianism as well.
Of course, Japan isn’t exactly built for horses. 70% of the archipelago is made up of forested, mountainous terrain—hardly the flat plains of the steppes where Eurasian horse-riding had begun. Much of the flat land that they did have was given over to agriculture in one way or another, and you didn’t exactly want horses stomping on all of the young rice plants, did you?
And yet the horse would come to feature prominently in Japan. Even in the Age of the Gods, on the plain of Takama no Hara, you may recall that it was a colt, a young horse, that Susanowo had flayed and sent flying through the roof of Amaterasu’s weaving hall. Later, various areas would become known for their horses, and in the Kantou region the marshy islands would actually provide natural corrals where they could raise horses of exceptional quality. The use of the horse and the bow, perhaps influenced by further immigrations from the Eurasian continent, would form the basis of the early warriors who would become known as the samurai. Despite a modern view of the samurai as a warrior with a sword, the original connotation was a that of Kyuba-no-Michi: The way of the horse and bow. Even today, you can still witness the art of yabusame, or horsed archery, at various festivals around Japan.
These horses, though, were not, perhaps, the horses you might be thinking of. Many people today think of a horse and imagine something like a thoroughbred—tall and fast. In truth, the horses of Korea an Japan, at least before modern times, were more closely related to their ancestors on the Mongolian steps, and were probably closer to what we would classify as a pony, though that distinction—pony v. horse—is much more of a European classification rather than an Asian one. In Japan, they were all classified as Ma or Uma—horse.
These early breeds were probably shorter and stockier than you might otherwise imagine. The truth is, it is hard to find these ancient breeds today, and most films and even practitioners of traditional arts like Yabusame tend to use more modern breeds. But the shorter and stockier breeds had several advantages.
For one, they tended to be stronger and have greater endurance. Shorter legs would also make them better at navigating the mountain trails and similarly variable terrain. I’ve even heard it said that their gait would also provide a smoother platform, more suitable to a horseback archery, though I don’t have personal experience to confirm.
Either way, the horse would be a huge benefit to the state of Yamato. Not only would it provide a new military tool and advantage in battle, but it also allowed for faster communication. Sure, the boats they used were great for getting around via the water, but horses were much faster on land. Horses could travel 50 to 80 miles in a day. While there are certainly people who can walk 40 miles a day and even runners who have run much more—the world record is over 150 miles in a day—most people are probably in the range of about 20-30 miles in an 8 hour period. Furthermore, by taking a horse, you arrive rested, and with multiple horses you can do even more. This would have been a huge benefit in connecting up the various parts of Japan—at least across the larger islands of Honshu and Kyushu, and even Shikoku.
So there you have it. We’ll go into more details over the next few episodes, but if I were to capture the highlights of Homuda Wake’s reign, I’d say this is it. First off, he’s a pivotal figure in the dynastic succession, and although there were some 10 other sovereigns after him, the new dynasty after that would be linked not to any of his descendants, but rather all the way back to Homuda Wake himself, which does strengthen the case that they may have been a new dynasty altogether. Furthermore, this period in Japanese history would see the advent of writing as well as the horse, two technical innovations that would prove hugely important to the development of Yamato as a whole.
In the next few episodes we’ll deal with some of the other events in the Chronicles, as well as some of the events not covered there, such as the those inscribed on the famous Gwangaetto Stele, a fascinating and, as per usual, controversial source of information.
So, until next time, thank you for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us on iTunes, Spotify, or wherever you listen to podcasts. If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate through our KoFi site, kofi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the link over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Questions or comments? Feel free to Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.
That’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

Ō, Yasumaro, & Heldt, G. (2014). The Kojiki: An account of ancient matters. ISBN978-0-231-16389-7
Kim, P., Shultz, E. J., Kang, H. H. W., & Han'guk Chŏngsin Munhwa Yŏn'guwŏn. (2012). The Koguryo annals of the Samguk sagi. Seongnam-si, Korea: Academy of Korean Studies Press.
Bentley, John. (2006). The Authenticity of Sendai Kuji Hongi: a New Examination of Texts, with a Translation and Commentary. ISBN-90-04-152253
Best, J. (2006). A History of the Early Korean Kingdom of Paekche, together with an annotated translation of The Paekche Annals of the Samguk sagi. Cambridge (Massachusetts); London: Harvard University Asia Center. doi:10.2307/j.ctt1tg5q8p
Chamberlain, B. H. (1981). The Kojiki: Records of ancient matters. Rutland, Vt: C.E. Tuttle Co. ISBN4-8053-0794-3
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4
Philippi, D. L. (1968). Kojiki. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press. ISBN4-13-087004-1

Episode 42: The Seven-Branched Sword

June 1, 2021 Joshua Badgley

The seven-branched sword at Isonokami shrine. There are several reproductions that can be found in museums in Japan and Korea.

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This episode we are going to talk about the final events that the Nihon Shoki, at least, attributes to the reign of Okinaga Tarashi Hime, aka Jingū Kōgō. The Kojiki doesn’t go into the same level of detail, but does seem to attribute the interaction with King Chogo (see below) with Tarashi Hime’s son, Homuda Wake. There could certainly be some truth to this—the obsession in the Nihon Shoki with dates means that they seem determined to make Tarashi Hime’s dates match those of Queen Himiko. Unfortunately, the Nihon Shoki is our only real source for much of this, as the Kojiki and the Kūjiki don’t really deal much with the peninsula other than to discuss Tarashi Hime’s initial campaign against Silla and that’s it.

Or course, that also brings up questions about the entire narrative, since without other sources to compare it against, what did the Chroniclers change, add, or massage to make it fit their narrative? Well, in general we know that they definitely made some changes, such as using more favorable names for “Japan” and otherwise changing a character here or there, but in general I haven’t seen any real attempts to flat out make up a quotation. So when something says the the “Baekje Annals state…” I’m inclined to take the base narrative at face value, even if I question the bent. For instance, the Chroniclers put diplomatic gifts from the peninsula in the category of “tribute”, which conjures up a whole mindset of hierarchical relations that likely did not exist. Certainly when an embassy was entreating with another country they may have acted more subservient if they wanted something, but that may have been little more than diplomatic niceties. It could also have been the case that as things were being translated from one language to another, translators may have slightly editorialized just what was being said. All of this to say that I just don’t think we can read too much into the language to figure out some kind of exact hierarchical map of northeast Asia at this time. These were independent states that were still establishing themselves in their own territories, let alone in the larger geopolitical sphere.

So with that, let’s get into the locations and people discussed this episode—at least as best as we can tell. I will ask for some forgiveness on the pronunciation of things from this period. It is already one thing to determine Japanese pronunciation—I won’t get into it too much here other than to say Old Japanese had more than 5 vowels and had different pronunciations for various consonants. I usually default to modern Japanese for understanding. This gets even more confusing, though, with the names that could come from another language. So for the Korean names that we know, I’ll try to defer to the modern Korean pronunciation as best we know, with some exceptions, and for Chinese I’ll be deferring to modern Putonghua (i.e. Mandarin) where I can—or at least my best approximation. But for some of these, we don’t know the native language. The best we can do is to use the Chinese characters and determine a pronunciation based on that. These are not likely to be exact, but they should get us close. For the most part I’m deferring to others, such as Aston, on the pronunciation, but I’ll try to give you the characters here in case you want to do a more in depth look yourself.

Locations

Wa/Yamato - (倭・和・大和) - Of course, this is largely the name for the main focus of our attention, but I’d make a few notes. First, while the character “倭“ is often assumed to be derogatory, meaning “submissive” or “dwarf”, it was likely chosen because of its phonetic similarity for the name that the Wa people used for themselves. This is further emphasized by the fact that the Japanese themselves would keep the pronunciation “Wa” but use the more complimentary “和“, meaning “Peace”. However, even when using the term “Great Wa” for their state (大和) they would pronounce these all as “Yamato”, a note even made in some of the continental sources.

This is further confused in this particular period (4th-5th centuries) in that the Baekje, Silla, and Goguryeo writing refers to “Wa” (“Wae” in modern Korean), but it is unclear if they meant the Japanese on the archipelago or Japonic-speaking people in the southern part of the peninsula. So we end up with “Wa” as a general term for the larger ethnic groups of Japonic speaking people, while “Yamato” refers both to the state that would come to control the archipelago and the area of the Nara Basin.

As a final note on this, I try to refrain from using the term “Japan” until later. Eventually the Japanese themselves will ask to be known by the name “Nihon” (日本), which is probably about where I think it will be best to switch to using the term “Japan” for the state as a whole.

Baekje - (百済) - Also romanized as “Paekche”, which gets into a whole thing about how many east Asian languages focus more on aspiration while English tends to focus on voicing, but that’s neither here nor there. Sometimes you’ll also find this in Japanese as “Kudara” for reasons that are not at all clear to me or anyone that I’ve asked. It seems to be a later reading that came about and was attached to the Kingdom, possibly after its fall at the hands of Silla. It was located on the western edge of the Korean peninsula, stretching from somewhere north of modern Seoul all the way down to the southernmost tip.

One thing about Baekje—the Nihon Shoki takes a certain almost paternalistic view of Baekje, and treats Yamato as the senior party in any relationship. This is in keeping with a certain chauvinism on the part of the archipelago that is seen again and again throughout history. This will come up again in a famous note to one of the Sinic courts when the Japanese sovereign famously opens with the greeting: “From the ruler of the land where the sun rises to the ruler of the land where the sun sets.” This means that we see the Japanese put themselves in the driver’s seat of the various campaigns, whereas it is much more likely that Baekje was probably driving things on the peninsula, with Yamato forces backing them up.

Silla - (新羅) - Pronounced (and sometimes written as “Shilla”, it is also known in Japanese as “Shinra” or “Shiragi”. This was still a relatively small kingdom on the east coast of the Korean Peninsula, centered on the capital at the modern city of Gyeongju. Silla had a history of raids and attacks by the “Wa”—whether that was the people in the archipelago or the southern peninsula, it isn’t quite clear.

Thaksyun - (卓淳) - Aka “Taksun” or, in modern Japanese on’yomi pronunciation, “Tokushu”. The latter pronunciation is, in my opinion, the least likely option. Typically in these chronicles we are seeing either the Sinic characters (i.e. kanji) being used for their pronunciation—basically to “spell out” a name—or we are using them for their meaning, so that we are then using the Japanese (or in their case, the Old Japanese) pronunciation. Thus “Takeru” (e.g. Yamato Takeru) is written simply as “武” while a name like “Kibi” is written as “吉備” but Koshi is “越” and Izumo is “出雲”. In the case of Kibi we are seeing them use the “on’yomi” for the characters, but Koshi and Izumo both use the kun’yomi. In the case of the peninsula we generally assume that they are using the characters to phonetically spell the names unless we have reason to believe otherwise. It can also generally be assumed that they were, at the time, using a reading closer to the continental pronunciation of that time, assuming they were getting records from about the 4th century, rather than a modern Japanese on’yomi reading, as on’yomi have drifted some along with the rest of Japanese pronunciation in the centuries after.

As for where this was, we still aren’t sure. Some have suggested it was around modern Gimhae and near the mouth of the Nakdong river, which we know had contact with the archipelago from early on and was one of the stronger areas of the Kara (or Gaya) Confederacy. This is just conjecture, however, given its place in the story. It is possible that it was further west, closer to Mahan and Baekje.

Kara/Gaya States - (加倻・加羅 ) - The modern pronunciation in Korean is “Gaya” but given its importance to Japan and the word “Kara”, I am continuing to use that. Though it may have even been more like Karak or Garak, These states seem to have been the successor states to the Byeonhan (sometimes “Pyonhan”) of the three Han (三韓). That “Han” (or “Kan”) is the same word used to represent Korea today, and in later Japanese periods there was a confusion between the Samhan (Mahan, Byeonhan, and Jinhan) and the three Kingdoms of the peninsula (Baekje, Goguryeo, and Silla). While we believe that there was significant overlap in the territories of Mahan and Baekje, and possibly Silla and Jinhan, the Byeonhan states seem to have been in the south and become the Kara Confederacy, which may have attained the status of a Kingdom just before being swallowed up by Silla in later centuries. Goguryeo was, of course, in the north, at the head of the peninsula, and its territory is not considered part of the Samhan region by most scholars, today.

The general assumption is that the states that the Nihon Shoki claims Yamato and Baekje troops subdued were probably part of this group of states in and around the Nakdong river region. They may have just been city-states, and while some of the names reference Kara, others are unclear. They are, as romanized by Aston. Locations are pulled from Internet sources and I won’t put any real credibility there:

Pichapun - (比自㶱) - Possibly Bijabal? Some connect this with a place called Bihwa Gaya, centered on modern Changnyeong.
South Kara - (南加羅) - The meaning of this one seems clear. Other readings in Japanese include “Arihishi no Kara”, but I’m not sure when that reading comes about, much like “Kudara”
Tokkuk - (㖨国) - “The Country of Tok”. Possibly around the modern city of Changwon?
Ara - (安羅) - Possibly the area of modern “Haman” district?
Tara - (多羅) - Maybe the area of modern “Hapcheon” district?
Thaksyun - (卓淳) - We talked about Thaksyun, above.
Kara - (加羅) - This seems odd, especially with “South Kara”. It does seem that some of the states used “Kara” as part of their name, such as “Taekara”, or “Great Kara”, so this may be one of those.

Kohyechin (古爰津) and Chimmitanye (忱弥多礼・枕彌多禮?) - So I’ll be honest, I have no idea where these are, but the assumption is that they were in the southern tip of the region of the Mahan confederacy. Whether or not these were the actual last Mahan states to be conquered by Baekje is still a question, but they do seem to have been added to Baekje’s territory. Kohyechin is mentioned as being west of the conquests in Kara and then Chimmitanye is noted as being the “Southern” barbarians (and no, not those Southern Barbarians). The characters for Chimmitanye seem to vary depending on your source. I’ve tried to use the ones I’ve found.

Piri (比利), Phichung (辟中), Phomiki (布弥支), and Panko (半古) - These are even more obscure. I’ve seen some that seem to claim they are part of Kara but is suspect they would have been over in the region of Mahan, as they are said to have submitted to King Chogo on his journey to meet up with the rest of the army in the south.

The Village of Winiu - (意流村) - This seems to be a village somewhere in Baekje territory.

Mt. Phiki (辟支山) and Mt. Kosya (古沙山) - Likely mountains in Baekje, possibly of some importance to 4th century Baekje. I have no idea why they would give proclamations on one mountain and then another, but mountains would certainly be memorable reference points.

Tasya Castle (多沙城) - Again, we aren’t sure just where this might be. “Tasya” or “Tasha” castle would be one reading.

People

There are a lot of names in this episode, and I’m not referencing all of them here, but some of the more major players:

Okinaga Tarashi Hime no Mikoto (氣長足姫尊) - She doesn’t have much of a role here, other than the occasional pronouncement and ruling.

Takechi no Sukune (武内宿祢) - The extremely long-lived Prime Minister, who was extremely involved in the government, including planning the eventual campaign against Silla and others.

King Chogo (肖古・近肖古) (r. 346–375) - More popularly known as Geunchogo (the “recent” Chogo) to differentiate him from an early ruler of the same name in the Baekje annals. Historical records for Baekje were first officially kept during his reign, and he both consolidated the power of the King and expanded Baekje’s territory to its greatest extent.

Crown Prince Gusu (貴須・仇首・近仇首) (r. 375–384) - The Crown Prince of Baekje, who would follow his father’s rule, he likewise is known with the prefix “Geun-” to distinguish him from an earlier (probably fictional) ruler of the same name. He was something of a warrior. After the campaigns with Yamato, Prince Gusu led the Baekje forces against Goguryeo and took the fortress of Pyongyang, killing King Gogugwon of Goguryeo in the process.

Kutyeo (久氐), Michyunyu (彌州流), and Moko (莫古) - The three envoys from Baekje. Kutyeo seems to have been the lead envoy, as he is often the only one mentioned later in the account.

Shima no Sukune (斯摩宿禰) - “Sukune” is, of course, indication of his high rank in the court. He was clearly an ambassador of some kind, and seems to have been in charge of the mission that opened relations with Baekje, but like a good manager he mainly seems to have sent his subordinates to perform the actual duties.

Nihaya (爾波移) - Yamato’s initial representative to the Baekje court. Apparently a subordinate to Shima no Sukune. We don’t have much more information on him.

Kwako (過古) - A man from Thaksyun who accompanied Nihaya on his trip to Baekje. In all likelihood, he would have acted as a translator, as it is quite likely that none of the Yamato delegation had experience with the language of Baekje, but Thaksyun, situated as it was on the continent, likely had experience with their language OR knew that Baekje understood the Thaksyun language. Either way, he likely acted as interpreter and go-between.

Go Heung / Gao Xing (高興) - Often listed as a man of Baekje, but he was likely of Han ancestry. He is said to have written the first history and annals of Baekje, but his work is no longer extant. Nonetheless, it is assumed that later histories built off of his original work.

Chikuma Nagahiko / Shimana Nagahiko (千熊長彦・職麻那那加比跪) - Here we have the name from the Japanese records and the name that (at least according to the Nihon Shoki) is in the Baekje records of the time. The Japanese name uses kun’yomi reading of the characters, while the Baekje account has a name that is written phonetically. It is likely that the Baekje record didn’t capture the name exactly, a particular problem with attempting to transcribe names from other languages. Chikuma Nagahiko was the main envoy sent to investigate matters on the peninsula and who worked directly with King Chogo on the details of the Yamato-Baekje alliance.

Areda Wake (荒田別) and Kaga Wake (鹿我別) - The two Yamato generals who led the Yamato forces during the Baekje-Wa campaign on the peninsula. Typically, when multiple people are given, it seems that the first person is treated as the de facto leader of the group, and future references will often only name them.

Mongna Geuncha (木羅斤資) and Syasya Nokwe (沙沙奴跪) - The Baekje generals who participated, leading some of Baekje’s best troops, at least according to our sources.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is episode 42: The Seven-Branched Sword.
Less than 10 kilometers north of the ancient capital at the foot of Mt. Miwa lies the ancient shrine of the Mononobe Family. It is said to have been established during the time of Mimaki Iribiko, and it is said to house important artifacts such as the ten treasures said to have been brought over by the Silla prince-turned-kami Ame no Hiboko, whom we talked about back in Episode 30.
Since its founding, this shrine has been known for the swords that were donated to it—unsurprising given the Mononobe Family’s traditional role in the Yamato court overseeing military affairs. Even the kami worshipped at the main shrine is Futsu no Mitama—literally the spirit of tachikaze, the spirit of the sound of a sword cutting through the air. Not only were a ton of swords made by princes early in its history, but it is said to have even contained the sword that Susanowo had used to subdue the famous Yamata no Orochi, the giant 8-headed serpent of Izumo. That was the same serpent who had another sword in its tail, the sword known as Murakumo, aka Kusanagi no Tsurugi.
But none of these swords are what holds our interest this episode. Instead, it is an old iron sword—though sword only in the barest form, and definitely not function, as it has six protrusions, like mini-swords, three on each side, alternating left and right, all pointed forward, making the end the seventh sword, or branch. It is known as Shichi-shi-tou, or possibly Nanatsusaya no Tachi—the seven branched sword—and it is an important, if controversial and somewhat enigmatic—witness to history.
Most important to our purposes is an inscription on the sword that says it was made by the Sovereign of Baekje for the Sovereign of Wa in the year 369.
Which leaves us with a question: What was going on between Baekje and Yamato in 369?
As far as our narrative goes, we are probably around the early 360s. As you may recall, in the last few episodes, we saw Okinaga Tarashi Hime, aka Jingu, take control after the death of her husband, the 14th sovereign, Tarashi Naka tsu Hiko. She completed the subjugation of the Kumaso and then took her forces and invaded Silla—and all while she was pregnant. Returning to the archipelago, she gave birth to a son: Homuda Wake. The kami who had sent her to Silla had said this son would inherit everything, but not everyone felt that way. And so, after the fighting in Kyushu and the peninsula Tarashi Hime and her troops had to fight their way back to Yamato.
Through it all, Tarashi Hime was accompanied by her Oho-omi, or Prime Minister, the long-lived Takechi no Sukune.
Of course, up to this point, it is difficult to tell fact from fiction. The dates are all messed up, and the archaeological evidence doesn’t give us enough to build a full picture. We do know that in the 4th century there seems to have been a decline in the Miwa polity until a new power center emerged to the West, in Kawachi. In fact, while the traditional location of Tarashi Hime’s palace is in the Nara basin, along with her supposed mausoleum, the palace and mausoleum attributed to her son, Homuda Wake, as well as her husband, the previous sovereign, Tarashi Naka tsu Hiko, are both in the area of modern Ohosaka, in the area that used to be known as the country of Kawachi, rather than the area of Yamato proper.
Regardless of where the court may have been physically located, precisely, with the issue of succession finally behind them, the court was ready to reengage with the rest of the world—and in this case with the peninsula. This is where there is definitely some potential disagreement between the Kojiki and the Nihon Shoki, since the Nihon Shoki, which seems to be more directly drawing from dated accounts in Baekje records, puts this next piece in the reign of Tarashi Hime, while the Kojiki would seem to claim that it was happening during her son Homuda Wake’s reign. This is further confused by the fact that one could technically claim all of this as Homuda Wake’s reign anyway, if Tarashi Hime is simply the regent until he reaches his age of majority, meaning that it is entirely possible that both records are correct, just in different ways. That said, I’m sticking largely with the account in the Nihon Shoki, but really it is more about what is happening between Yamato and the Peninsula, so let’s not get too wrapped up in the players, per se.
Whatever the exact circumstances, it seems that Yamato was not satisfied with just raiding the peninsula, as lucrative a business as that may have been, but they decided to send envoys to open up formal diplomatic channels with the peninsula. It is possible that this had been done previously, but the records are not extremely detailed, and it is difficult to confirm dates. If they did establish early ties, it was likely with the region of Kara or Gaya, which seems to have been closely tied to the islands through trade and material culture at the very least. Kara was still more of a confederation of states, though, and not so much a kingdom in terms of how one might describe the later Silla or Baekje states. And so the ties between Kara and Yamato were probably less binding and I expect they were limited. Now, those connections were about to expand, and the Yamato Court wouldn’t just be reaching out to others, but it looked like others were reaching out to them as well.
Based on our corrected dating, it looks like in about the year 364, it would seem that the King of Baekje was seeking contact with the Wa on the archipelago. He is said to have sent three envoys, named Kutyeo, Michyunyu, and Moko to the state of Thak-sun to try to find a way across the straits to the islands and the nation of formidable pirates that lived there. However, it seems that the King of Thak-sun, which we assume was probably along the southeastern shores of the peninsula, was not familiar with the way across the sea. Disappointed, but undeterred, the envoys headed back to Baekje, where they were going to start a new project to build ships that could make the journey and seek out the people across the water.
It was nearly two years after they had departed that an ambassador from Yamato, Shima no Sukune, arrived in Thaksyun himself, and he was told about Baekje’s earlier request for an audience. Shima no Sukune seems to have stayed at the Thaksyun court, but he sent one of his companions, a fellow by the name of Nihaya, as well as a Thaksyun man, named something like Kwako, as envoys to the King of Baekje.
Now the Samguk Sagi is strangely silent on this embassy, but that may be because it has a gaping hole between the years of 347 and 366. What we know of this period is that it was during the reign of one of Baekje’s greatest kings, known as Chogo or, more commonly today, Geun-Chogo, or the Later Chogo, to differentiate him from a likely fictitious 3rd century namesake. Now Chogo is significant not only for the actions that he took as king, but he is also the first king in the Baekje Annals for whom it is said there were actual written records, as the court began keeping track of things about this time. Writing had, of course, been available in the peninsula, but it was in Chogo’s court that they began to really chronicle the important events and keep track of them from year to year.
In fact, Samguk Sagi gives us an actual individual in the reign of Chogo who was said to have kept this record. His name in Korean would be Go Heung, though he may have been an ethnic Han official named Gao Xing. With the destruction of the Commanderies, the former commandery staff would have had the choice to either return back to the mainland of China, or to stay on the peninsula and look for new ways to ply their particular trade. Of course, being versed in the bureaucratic ways of the Chinese courts, they would have had skills of interest to growing states like Baekje. It is quite likely that Gao Xing, then, was not the only bureaucrat to be given a position.
But of course, this means that record-keeping was still quite new, which could explain why none of this is mentioned in the Samguk Sagi. It could be that it was all just too recent a development, or that even if records were written down, they didn’t have a good way to keep and store them, and so by the time of the Samguk Sagi they may have been no longer extant. There is also the possibility that these events were not considered significant enough to record—or at least not significant enough to record in later records, as both the Samguk Sagi and the Nihon Shoki are giving us only an abridged version of things, picking and choosing the historical events that the chroniclers found to be of interest, and often filling with tales from other records where they could.
It is also possible that much of this was made up later to fit the facts—at least the facts as known in Yamato. Still, why would they bring up Thaksyun and this elaborate method of getting in contact with Baekje if there wasn’t something there? I suspect that there is at least a kernel of truth to all of this.
Speaking of which, I hate to tell you this but we aren’t quite sure where this middleman state of Thak-syun is. The best we can figure is that it was probably a coastal state, probably in the region of the Kara states—perhaps even a peninsular Wa state, which could explain both their connection with the archipelago and why Baekje would have made an assumption that they might know how to get to Yamato.
So what exactly could King Chogo want with Yamato, anyway? What reason could he have for reaching out? Well, as you may recall, Baekje was still expanding. Since at least the fall of the Commanderies, if not earlier, they had been taking over the territory of the Mahan states, and it seems that around this time they were eyeing the few states left in the southernmost tip of the Korean peninsula. In addition, there was a threat in the north in the form of Baekje’s sister kingdom of Goguryeo. At the same time, they had conflicts with the rising power of Silla, whom the Wa themselves were apparently antagonizing a well. It would have made perfect sense for Baekje, beset from all sides, to court these coastal raiders to help them against their enemies. In return, Yamato would receive recognition from a continental power, providing legitimacy. Given what we’ve seen so far, it appears as though Yamato’s grip on power had slipped earlier in the century, and if Tarashi Hime and her son were to reestablish some form of control, the prestige that would come with such a relationship may have been significant.
Of course, the Japanese frame all of this as the Kingdom of Baekje paying tribute. Indeed, they claim that they offered bolts of fabric, a horn-bow and arrows, and, perhaps most significantly, 40 bars of iron. These were all bestowed upon the Yamato envoy, Nihaya, with promises of more. Heck, the King of Baekje even showed him his treasure house, which Nihaya took to mean he was offering it in tribute, though I suspect it was more likely being shown off as a sign of Baekje’s wealth and a potential for future profit if Yamato would join them.
This was enough for Nihaya. He apparently provided instructions on how to get to Yamato, and then he headed back to Thak-syun, where he met back up with Shima no Sukune and relayed everything that he had heard and seen, and Shima no Sukune got back in his boats and headed back to Yamato to relay the request to the court.
Sure enough, in the following year, 367, the three Baekje envoys, Kutyeo, Michyunyu, and Moko, sailed off to Yamato, but they ran into a bit of snag. It seems that they were waylaid by men of Silla, who captured the envoys. They would have just killed them and taken the tribute, but Kutyeo thought quickly and pronounced a curse that made them hesitate. The Silla bandits held them for three months, trying to determine what they would do. Finally, they seem to have hit on a plan—the men of Silla would add themselves to the embassy traveling to Yamato. Since Yamato was already preparing for the Baekje ambassadors, and the Silla men could just as easily claim that they wished to pay tribute as well. After all, the Yamato court seems to have believed that Silla would pay them regularly after their earlier raid, and it may even have been the case that these bandits were, themselves, actually an official party from the Silla court, already taking a form of payment-slash-bribe to Yamato in accordance with the agreement that Yamato would cease their raids. Either way, from what we know of the typical tribute trade, this could likely have been quite lucrative, as the court that was being visited was expected to provide even more in gifts than the tribute itself in order to demonstrate their own status, power, and wealth—at least if they wanted to look like the great continental powers they seemed to be modeling after.
Of course, for the men of Silla to get the most out of this, they would need to make sure that their tribute was worthy of a reciprocal gift from Yamato, and what they had with them seems to have been sub-par, at best. Fortunately, however, what they did have was the Baekje tribute, and so they decided to simply pass that off as their own, and since it would look suspicious if the Baekje men showed up with nothing at all, they left them the scraps and the bottom of the barrel.
Then they warned the Baekje ambassadors that if they said anything about this turn of events they would slaughter all of them.
And so it was that they showed up together at the Yamato Court. Immediately, Tarashi Hime suspected something was off. After the report by Shima no Sukune, the tribute that the Baekje envoys had seemed meager and wholly inappropriate to the status of the two nations. Meanwhile, the erstwhile Silla ambassadors seemed to have top quality goods. The Baekje ambassadors, heedless of their own safety, explained what was going on, but it seems it was just Baekje’s word against Silla’s. Someone would need to go to the peninsula and investigate and figure out who was telling the truth. Okinaga Tarashi Hime asked the kami about this, and they deferred to our good friend, Takechi no Sukune, to come up with a plan. After thinking about it for a bit, he appointed Chikuma Nagahiko.
And here the chronicles make a note that while the Japanese account says his name is Chikuma Nagahiko a no longer extant account from the old Baekje Annals that the Japanese chroniclers were using claimed that his name was Shimana Nagahiko.
And so Chikuma Nagahiko went to the continent, presumably with a goon squad in tow. They don’t quite tell us just how he investigated, and as much as I’d like to think he was the Poirot of his time, utilizing “zee leetle grey cells”, I suspect that he just made a trip up to Baekje and confirmed with them what they were sending for tribute, since Baekje and Yamato had diplomatic ties. I mean, technically Yamato may have had ties with Silla, but I doubt they were very friendly. Sure, Silla may have paid them off years ago, but that was hardly an amicable relationship.
Sure enough, Chikuma Nagahiko confirmed the Baekje envoys’ story, and Nagahiko began to work to call Silla to account, staying in Baekje to organize the eventual military assault. This culminated in the following year, in 369—the same year as found on the that strange seven-branched sword—when the campaign was to commence. Yamato sent Areda Wake and Kaga Wake as generals, and they brought Kutyeo, the lead Baekje envoy, on their way to their peninsular ally, Thak-syun, where they gathered their forces to invade Silla. However, someone noted that the forces were short a few troops. After all, this wasn’t just some raid—pop up the river and you’re done. Yamato had grander plans than that. And so they sent a man to Baekje to ask for reinforcements. Sure enough, King Chogo sent two Baekje generals, Mongna Keuncha and Syasya Nokwe, to take command of some of his best troops.
Together, the Baekje and Yamato troops invaded Silla, and then continued their attack on several surrounding states of Kara, named in the Chronicles as Pichapun, South Kara, Tokkuk, Ara, Tara, Thak-syun, and Kara. They then turned westward to Kohyechin and destroyed the people of Chimmitanye, granting that land to King Chogo and Baekje. King Chogo and his son, King Kusu, made their way down with troops, and four other settlements—those of Piri, Phichung, Phomiki, and Panko, all surrendered without a fight.
Finally, the main force and the extra troops under the royal banner of Baekje met up together in the village of Winiu. Mongna Geuncha and Areda Wake came before King Chogo, who congratulated them on a job well done and dismissed them, essentially ending hostilities. The generals could return home to their respective countries.
Chikuma Nagahiko, who had apparently spent the war at the Baekje court as Yamato’s envoy to King Chogo remained there in the country after the armies had left. Together, he went with the king to the top of Mt. Phiki and Mt. Kosya, where together they could make solemn declarations to one another. Here, King Chogo found a large rock on which to sit, since grass or wood might be burned or washed away. There he offered unending friendship to Yamato, and said that they could consider Baekje as their “Western Frontier Province” and they would regularly exchange tribute. And with that, the Baekje and Yamato alliance was formed.
So let’s talk about some of this. Obviously the account I’ve given here is what we have coming out of the Japanese Chronicles, and those may have a bias to them. As noted earlier, the Samguk Sagi is largely silent on this whole affair: the Baekje annals of the Samguk Sagi have a void until 366, when there is a record that Baekje sent envoys to a Silla on what they list as a “courtesy visit”, while there is a record in Silla of an attack by the “Wa” two years earlier, in 364. And then, in 368 CE, we see a record that Baekje supposedly sent two horses to Silla as either tribute or a gift of some kind—only a year before the supposed campaign. Of course, none of this is exactly contradictory, though it may speak to the scope of the campaign, which I suspect was much grander in the minds of Yamato, whereas on the peninsula they may not have thought as much of it. Also, once again, the Samguk Sagi has a decidedly pro-Silla slant to its narrative. The fact that the Japanese chroniclers are quoting what they call the “Baekje Annals”—court records and histories of Baekje that for some reason were not included in later Korean compilations—confuses this even more.
And then there is the confusion about names throughout the Japanese account. Putting aside the fact that one of the states they subdued, Thak-syun, is the same state that was the middleman early on, and who seemed to be on friendly terms with Yamato, previously in the narrative, many of these names don’t seem to exist anywhere else, but they don’t seem unreasonable. Remember, much of the peninsula was made up of smaller states, which may or may not have been part of larger confederations. It is little wonder that many places may have come and gone in the chaotic period during the formation of the three kingdoms—that is, Goguryeo, Baekje, and Silla—without ever making it into the historical record. And then most of the names were deliberately changed in later centuries. This has been particularly frustrating for linguists, erasing much of the evidence of the original languages and linguistic evolution of the peninsula, which are most often captured in the names of ancient places.
Overall, while the details may be embellished, it does seem that Yamato and Baekje worked together. Whether or not they attacked Silla is perhaps a question, but it seems perfectly reasonable that they may have attacked some of the states in the south of the peninsula—including in the southernmost tip—perhaps the last vestiges of the Mahan confederacy. While the Samguk Sagi claims that all of Mahan had been subsumed into Baekje well before this point, that is likely more propaganda than fact, part of the attempt to stretch events of the last 80 years back over several centuries.
One more thing to bring up here is the supposed lasting presence of Japan on the peninsula. It is possible that some of the states in the region—particularly those with populations of peninsular Japonic speaking Wa people—aligned themselves with the archipelago. Perhaps this is what is meant when they claim to have subdued places like Thaksyun. It is possible, and I want to stress here that we are talking possibility and not verified fact, that parts of the Korean peninsula at this point came under Yamato hegemony, at least in name. As we’ve seen on the archipelago itself, it is hard to say that there was any kind of firm control of the islands, so why would the there be anything more secure on the peninsula? And yet, by placing themselves into the Yamato sphere the peninsular regions may have accomplished several things. For one, they would theoretically be safe from the piratical raids of Japanese boats. In addition, they would be able to play the part of intermediary—much as Thak-syun seems to have done—between the peninsula and the islands. Finally, if they were Japonic-speaking peoples, there may have simply been a greater kinship felt with the islands, especially as the Koguryoic speaking people were pushing down from the north and expanding their influence in the peninsula.
What I don’t see is some kind of colony of Yamato on the peninsula. I’m not seeing anything resembling direct control of people or territory. Just so we’re clear.
So whether or not there really was some shenanigans with tribute payments or gifts or anything like that, there likely was some kind of alliance between Baekje and Yamato, and we’ll see more evidence as the Chronicles go on—so this is as good a place as any to assume that it started. More likely than not, Baekje was seeking Yamato’s help with its interests on the peninsula. Later Japanese chroniclers would no doubt play this up, but the idea that Yamato had some form of military influence and may have even helped Baekje finish their consolidation of the Mahan territories is not all that far-fetched. There are certainly elements that sound familiar to stories from the archipelago—for example, that whole thing about sitting on a rock to make their statements? I can’t help but think of all the rocks scattered throughout Japan that are little more than “Naninani-Tennou sat here”, which seems somewhat odd, but would make more sense if these were traditional places to make agreements and similar pronouncements. Unfortunately, this is just an idea at the moment—I have nothing in particular to back it up besides a few “traditional” sites that you can find on Google Maps and this reference, but we’ll keep our eyes peeled as we continue to read through the accounts.
But for now, let’s not dwell too much on the hypothetical rabbit hole, but rather take a look at something a bit more concrete—like that sword. So where is it? We saw the events of 369, which the sword seems to commemorate, but where did the sword come from? Well, let’s dig a little bit more into the narrative.
So Chikuma Nagahiko had stayed back for a time in Baekje while the troops sailed off. They arrived back in Yamato in the 2nd month of 370. Only three months later, Chikuma Nagahiko came back—apparently they had finished up any last remaining details, and possibly Yamato had sent a permanent ambassador. Nagahiko was accompanied on his return voyage by a familiar face: Kutyeo, the lead ambassador from Baekje.
Now the sovereign, Okinaga Tarashi Hime, seems to have been a bit perplexed by this, at first. After all, hadn’t they just finished the task of subduing the peninsula and giving the Western countries, as Yamato called them, to Baekje? What business could Baekje have with Yamato so soon after?
But Kutyeo was chosen as an ambassador for a reason, and he charmed the sovereign, flattering her with promises that Baekje would return every year for the next 10,000 years to attend the Yamato court—which would include the promise of gifts and trade, which wasn’t too bad a deal for Yamato, so Okinaga Tarashi Hime gave Baekje the castle of Tasya for future missions.
By the way, when we say “Castle” I expect that many of you know already that we aren’t talking about tall stone buildings with towers, and keeps, nor even the later Japanese castles, with their tiled rooves and white exteriors. It may be that this was simply a walled enclosure of some kind—perhaps built on a mountain, though not necessarily. Unfortunately, I’m not even sure we know where this was—it may have been on the peninsula or the archipelago, and may have been a dedicated port for the missions, much like the later Kourokan, an official government guesthouse set up in the area of modern Fukuoka City for envoys from the continent in the late 7th century and used through at least the 11th century. This brings up a whole set of interesting questions for those who care about the administrative aspects of history: Did the Yamato court set up warehouses for the goods? Would they have had administrators to help organize the missions as they arrived? Messengers to alert the court—after all you don’t want to be surprised. All of these kind of apparatuses would have provided the kind of infrastructure needed to host embassies, which could be a natural evolution if the court was going to be more involved in what was going on over on the continent.
Indeed, Kutyeo would return the following year, in 371, with gifts, and Tarashi Hime sent both Chikuma Nagahiko and her own prime minister, Takechi no Sukune, on a return mission back to Baekje.
The following year, 372, Kutyeo returned, and this time he had, in and among the tribute being brought from Baekje two items of particular interest to us. One was a “Seven Children Mirror” (Nanatsu-ko-kagami) and the other, you may have already guessed, was a Seven Branched Sword. If you think that these seem like the kinds of Kingly gifts that were being given in the archipelago, you’re right, except that you may notice that the auspicious number here seems to be seven, rather than eight, and the specific shape of this sword very much resembles peninsular motifs.
This has been pretty phenomenal. I talked a bit about the sword at the start of the episode, but let’s go into a bit more depth. It is an iron sword, and one side, it includes the date, the 4th year of Taihe, a Chinese year name that equates to 369 CE. On the other side is another inscription that appears to state that it was given by the King and Crown Prince of Baekje to the King, or ruler, of Wa, aka Yamato.
Of course, as with so many of these things, that is not the only reading of this particular phrase. Some point to language that would indicate that the so-called “King of Wa” was in a subordinate position to the King of Baekje, and certainly there may have been some of that from Baekje’s perspective, just as the Japanese Chronicles make Yamato out to be the superior member of the partnership.
Just to add to the controversy, the inscription wasn’t even known to exist until 1870, when it was noticed underneath the rust that had accumulated over the centuries. It was cleaned up and the characters were filled in with gold—something that also was done to the mei, or signature, on various other swords in the Edo period. Of course, that almost always leads to someone challenging the actual characters and whether or not they were altered in the conservation efforts.
On top of just the reading, there is the dating. 369 CE seems the accepted date in the inscription, but it looks like it may have been made by smiths over in the territory ruled by the Eastern Jin court, who by this time had moved to their southern capital to the area of modern Nanjing. Some have suggested that the first inscription was already there when it was received by Baekje, who then added their own inscription afterwards. I that is the case, then the date may be irrelevant to whatever the circumstances were for handing over the sword.
Of course, another explanation could be that a custom tribute sword like this took time. 369 may have been the year it was commissioned, and it may have taken three years to have it made, transported back to Baekje, and then taken to Yamato. Indeed, we do know that in the first month of 372, a Baekje embassy arrived at the Eastern Jin court, and a return mission to Baekje by the Eastern Jin was sent only five months later. Perhaps this is when the sword was acquired and sent to Yamato.
Regardless of the exact details, there definitely seems to be a clear friendship between Baekje and Yamato, and this alliance would prove useful well into the future.
The rest of the account in the Nihon Shoki seems a bit off. There is an account about Katsuraki Sotsuhiko out of a Baekje annal that seems to be almost a duplicate of what we see in the reign of Homuda Wake, but other than that, the main highlights seem to be the death of King Chogo in 375, the death of his son, King Kusu, in 384, and then the death of King Kusu’s son, King Chimnyu, only a year later, allowing his brother, Chinsa to take the throne in Baekje. A year after that, they claim Tarashi Hime finally passed on herself—a year that happens to correspond with the record of the death of Himiko, so I have a hard time taking it all at face value, rather than one more convenient fiction to make all the dates line up nicely.
Add to this the issue that the Kojiki, which really doesn’t have any dates, equates King Chogo’s time on the throne with the reign of Homuda Wake. For his part, Homuda Wake’s reign seems to continue until 430, but again, this could be overlap caused by the need to somehow get past about 120 years in the narrative.
And that brings me back around to the biggest problem we have as we make a transition from the legendary to historical periods—while we have some confidence that certain events likely happened, it is unclear that they are situated in the appropriate reign. For example, I would not be at all surprised if Homuda Wake’s reign and Tarashi Hime’s reign overlapped—we are still in an era where ruling pairs would not be entirely out of the question. It doesn’t help that most of the continental sources simply discuss the “Wa” as doing something, or the “King of Wa”, without providing any kind of name. I’ll continue to do my best to piece this all together, and we’ll pick our way through, but you should be aware that there are other interpretations of what was going on in this period.
And who knows? Maybe some new evidence will pop up in an excavation of a previously undisturbed kofun that will shed more light on the subject. For now we will continue to chip away at what we can see, realizing that there is still a fair amount of conjecture.
But regardless of whose reign this all occurred in, I think there is evidence that Yamato and Baekje did open relations during the reign of King Chogo. King Chogo would go on to push into Goguryeo’s territory, expanding Baekje to its further extent throughout that nation’s history.
And that’s what we’ll dive into next episode—the reign of Homuda Wake, aka Oujin Tennou. We’ll take a similar approach to Tarashi Hime and try to get a handle on just where we are, temporally. There are actually a fair number of stories about continued interactions both with the peninsula and on the archipelago, especially as more and more people arrive from Baekje and elsewhere for a wide variety of reasons.
So, until next time, thank you for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us on iTunes, Spotify, or wherever you listen to podcasts. If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate through our KoFi site, kofi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the link over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Questions or comments? Feel free to Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.
That’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

Ō, Yasumaro, & Heldt, G. (2014). The Kojiki: An account of ancient matters. ISBN978-0-231-16389-7
Kim, P., & Shultz, E. J. (2013). The 'Silla annals' of the 'Samguk Sagi'. Gyeonggi-do: Academy of Korean Studies Press.
2013; Vovin, Alexander (2013). “From Koguryo to T’amna: Slowly riding to the South with speakers of Proto-Korean”, Korean Linguistics 15:2, University of Hawai’i at Mānoa
Kim, P., Shultz, E. J., Kang, H. H. W., & Han'guk Chŏngsin Munhwa Yŏn'guwŏn. (2012). The Koguryo annals of the Samguk sagi. Seongnam-si, Korea: Academy of Korean Studies Press.
Bentley, John R. (2008). “The Search for the Language of Yamatai”. Japanese Language and Literature (42-1). 1-43. Retrieved from https://www.jstor.org/stable/30198053
Bentley, John. (2006). The Authenticity of Sendai Kuji Hongi: a New Examination of Texts, with a Translation and Commentary. ISBN-90-04-152253
Best, J. (2006). A History of the Early Korean Kingdom of Paekche, together with an annotated translation of The Paekche Annals of the Samguk sagi. Cambridge (Massachusetts); London: Harvard University Asia Center. doi:10.2307/j.ctt1tg5q8p
Shultz, E. (2004). An Introduction to the "Samguk Sagi". Korean Studies, 28, 1-13. Retrieved April 11, 2021, from http://www.jstor.org/stable/23720180
Chamberlain, B. H. (1981). The Kojiki: Records of ancient matters. Rutland, Vt: C.E. Tuttle Co. ISBN4-8053-0794-3
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4
Philippi, D. L. (1968). Kojiki. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press. ISBN4-13-087004-1

Episode 41: Trouble on the Homefront

May 16, 2021 Joshua Badgley

Jingū and Takechi no Sukune, armored up for battle. Of course, in this Edo period depiction, they are anachronistically in armor that is many centuries out of date, but it still depicts them as warriors.

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This episode we take a look at what happened after Tarashi Hime returned from Korea, and the story of how she secured the throne for her infant son. This episode does have a lot of names in it, admittedly, so we’ll try to go through the who’s who for you.

Okinaga Tarashi Hime

We should be well acquainted with our main protagonist by this point. Her father is said to have been Okinaga no Sukune, grandson of Hiko Imasu, who was a half-brother to the tenth sovereign and August Founder, Mimaki Iribiko. Both Hiko Imasu and Mimaki Iribiko (Sujin Tennō) claimed descent from Waka Yamato Neko Hiko Oho Hihi, aka (Kaika Tennō). Meanwhile, on her mother’s side she claimed descent through Kadzuraki no Takanuka Hime, a descendant of the Tajima line from Ame no Hiboko. Ame no Hiboko is said to have been a Silla prince who came over back around the time of Mimaki Iribiko, and the Kojiki specifically waits until they are telling the story of Homuda Wake, Tarashi Hime’s son, before they tell his story, which would seem to indicate that it was really more about the connections with his story then about Ame no Hiboko himself. Below, I’ve tried to give you a rough breakdown of the generations, with the paternal line on top and the maternal line down below:

LINEAGE OF Okinaga Tarashi Hime:
- Yamato Neko Hiko Oho Hihi + Oke tsu Hime
  - Hiko Imasu + Woke tsu Hime
    - Yamashiro no Oho Tsutsuki no Mawaka + Tanba no Ajisawa Bime
      - Kanime Ikazuchi + Takaki Hime
        Okinaga no Sukune
        Okinaga Tarashi Hime
        Kadzuraki no Takanuka Hime
      - Tajima Hitaka + Yuradomi
    - Tajima Hinaraki
  - Tajima Hine
- Tajima Morosuke
Ame no Hiboko + Maetsumi

Homuda Wake

Homuda Wake would eventually be the next sovereign. His birth is considered rather miraculous, as he was conceived before his father, Tarashi Naka tsu Hiko, died, but he wasn’t born until after Okinaga Tarashi Hime returned from her campaign in Korea. By the count in the Nihon Shoki that would seem to be three years, which is highly unlikely. A quick Internet search turns up the pregnancy of Beulah Hunter, which went 375 days, while in 2016 a woman claimed to be pregnant for 17 months, though it seems that it could not be fully verified and some doctors had their doubts. So it is possible that Homuda Wake was abnormally long in the womb, and even that he was born after Tarashi Hime went to Silla and back, but it likely wasn’t a full thirty six months.

Quite notably, Tarashi Naka tsu Hiko doesn’t seem to have ever known his son. He passed away before the kami were able to break the news to Tarashi Hime that she was pregnant. This means that he was never officially appointed as the Crown Prince and heir to the throne—in fact, all we really have is the vision of the kami that said he would be the ruler.

Takechi no Sukune

AKA Take-Uchi no Sukune, Takeshi-Uchi no Sukune, Take-no-Uchi no Sukune, and Uchi no Ason. We’ve talked about him before, of course. The “Take” in his name would seem to be the same as in Yamato Takeru—that is, “Brave”—which seems appropriate given his involvement . In the latter name, used by Kuma no Kori in his poem, Takechi no Sukune is given the title of Asomi, or Ason. This is a title that has roots in the Korean courts, and was likely imported at a later time, but its use here, as we are seeing more and more connection with the peninsula, is interesting, to say the least.

Ō Naka tsu Hime

Another wife of Tarashi Naka tsu Hiko, the 14th sovereign (aka Chūai Tennō). She was the mother of the princes Kakosaka Hiko and Oshikuma. Her father was Hikobito no Ohine (aka Hiko Hito no Ohoye), and his parents were the 12th sovereign, Oho Tarashi Hiko and Inabi no Waka Iratsume. So she had essentially married her cousin. Several things that strike me about her and this lineage. First, she seems firmly placed in the context of the Tarashi dynasty. On top of this, her name, along with that of her husband, seems to form a Hiko Hime pair. The explanation of “Naka” is given that Tarashi Naka tsu Hiko was the middle of three brothers. Is that the same story for his wife? Or was there some place called Naka? It is unclear. But it bolsters an idea that perhaps Kakosaka Hiko and Oshikuma had a more legitimate claim than the Chronicles make it out to seem.

Prince Kakosaka Hiko

AKA Kagosaka. His name looks suspiciously like a title—the Lord/Prince of Kako Hill. According to the Chronicles, he is said to have been the eldest son of the 14th sovereign, Tarashi Naka tsu Hiko and Oho Naka tsu Hime.

Prince Oshikuma

The younger brother of Kakosaka Hiko. Perhaps. That’s what the Chronicles say, at least. I only wonder about this because of the name element “kuma”. Typically assumed to be “bear” there certainly are a lot of “kuma” names that show up in the Chronicles for these stories. Most notably, there was the campaign against the Kumaso—probably the Kuma and So. And then we have people in Kyushu like Kumawani and Kumawashi. Then there is Oshikuma, and on the other side there is Take Furukuma. There is even a Kuma no Kori. What it actually means I don’t know that I could say, but the prevalence of this name element certainly seems odd, and with the seeming abandonment of the Miwa area, I wonder if it indicates other groups that were coming to power, bringing new names and traditions with them. Or it could just be that the name element “kuma” became popular around this time. Who knows?

Kurami Wake and Isachi no Sukune

These are the generals who came with the soldiers from the east. We don’t have a lot of information about them, but they seem to have been major players. “Wake” indicates a title—the Chronicles claim it means that they are a royal prince that was separated (“wake”) from the royal lineage. There is also evidence that it may have just been a noble title at the time, so this could just be something like the Lord of Kurami. His partner in all of this, Isachi no Sukune, carries the title of Sukune, just like the once and future prime minister, Takechi no Sukune. Of course, we know that Sukune is a high ranking title in the court—look at Takechi no Sukune. So these are individuals of some status, lending credence to the idea that Kakosaka Hiko and Oshikuma had some powerful backers.

Take Furukuma

Tarashi Hime’s main general during the conflict. Sometimes his role is usurped in the Chronicles by Takechi no Sukune, but that may just be a case of Takechi being a more memorable figure in general. This is one problem with things like oral history, where it is easy for stories to accrue to the more famous individual, while others become forgotten. He is said to have been an ancestor of the Wani no Omi, a rather powerful family whom we’ve already seen pop up here and there throughout the stories.

Kuma no Kori

As far as we can tell, this was just a soldier in Oshikuma’s forces who composed a song that mocked Takechi no Sukune, or, as the song calls him, Uchi no Ason. Other than showing the importance of verse to the early Japanese, we also get a glimpse at a possible seperate mode of address for Takechi no Sukune. I would also note that hwere we have one more person with the name “kuma”

Izasa Wake no Ōkami

THis is the name given for the god of Kehi that wants to exchange names with the young prince Homuda Wake. In the end he is also known as Mike tsu Ōkami, because of the way he helped out with the offering for the ritual.

Tarashi Hime's Campaign:

Map of the likely route of the campaign, based on the sources, as well as the location of Kehi, also mentioned in this episode. Click to enlarge. Original map by Ash_Crow, CC BY-SA 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons. Modified by author.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is Episode 41: Trouble On the Home Front
Now, before we get started, just a quick shout-out to Steve-O for donating to support the show. If you’d like to join him and just help us keep this thing going, we always appreciate any donations at kofi.com/sengokudaimyo. That’s ko(dash)fi.com/sengokudaimyo.
So, from the last episode, we’ve been talking about Okinaga Tarashi Hime, aka Jinguu, and her supposedly successful assault on the Korean peninsula. Of course, as we covered, and despite what the Chronicles would have us believe, this likely wasn’t the first time that warriors from the archipelago had gathered in boats and made the journey across the straits. In fact, if anything, Jinguu’s invasion may have been a story that encompassed numerous different assaults and generalized them into a single campaign. And it really is unlikely that the outcome of the raid was that anyone on the peninsula felt subjugated to Yamato, though there certainly may have been some payments made to hopefully prevent future raids.
“Hey Silla—those are some nice villages you have there. It would be a shame if anything were to happen to them.”
Either way, though, that is all only the beginning of Okinaga Tarashi Hime’s story in the Chronicles, and though they don’t exactly count her as a sovereign—the Nihon Shoki continues to refer to her by her title as wife of the sovereign and regent—one has to wonder at the fact that she gets to have her own book in the Chronicles. Not even Yamato Takeru can make that claim, and he was supposedly the one whose lineage would rule the archipelago.
I’ll drop a quick note here that the fact that she isn’t counted as a sovereign is not just something that we talk about today. Kitabatake Chikafusa, writing his own history in the 14th century, known as the Jinnou Shoutouki, gives Tarashi Hime her due and treats her with full honors, claiming she was actually the 15th sovereign, not just a regent. On top of that, there are many other records that accord her with titles, often anachronistic, that are otherwise only used for the other sovereigns of Japan. So even though the Nihon Shoki may not deign to give her the title, she certainly seems to have been a sovereign in all but name.
So there she was, a ruler with a powerful army and direct connections to the kami. Okinaga Tarashi Hime must have been at a high point. Her campaign against Silla had been successful, and she likely came back to the archipelago in quite a good mood. She probably would have been celebrating, if it weren’t for the fact that she had other things on her mind. For according to the Chronicles, no sooner had she gotten back to the island of Kyuushuu but she went into labor. The child she had been carrying finally was due. Before departing for the mainland she had performed a ritual involving a couple of white stones to put off the birth until she returned, and according to the stories, this must have been some medicine, because the Nihon Shoki claims she was gone for three years. Of course, this is still at a time when the Japanese weren’t exactly great at date-keeping, so it could easily be the case that three years was anything but. Still, they don’t seem to think anything of it—after all, she had done the ritual thing with the rocks, right? So all was good.
Now, though, she had successfully returned, and it was time for her to give birth. We aren’t given the details—did they have time to set up a parturition hut for her, or did it come on suddenly? All we know is that her birth was successful, and resulted in a healthy baby boy who would be known to posterity as Homuda Wake, aka—and this may be a bit of a spoiler—Oujin Tennou.
The birth of her son was likely great news for Tarashi Hime, but it also put her in a bind. After all, Homuda Wake was only a baby—just a newborn infant—and however legitimate his claim to his father’s throne, he was hardly the only one with such a claim. Tarashi Hime and her prime minister, Takechi no Sukune, both knew that their position was tenuous, even with their recent successes on the continent. It seems that Yamato wasn’t quite as unified as the Chronicles might have us believe.
Now, up to this point, the title of sovereign seems to have been passed down from one ruler to the next in a fairly orderly succession—or so we are led to believe. It may not have been the eldest child, and not even the child of the sovereign’s first wife, but it does seem to have largely just happened. But then again, was it really in the Chroniclers’ interest to try to challenge the legitimacy of the royal family? Wasn’t building an unbroken lineage back to Amaterasu Ohokami, the sun goddess herself, one of their key tasks?
And yet, despite all of that, there are hints throughout the stories that we’ve read that there were plenty of places where history may have taken a different turn—stories that may even cover up times when the lineage did break, only to be stitched back together through the efforts of some rather creative story tellers. Remember how Ninigi no Mikoto wasn’t the only Heavenly Descendant? There was also Nigi Hayahi no Mikoto, the ancestor of the Mononobe clan. Then, after Iware Biko had conquered Yamato, removing Nigi Hayahi’s descendants, his own chosen heir had to deal with a jealous older brother who wanted the throne. Then there was Prince Take Haniyasu and his wife, who apparently thought they should be in charge rather than his nephew Mimaki Iribiko. And of course, how can we forget that all of this was being compiled after Ohoama – aka Emperor Temmu - had usurped the throne of his own nephew in what would be known as the Jinshin no Ran. It wasn’t enough to just be named the heir, you had to be able to fight for it as well.
I think we can safely assume that Tarashi Hime and Takechi no Sukune realized this fact. For one thing, while she may have been Tarashi Naka tsu Hiko’s partner in the campaign against the Kumaso, she was not his only consort, and there were adult princes running around, who were probably already helping to run things—whether they were off running their own provinces or were keeping things afloat back in Yamato or wherever the seat of government was. And while she had been off on the peninsula, they would have had time to consolidate their own power base. Of these potential rivals, two in particular looked like they were going to be a problem—these were the princes Kakosaka Hiko and Oshikuma.
Now, it is little wonder that Kakosaka Hiko and Oshikuma might have some reservations about serving under their younger half-brother. After all, they doubly descended from royalty. Not only was their father the fourteenth sovereign, Tarashi Nakatsu Hiko, their mother was Oho Nakatsu Hime, the daughter of Prince Hiko Hito no Ohine, who, himself, was the son of the Twelfth sovereign, Oho Tarashi Hiko and his wife, Waka Iratsume. They had the bona fides of their lineage, so why should they bow and scrape to some kid who hadn’t even been born when their dad kicked the bucket?
Truth be told, it is unclear how strong Homuda Wake’s claim to the throne was. Sure, they all had the same father, but let’s take a look at his mother, Okinaga Tarashi Hime. Sure, she’s a badass conquering hero who leads troops into battle and speaks with the gods, but how did her background stand up to her husband’s other wife, Oho Naka tsu Hime? Of course, everyone was trying to connect themselves back to the royal family so that, as I’ve noted before, the family tree was often more the family bamboo stalk. Heck, even Takechi no Sukune has a genealogical link back to the legendary eighth sovereign, Oho Yamato Neko Hiko Kunikuru no Mikoto, who was supposedly his grandfather—man that guy must really be old. But how did these two separate lineages compare when it came to deciding who should take the throne?
Well, we are told that Okinaga Tarashi Hime’s father was a man named Prince Okinaga no Sukune—who may or may not be the same person listed in the Fudoki who assisted Oho Tarashi Hiko when he was creep-stalking Oho Iratsume over in Harima Province. Prince Okinaga no Sukune was, in turn, a great-grandson of the legendary 9th sovereign Waka Yamato Neko Hiko-ohohihi, also known as Kaika Tennouō. Perhaps more importantly, she descended through his son, the prolific Prince Hiko Imasu. But it wasn’t just Tarashi Hime’s paternal lineage that is mentioned—the scribes also recorded her maternal lineage as well. Now all of this is somewhat scattered and obscured in what became these long lists of names, but it is still there if you want to pull it out, especially in the Kojiki. There they have her maternal line traced back through her mother, Kadzuraki no Takanuka Hime, herself a descendant of family from Tajima, all the way back to a man that we talked about many episodes back: Ame no Hiboko.
Two things stand out in this lineage. First, it is Tarashi Hime’s connection to the Kadzuraki family. We’ve previously mentioned that “Kadzuraki” may be the name of the envoy to Silla that the Korean annals record as Kalyako, and later there would be another Kadzuraki no Sotsuhiko who would be sent over to the continent, so let’s not forget about that little fact. But looming much larger than that is the presence of Ame no Hiboko, who is said to have been a prince from the Korean peninsula. Specifically he is said to have been a prince of Silla, who followed his wife to Japan, where she ended up at the site of Naniwa where he ended up at Tsuruga Bay, where he was worshipped as a kami at the shrine of Kehi. And Kehi, as you may recall, was the location that Tarashi Naka tsu Hiko had moved the court before heading off to the south, and it was also the location that Tarashi Hime herself had departed from on her way to Kyushu. It seems that Homuda Wake, then, makes claims not only to the Yamato royal lineage, but also to a line of Silla kings, though the connection is not exactly air tight, as we don’t really have anyone in the Korean chronicles that we can identify as Ame no Hiboko, who comes down to us with a decidedly Japanese sounding name.
Now, again, we aren’t sure how much truth there is in any of this—in fact, we are pretty certain that much of the lineages are constructed to try to make everything neat and tidy. But if so, why tie Tarashi Hime—and, by extension, her son—to a legendary Silla Prince?
Well, I suppose that in the first case, it could have just been a way to give her legitimacy for her actions on the peninsula. After all, if she was descended from Silla royalty it would bolster her claim to be the rightful ruler when subjugating Silla. There is also another thought, though, and that is that it tells a story of Silla—or at least continental—blood in the royal line. Some have taken this to mean that Homuda Wake and his mother were entirely from the Korean Peninsula, and that this next story is basically a fanciful retelling of the conquest of Japan by a Korean prince, who stayed and later founded a new line of sovereigns. I’m still not willing to go that far, but it is not out of the realm of possibility that Tarashi Hime and her son were not solely descended from the Wa people of the archipelago, but that they did have Korean ancestors on the continent, as well. In fact, this is almost to be expected given the Wa’s use of marriage politics.
And this is probably the time to discuss one other line that many bring up on this topic, Homuda Wake’s own name. Scholars much more versed in the study of ancient Japanese and Korean have made the case that “Homuda”, or perhaps “Pomuda”, is clearly a Korean name, and not Japanese. For my part, I don’t know about that.
One claim, in the Chronicles, is that Homuda is an old name for a Japanese style of wristguard, known as a tomo. These were bulky pads that were tied around an archer’s wrist to keep the bowstring from striking into the inside of the arm. It is said that the young Homuda was born with a growth of his arm, and hence the name. On the other hand, I don’t think there is any other evidence of such a word in ancient Japanese, and the Chronicles don’t exactly have a great track record when it comes to etymology.
I would note that there was a Homutsu Wake – or Pomutu Wake - as the son of Ikume Iribiko and Saho Hime. He was never Crown Prince, that we know of, but is it so far a jump from Homutsu to Homuda? As for the title “Wake”, that would seem to be just that, a title. Is it possible that Homuda is simply a locative—a place name? If so, is that place in the archipelago or somewhere on the peninsula?
Regardless of the name, there is a question if what we are seeing is more than just a fight between rival heirs to the throne, or if there is something more. Is there, woven in here, an allegory for something else: the rise of elites that were closely tied with the Korean peninsula?
Certainly the changes on the peninsula had created some uncertain times. Goguryeo’s destruction of the Han commanderies meant that there was no longer the threat of continental reprisals to help keep all of the peninsular states at peace, and Silla and Baekje were bringing the other states of their confederacies under their sway—by force if necessary. And though they were the states that would come out victorious, we shouldn’t assume that they were the only ones. Where would the victims, displaced by these conflicts, end up going?
In addition, though there is no direct evidence that I’m aware of, I have to wonder if the life of the Japanese raiders didn’t appeal to certain peninsular people as well. It is a story that plays out time and again throughout history—farmers abandoning their fields, especially in times of conflict and uncertainty, to join up with the same people that the so-called civilized cultures deem as ruthless barbarians. In Great Britain, it wasn’t uncommon for Anglo-Saxon farmers to join up with the Norse raiders, and on the borders of empire, there are stories of peasant farmers abandoning their livelihood to take up with the nomads of the steppes. And why wouldn’t they? As part of a roving band they had opportunities to acquire wealth, whereas on the farm they were little more than targets for others. Would it have been so surprising if some number of people from the peninsula threw in with these Vikings of northeast Asia?
And again, that puts this whole story in a different light. While there is no evidence that there was a sweeping conquest of the archipelago by a peninsular force, could this struggle be rooted in the idea of a new and changing elite—one made up of a blending of people from the archipelago and the peninsula? The jury is still out, but we do know that from at least this point on, there were certainly more and more people who would be coming to Yamato from the continent, with entire families claiming that their ancestors were actually ancient peninsular royalty.
But much of that is to come, so for now, let’s return to the story at hand: Homuda Wake was little more than an infant, and his mother Okinaga Tarashi Hime, knew that she was probably going to have a fight on her hand as she tried to head back to Yamato along the Seto Inland Sea route. Thinking ahead, she decided on a clever ploy.
First, she dressed one of the ships in the style of a funerary boat. Word seemed to have gotten out that the sovereign, Tarashi Naka tsu Hiko, had died, and so she made it seem as though they were bringing his body back to the Yamato heartland so that it could be buried. This ship would sail the direct route, through the Seto Inland Sea, while another ship, carrying her infant son and under the command of her trusted prime minister, Takechi no Sukune, would take the long way, traveling along the Pacific coast side of Shikoku. It would add time to the journey, and expose the ship to some of the dangers posed by being on the open sea, rather than the relatively calm waters of the inland sea route, but those were nothing compared to the dangers that were likely lurking and waiting for them along the interior waterways.
And we’ve talked about this before, but it bears mentioning again, I believe—the Seto Inland Sea may be more protected from the weather and vagaries of the open ocean, but the numerous bays and islands also make it the perfect place for pirates and other nefarious actors who may want a piece of whatever was coming down that channel. The entire waterway is only 34 miles wide at its widest point, and in some places the widest passage between islands is still less than a mile. Furthermore, the many islands and shallow waters can make for some unpredictable currents, if you aren’t familiar with them. It was the fastest way from Kyushu to central Honshu, but it had its share of dangers.
Case in point: The two brothers, Oshikuma and Kakasaka Hiko, the other royal princes. They had heard about the birth of their infant half-brother, and they were determined to resist. Together they raised an army, and they came up with a ploy to intercept the royal ship. Claiming to build their father’s mausoleum in Harima province, they set up a line of boats going back and forth from Awaji Island to Akashi, in Harima Province. There is only about 4 kilometers—roughly two and a half miles—between the island and the shore, and their soldiers were patrolling back and forth.
This army wasn’t just their own men. The two brothers were joined by others from the eastern lands—likely those of Azuma, that Yamato Takeru is said to have pacified. These were Kurami Wake and Isachi no Sukune, and they were quickly made generals. Clearly it wasn’t just the two princes who had a problem with Tarashi Hime and her plans to put her own son on the throne.
Now while they were waiting—their ships spread out to ensure that they would catch Tarashi Hime as she would have to pass through their line or take a detour all the way south around Awaji Island—the two princes went out hunting. Of course, this wasn’t just any hunt—it was a divination hunt. You may remember that Tarashi Hime conducted several of these divinations before setting out for the peninsula, to establish the success of her endeavor. So, as they were planning to hunt Tarashi Hime and her son, the princes knew that if they were victorious in their hunt on land, they would be successful in their hunt on the water.
And so the two sat and waited. The elder brother, Kakosaka Hiko, climbed a tree to look out and see what he could observe. As he did so, a giant beast came crashing out of the underbrush—it was a wild boar.
Now I don’t know if you’ve ever had the experience of encountering a wild boar, but these aren’t like domestic pigs. The Japanese wild boar is, itself, a subspecies of the Eurasian wild boar, slightly smaller than its continental cousins they still can average about 100 kilograms, or about 220 lbs. But that’s just average. Even in the past couple decades there were boars that have been caught that were 220 and 240 kilograms. That’s over 500 lbs, and that isn’t the lazy fat of a pig, happy in its muck. That’s 500 lbs of lean muscle with two tusks 5 to 18 inches long. On top of that, they are aggressive. In Europe, the boar spear, used for hunting such animals, had a crossguard built into it to prevent the skewered animal from continuing to push up the spear to gore its attacker. Although they are not exactly hunters, they are still quite deadly, especially when you have to face them head on.
It was this ferocious vision of the forest that came out and attacked the two brothers. According to the chronicles it knocked down the very tree that Kakosaka Hiko had climbed up into to get a better view, and then gored him to death. Oshikuma, the youngest brother, escaped, but barely.
It would seem that their divination was anything but a success. With his brother dead, Oshikuma had to decide what to do next. Rather than confront Tarashi Hime’s forces as he had planned, he told one of his generals, Kurami Wake, to pull the troops back to Sumiyoshi, near modern Kobe, and they would wait there for the royal ship to arrive.
When that time came, Oshikuma looked out and he could hardly believe his luck. Where he had likely suspected an armada, fresh from their victories on the peninsula, instead he saw the ritual funerary ship, carrying the body of the deceased sovereign, his grieving wife, and only a handful of seamen to work the oars.
Oshikuma gave the words and his men got in their boats and rowed out, expecting an easy victory. But, as the wise Admiral Ackbar once said: “It’s a trap!”
No sooner were Oshikuma’s ships within range when the funerary ship was transformed. What they thought was an empty ritual vessel was quickly shown to be swarming with hardened veteran warriors. They fought back their surprised foes, who turned and ran, but Tarashi Hime’s forces pursued them. Her general at that time, since Takechi no Sukune was handling the infant Prince, was a man known to us as Naniwa-neko Take Furukuma no Mikoto, an ancestor of the Wani no Omi.
The royal forces pushed their opponents to the shore and then pursued them back all the way to Uji, in Yamashiro province. Take Furukuma, Tarashi Hime’s general, was eventually joined by Takechi no Sukune. The two forces found themselves camped out on either side of the river, each waiting for the other to make a move.
As they glared across the waters at each other, a man named Kuma no Kori in the army of Prince Oshikuma sang a song to encourage the men, in which he mocked Takechi no Sukune—or, as he is referred to in verse, Uchi no Ason.
Now the next part is a bit confused—the Kojiki attributes it all to Take Furukuma, but the Nihon Shoki gives the lion’s share of the credit to Takechi no Sukune. Either way, the basic tactic is more or less the same, regardless of who came up with it. First, the men of Tarashi Hime’s army took out their spare bowstrings and tied them into their hair like normal cords. Then he had them all put on wooden swords, made to look like the real thing. Once they did this, they called out to Oshikuma.
Takechi—or perhaps Furukuma—called out that they had received word that Tarashi Hime had died, and now all they wanted was to secure a promise that the young prince could live, and in return Oshikuma could take the throne—after all, why should anyone else fight and die over this. As a gesture of their goodwill, he had the royal army cut their bow strings and then thrown their swords into the water.
Prince Oshikuma, seeing victory at hand, accepted this and magnanimously returned the gesture. He had his men cut their own bowstrings, and throw their own swords into the river. Of course, no sooner had he done so than the ruse was revealed. Tarashi Hime’s forces pulled their spare bowstrings from their hair buns and quickly strung their bows and they started launching arrows at their now weaponless opponents. They grabbed up their real swords and started across the river.
Prince Oshikuma had no other options. Without weapons, there was only one thing he could do, so he ran. He and his men ran north, retreating all the way to Afusaka, near the shores of Lake Biwa. Takechi no Sukune and Take Furukuma continued to pursue Prince Oshikuma and routed him and his men all the way to Kurusu in Sasanami, where Prince Oshikuma’s army was finally destroyed. Defeated and facing certain death, Prince Oshikuma and his remaining general, Isachi no Sukune, decided to take their own lives rather than be captured. They sailed a ship out onto the lake, the Kojiki records the song that Prince Oshikuma sang:
Come my lads,
Rather than receive the wounds
Inflicted by Furukuma
Come, like the nipo birds
Let us dive into the waters
Of the lake of Afumi
And, so saying, they jumped into the lake together. Their bodies were swept downstream, and eventually washed ashore in Uji.
With their opposition now quite decidedly out of the picture, the generals returned, and Tarashi Hime took time in the peace immediately following the conflict to properly bury her husband, Tarashi Naka tsu Hiko. Supposedly he was buried not back in the area at the foot of Mt. Miwa, but instead outside the western mountains of the Nara basin at a place known as Nagae or Nagano, in Ega, in Kawachi Province. This has been identified as a late 5th century tomb in Fujidera, in modern Osaka, just south of the Yamato river where it comes out of the Nara Basin. Of course, much of this is suspect, but it certainly does seem like an impressive—even kingly—tomb.
Once her husband was in the mound, Tarashi Hime set up a court at the Wakazakura no Miya, or Young Cherry Blossom Palace, in Iware, on the eastern edge of the Nara Basin. And if Iware sounds familiar, you might remember that it was Iware Biko, aka Jimmu Tennou, who had supposedly marched in and conquered the Nara Basin some 800 or more years prior, at least according to the Nihon Shoki’s dating.
Here, in the Nara Basin, it seems that Homuda Wake was finally poised to take the throne at what I can only assume was the youngest age ever. Have no fear, however, for Tarashi Hime was more than ready to step in as regent and rule in his stead.
For 69 years.
Yes, once again that habit of the chronicles to go all timey-wimey, Jeremy Bearimy on us strikes again. Not only does the Nihon Shoki claim that Tarashi Hime was pregnant with Homuda Wake for three whole years before she brought him to term, but she then sits on the throne herself for 69 years as quote-unquote “regent”. Homuda Wake’s own chapter and deeds doesn’t start until she dies, 69 years into her reign. So something is going on here.
First off, it could be as simple as the idea that she was no regent, but she was the sovereign. Certainly much of the verbiage used for her is, much like with Yamato Takeru, verbiage that would be used for a sovereign. Indeed, in the Fudoki she is often treated as ruler in her own right, and like we discussed above, the later historian Kitabatake Chikafusa certainly viewed her as such—though that 14th century history was based more on his memory than on documents. Still, it supports one idea.
Another thought is that her reign is unnaturally long to account for other events dealing with the Korean peninsula, and we’ll certainly delve back into those. In this case, her rule is so long because she’s being held up as the embodiment of Queen Himiko, and the chronicles are using Himiko’s known dates as well as extrapolating back to the supposed dates of the older rulers.
There is one thought that in this time before the Japanese started writing things down the years were not based on actual seasons, but rather on harvests. Some have suggested that there were even three cycles a year, and that this was what was counted. If that were true, then 69 cycles might only really be 23 to 35 years—still past the age of majority for young Homuda Wake, but not nearly as excessively so.
And then there is the idea that there is actually a problem in the record, and that many of her exploits actually belong to her son. The problem with that is that he then goes on to reign for another 40 some-odd years. So while it is perfectly reasonable that some of his exploits—particularly some of the more martial exploits—were attributed to his mother, it doesn’t explain the supernatural longevity.
Personally, I simply don’t hold much with the chronology. Remember, Takechi no Sukune is supposedly with us through all of this. We’ll see that the earliest date that I might at all want to put any reliance on is about 366, and the last is roughly 385. Even these dates are suspect, but they seem much more reasonable, given other events that we know are going on. This gives us about 19 years to work with—a much more reasonable number than 69.
But what happened in those 19 years? Well, quite a lot, and much of it has to do with the peninsula. Before we get into all of that, though, let’s talk about the other things that happened in Japan.
First off, there were the kami. It certainly seems that the kami were jealous of the time that Tarashi Hime had spent on her campaign. In fact, when she was sailing back towards Yamato, before that whole mess with her stepsons, there was a point where her boat kept getting turned away, and she couldn’t get past Muko Bay in modern Hyogo prefecture. Now one might assume that this was because of the army that was waiting for her, but the Nihon Shoki makes the much more reasonable and sensible claim that it was the kami. Most importantly, Amaterasu Ohokami’s “rough spirit”, or “ara-mitama”, could not be allowed to approach the land of Yamato.
You may recall that the spirit of a kami could be divided up in various ways. This includes their rough, or wild spirit—the ara-mitama—as well as their gentle, or pacified spirit, known as the nigi-mitama. Of course, they had just been at war, so it is little wonder that Amaterasu’s ara-mitama might be with them, but they did not want that spirit of war brought into the heart of Yamato, so it was sent to be worshipped in Hirota by Hayama Hime, a daughter of Yamashiro-neko—a name that suspiciously sounds like they may have been an ancient ruler, or at least major noble, of Yamashiro province.
But that wasn’t all. You know how once you stop to talk to one person all of a sudden everyone else wants a piece of your time? It seems that Tarashi Hime had to deal with this as well, but with the kami. No sooner was Amaterasu Ohokami’s ara-mitama was taken care of than Waka Hirume asked to be worshipped in Nagawo, in Ikuta, just beyond modern Kobe. Then, Kotoshiro Nushi wanted to be worshipped in the land of Nakata, so Hayama Hime’s younger sister, Naga Hime, was sent out to perform the task. Finally, the three spirits that had started her out on her campaign, known as Uwa tsutsu no wo, Naka-tsutsu-no-wo, and Soko-tsutsu-no-wo, asked for their gentle spiritis, or Nigi-mitama, to be worshipped at Nunakura in Ohotsu, so they could watch the ships traveling back and forth through the Seto Inland Sea.
By the way, if any of those names seem familiar, they should. Of course we know Amaterasu, also known as Oho Hirume. Waka Hirume was her maiden, or perhaps even younger sister, who was doing the weaving when Susanowo tossed in that backwards flayed colt, at least in some of the stories. And then Kotoshiro Nushi was a son to the great god of Izumo, Ohokuni Nushi. We’ve encountered him a time or two back in the mythical period.
I mention all this because I find it significant that they are being mentioned at this juncture, because this seems to be that point where we see something else happen, at least in the archaeological record. Around the 4th century we see the abandonment of the Miwa area for some reason. The seat of power when the mounded keyhole tombs became a thing in the archipelago seems to have disappeared. Eventually, though, in that same century, there is a shift to the Kawachi area, and modern Ohosaka. Much of it was probably still under water as part of Kawachi Bay, but that was silting up and creating more and more land.
This is also an area where we see heavy influence from the peninsula, and we’ve already talked about all of the stories associated with the Korean peninsula and this area. This could simply be a reflection of increased immigration as well as increased trade, but with the mention of these kami, was there also something happening to the ancient Miwa cult? Are we starting to see other kami come in and take center stage? Of course, since this is all being written down at a much later date it is hard to pull apart all of the threads, but it does make one wonder.
Speaking of other kami, there is at least one more story that we should relate here. It is likely apocryphal, but it nonetheless adds a few more threads connecting this latest dynasty to the peninsula, because it deals with the god of Kehi.
Now at this time, the young prince, Homuda Wake, was probably no more than about 13 years old, and he went with the prime minister, Takechi no Sukune, on a tour of several provinces. At this point, I have to imagine that Takechi no Sukune must have been Homuda Wake’s father figure. The way they talk about Tarashi Hime and Takechi no Sukune, one almost thinks that they might have been married, but of course, no such allegation is ever made, though it does cause one to wonder. Takechi no Sukune wasn’t exactly a commoner—his lineage in the Chronicles goes back to before Mimaki Iribiko and to the line of sovereigns before him, or at least so they claim. And yet he is never mentioned as anything other than the prime minister and a dutiful officer of the court, still, it does make you wonder if there wasn’t something more in their relationship.
Still, his relationship with Homuda Wake, whatever may or may not have been going on with his mother was undeniably a close one. Travel such as this must have been quite the bonding experience.
Together they went through the province of Afumi and ended up at Tsuruga Bay, near Kehi. There the deity known as Izasa wake no Ohokami no Mikoto reached out to Takechi no Sukune in his dreams and told him that he wished to exchange names with the young prince. Takechi no Sukune agreed, and he said the words of blessing and promised that they would do whatever the kami had commanded. And given everything they had been through, I’m sure that Takechi no Sukune had learned to listen when the kami decided to speak to you.
Izasa wake no Ohokami seemed pleased, however. Rather than Takechi no Sukune preparing some elaborate offering it seems that the kami offered to handle that on his behalf. He simply had to go down to the beach the next day the kami would present the offerings.
The next morning, as he had been told to do, Takechi no Sukune made his way down to the beach. There it seems that a pod of dolphins had beached itself. Their snouts were broken and bloody, and they were lying all over the shore. Dolphins, which were hunted by the Japanese up through the modern day, were considered a source of food—and thus an offering for the exchange of names.
Now, what’s not quite clear to me is exactly what it meant, in this case, to exchange names. Does that mean that Homuda Wake received the name Homuda Wake at this point? If so, does that mean that was actually the original name of the kami of Kehi? If so, what was Homuda Wake’s original name? Was it Izasa Wake? This isn’t answered by the chronicles in any satisfactory way that I can make out. The kami of Kehi is given the name Mike tsu Ohokami, or the Great Kami of the August Food, since they had provided the dolphins as an offering. They are also called, rather uncreatively, Kehi no Ohokami. But nowhere does it actually demonstrate them exchanging names. It is possible that there is a problem with the way that the words are translated, and it was more a ceremony of giving each other new names—or even just getting a name of the kami. Either way it is a strange episode.
Following that encounter, Takechi no Sukune takes the young prince back home, where he is wined and dined with a great banquet by his mother. While the young prince was away, she had worried, as mothers around the world are want to do when their children are away. To take her mind off things, she caused to be brewed a particular sake, which she did as what would appear to be another ukehi—a kind of divination she was rather familiar with. It must have been successful because they did return safely, and in the end she had barrels of sake at her disposal, so what better way to get rid of them than to throw a party.
It was at that party that she invoked the name Sukuna, by which many people believe she meant Sukuna Bikona, the kami who had helped Oho Kuni Nushi. Apparently he had more than a little efficacy in the realm of sake, or at least so we gather by the way that he is invoked by Tarashi Hime in her poetry.
And I think that is enough for this episode. From here, we are going to get into more shenanigans with the peninsula. Notably, however, these are dated shenanigans. We can argue whether it was Tarashi Hime, Homuda Wake, or some unknown sovereign that took part, but the actual incidents seem to come from records older than our extant chronicles that actually describe real activities with what seem to be verifiable—if slightly offset—dates. These are largely from the Chronicles of Baekje, the country that would become one of Yamato’s closest allies, or so it would seem. There are certainly a couple of problems between what we read in the Nihon Shoki and what we read in the Kojiki, but I think we can get over those.
So, until next time, thank you for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us on iTunes, Spotify, or wherever you listen to podcasts. If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate through our KoFi site, kofi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the link over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Questions or comments? Feel free to Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.
That’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

Ō, Yasumaro, & Heldt, G. (2014). The Kojiki: An account of ancient matters. ISBN978-0-231-16389-7
Bentley, John. (2006). The Authenticity of Sendai Kuji Hongi: a New Examination of Texts, with a Translation and Commentary. ISBN-90-04-152253
Chamberlain, B. H. (1981). The Kojiki: Records of ancient matters. Rutland, Vt: C.E. Tuttle Co. ISBN4-8053-0794-3
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4
Philippi, D. L. (1968). Kojiki. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press. ISBN4-13-087004-1

Episode 40: Tarashi Hime and the "Conquest" of Korea

May 1, 2021 Joshua Badgley

Okinaga Tarashi Hime (aka Jingū Kōgō) and Takeuchi no Sukune as she fishes with rice as an ukehi to determine if the campaign against Silla will be a success. Print by Tsukioka Yoshitoshi in 1876, courtesy of LACMA. — Okinaga Tarashi Hime (aka Jingū Kōgō) and Takeuchi no Sukune as she fishes with rice as an *ukehi* to determine if the campaign against Silla will be a success. Print by Tsukioka Yoshitoshi in 1876, courtesy of LACMA.

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This episode we get to talk about one of the most intriguing and controversial parts of the Nihon Shoki and the Kojiki, and that is the claimed “conquest” of Korea, and as much as I’d like to just tell you the story, this time we really need to address the controversy, because it gets to the heart, in many ways, of modern relations between Japan and Korea. Before World War II, images of Empress Jingū were widespread, and stories about the conquest and subjugation of the Korean peninsula were used to justify Japan’s actions in occupying Korea in the early 20th century. After the war, there was a backlash against the nationalist version of history that had propped up such a view, with claims that Jingū never existed and she is simply a composite figure—the chroniclers knew that there were reaching the era when the Wei Chronicles said there was a Queen, and so they added a queen and then added on other stories, many of them actually coming from later female monarchs. In addition, they added details from the Baekje Chronicles, a no-longer-extant work that nonetheless seems to match up with what we have in later Korean histories.

Nonetheless, there seem to be enough details that I suspect there is at least a grain of truth to the story of Okinaga Tarashi Hime—I accept her as an historic figure—even if many other details have been glommed on to her story. Likewise, there is enough evidence that there were plenty of raids by the Wa (倭) on the Korean peninsula, though nothing firmly indicating subjugation of one of any of the Three Kingdoms. That said, it very well could be the case that Silla tried to “buy off” Yamato to get them to stop the raids, a tactic that we see time and again in various places in history. Without something like that, then how, exactly, do we explain the political hostages that were sent in the late 4th or early 5th century? Would Silla have sent a prince to Japan—especially without receiving a Japanese prince in return—unless they felt somehow compelled to do so? But we’ll get into that more in other episodes.

For this post, I want to try to lay out some of the things we talk about in the episode and give you some references you can check out. I am going to give you some of the dated references as well as more recent, so you can make up your own mind on some of these theories that people have put forth.

First, though, let’s talk about dates. For more in depth you can read our article on Calendar and Time.

The sexegneary cycle, starting with kinoe-ne (elder wood rat) and ending with mizunoto-i (younger water boar). — The sexegneary cycle, starting with *kinoe-ne* (elder wood rat) and ending with *mizunoto-i* (younger water boar).

This was the kind of dating system that was frequently used throughout East Asia, in combination with the regnal names, creating eras and unique years within each era. However, it was likely not in use in Japan until the influx of actual writing. That leaves us with a problem: Although we can figure out the dates of things from outside annals, such as the Wei, Jin, Baekje, or Silla annals, we cannot necessarily trust the internal dates of the Japanese chronicles at this time, since by their own admission they had not yet started keeping written records in the continental fashion. Therefore it is entirely possible that the dates of things that are solely found in the Japanese records are out of place. It would be like having all the episodes from a highly episodic 80's cartoon show, without any of the names or show dates, and then being asked to put them together, in order. Now imagine doing that for, say, the 1940s Batman shows. You would be trying to use clues inside the episodes to put them together, but can you actually tell which order they are supposed to be in just by their content? Oh, and you' are probably missing at least half the shows. Good luck!

So we are pretty sure that things mentioned in the outside Chronicles happened, but they may have happened at different times. In this case they’ve combined the Wei chronicles, using the actual dates, with the Baekje Chronicles, but they’ve pulled that information back in time about 120 years—so that the cycle names still match up. The thing we aren’t sure of is whether all of the other action happening is properly dated. That is, is the rest of the story also 120 years out of synch, or is it inserted from somewhere else altogether?

We’ll talk about this more, later, but just to give you an idea of the confusion: The Nihon Shoki claims that Tarashi Hime lived through the reign of King Chogo (aka Geunchogo) of Baekje, and that he died before the end of her reign. On the other hand, the Kojiki has this same king interacting with Tarashi Hime’s son, Homuda Wake, during his reign, after Tarshi Hime had passed away. For what it’s worth, the Kūjiki seems to follow the dating of the Nihon Shoki, but doesn’t include the passages from other chronicles, sidestepping the question of dates altogether. So even though we are on the cusp of historical material—we will see writing arrive at the court in the next reign—we are still not sure of when, exactly, things are happening.

Still, we can use the dates we have in other sources to try to give ourselves some idea of what kind of intercourse is taking place between the archipelago and the peninsula. For instance, the Samguk Sagi gives the dates below as various points at which the Wa interacted with Silla or Baekje, prior to the late 4th century. While we cannot fully trust these dates, either—neither Silla nor Baekje seem to have kept written court records, themselves, until the mid-4th century—at least we can see what sorts of activity they were claiming. I suspect that these years are somewhat more spread out than they should be, and if that is the case we could be experiencing a kind of textual time dilation. Thus, assuming that these are at all accurate, these are probably accounts that took place within a span of a century or so, rather than the four centuries or so that is claimed:

50 BCE – Wa came with troops, intending to invade the coastal region of Silla, but withdrew because of the Founder Ancestor’s divine virtue.
20 BCE – Lord Ho, from Wa, was sent by the King of Silla on an official call to Mahan.
14 – The Wa sent more than a hundred ships to plunder the homes of the people on the sea coast.
59 – Silla established “good ties” with the Wa, and envoys were exchanged.
73 – Wa invaded the island of Mokchul. Kakkan Uo was sent to defend it, but to no success and he died there.
121 – Wa invaded the East Coast.
122 – A year later, a rumor that the Wa had come in “great numbers” caused people to hide in the mountains.
158 – Wa “courtesy visit” to Silla
173 – Samguk Sagi’s Silla Annals mention an envoy from Himiko. This feels way too early. She died in 238 CE. Some claim this is a highly anachronistic entry, and may reference a visit in 712 CE.
193 – The Wa had an epidemic and people came asking for food
208 – The Wa invaded the border [of Silla and the Six Districts]. Ibeolchan Ieum was sent against them.
249 – The Wa killed Seobulhan Uro
287 – The Wa raided Illye district and set it on fire. They captured 1,000 people and left with them
289 – The King, hearing that the Wa troops were approaching, repaired his ships and readied his armor and his troops.
292 – The Wa attacked and defeated Sado fortress
294 – The Wa troops came and attacked Changbong Fortress, but didn’t capture it.
295 – King of Silla suggested working with Baekje to attack the Wa across the sea, but his ministers suggested against it as they were not used to naval warfare and Baekje had often been deceitful.
300 – Silla exchanged envoys with the Wa
312 – The King of Wa sent an envoy proposing the marriage of his son. The court sent the daughter of Achan Geumri.
344 – The King of Wa sent an envoy requesting the marriage of the king’s daughter, but was refused because she was already married.
345 – The King of Wa sent an official letter severing ties.

Likely route for Yamato/Wa ships to the Silla capital at Gyeongju.

Late 4th century haniwa sculpture of a boat discovered at Takamawari Kofun No. 2 in modern Osaka. From the Osaka National Museum. Photo by author.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is Episode 40: Tarashi Hime and The Conquest of Korea.
Sitting on a rocky beach, a fisherman mends his nets and sets his hooks, looking out into the ocean. The white-capped waves roll up and down, and mimic the whisps of clouds in an otherwise clear sky. Suddenly, there is a glint upon the water, a flash of light in the bright daytime in a time before electricity. Squinting his eyes, the fisherman can just make out the sight, but what he sees sends an immediate shiver down his spine. The glint of light is simply the sun, reflecting off of a polished bronze mirror, hung from the branches stuck into the prow of a long, low ship, which is cutting through the water at a tremendous pace, urged on by the practiced oarsmen who sit upon benches and propel it forward. Then, behind the lead ship, come more, appearing from around the cape and just over the horizon. The fisherman drops his work and runs back up to the village, screaming: The Wa are coming!
So last episode we talked about the rise of the Three Kingdoms, or Samguk, of the Korean Peninsula. This was Goguryeo, Baekje, and Silla. The fact that they seem to be keeping records from about the latter half of the 4th century is going to be key for helping us to understand the next part of the narrative. We also know that there are other groups operating on the Korean peninsula, though they don’t get the same kind of attention since they either weren’t keeping their own chronicles or, if they were, those chronicles don’t appear to be extant. Certainly the later Korean histories would focus on these three states, though there does seem to be some grey area as concerns the area known as Kara or, in modern Korean, Gaya. Either way, these three main kingdoms were definitely jockeying for position on the peninsula, playing a high-stakes game of warfare and international politicking that would eventually turn into a unified kingdom—though that is still some distance in the future.
Back in Japan, I want to just focus on the story as it is told from the Chronicles, at least for now. This is the idea that the Kami directed Tarashi Naka tsu Hiko to go and conquer Korea—specifically Silla—but he refused, remaining focused, instead, on the Kumaso of southern Kyushu. For his troubles, he was killed—whether in battle or by the mysterious power of the kami themselves—and so it fell to his Queen, Okinaga Tarashi Hime, as well as his prime minister, Takechi no Sukune, to carry out the kamis’ will and invade and conquer the Korean peninsula in the first place.
The Japanese Chronicles tell this as a fairly straightforward narrative, but with enough commonalities that there was clearly some source material available and common imagery that all of the chronicles are drawing from. The Kujiki even mentions a work that must have been around in the 8th century or so, titled “The Record of the Subjugation of the Three Han”, or “Seifuku Sankanki”, which may have been the original source from whence our story comes. Of course, even that source would be suspect, since it would still have been written down a good deal of time after the events that we are talking about here, which is still in the time of oral history.
So let’s get into it.
Now the Kojiki, as usual, is focused on the action and doesn’t sweat the small stuff. Remember, it was written down from what was effectively a performance piece by Hieda no Are, who would have recounted these stories for the court. As such, it launches straight into Tarashi Hime’s departure, stating: “She put the army in order and marshalled the ships.” Shortly thereafter she flew across the water, borne on the backs of every creature of the sea, and a giant wave brought the fleet halfway into the country of Silla—basically on the doorstep of the capital at Gyeongju. With no regard towards how they were going to get their boats back to the water—let alone all of the people who must have drowned in the flooding that such a tsunami would have brought with it, the Wa set up outside the Silla capital. The King of Silla, seeing such an overwhelming force, immediately capitulated, with no fighting at all. Next thing that you know, badda-bing, badda-boom, Tarashi Hime is planting her staff at the gates of Silla’s capital and Silla and Baekje are both sending tribute to Yamato. With Silla conquered, Tarashi Hime gets back in her boats (which probably had to be hauled back out to the ocean), and she’s sailing home.
Mission Accomplished. I’m sure that everything worked out fine.
Except that clearly there was much more to it than that. After all, when Tarashi Hime’s husband, the former sovereign, Naka tsu Hiko, died, the Yamato soldiers were still engaged with the Kumaso, and even if they wanted to obey the will of the kami they would need to disengage and regroup. Furthermore, they would need ships to take them across the straits in sufficient numbers to be effective. All of this is just glossed over in the Kojiki, but Tarashi Hime and Takechi no Sukune must have been working diligently to get everything ready.
Sure enough, in the Nihon Shoki, we see more of these details. Tarashi Hime first off puts Kamo no Wake, an ancestor of the Kibi no Omi, in charge of prosecuting the war against the Kumaso so she can attend to other matters. This he seems to take care of handily. But then, there were still a few out there defying Yamato authority, and Tarashi Hime didn’t want to leave to conquer the peninsula just to come back to some mess at home, and so she dealt with a few others before really heading out.
The first of these distractions is really fantastical. There was a fellow in a place called Notorita who was completely ignoring Yamato. He had a powerful frame, but more than that, he had wings. Yes, actual wings—at least according to the Chronicle, who names him as Hashiro Kumawashi, or “White-Feather Bear-Eagle”. I wonder if he was any relation to Chief Bear-Shark, that is: Kumawani? Anyway, this Bird Man of Notorita was apparently weighing on Tarashi Hime’s mind, so she went to Notorita and smote him. We aren’t exactly told how, but apparently she handled her business. And the proof of that? Well, there aren’t any birdmen flying around Japan today, are there?
Seriously, though, this is where I’m probably supposed to mention that he was just a chieftain and perhaps there was some totemic thing going on with birds, and the whole thing got wildly out of control. There is an ancient form of wooden armor that some people have suggested was supposed to represent wings on the backs of a warrior, but I find that a bit of a stretch. Truth is, we don’t have any evidence to corroborate this, really, and this is the only source I know of for the tale.
Next up is the rather mundane story of Tarashi Hime defeating the Tsuchigumo in the Yamato district of Tsukushi—later Chikugo. It is said that she killed Tabura tsu Hime, and when Tabura tsu Hime’s older brother, Natsuha, heard about it, he scrapped his idea of raising an army against Tarashi Hime and decided to flee, which was probably the best course of action for him. Again, this is probably demonstrative of various fighting that was going on in the archipelago as part of the process—intentional or otherwise—to unite the islands under a single government, though clearly there was still plenty of independence. Assuming that others recognized Yamato’s hegemony it may have been something more like Primus Inter Pares—the first among equals—rather than a purely dictatorial authority.
By the way, I’m not sure why the Kami didn’t get on Tarashi Hime’s case for all of these apparent side quests. Wasn’t she supposed to go and subdue Korea? But, whatever. Who can say why the kami do one thing or another.
Regardless, it seems that Tarashi Hime was finally ready. Well, almost. This was a large undertaking, and one shouldn’t embark on such a campaign without a little divination to ensure that it would be victorious. Of course, this wasn’t some kind of scapulimancy or plastrimancy—that is, burning deer scapulae or turtle shells and reading the cracks. No, in this case, it took the form of several ukehi—the oath-style divination.
First up, Tarashi Hime put a piece of boiled rice on a hook and made the claim that if she was able to catch a fish then that would indicate that she would also achieve victory. Sure enough, as she cast her line into the Ogawa river in Matsura, on the western side of Kyushu, a fish bit the line and she pulled it up. Apparently this is something that was repeated by women in the area every year as part of a festival, commemorating the event.
Next, Tarashi Hime set aside a sacred rice field and tilled it in anticipation of victory. She had an irrigation channel dug all the way to the Hill of Todoroki, where she planned to divert water from the Nakagawa river. However, the engineering crew encountered a seemingly insurmountable obstacle when they ran into a giant boulder. Tarashi Hime, the sovereign who had smote the mighty birdman of Notorita—and, fair warning, I’m probably going to just keep bringing that up—was not concerned. She had Takechi no Sukune pray to the kami of Heaven and Earth while she presented a mirror and a sword as offerings. Sure enough, out of the sky came a bolt of lightning that split the rock asunder, allowing the water to flow through. This was known as the Sakuta Channel.
Finally, at the Bay of Kashihi, Tarashi Hime got into the water and made the prediction that if the campaign would be a success, her hair would naturally part in two. Sure enough, as she lay down in the water the currents naturally took her hair and split it into two, which she then tied up in the fashion of a man—in fact, the Chronicles claim that she purposely donned the outfit of a man at this point in order to lead men into battle. Of course, that could just be the Chroniclers borrowing from some Chinese stories to help make things that more epic for their readers, or it could be the fact that, other than perhaps where it sits on the hips, armor doesn’t really care that much about how your body looks, let alone what pronouns you use, and generally provides everyone the same basic profile.
So kitted out in her armor, and with all of the omens pointing to “yes, do this thing already,” do you think Tarashi Hime was ready?
Of course not.
Apparently, despite everything else, they were having trouble raising enough ships for the voyage. And having an army is all well and good, but if you don’t have ships, well, that’s an awfully long way to swim. Of course, as with many things during this period, the answer isn’t just “build more ships”, but rather to address the real problem: Figuring out which kami you need to properly appease. In this case it was the kami of Ohomiwa, who perhaps hadn’t been feeling much love since the sovereigns had largely buggered off to everywhere *except* Yamato, recently. Tarashi Hime offered Ohomiwa no Kami a sword and a spear, and that seems to have done the trick. With Ohomiwa’s divine blessing they were able to raise the ships and the men and get things underway.
Except for one other thing. You may recall that the Kami who were spiritually financing this conquest had killed Tarashi Naka tsu Hiko, but had then said that the lands of the Korean peninsula would be given to the unborn child in Tarashi Hime’s womb. That’s right, Tarashi Hime wasn’t just going about all of this in the moment of her grief, she was also doing it while *pregnant*. However, she had no time to be giving birth—she had land to go and conquer. And so she performed a ritual where she attached two white rocks around her waist—some even say in her nether regions—and made another ukehi, praying: “let my delivery be in this land on the day that I return and our enterprise is at an end.”
Apparently those two stones were then set beside the road in Ito, where people would worship at them as they passed by. They were eventually stolen, but there are plenty of references to their miraculous power. These weren’t small stones, either—they were apparently about one to two shaku in length—so about half a meter or so.
Anyway, whew, finally! All of the prayers and divinations had been made, all of the ships and men were gathered, and Tarashi Hime’s pregnancy was put on a supernatural pause. It was time to go out and see what they could find.
The exact route of the journey isn’t mentioned, but it isn’t hard to guess just where they went, hopping from island to island until they got to Tsushima, and they departed from the bay of Wani for the territory of Silla. The Nihon Shoki, just as in the Kojiki, claims that the Yamato ships were borne on the backs of the fish and beasts of the sea, and they were aided by the Sea-god and the Wind-god—though the phrasing of the latter looks more like a Chinese phrase than something from Japan. As with the Kojiki, they were carried halfway into the territory of Silla, catching their prey largely unawares. When the King of Silla saw this, he immediately capitulated, waving a white flag, which is apparently a universal signal. Then he came out of the gates with his hands tied behind his back in a form of submission, just as we saw the Emishi chiefs do when they surrendered to Yamato Takeru. Tarashi Hime graciously accepted his surrender and made the King of Silla into her “forage provider”—basically the position of a lowly servant.
Now with such an entrance, word got around the peninsula, and Baekje and Goguryeo, the other two major powers at the time, sent spies to check out the Yamato army. They were so impressed by its size that they decided not to fight. Instead, they submitted to Yamato and agreed to send tribute of their own.
With things well in hand, Tarashi Hime headed back to Japan in triumph.
And that’s it, that’s the conquest of Korea. Except, well… maybe not? Let’s see if we can get past the story and into what may have been actually happening.
Now I have both been looking forward to and dreading getting into all of this here and the next few episodes. I’ve been looking forward to them because they cover an extremely dynamic part of the Chronicles and the history of the archipelago, and there is some actual documentation to attach it to on the peninsula. In fact, from here on out we’ll be getting into what we can reliably call the “historical” period for Japan, as they’ll soon start keeping their own records. On the other hand, as we make the transition from oral to written history, the boundary zone is rather like two rivers coming together, and occasionally the eddies and whirlpools of the narrative may bring us forward or backwards in time, so we get events verified by other sources, but well outside of their appropriate period. This leaves us with a quandary or two. For my part, I’ll try to keep the 4th and 5th century chronology consistent with what we know from continental sources, and then I’m using a bit of shorthand to otherwise line up events here. You see, in the reigns of Okinaga Tarashi Hime and her son, Homuda Wake, we often have direct quotes from mainland sources. The Chinese quotes are from the Weizhi, and these are clearly referencing Himiko—which I would argue could not be Tarashi Hime. However, because the chroniclers were trying to add years to the royal lineage, Tarashi Hime’s reign is given as probably about a century and a half too early—they are claiming dates that correspond to about 200-269, but describing events that seem much more likely to have been occurring from about 340-375 CE. In fact, the entries that correspond with known events in the Korean annals—particularly those of the country of Baekje—appear to correlate by exactly 120 years.
Now we won’t get into all the complexities of ancient Asian dating systems here—I’ll leave that for the blogpost—but suffice it to say that there was a 60 year, or sexagenary, cycle. It was actually 5 cycles of 12. Every series of 12 corresponds with one of the 12 zodiac animals you see on the placemat at many Chinese restaurants, and then each of those was paired with the five elements: Fire, Earth, Metal, Water, and Wood. In total, this creates 60 unique year designations. These were used with the name of the reigning monarch to determine what year it was, and together they create a means of recording what happened in what years of any given reign. Once you know the reign orders and lengths, you should be able to correlate them to an absolute date. What the Chroniclers have done is added two cycles of 60 into their calculations somewhere, so that they are placing the events from the Baekje sources in the correct place to match up with that 60 year cycle, but just two cycles too early. Eventually those will start to marry up over the next series of reigns.
By the way, we do have at least two other pieces of corroborating evidence for this period. The first is a large stone pillar, or stele, known as the Gwaangaetto Stele, and it tells the story of the reign of King Gwangaetto the Great of Goguryeo. It is notable because it was erected in the 5th century, not long after the events that it records, but most of the events described occured at the very tail end of the 4th century and early into the 5th. The other piece of evidence that we have is a strange, seven-branched sword, which appears to have been given to the Japanese sovereign by the country of Baekje and it has an actual date in the inscription. This will come into play as we try to assess what is happening when. Unfortunately, none of these artifacts really give us the names of the Yamato sovereigns, so while we can verify that the events took place, who was actually on the throne is still a bit of an issue.
There is one more thing that we should pull out into the open here, and that’s the controversy surrounding this whole story. Nationalist scholars in pre-war Japan took it as a given that this story proved, conclusively, that Japan had subjugated Korea and therefore were justified in reasserting their control over the peninsula in modern times. Furthermore, when Japan occupied Korea in the early 20th century, and while they were propping up the puppet state of Manchu-kuo, many nationalist scholars used the Gwangaetto stele—which has numerous mentions of the Wa fighting on the peninsula—as evidence that Yamato was a major player in peninsular politics. On the flip side of this, many of the characters have been worn down with time and are illegible, and there are accusations against the Japanese army that they enhanced the inscription so that it would read more favorably based on their interpretations. While other, independent scholars have attested to the authenticity of the inscription as it is generally known, there are still different interpretations over exactly what it says, given the still missing characters. Still, it is a valuable resource given its proximity to the events in question.
To many of the pre-war Japanese scholars, the events of Tarashi Hime’s reign culminated not only in the subjugation of the peninsula, but in the establishment of a Yamato colony, known in Japanese as Mimana—or Imna in modern Korean. This was effectively treated as known fact, and knowledge of Tarashi Hime by her posthumous name: “Jinguu Kougou” was fairly well known. That said, the actual location and even existence of Mimana-slash-Imna has been hotly contested on all sides. However, I want to leave it off to the side for the time being. After all, nowhere in the narrative on Tarashi Hime’s conquest have we yet mentioned “Mimana”, and though various scholars have attempted to situate it in these earliest stories, it just isn’t clearly there, yet. That’s not to say that there wasn’t some place called Mimana, or Imna, or perhaps more appropriately “Nimna”, the contemporary Chinese reading for the character. The name even shows up on the Gwangaetto Stele, but if such a place as Nimna did exist, we don’t have any record of exactly where it was, nor what their leadership, culture, or ethnicity may have looked like. Many equate it with the polity in Gimhae known as Geumgwan Gaya [check spelling and pronunciation!], but even that seems to be conjecture at this point and not confirmed fact..
Of course, many scholars—especially Korean scholars—have pushed back against this interpretation of events. They claim that Japan never conquered anything, though they may have raided the coast quite a bit—especially the coast of Silla. Also, it is unclear whether or not the “Wa” mentioned in those ancient accounts had anything to do with the polity in Yamato in the archipelago. Were they armies sent by a strong central government? Or were they raiding parties from individual groups—most likely in Kyushu or even on the peninsula itself—who were operating independent of any larger state system? I wonder if it wasn’t a little bit of both, but I’ll talk about that in a bit.
There was also a push by Japanese scholars to reexamine the Chronicles. In the pre-war period, even the suggestion that there were problems with the official imperial genealogy could bring accusations of lese majeste and there were actual trials early on. This brought on a backlash as some scholars claimed that everything from Jimmu to Oujin—or in our case, Iware Biko to Homuda Wake—was a fiction created by the court to prop up the Yamato royal lineage. Because of the dates in the Nihon Shoki, and the Wei Chronicles talking about an early 3rd century female ruler in Japan, the Chroniclers somehow had to fit Tarashi Hime into the narrative. And so she is given credit for the work of Himiko, but they also layered on the various stories of attacks on the Korean peninsula and the birth and ascension of Homuda Wake. There is even the belief that some of the stories should be attributed to much later female sovereigns. Now, I think by now you know where I stand on this—somewhere generally in the middle—but just know that there are still some people who believe that Tarashi Hime herself is entirely fictional.
And then there is one other area that I want to address, which completely turns all of this on its head. This is the idea that the story of the conquest of Korea is actually *backwards*. It isn’t the story of Yamato conquering Silla, but rather the story of Baekje conquering Yamato. Yes, you heard that correctly. This theory holds that Tarashi Hime—if she existed—as well as Tarashi Nakatsu Hiko were actually from the continent. Eventually Tarashi Hime fought her way to Japan and all the way to Yamato where she put her son, Homuda Wake, on the throne. According to this theory, later Japanese sovereigns reversed things and added this story about the conquest to cover up their own lineage as Baekje nobles. This usually goes hand-in-hand with the “horse-rider” theory of Egami Namio, formulated around 1949, and later supported by Gari Ledyard in a paper in 1975. Namio’s theory points to the lack of horse-riding gear in the early archaeological record, up through the 4th century, and then its sudden explosion across the peninsula in the 5th century, and suggests that this was because Buyeo nobles from Baekje had arrived with their cavalry and these horse-riders had easily defeated the unmounted soldiers of Yamato. This theory has largely been denounced—in large part due to the archaeological evidence—but it still has some adherents.
As you can see, and as we’ve discussed previously, interpretations of the past can be influenced by modern thoughts and opinions, so let’s try to be aware of our own as we approach the material. I know this was long and involved, but I think it is necessary to really dig into some of this stuff.
Personally, as I mentioned, I find at least a grain of truth in most of these perspectives. Is Tarashi Hime completely mythical? I don’t know that I’m prepared to go that far, but clearly a lot of what is attributed to her is either anachronistic or clearly belongs to someone else’s story. There is also the fantastical nature of many of her exploits, even moreso than Yamato Takeru in places—and he was fighting off gods left and right. So I think we can tone down the rhetoric a bit, but that doesn’t mean she was not some sort of historical personage, or at least representing some person that was important enough to be remembered. So we’ll try to untangle a bit of what we know, but we can only go with the information presented to us.
Let’s start with the so-called invasion of Korea, which is really at the crux of what makes Tarashi Hime so controversial, given Japan’s later actions on the peninsula, including the invasion by Hideyoshi and the occupation in the early 20th century. One would think that such a massive undertaking as conquest of the peninsula would have found its way into the Korean records. Now, Aston was regularly checking his translation of the Nihon Shoki against the Dongguk Tonggam, a 16th century history of Korea that pulled together various other accounts, and I’ve also been checking against English translations of the Samguk Sagi and the Samguk Yusa, specifically the Silla, Baekje, and Goguryeo annals. None of them has anything that comes close to the scale of assault that we could really refer to as subjugation, or even direct Yamato control of anything on the peninsula at all.
The Korean histories, especially the Silla Annals, have contact with the Wa people noted as far back as 50 BCE. Of course, I have a hard time accepting that, since that is a mythical time even for the Korean histories, where founders are being born out of eggs and that sort of thing. Still, let’s take a look at the references and see what we find, realizing the dates are probably a little out of whack, at least until we get into the mid-4th century.
In Silla’s early history we see a Lord Ho serving the king who was originally from Wa. This in the time of Mahan, the confederacy that was eventually subsumed by the Kingdom of Baekje,
Early on, Wa sent 100 ships to plunder the homes of people on the eastern sea coast. Later, Silla established good ties with the Wa, but it wasn’t too long until the Wa invaded the island of Mokchul. Silla sent someone to defend the islands, but to no avail, and their general was killed. Then, the Wa came back and invaded the East Coast with such ferocity that only a year later there was a rumor that the Wa had returned in quote-unquote “great numbers”, causing people to abandon their villages and hide up in the mountains until they realized it was just a rumor.
Some time after all of that, Wa sent a “courtesy visit” to Silla. Later they claim that in 173 the Silla king entertained an envoy from Himiko. This entry is suspect—it seems to make an assumption based on the Weizhi and possibly using a later envoy from the Japanese court in 712. It is clear that, even though the early sources they were drawing from may have been referencing different polities all as “Wa”, by the time the Samguk Sagi was put together the Chroniclers just assumed that all of these were from the Kingdom of Yamato, generally accepting Japan’s own claims to an ancient state.
The entry for 193 is interesting in that it mentions refugees from Wa coming to ask for food because of some kind of epidemic. I’m reminded of the epidemic during the time of Mimaki Iribiko, but it isn’t clear that the two are actually related. Of course, a little more than a decade later the Wa are invading the borders of Silla and the Six Districts—which likely references the six communities that came together to form ancient Silla. Silla sent a general against them and he seems to have been successful.
In 232, it is said that the Wa “unexpectedly” showed up, surrounding the Silla capital at Gyeongju. The king personally went to fight them, and they scattered. Silla sent cavalry to pursue them, capturing a thousand of their troops. It apparently did not stop the Wa from attacking, though, as they would invade and raid the eastern coast the following year until Silla fought them at a place called Sado, setting fire to their ships.
Then, in 287, the Silla annals claim the Wa raided Illye district and set it on fire, capturing a thousand people and taking them with them—probably as slaves, given what we have seen in similar conflicts.
In 292, the Wa attacked and defeated Sado fortress, where they had previously been defeated, and two years later they attacked Changbong fortress, though they were unable to capture it.
In 295, apparently fed up with the raiding by the Wa, the King of Silla suggested working with Baekje to attack the Wa across the sea, but his ministers suggested against it. For one thing, they didn’t feel they could trust Baekje to hold up their end of the bargain, as Baekje had proven themselves deceitful many times over, at least from the Silla point of view. Furthermore, Silla didn’t really have a navy and they weren’t used to naval warfare, unlike the Wa, who seem to have been masters at it. This really sounds like the Wa really owned the sea lanes, early on. Those tables would be turned centuries later, but not right now. This may be why, five years later, Silla agreed to exchange envoys with the Wa, to try to find peace and put a stop to the raids. Indeed, in 312, the Silla Annals claim that Wa even sent an envoy proposing marriage to one of the King’s sons. The court responded by sending a noblewoman, the daughter of a man of the rank of Achan named Geumri. Thirty years later, the King of Wa supposedly requested the hand of the King of Silla’s daughter, but Silla refused because she was already married. A year later, the Wa formally severed ties, and the year after that the Wa suddenly showed up at Pungdo Island, where they plundered the households and then advanced inland. They surrounded the capital of Gyeongju and quickly attacked. The King of Silla wanted to sally forth with his troops, but his ministers cautioned against it, instead suggesting that they wait out the siege. Sure enough, the Wa supply lines were too long, and they ran out of provisions, causing the Wa to leave. This was in the year 346, so plausibly within the historical period.
There are other attacks, such as the ones in 364 and 393, but we’ll go over those in time. For now I want to focus on these entries in the Silla Annals not because I necessarily believe them in their entirety—I certainly am not ready to give credence to their dates—but I think it definitely demonstrates that by the latter part of the fourth century we see that there is a history between the peninsula and the Wa—and I think it is fair to assume that this includes the Wa on the archipelago.
The first thing that pops out is that there is no mention of actual submission by Silla, but there are moments where they send envoys to broker peace. It is important to remember that Silla would eventually unify the peninsula and so successive dynasties would likely not want to write down any indication of Silla as a subjugated state. And it is unlikely, in my opinion, that they ever were, completely.
The analogy that actually springs to mind for me is that of the British Isles during the raids of the Norsemen—commonly referred to as Vikings, or, more specifically, “going Viking”, aka going on a raid. I see a lot of similarities with a group of able seamen and warriors who could apparently raid and plunder the eastern coast of the peninsula more or less with abandon. There are fewer examples, however, of the Wa rounding the south and west coasts—possibly because the naval forces of the ethnic Han peoples in the south would not have countenanced such piracy, and the Wa were probably keen to stay on the good side of the commanderies, at least until they fell in the early 4th century.
Also like the Norse raiders along the coasts of England, Ireland, and Scotland, I suspect, that the ships the Wa sailed in were not just built for the sea, but could likely be rowed upstream through the various river systems to deploy troops deep inside Silla territory. This is based on the examples we have from haniwa and a handful of other depictions. That could account for how the Wa were getting all the way to the Silla capital, and could also explain the note in the Chronicles about them getting “halfway into the country” quickly and rapidly.
Furthermore, like with the Viking raids against England, the Wa seem to have excelled on the sea. This is unsurprising for people living largely on and amongst islands, whereas Silla and others were probably more practiced fighting on land.
And, one more possible similarity with the Viking raids on England—it is possible that Silla ended up buying them off. This isn’t exactly mentioned anywhere, but it could explain the two different views of the situation. From the Wa standpoint, they really want the goods—which, in the case of the chronicles, they frame as “tribute” being paid to them. However, it isn’t as if Silla were truly under their thumb once they departed, and there is no indication that there was any kind of actual control exerted on the peninsula beyond this desire for tribute-slash-bribery, but that is contextualized in the language of Empire—the language of the Sinitic chronicles that are their template for how such stories are supposed to go.
It may be the case that warriors from Yamato were trading with the peninsula, and when they felt they couldn’t get what they wanted that way, they may have used violence to take things that they felt they needed. This may have even led to forms of payment from peninsular groups and attempts to ally, such as through the traditional practice of marriage alliances that were so prevalent on the archipelago.
Because of all this, I have no problem believing that there was a sovereign—perhaps a female sovereign—who rallied the troops of Yamato and various other provinces and led them on a raid against the continental kingdom of Silla. This probably wasn’t the first such expedition, and it wouldn’t be the last. They may have even had practice raiding various coastal settlements in ways that just never made it into any histories, oral or otherwise. Riding across the waves in their boats, using their paddles to pull them across the straits, they skirted the coastline, possibly picking up others for their raiding party. Eventually they made their way upriver and inland, likely pillaging as they went, and eventually arriving at the Silla capital of Gyeongju. There they may have fought, or it may have been a siege or similar standoff between the various sides. Eventually, the King of Silla may have even met with them under a white flag and offered to send some sort of payment if they would leave. They were likely speaking different languages, and so any negotiations would have required interpreters, and, just as often happens today, the terms of any negotiation may have been conveyed slightly differently in each language. I can imagine a proud Tarashi Hime and Takechi no Sukune returning to their forces probably with some amount of treasure and claiming victory over Silla. I can see the King of Silla spinning the retreat of the Wa forces as a victory in their own right. Each confident that they had come out the victor—or at least that’s how they would make sure it was remembered, at least.
But what about Baekje and Goguryeo? It seems obvious that this was really just between Yamato and Silla at this point. We’ll get to Baekje, shortly, and Goguryeo some time after that, but at this point in the story, we are mostly talking about Silla and Yamato.
There is one more item from the Chronicles that I admittedly skipped over, but I think it would be relevant, here, and these are in some of those “other sources say…” kind of comments that pepper the Nihon Shoki, especially in the more mythical chapters that likely started as purely oral tradition. This has to do with the story of Prince Uro. There are two of these “other sources” stories I’m going to talk about, and then I’ll discuss the parallels we see in the Korean sources.
The first variant from the Nihon Shoki says that the person whom Okinaga Tarashi Hime met was a Prince by the name of Urusoborichiu, who submitted to the Yamato forces, whom some suspect may be a reference to the story of Uro, whose rank in modern Korean reads as “Seoburhan” or “Seopulya”. Could Uru-Soboritiu be the same as Uro Seoburhan?
The second variant doesn’t give the Prince a name, but expands on the story a lot more. In this telling, Tarashi Hime captured a Silla Prince and she had his kneecaps removed and had him crawl along the rocks until she finally slew him. She then installed a governor over Silla and headed back to Yamato. Now the wife of the prince cajoled the governor into telling her where her husband, the Prince, had been buried. Once he told her, she exhumed the body and raised up the people and killed the governor. When Tarashi Hime heard of all of this she was especially wroth and raised another army to punish Silla. The people, afraid of what that would mean, killed the late Prince’s wife to appease Tarashi Hime’s anger.
Again, I wouldn’t exactly take this story at face value for a variety of reasons, but there is some interesting correlation with the Korean records, specifically some events that are described as happening around the year 249. At this point, it’s doubtful that Silla and Baekje even existed as anything other than small parts of the larger confederacies, but we’ve already talked about how time is somewhat flexible in these retellings. So these events could have happened much later, and it could also be the case that the Japanese Chroniclers had access to these records from Silla and Baekje and were inserting the stories they thought were best to bolster the tale of Tarashi Hime.
So, here’s how the Korean records talk about this situation. It turns out there was a Prince named Uro listed in the Silla Annals. He is at one point referenced as the Crown Prince, and helped lead soldiers of the Six Districts of Silla to aid Kara. Despite being named as Crown Prince, he never actually seems to have attained the throne, but he did become a general and had other military successes and became the chief minister of military affairs in Silla by 244. A year later, however, he led troops on an unsuccessful raid against Goguryeo, where the Silla troops had to withdraw to a defense barricade at Madu.
Now it seems in this time there were at least semi-amicable relations between Silla and Yamato, because the Tonggam has an account in 249 of a Wa ambassador named “Kalyako”—possibly Katsuraki no So tsu Hiko, or someone similar. The King asked Prince Uro to entertain this ambassador, and at one point Uro mockingly told the ambassador that “sooner or later we shall make your King our salt-slave and your Queen our cook-wench.” As soon as this got back to the King of Wa, he was understandably upset and he sent an army to invade Silla. The King of Silla retreated to Yuchhon, while Prince Uro made his way to the invading Wa forces to apologize. Apparently words were not enough, and so the men of Wa seized Prince Uro and burned him on a pile of firewood and then left.
Later, another ambassador was sent to Silla. This time, the wife of the late Prince Uro asked to be allowed to entertain him. She got the ambassador away from his retinue, got him quite drunk, and when he was senseless she seized him and burnt him in the same manner that the Wa had burnt her husband. The Wa again attacked and besieged the Silla capital at Gyeongju, but they were unsuccessful.
Now, as with the other parts of this story, we can see how the Silla and Yamato accounts have some similarities, including names of the Prince and others involved, and various other details, such as the story of the wife taking revenge. In Yamato they conflate an ambassador or envoy with a governor, and they don’t mention the outcome of the retaliatory strike. I tend to put a little more faith in the Silla account, as it seems rather believable, but I suspect that the date of 249 CE is probably much earlier than any such event actually happened.
By the way, the Silla Annals in the Samguk Sagi, from which we get some of Prince Uro’s earlier life, also mentions the fateful year of 249, but without much embellishment. All it really gives us is that the Wa killed Seoburhan Uro, presumably in battle, but nothing more is given. It is an odd corroboration, if minimal.
For now, I think that gets us through the so-called Conquest of Korea, but don’t worry, there is plenty more fun to be had over the next episodes. We’ll see an alliance with Baekje and then we’ll continue to address the events on the Gwangaetto Stele. We’ll also talk about how writing first came to the archipelago. This really is an exciting, if confusing, period in Japanese history.
Next episode, however, we have more pressing concerns, and we’ll talk about Tarashi Hime’s son, Homuda Wake, and the succession crisis that she faced when she returned to the archipelago, focusing our attention briefly back on events in Yamato before again looking outward.
So, until next time, thank you for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us on iTunes, Spotify, or wherever you listen to podcasts. If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate through our KoFi site, kofi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the link over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Questions or comments? Feel free to Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.
That’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

Yōko, I. (2019). Revisiting Tsuda Sōkichi in Postwar Japan: “Misunderstandings” and the Historical Facts of the Kiki. Japan Review, (34), 139-160. Retrieved April 24, 2021, from https://www.jstor.org/stable/26864868
Ō, Yasumaro, & Heldt, G. (2014). The Kojiki: An account of ancient matters. ISBN978-0-231-16389-7
Yoshie, A., Tonomura, H., & Takata, A.A. (2013). Gendered Interpretations of Female Rule: The Case of Himiko, Ruler of Yamatai. U.S.-Japan Women's Journal 44, 3-23. doi:10.1353/jwj.2013.0009.
Barnes, G. (2006). Women in the "Nihon Shoki" (4 parts). Durham East Asia Papers, No. 20.
Bentley, John. (2006). The Authenticity of Sendai Kuji Hongi: a New Examination of Texts, with a Translation and Commentary. ISBN-90-04-152253
Lee, Jaehoon (2004). The Relatedness Between the Origin of Japanese and Korean Ethnicity. Florida State Univeristy Libraries, Electronic Theses, Treatises and Dissertations. https://fsu.digital.flvc.org/islandora/object/fsu:181538/datastream/PDF/download/citation.pdf
Allen, C. (2003). Empress Jingū: a shamaness ruler in early Japan. Japan Forum, 15(1), 81–98. https://doi.org/10.1080/0955580032000077748
Allen, C. T. (2003). Prince Misahun: Silla's Hostage to Wa from the Late Fourth Century. Korean Studies, 27(1), 1–15. https://doi.org/10.1353/KS.2005.0002
Philippi, D. L. (1968). Kojiki. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press. ISBN4-13-087004-1
Edwards, W. (1983). Event and Process in the Founding of Japan: The Horserider Theory in Archeological Perspective. Journal of Japanese Studies, 9(2), 265-295. doi:10.2307/132294
Chamberlain, B. H. (1981). The Kojiki: Records of ancient matters. Rutland, Vt: C.E. Tuttle Co. ISBN4-8053-0794-3
Ledyard, G. (1975). Galloping along with the Horseriders: Looking for the Founders of Japan. Journal of Japanese Studies, 1(2), 217-254. doi:10.2307/132125
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4

Episode 39: Birth of the Three Kingdoms

April 16, 2021 Joshua Badgley

Royal tombs of the Silla Kings. While they also built mounds for their kings’ final resting places, there were many differences in construction between the ones here at on the archipelago, but both indicate their culture’s desire to memorialize eli… — Royal tombs of the Silla Kings. While they also built mounds for their kings’ final resting places, there were many differences in construction between the ones here at on the archipelago, but both indicate their culture’s desire to memorialize elite personages, even in death.

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This episode, as Okinaga Tarashi Hime is preparing her troops to cross the straits and seek out the land of “gold and silver” that the kami have promised her, we’ll take a moment to look at the peninsula and just what has been going on over there in the late 3rd to early 4th centuries, because this is when we see the peninsula enter into the Three Kingdoms period, with the countries of Baekje and Silla rising to meet the elder state of Goguryeo and becoming kingdoms in their own right.

Before we get too much into that, let me address a few things.

First, I don’t speak Korean, and so my apologies up front if I butcher any of these names. I’ll do the best I can. Also, on the spelling: There are various ways of turning Hangul, the Korean writing system, into Latin characters. So sometimes you’ll see Goguryeo, Baekje, and Silla, and sometimes you’ll see Koguryo, Paekche, and Silla. For the most part I’ll be using the Revised Romanization (Gug-eoui Romaja Pyogibeop) as opposed to the McCune-Reischauer system, but since I’m not always familiar with things, forgive me if I slip up from time to time.

A general idea of the locations of the Samhan, or Three Han, of the Korean Peninsula. Map by Idh0854, CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons.

So where are all these places we are talking about? Well, let’s first look at the location of the Samhan, or Three Han. By the way, it can get very confusing because generally I use “Han” in the meaning of the ethnic Han people in the area that is, today, modern China, including the various empires that were inspired by them (though those empires were not always properly “Han” in that context). (漢 / 汉) However “Han” is also the reading of the character that the old chronicles, like the Wei Chronicles, used to discuss three of the groups on the Kroean peninsula, and it also happens to be the term used in Korean for Korea itself (韓). For the most part, if I’m talking about the “Han” I’ll be referring to those people who came over from the areas of modern China, and not the early inhabitants of the peninsula.

Now exactly where these groups were is vague. It isn’t like anyone laid out a geographic map with borders. And there were other groups as well on the peninsula, even though we mostly concern ourselves with these three. So the map here gives a rough approximation of their location. The Commanderies would have been above them, to the north, and then the states of Okjeo, Goguryeo, and Buyeo beyond that.

Map of the Korean Peninsula showing the Three Kingdoms and Gaya. This is roughly showing the extent of the kingdoms in about 476. Used under CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons

After Goguryeo defeats the commanderies, and pushes them off of the peninsula, then the three kingdoms are able to take over most of the peninsula. The map here is actually of the borders in about 476—so about a hundred years after the time we are discussing—but it gives a general idea of where we are talking about. Of all of these, I’d say that Goguryeo probably has the most dramatic shift in borders. Then again, being at the northern end of the peninsula with access to the Manchurian massif and the Eurasian steppes, they have the greatest ability to expand, but also face the most threats in the form of other actors encroaching on their borders, while in the rest of the peninsular kingdoms they have at least one back to the ocean.

And, remember, other than Goguryeo, the Kingdoms generally weren’t being written about until after the fall of the Commanderies, and so we don’t exactly have great records for their full extent until much later.

Inscribed bricks (Goguryeo)

Bricks inscribed with writing from the 3rd century in Goguryeo, indicating the presence of some kind of written culture. From the Seoul National Museum.

Oracle bones

Oracle bones from SW Korean peninsula, near modern Haenam. Oracle bones in Shang times or earlier may have actually been the earliest use of Sinitic writing, but it didn’t necessarily require a written culture to “read” the cracks, as it were. Still, it shows some similarities with the scapulamancy practiced in the archipelago. From the Seoul National Museum.

Shield Decorations (Gaya)

4th C bronze decorations found in Gaya and also in Japan from very early centuries. It is thought that they were probably used on wooden shields, but the exact nature of their usage is unknown. From the Seoul National Museum.

Iron armor (Silla)

3rd-4th C iron cuirass. From the Seoul National Museum.

Iron cuirass (Silla)

Iron cuirass from a 4th C Silla tomb. Gyeongju National Museum.

Iron neck armor (Silla)

Rear view of a 4th C piece of neck armor—part of a larger suit. From the Gyeongju National Museum.

Iron cuirass (Silla)

Iron cuirass from a 4th C Silla tomb. Gyeongju National Museum.

Iron helmet (Silla)

Iron helmet found in a 4th C Silla tomb. From Gyeongju National Museum.

Iron helmet (Silla)

Rear view of an iron helmet from a 4th C Silla tomb. Gyeongju National Museum.

Iron socketed spearheads (Silla)

3rd-4th C iron, socketed spearheads. From the Seoul National Museum.

Iron socketed spearhead (Silla)

4th C iron socketed spearheads. Gyeongju National Musem.

Iron horse bit

4th C horse bit, indicating presence of horses on the peninsula. The archipelago seems to have still been working without horses, for the most part. From the Gyeongju National Museum.

Iron horse bit (Silla)

Iron horse bit from a 4th C Silla Tomb. Gyeongju National Museum.

Crystal and Jade Necklace (Silla)

Necklace from the 3rd Century. From the Gyeongju National Museum.

Glass and Jade Neckalce (Silla)

3rd C necklace. Before gold and silver there were other materials used in Silla—and jade and glass would continue to be appreciated into later centuries. From the Gyeongju National Museum.

Gold earrings (Silla)

Gold earrings found in a 4th C Silla tomb.

Bird-shaped ewers

Bird shaped funerary pottery seems prevalent in the southern Korean peninsula. Could this be connected with the sotdae (birds on poles) and the story of the Silla founder being born from an egg? From the Seoul National Museum.

Halfmoon Fortress (Gyeongju)

Overgrown earthworks of the Halfmoon Fortress in Gyeongju.

Halfmoon Fortress, Gyeongju

Broken pieces of rock at the top of the tree-covered earthworks of Halfmoon Fortress in Gyeongju.

Halfmoon Fortress, Gyeongju

Modern approach to the tree-covered earthworks of the ancient Halfmoon Fortress in Gyeongju.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is episode 39: The Birth of the Three Kingdoms.
Alright, so we’ve been dealing with the Chronicles up through the fourteenth sovereign, Tarashi Naka tsu Hiko, more popularly known as Chuuai Tennou. By my calculations, we are somewhere in the mid to latter 4th century, even if the Nihon Shoki claims we are just at the end of the 2nd century. This was a momentous time on the peninsula, seeing the rise of native rule after the fall of the Han Commanderies, and the events there were having rippling effects throughout both the peninsula and the islands. You know, it is so easy for us to assume that because Japan is an island nation that it was somehow disconnected from the events on the mainland, like the straits and seas were a moat that kept everyone out. And yet, while they certainly did allow Japan to maintain some distance, they were hardly an iron wall, and Japan was often impacted by what happened with her neighbors, especially as time went on and things were becoming more and more connected. In a way, you could see this as the natural extension of the connections that we are seeing mentioned in the Chronicles, with Yamato dominion having been extended from Tohoku in the northeast all the way to Kyushu.
In the 4th century, the archipelago seems to have had at least good trade relations with the Gaya kingdoms, as we’ve mentioned before. To recap, Gaya was a confederation of small states that may have even become a kingdom, based in the old Pyonhan area, one of the three groups of city-states, this one around Gimhae and the Nakdong River region. While not confirmed, I highly suspect that the Pyonhan were—or at least included—a peninsular Wa people, possibly speaking their own form of peninsular-Japonic. If that is the case, then the states of the Gaya confederacy might be seen as simply an extension of the culture that had spread with the Yayoi into the Japanese archipelago, though no doubt, over time, those on the peninsula would have had more blending and interaction with the other people there.
From what it looks like, the Korean peninsula at this time was a diverse region. You likely had Han Chinese, Japonic-speaking Wa people, as well as others, such as the Buyeo people in Goguryeo and Baekje. There were many other groups mentioned in the Annals and Histories, such as the Ye, the Maek, the Malgal, and others, though whether they had distinct linguistic traditions or were simply different political groups, it is hard to say. Since we don’t have any indigenous chronicles for them we are largely left to conjecture based on what others have written about them. But regardless of the cultural and linguistic diversity, in broad strokes we can talk about the formation of three main powers. I will emphasize that these strokes are necessarily broad—I think it would be awesome to do an in depth discussion of Korean history, but that just isn’t our main focus. So please don’t yell at me for skipping over your favorite story from this period—we have a lot to cover.
So the Three Kingdoms that we are focused on here are Goguryeo, Baekje, and Silla. We’ve talked about the Gaya confederation some in the past, and we may touch on them, but really I want to talk about the reason why the 4th century is considered the start of the “Three Kingdoms” period on the peninsula. And no, these are not the same as the Three Kingdoms, or San-guo, of China. No Cao Cao with a duck on his head. Sorry. Though some of the peninsular aristocracy did have some totally bitchin’ headgear. I’m just saying.
I want to try to talk about these as best we can, and to do that we’ll be looking at some other sources, including the Korean chronicles of the Samguk Sagi and the Samguk Yusa, which tell the tales of the “Three Kingdoms” of Baekje, Goguryeo, and Silla. However, as sources go, we need to be aware that these are even further than the source material than the Nihon Shoki and the Kojiki, having been written centuries later. The Samguk Sagi, or “history of the three kingdoms”, was commissioned by the Korean Goryeo dynasty, and compiled by Kim Busik in 1145. It seems that this largely drew on various extant chronicles that we no longer have and compiled them into a single work. In fact, the Nihon Shoki mentions various Korean annals that were referenced in its own compilation. One interesting note, though, it seems that Kim Busik didn’t try to integrate all of these into a single narrative. Rather, the annals of each kingdom are told largely separately, meaning it reads something like Kurosawa’s “Rashomon”—or even the original “In a Grove”—with several different perspectives on the same event.
The Samguk Yusa, or “Memorabilia of the Three Kingdoms”, focuses more on the stories and less on the chronicled history. It was probably put together by a monk by the name of Iryeon in the 13th century, but that is a lot less clear.
Like the Japanese Chronicles, both of these were written entirely in a Korean form of Chinese, using Chinese characters for both meaning and pronunciation. On the other hand, they likely had reliable textual references dating back much earlier than the archipelago, given their proximity to the various continental empires. That means that the peninsula likely had a more robust literary culture than the islands seem to have had. After all, the peninsular kingdoms had been right on the border of Wei and Jin empires, and both they and the ethnic Han commanderies utilized writing for all sorts of purposes, including the administration of the state. Bordering states would have likely been expected to pay tribute or otherwise appease the commanderies and the court at Louyang of which they were an extension. As such, one can only assume that they ended up adopting and adapting the tools of statecraft that they knew, which would have included reading and writing.
In the archipelago, on the other hand, there is no indication of this same kind of literary tradition—definitely not to the same extent. It certainly may be the case that there were those who could read and write, at least enough to send correspondence to the Wei court, back in the time of Himiko, but it is unclear if that was actually the Wa themselves, or perhaps Han immigrants in their midst. There may have even been decorative or performative writing—that is, writing that was done more as a performance or decoration than for any actual communication. This may be what we are seeing when we catch glimpses of what could be Sinitic characters on clay pots and similar media early on. But there is no indication of widespread use nor of an understanding of writing as a means of supporting the government.
I mean, think about it for a moment. When you consider a government, what do you have? Sure, at the top you have the leaders and people making decisions, whether a king, a president, a prime minister, and various legislative and judicial bodies. But other than arguing, what do the majority of people in a government do? A lot of them are either collecting data on the state of the country and sending that to someone, or they are implementing the policies being directed down from the top. That is something that is possible to some extent without writing, but it quickly gets to be unwieldy. Sure, you can rely on a network of individuals, but how reliable are they?
So writing may not be absolutely essential for the formation of a state—look at the incredible Incan empire in the Americas—but it is certainly extremely helpful, especially when you are trying to govern large regions of territory. And some of the earliest writing is really about keeping track of stuff—inventory, taxes, etc.
So it is quite likely that the peninsular kingdoms had some form of literary traditions, no doubt based on what they had learned from their Han neighbors, though these weren’t always long traditions, and weren’t necessarily being used to document historical fact. After all, as just about anyone in IT can tell you, most people don’t exactly focus on documentation first and foremost. Baekje, for instance, was possibly just starting to really keep court records around the mid-4th century—which could also be because, despite the claims made about the state’s history, it was actually relatively new to the scene at that point, which we’ll talk about.
Now, just because they wrote things down doesn’t mean that their sources are any more or less infallible. Indeed, there is some consideration that the historiographical methods of the Japanese court, designed to promote the story of the royal family, was something that they came by honestly from their peninsular teachers. So we can’t exactly treat the Samguk Yusa nor the Samguk Sagi as accurate in all things. In fact, it is very clear that they seem to have postulated much earlier dates for some events than seems at all possible, and, like with the Kojiki and the Nihon Shoki, as the centuries progress they get more and more reliable.
But let’s actually get into the history of the Three Kingdoms, themselves.
We should probably start in the north, because while the rest of the peninsula was still divided up into the Samhan, or three Han, each of which was made up of multiple independent polities, up in the north you already had one of your first of these three Korean states. This was Goguryeo, or sometimes even just “Goryeo”, which is actually where the English name, “Korea” is derived. Goguryeo was largely at the head of the peninsula and expanded into the continent. While the territory governed by the state would vary, at its height it ranged from the area of Harbin, in modern China, and, at its height, south into the northern parts of modern-day South Korea, encompassing all of modern North Korea.
Now you may recall that we discussed Goguryeo previously, and their on-again, off-again relation with the Han Commanderies. Sure, the Wei loved Goguryeo when they were helping them to take down their rivals on the Liaodong peninsula, just to the West, but it didn’t take much for that alliance to break apart, especially once the other threats had been eliminated. When Goguryeo attempted to expand southward, hoping to get access to much needed farmland, the Wei saw that as a provocation dealt a considerable blow to Goguryeo, driving them from their capital city in 244.
Goguryeo was down, but not entirely out. A second Wei invasion in 259 seems to have turned out not quite so well for the Wei, and they were defeated at Yangmaenggok. Nonetheless, the damage to Goguryeo was significant, and it would be years before they were again a major threat to the Commanderies or anyone else on the peninsula.
In fact, during the 2nd half of the 3rd century, much of Goguryeo’s bloodshed was internal, within the royal court. This seems to have culminated in the last decade of that century in the rise to power of one of Goguryeo’s most ruthless kings, King Bongsang.
According to the stories we have, Bongsang was quite the disagreeable figure. Arrogant and downright paranoid. Of course, he may have had a reason to be worried, but largely those seem to be reasons of his own making. As soon as he rose to power in 292, he had his own uncle, Prince Anguk, executed. Now Prince Anguk wasn’t just some dandy with royal blood, but back during the previous reign, that of Bongsang’s father, he had been helping his brother, the king, defend Goguryeo. The man was a frickin’ war hero, and quite popular with the people. King Bongsang didn’t care, and being the paranoid and insecure man that he was, only saw this as a threat to his own power, so he had him labeled as a traitor and killed.
And of course that totally blew up in his face. Killing the beloved war hero--I mean, really, when has that really worked? Bongsang’s plan seems to have been that if he labelled him as disloyal then it would kill any support the people had for him, but instead Prince Anguk’s death seems to have only riled up the populace against the King. He turned him into a martyr.
As if that wasn’t enough, he would try again, only a year later. This time he accused his own younger brother of plotting against him, and he made him commit suicide.
Now his brother’s son—that is Bongsang’s nephew—clearly saw the writing on the wall and decided to get out of Dodge. Known as Prince Eulbul, he apparently took on the life of a servant to hide as a commoner, taking on various menial tasks and doing his best not to catch his uncle’s eye. And when I say menial, I mean it. At one point he was in a job where he was throwing rocks into a pond at night so that the frogs wouldn’t wake up his master. How’s that for a night shift? He actually ran away from that job to find one where he had to do more physical labor, but at least he wasn’t up all night on frog duty.
And while Prince Eulbul was trying to figure out what options were open to him now that “Prince” was apparently out of the question, things weren’t getting any better at the court, and eventually, the court itself had enough. Bongsang’s own prime minister, a man by the name of Chang Jori, resigned his position and, along with other disaffected ministers, he planned and executed a successful coup, overthrowing King Bongsang in 300 CE. King Bongsang and his two sons were both exiled, but they all committed suicide rather than go on frog duty, themselves.
With the throne empty, Chang Jori and the other ministers decided that they needed to find a new monarch, and so they instituted a search throughout the land, eventually tracking down Prince Eulbul. Of course, the Prince thought this might be a trick—he hadn’t exactly been plugged into court politics for the past eight years, and he tried to deny who he was, but eventually they explained to him the situation and he was reinstated and then enthroned as King. Posthumously known as King Micheon, he grew the Goguryeo military, and had an extremely successful career, being known as one of Goguryeo’s better rulers. He expanded back into the Liaodong peninsula, and turned his attention to the old Han Commanderies.
Now the Wei had long since fallen and given way to the Jin dynasty, but the Jin itself was in trouble and unable to provide the support to its outposts as it once did. Still, at the beginning of the 4th century, the peninsula was not exactly forgotten. In fact, political rivals were often sent to the commanderies as a form of exile, sending them to the very edges of the empire.
Nonetheless, the commanderies were not what they once were, and Goguryeo forces began to attack the representatives of Jin power on the peninsula. First they attacked and destroyed the Xuantu Commandery in 302, which was the northernmost of the three commanderies still on the peninsula. Later they annexed the Lelang and Daifang commanderies in 313 and 314, effectively ending any official Jin presence on the peninsula, though there remained some ethnic Han citizens who stayed and seemed to have thrived, at least through the middle of the 4th century. Han tombs and their contents tell us that even if the Commanderies were no longer present, it doesn’t mean that all of the Han were wiped out, and in fact some seem to have done quite well for themselves.
After the defeat of the Commanderies, Eulbul turned his attention largely to the west, where he spent much of his time embroiled in conflicts with the Xianbei in the area of the Liaodong Peninsula. This continued throughout Eulbul’s reign, right up until the king’s death in about 331 CE, and likely kept Goguryeo’s attention focused largely on their western neighbors, rather than on the peninsula itself.
Following Eulbul’s death his son, Sayu, came to the throne. He would posthumously be known as King Gogugwon. One of the first things he did was apparently expand the fortress at Pyongyang—and yes, that is the same Pyongyang as the modern capital of North Korea. Later, he would repair the old fortress of Hwando and build the city of Gungnae-song in its shadow. This was actually a common plan for Goguryeo cities at this time: a fortress would be built incorporating the natural rise of the mountains, and this would be a stronghold for the people to take cover in during times of war and strife. Outside would be built a walled city on a geometric plan—in this case a square-walled site near modern Ji’an, on the Chinese side of the Yalu River border with North Korea. This square-shaped walled city would be the site of daily activities in a time of peace.
Not that peace was in the cards for Sayu and Goguryeo. They continued to suffer attacks from Xianbei Murong and other steppe groups, until they were ultimately defeated and humiliated by the Xianbei Yan Kingdom around 342. The Xianbei dug up the body of Sayu’s father, the previous sovereign, King Micheon, and also captured Queen Ju, Sayu’s mother, and various concubines. Holding all of them, both the living and the dead, as hostages, they demanded Goguryeo’s surrender. Eventually, Sayu submitted to Yan as a vassal state, for which he received back his father’s body, but his mother was still held hostage for some time. Sayu moved the capital back down south to Pyongyang, and seems to have focused their attention back on their southern neighbors. In 369, some 27 years after their defeat by the Xianbei, Sayu led an army against the people to their south, perhaps in an attempt to reinvigorate Goguryeo. This would not exactly go as planned, and we’ll touch on that, later.
That said, the fall of the commanderies at the beginning of the 4th century had ripple effects throughout the peninsula. Up to that point, they had represented the major power on the peninsula, whether it was the Han, the Wei, or the Jin. There is plenty of evidence to suggest that they continually played the various polities of the three Samhan off of one another and kept them largely destabilized and, in a way, subservient to the Commanderies themselves. Without the commanderies, there would have been a power vacuum created—and this may be one of the factors leading to the rise of the other kingdoms on the peninsula.
The first of these that I want to touch on is the Kingdom of Baekje. Now according to the Baekje Annals in the Samguk Sagi, the Kingdom of Baekje was actually founded in about 18 BCE, but that date seems impossibly early based on what else we know. For instance, we know that in 290 there was an embassy to the Jin court sent by representatives of the various Mahan states. At that time there was one state known as Bochi, or Pai-chi, which may be an early name for Baekje, but it wasn’t even the most prominent of the states in Mahan. That honor seems to have gone to a state known as Wolchi-guk, or possibly Mokchi-guk, about which we have very little information.
Now according to most sources, the founding of Baekje was closely tied to the state of Goguryeo, and through them to the ancient state of Buyeo. Buyeo seems to have been a predecessor to the state of Goguryeo, founded around the 2nd century BCE and lasting until the late 5th century. Much of its territory seems to be in the middle of Manchuria, in modern Northeast China. The legendary founder of Goguryeo, King Jumong, is said to have been a descendant of the King of Buyeo, founding Goguryeo around 37 BCE. According to Baekje tradition, King Jumong had three sons: Yuri, Biryu, and Onjo. Yuri was born to a previous wife, and when King Jumong died Yuri suddenly showed up in Goguryeo to take the throne. Accordingly his half-brothers, Biryu and Onjo, decided that they wouldn’t wait around—and seeing how bloody things got in later family disputes in Goguryeo, I can’t exactly fault them for deciding to get out of Dodge altogether. They made their way south, to the 54 states of the Mahan. There they were accepted and set up two new kingdoms. Biryu set up the kingdom of Michuhol, while Onjo set up the kingdom of Sipje. When Biryu died, the people of his kingdom joined with the other Goguryeo refugees in Sipje, and the kingdom was renamed to Baekje. “Sipje” basically meant “10 subjects”, indicating the 10 allies who had come with Onjo to first found his new state, and “Baekje” replaces “10” with “100” indicating the new subjects that had arrived from his late brother’s kingdom.
Some time after this consolidation, Onjo and his descendants began to consolidate power, eventually subjugating or absorbing all of the states of Mahan.
Of course, as I mentioned earlier, the Annals claim this was sometime around 18 BCE, but that date seems extremely unlikely. I mean, granted, it isn’t some 8 centuries too early, like we find in the Japanese Chronicles, but it still doesn’t line up with what we actually know about the peninsula.
There is no evidence that there was any kind of major peninsular state south of the commanderies that early on. In fact, as we’ve mentioned, the Commanderies themselves would likely have done their best to stop any major states from forming. But besides that, if one did form, we would likely hear about it in the record.
Johnathan Best, who translated the Baekje Annals from the Samguk Sagi into English, has made an attempt to try to uncover just when the state of Baekje was likely founded—or at least when its Buyeo-descended royalty may have arrived. After all, there does seem to be a consistent theme that the Baekje royal family was connected to Buyeo, usually mediated through the state of Goguryeo, and there are various cultural artifacts that would seem to confirm a connection, at least between Goguryeo and Baekje.
So it seems that there may, indeed, be a connection to the Goguryeo royal lineage—and thus all the way back to the ancient state of Buyeo—but if so, it must have been much more recent than 18 BCE. What we know for certain is that Baekje was definitely a fully fledged nation by 372, when King Geungchogo sent his own embassy to Jin Court. This King, King Geungchogo, was also the first king of Baekje to have had official written records kept, so he is largely considered historical whereas the previous 12 or so kings back to Onjo are questionable.
Now if the royal line of Baekje did come from Buyeo stock, by way of Goguryeo, when could that have occurred? Well, Best suggests that it may have been around the turn of the 4th century, probably around the time of the cruel and capricious King Bongsang of Goguryeo, whom we talked about earlier in this episode. It is possible that in his cruelty, he drove out more than just Prince Eulbul. On the other hand, it could also have been that when Changjori and other ministers enacted their coup and placed Eulbul on the throne, well, there may have been continued supporters of Bongsang, or even rival princes, who decided that it was in their best interest to not hang around any more. After all, they had just been through a decade of bloody palace intrigue and there was no reason to think that the newly risen faction in court wouldn’t take their opportunity to enact vengeance upon their rivals.
Furthermore, it is not too improbable that these disaffected nobles and Goguryeo refugees may have found safe haven in the young states of Mahan—possibly even in an existing state known as Baekje-guk. Even though they may have been on the outs with their home kingdom, they were still nobles and they would have been experienced in the latest tools of statecraft on the peninsula. This is something we don’t often think about but understanding how to run a government is a skill in and of itself, and the art of government evolves and changes. Over time the tools and techniques developed in one country can be spread and adopted in others. This may have made these foreigners quite popular with the elite.
In addition, they seem to have been given leave to set up in the northern part of the Mahan territories, around the Han river system, near modern Seoul, creating a buffer, of sorts, between the Mahan and the commanderies.
And here we see several similarities in the archaeological record between Baekje and Goguryeo. For one thing, Baekje’s capital city was similar to that of the Goguryeo site of Hwando and Kungnaesong, in that it was a geometric walled city paired with a Goguryeo-style mountain fortress. We also see similarities in the tombs, which are built up like short, flat-topped pyramids. These would seem to suggest that there was, indeed, some connection between these two states, though there was also a certain enmity between them.
Now, although the dates found in the Baekje Annals are questionable, the overarching story of the early kings of Baekje is, itself, rather intriguing, and not entirely unbelievable. Early on in the Baekje Annals, the rulers of the young state take a subservient position amongst the other Mahan, with one individual seemingly at the head of the various Mahan states. Though far from holding direct rule over all the myriad countries, this individual did seem to hold the power to intervene in disputes and even shame the kings of Baekje, at least early on, into compliance. This may not be too dissimilar from the kind of coercive influence that early Yamato may have held in the archipelago.
Of course, as the state of Baekje grew, it soon turned the tables on its neighbors, absorbing the other states of the Mahan, and entering into constant struggles with its neighbors. To the north, the commanderies were pressing on the young state, and rallying up local groups, referred to in the Annals as the Malgal, to raid and harass Baekje.
Despite all of the attacks and apparent warfare, Baekje seems to have thrived, holding its own against the Commanderies until they fell to the Goguryeo King Micheon—the former Prince Eulbeul—in 313 and 314. With the commanderies gone, Baekje would have been free to continue its expansion across parts of the peninsula. It also may have freed up the talent of the ethnic Han bureaucrats and merchants, if the young peninsular states could attract them to their courts.
And here I want to pause for a moment. We talked about the make up of the Baekje royal family as one of Buyeo descent, as was Goguryeo, and many of the high-ranking court nobles seem to have made similar claims, but this was only the upper echelon of society. It is actually quite probable that the people that they ruled over were ethnically distinct, which would make sense if this was Goguryeo nobility ruling over a common Mahan people.
The fact is, we don’t really know all that much about the people of Mahan. Were they a single ethnicity or were they several different groups? Did they all speak a common language, even? What was it that caused the Han, Wei, and Jin chroniclers to differentiate between the three groups of Mahan, Byonhan, and Jinhan in the first place? Was it just for geographic simplicity, or was it something else?
I suspect that the Baekje rulers and their people likely spoke a different language, at least at first. Think of the Normans in England, though I don’t know if the relationship was so cut and dried as “rulers” and “subjects”. The main thing to note is that the peninsula was, from an early point, a very diverse and heterogenous place, with many different groups, including, we believe, people speaking some form of proto or peninsular Japonic, as well as Chinese and an early form of Korean—and probably more as well. It is quite possible that people were regularly bilingual and dealing in multiple languages, or possibly through some regional lingua franca. Whatever the reality, it is hard to uncover exactly. Over time, many of the place names on the peninsula—the very locations that would most likely have held onto traces of the original languages of the region—were deliberately changed and replaced. Today we tend to treat all of these names and locations as if they were spoken with a modern Korean pronunciation, just as we tend to do with Japanese names on the archipelago, but we should remember that the truth is likely to be much more complex.
Unfortunately, there isn’t much more that we really get on the common people in Baekje at this time. We have only scant glimpses at their religious and personal lives, with much of the action focused on things like meteorological events and the political and military accomplishments.
Speaking of which: as Baekje subjugated much of the Mahan, they also eyed the land of Jinhan, to the east, on the other side of the Peninsula, where another fledgling state was asserting its own dominance; Silla. This was one of the other states that would rise and become a significant power on the peninsula. At the same time, Baekje was also taking the fight to the north, and without those pesky Commanderies in the way, they came into conflict with Goguryeo. When King Sayu of Goguryeo marched south with his men, Baekje, under the rule of King Geunchogo, repulsed the invaders and counterattacked, eventually culminating in an assault on the fortress of Pyongyang in 371 CE. During the assault, a Baekje arrow found its mark, striking and killing the Goguryeo king, Sayu. Baekje seems to have been unable or unwilling to press the advantage, though, but they do seem to have moved their own capital northward, perhaps to better administer the territories of southern Pyongyang.
So that gives us a general idea of Baekje, but let’s take a look at the third kingdom that we see rising up at this time: Silla.
Much like Baekje, Silla makes no real appearance in other records before the 4th century. The Samguk Sagi suggests that it was formed before either Baekje or Goguryeo, with a claimed founding in 57 BCE. Once again, we have to wonder about such a date. More likely, an early state, by the name of Saro, likely arose in the midst of the other countries of Jinhan, and really started to grow into a regional power sometime in the late 3rd century.
Ignoring the dates, if we look at the Silla Annals in the Samguk Sagi we see evidence of its growth. Of all of the locations, it seems to have been one of the most cosmopolitan. Some of the people of Jinhan apparently claimed descent from the ethnic Han populations, claiming status as ancient refugees of the Qin, though this seems questionable at best. There were also members of the court who laid claim to Wa ancestry—and indeed the areas of Jinhan and Pyonhan—the area of the Kara confederacy, and likely home to a fair number of peninsular Wa people—both seemed to have shared a fair amount of material culture up until the late 3rd century, when we see them start to drift apart.
Silla’s legendary founder is known as Bak Hyeokgeose, and the stories say that he was born from a large egg. From there, the early history of Silla talks of dealing with the leader of the Mahan states as well as Wa pirate raiders along the coast. Soon, they are in conflict with Baekje, while also dealing with the other tribes and ethnic groups on the peninsula, such as the Ye and the Maek.
Silla built its capital in the plains of Gyeongju, where there certainly is a long history of occupation, at least according to the archaeological record. Silla’s own stories say that six villages came together to build the city of Gyeongju, and that may give an indiation of how this early state was born.
The capital of Silla, known from early times as “Seorabeol”, which may have just meant “capital”, was centered on the Gyeongju plain. At a bend in the river, a fortress was built on a half-moon shaped hill, known as half-moon fortress, and then four other fortresses guarded the city from atop nearby hillsides. This was quite different from the Goguryeo-style paired sites of a mountain fortress and a geometrically planned walled city.
Their burial practices were also different. They built wooden chambers, covered in dirt, much as the ethnic Han would do, but then they employed a trick learned from the Goguryeo, adding a layer of cobblestones before covering it all over again. Those cobblestones, and the lack of a corridor, were a type of anti-theft measure. Imagine digging into the side of a mound, and at first it is easy going—you have some grass, probably, but soon you are just pulling out dirt. You know that there is something in there, so you keep digging, and eventually you hit the cobblestones. At first this doesn’t seem so bad—you just grab the cobblestones and pull them out of there. Except, you are probably working from the bottom, and it is like you just pulled the fruit out from the bottom of the display. As soon as you do that, all the other cobblestones fall after it, filling in the hole you just made. Like Sisyphus, every inch you gain is taken away from you, and instead of digging a small hole to your target you end up digging away half the mountainside. It is really a rather simple and ingenious way to protect your dead kings and their stuff, and it worked remarkably well—we have a treasure-trove of items from ancient Silla, and a lot of it does seem to involve gold and silver, much as we heard in the Nihon Shoki, though when Silla really became known for their golden crowns and manufacturing techniques I couldn’t exactly say.
It’s possible that this came with the fall of the Commanderies and the movement of some of the ethnic Han into Silla. It may also be notable that the surname of the later Silla kings, “Kim”, is a reference to “Gold”.
Speaking of which, it is somewhat notable that the first twelve rulers of Silla were actually from one of two intertwined families, either the Bak or the Seok. The thirteenth sovereign was actually the first ruler from the Kim clan, which would eventually come to dominate the throne. The Kim clan’s status seems to have been solidified by the time of the kingdom’s 17th sovereign, Kim Naemul, who was also the first sovereign that could be corroborated in other historical sources, such as those of the Jin court, and even mentioned in the Japanese Chronicles. Naemul came to power around 356 and ruled through 402—basically the entirety of the latter 4th century.
Now, of all the annals in the Samguk Sagi, the Silla Annals are the most detailed. Even for these times that we believe are anachronistic, they have a lot of detail of the dealings of Silla with its neighbors. It seems that Silla grew, and just as Baekje absorbed the Mahan, Silla absorbed the Jinhan. Whereas Baekje was focused on the Mahan and the Commanderies, however, Silla seemed concerned with the Wa and with Gaya, to the south. It is unclear if the Wa mentioned in the Silla accounts are all from the archipelago or if some of them may have come from the peninsula. Over time there is definitely a distinction between the Wa and Gaya, however, indicating a clear distinction between them.
There are also numerous conflicts with Baekje. Baekje seems to be shown as an aggressor against Silla, while Silla is actively attempting to subjugate the areas of Gaya and Wa. Of course, if they are fighting with Baekje, and Baekje wasn’t really a power until the late 3rd or early 4th centuries, then we have some idea, possibly, of when many of these stories are actually taking place.
That said, none of this is constant warfare, but instead there are periods of fighting followed by a truce, and then eventually, more fighting. The root cause of many of the conflicts aren’t directly discussed—and it may simply have been enough that they were different states vying for supremacy. There were even other groups and people, but other than Gaya we don’t hear nearly as much from them, other than the occasional raiding party or alliance. Even Gaya seems to be an “outside” party on the peninsula. It is into this mix that the Wa would find themselves, and Yamato would enter the complex world of peninsular politics.
And I think that’s about where we will leave it. By the latter half of the 4th century, around the time that Okinaga Tarashi Hime is gearing up to head off from Kyushu, there were three major states on the peninsula, and then myriad other, smaller groups. Goguryeo in the north had destroyed the ethnic Han commanderies, but was still nursing its own wounds inflicted by the Murong Xianbei and Baekje. Baekje itself was just reaching the height of their power, and were even starting to encroach on the weakened Goguryeo as well as their Silla neighbors. Silla had established itself on the central eastern coastline, and was fending off attacks from, and attempting to subjugate, the loosely confederated states of Gaya to their south. Meanwhile there are attacks by the Wa, the Malgal, and the Ye and Maek. Up in the north, the ancient Okjo and Buyeo, whom we’ve really only barely mentioned, seem to be waning.
This is the early part of Three Kingdoms era on the Korean peninsula. These three states will vie with each other for the next several centuries. At the same time they are still developing their own policies and statecraft, borrowing from their Han neighbors, but also innovating their own ways of doing things. Over time, they would consolidate into a single state, but for now they were still fighting with one another.
Next episode, will get back to Okinaga Tarashi Hime and we’ll see how she fares as she jumps into the fray on the Korean Peninsula.
So, until next time, thank you for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us on iTunes, Spotify, or wherever you listen to podcasts. If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate through our KoFi site, kofi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the link over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Questions or comments? Feel free to Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.
That’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

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

Episode 38: Two Sovereigns and a Minister

April 1, 2021 Joshua Badgley

Counter clockwise from upper right: Waka Tarashi Hiko, Tarashi Naka tsu Hiko, and Takechi Sukune (sometimes Takeshi-uchi Sukune). Of course, these are all conjectural images, and not based on any historical or even archaeological evidence.

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So this episode we actually cover at least three different individuals and get introduced to a fourth.

Waka Tarashi Hiko

The 13th sovereign has perhaps the fewest lines of anyone in this episode as far as the Chronicles go. However, he’s something of a spur on the tree of the royal family, as he passes the throne not to his own son, but to his nephew.

Tarashi Naka tsu Hiko

The middle of three brothers (and a sister), Tarashi Naka tsu Hiko, son of Yamato Takeru and nephew of Waka Tarashi Hiko, was named Crown Prince and became the 14th sovereign.

Takechi Sukune

Also known as Takeshiuchi Sukune was the Prime Minister, or Ōmi (大臣) from the time of the 12th sovereign, Ō Tarashi Hiko, and would continue in the position for at least four reigns.

Okinaga Tarashi Hime

Technically, we will hear more about her in future episodes. She was the wife of Tarashi Naka tsu Hiko, at least according to the chronicles, and a shamaness of some power. And that may be the most we want to say at this point. After all… spoilers.

There are a few other things that we might be able to say, but I think I’m going to save most of it for a later episode. Next time the plan is to go back to the continent and try to come up to speed on just what has been going on over on the peninsula.

References

Ō, Yasumaro, & Heldt, G. (2014). The Kojiki: An account of ancient matters. ISBN978-0-231-16389-7
Bentley, John. (2006). The Authenticity of Sendai Kuji Hongi: a New Examination of Texts, with a Translation and Commentary. ISBN-90-04-152253
Chamberlain, B. H. (1981). The Kojiki: Records of ancient matters. Rutland, Vt: C.E. Tuttle Co. ISBN4-8053-0794-3
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4
Philippi, D. L. (1968). Kojiki. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press. ISBN4-13-087004-1

Episode 37: Badass Women of Ancient Japan

March 16, 2021 Joshua Badgley

Ame no Uzume, whom we didn’t get to in this episode, but another badass woman. Not only did her dancing bring back the sun, Amaterasu Ōkami, and give life to the world, but when Ninigi no Mikoto was heading down to earth and the way was blocked by the giant Saruta Hiko Ōkami. Who went forward to confront him? Why, Ame no Uzume, of course. Detail of Iwato Kagura no Kigen by Shunsai Toshimasa, 1887.

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This episode we are going to take a pause and look at some of the truly exceptional women in the ancient stories. True, it may be questioned if some of these individuals existed at all, but there is a good argument to be made that their stories are, at the very least, rooted in some truth. Furthermore, we’ll take a look at some of the assumptions that we make about history in general.

Rather than recounting what we talked about previously, how about a few links and you can listen to their story again?

But really, there isn’t all that much to say: Women were always a part of history and in many cases were pretty badass. Deal with it.

Description text goes hereWelcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is Episode 38: Two sovereigns and a minister.
Before we get started, thank you to Paul for donating to support the show. If you’d like to join them, you can drop us a few dollars over at ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo—that’s K-O-Dash-F-I.com/sengokudaimyo—or find a link over at our website, sengokudaimyo.com/podcast.
So greetings, everyone, and welcome back! We are continuing on in this episode with the Chronicles’ stories about the Tarashi dynasty, this episode: Two sovereigns and a Grand Minister.
This episode we are going to move into the lives of the thirteenth and fourteenth sovereigns, Waka Tarashi Hiko and Tarashi Naka tsu Hiko, and we’ll take it right up to the story of Okinaga Tarashi Hiko, who probably should be considered the 15th sovereign but for reasons of patriarchy is often just considered a regent. We’ll also talk about the Grand Minister who seems to be conspicuously woven into all of their reigns.
First, though, let’s recap. We recently covered the life of Oho Tarashi Hiko, aka Keikou Tennou, the twelfth official sovereign, and the first to use “Tarashi” in his name—which is why I’m following some others and considering this next group of sovereigns, starting with Keikou, the Tarashi dynasty. The weird part about it is that even though I call it a “dynasty” we will very quickly see that it doesn’t exactly have the direct lineal descent lines that we would expect with such a term, something we touched on a few episodes back.
So as you might recall, Oho Tarashi Hiko had a son, Prince O’usu, aka Yamato Takeru, who is famous for subduing the Kumaso in the south and the Emishi in the north. Quite the warrior, when it comes down to it, and the Kojiki would have us focus almost exclusively on him. It seems quite clear that he was supposed to be the Crown Prince, which he may have been, if he didn’t die at a young age—only about 30 years old, according to the Chronicles. In an age where most of the sovereigns are noted for living for over a hundred years, that really was the cherry blossom of a life—burning bright, but quickly extinguished.
Oho Tarashi Hiko then made his other son, Waka Tarashi Hiko, his heir, and he became the lucky 13th sovereign, known to later generations as Seimu Tennou. Now, if I haven’t said it before, I should probably note that “Oho” generally means large, but can also mean “elder”, and “Waka” means younger. That could certainly apply to a father and son, but doesn’t necessarily have to, and could mean brothers or even some sort of male co-rulers, but for now we will assume the Chronicles are correct and that Oho Tarashi Hiko and Waka Tarashi Hiko were father and son.
Now, as I mentioned in a previous episode, Waka Tarashi Hiko isn’t a very noted sovereign. It isn’t that he was bad, even, he just didn’t do a whole lot of note, and we have a very sparse record of him and his accomplishments. Not bad, not good, just sort of, well—middling.
There were only two things that he was said to have donethat would really have some major effects later on. First, he designated his nephew, Tarashi Naka tsu Hiko as his heir—which is odd because they say he did that because he had no sons of his own. However, the Kojiki does record one son, Waka nuke no Miko, who seems to have been born to his wife, and one assumes the queen, Oto Takara no Iratsume, but other than the one reference we really have no other information on him, including why he wasn’t made his father’s heir..
But the other thing Waka Tarashi Hiko did was to promote his good friend and companion, Takechi Sukune, to the post of Oho-omi. Now “Omi”, as we mentioned before, meant minister, or something like that, and we see it in kabane, but we also see it in things like “Michi no Omi”—the Minister of the roads. “Oho-Omi”, with that long “O” sound—originally probably more like “Opo’omi”—would mean the Great Minister, and this seems to be the first time it is used in the historical record. That means that Takechi Sukune was being promoted to the number one spot in the government, outside the sovereign themselves. That’s pretty huge, if you ask me!
Now if you don’t recall Takechi Sukune, I don’t blame you. His name kept cropping up in Oho Tarashi Hiko’s reign, here and there, but unlike Yamato Takeru, who had an entire section devoted to him, reference to Takechi Sukune is a bit more disjointed.
His father was a loyal servant of Oho Tarashi Hiko, one whom we mentioned in passing: Ya Nushi Oshiho Dake Wo Goro no Mikoto, also known as Take Wi-Goro, so we’ll just go with that for now. When Oho Tarashi Hiko was about to embark for a tour of the province of Kii, south of Yamato, to sacrifice to all of the spirits in that land, a pre-travel divination was held, and it determined that the sovereign should not take this journey, as it was inauspicious for him to do so. Therefore, Take Wi-goro stepped up and offered to go in the sovereign’s stead to worship all of the kami.
This he did, and then he resided there in Kashihara in Abi, where he met a woman, Kage Hime, and she eventually gave birth to a son who would one day be known as Takechi Sukune. So he was already born with a lineage of service to the throne.
We next hear about Takechi Sukune in the 27th year of Oho Tarashi HIko—when he was somewhere in his 20s. He was sent by the sovereign to go and map out the north and east and to report back. He made it all the way to the place known as Hitakami before coming back, and he told the court all about the Emishi living in that region. Of course, shortly thereafter, Yamato Takeru is sent on more or less the same journey, and the Chronicles provide a lot more details, upstaging Takechi Sukune’s own accomplishments.
Later, Takechi Sukune is the one who hangs back with Waka Tarashi Hiko to make sure nothing happens while the rest of the court is busy feasting and having a grand old time. It seems a small thing, but when combined with everything else, we can see that Takechi Sukune was a devoted minister, and when Waka Tarashi HIko was dedicated as the Crown Prince, Takechi Sukune was given the title of Prime Minister, or Oho’omi.
Some time after that, when Waka Tarashi Hiko came to the throne, it is again stated that Takechi Sukune was raised to that same status of Oho’omi, and he remained so for his entire 60 year reign. When Waka Tarashi Hiko passed away, the Nihon Shoki claims he was 107 years old, so he must have been born some time around the 4th year of Oho Tarashi Hiko’s reign, which is when Yasaka Iribime is said to have become Oho Tarashi Hiko’s consort, at least. Takechi Sukune is actually said to have been born on the same day as Waka Tarashi HIko—hence the affection the two had, since they grew up together. That would mean that Takechi Sukune must have been 107 at the time of Waka Tarashi Hiko’s death, and he continued to serve in that position for much longer.
And this is not just Takechi Sukune whose lifespan seems to be even longer than the sovereigns he is serving. In the Kujiki we see similar things, with various members of the Mononobe serving multiple sovereigns, and then their children are popping up two or three sovereigns later. This actually makes a lot of sense—for most historical sovereigns, their reigns are often just at the tail end of their own lifespans, since they usually come to the position after the death of their own parent. If these reigns aren’t actually 60 years like the Chronicles claim, but more like 10~20 years, suddenly, we start to see how all of these advisors could realistically have had court careers that lasted through several reigns.
And speaking of the Mononobe family, they seem to have made out fairly well under Waka Tarashi Hiko, who is mentioned as granting title to or being served by at least 8 of the Mononobe members listed in the Tenson Hongi in Kujiki. By contrast, there are 6 Mononobe mentioned in connection to his predecessor, Oho Tarashi Hiko, and none that are listed in connection with his successor, Tarashi Nakatsu Hiko—though just why that may be the case will become apparent in a bit. There is one who is mentioned in connection with the reign of Okinaga Tarashi Hime, aka Jinguu Tenno, and at least four with her son and successor, Homuda Wake, aka Oujin, both of whom will play fairly important roles, later on. Given Waka Tarashi Hiko’s abbreviated mention in the actual lineage, it seems odd that so many of the Mononobe seem to be connected to him. Perhaps there was something here, and it was forgotten—perhaps even deliberately—since he wasn’t actually directly in line with the sovereigns of the 8th century, but was rather something of an offshoot. Or it is possible that his reign was actually quite short, and the author of the Kujiki found this a convenient spot to fluff out the lineage of the Mononobe themselvs.
Either way, it is definitely a mess, but let’s move on a bit and talk about the 14th sovereign, the one known to posterity as Chuuai Tennou.
Tarashi Nakatsu Hiko, or Chuuai Tennou was, according to the chronicles, born of the union of Yamato Takeru and Futaji Iribime, which means that he was Waka Tarashi Hiko’s nephew, not his son. Interestingly, both his name and his posthumous title contain the word “Naka” or “Chuu”, meaning “middle”. The explanation is that he was actually the middle of three brothers—predictably, the Chronicles don’t seem to count his younger sister. One might be surprised to find out that the various numbers given in the Chronicles for his family members don’t exactly add up. Or at least you might be surprised if you are just joining us - otherwise it is just par for the course. The weird thing is that these numbers aren’t even internally consistent.
The Kojiki gets around a lot of this timey-wimey, Jeremy Bearimy stuff by just not worrying about regnal dates, for the most part. It simply tells the story and it is up to the reader to determine what happened when. But the Nihon Shoki is obsessed with dates, even if they are ludicrous. And in this case it is bewildering and makes you wonder how they could have had this happen—though it could also be a simple arithmetic error.
You see, according to the Nihon Shoki, Tarashi Naka tsu Hiko was named the Crown Prince in the 48th year of Waka Tarashi Hiko’s reign, which wouldn’t seem odd until you see the line that says he was only 31 years old. Well, if he was 31 years old, then doesn’t that mean he would have had to have been born in the 17th year or so of Waka Tarashi Hiko’s reign? Yet his father, Yamato Takeru, supposedly died in the 43rd year of Oho Tarashi HIko’s reign, some 17 years before Waka Tarashi Hiko even took the throne. So that puts some 34 years between Tarashi Nakatsu Hiko and his father, Yamato Takeru.
And it does seem possible that we are catching, here, a simple error by the scribes. After all, if he were made Crown Prince in the 31st year of Waka Tarashi Hiko’s reign, and he were 48 at the time, then that would mean he was born the year that his father, Yamato Takeru, passed away. Now, instead of 34 years, we are at least in the ballpark—but even then, Yamato Takeru had been on campaign against the Emishi, and that started 3 years earlier. So when exactly he and his wife got together in all that time is more than a bit of a mystery. Not to mention, the final bit of the puzzle: Tarashi Naka tsu Hiko is only the middle of three brothers—if this were MBMBAM we might say that he is the Middlest Brother, Travis McElroy. So if his father died the year he was born, when was his younger brother born, let alone his younger sister?
So clearly once again there are some date issues with the text, things that you would think that anyone could possibly have seen and that the Chroniclers probably could have adjusted. But add it all to our centenarian of a Great Minister, and something fishy is going on here. Indeed, Takechi Sukune would go on to serve as the Great Minister for about that same amount of time, right up to the time of the 15th or 16th sovereign, serving the court in at least four different reigns.
Of course, there are many theories as to just what is going on, but no cold hard facts: It isn’t like any of the scribes made a note about just how preposterous these dates were. And, by the way, the fact that the dates *are* so messed up gives me some hope that there are at least some true nuggets of cultural memory embedded in the rest of the story. After all, if it was just made up out of whole cloth, why have some of these elements at all?
There is also something in all this that could easily be missed, and it isn’t consistent across all of our sources, but there is the idea that Futaji Hime—aka Futaichi Hime—was, in fact, the daughter of Ikume Iribiko. This is important because Futaji Hime was one of the wives of Yamato Takeru and the mother of Tarashi Naka tsu Hiko and his siblings. If that was the case, then might Tarashi Naka tsu Hiko’s matrilineal history be as important, or moreso, than his patrilineal? Remember, lineage from the mother often determined things like eligibility to the throne as much or even more than the fathers. After all, there were many children of various sovereigns, but they had to be born of the proper mother—the designated queen—and half-siblings of the same father but different mothers were not considered to be truly brother and sister to each other. It also makes him a descendant of both the Iribiko dynasty of Makimuku as well as the Tarashi dynasty. This detail isn’t consistent across the sources, though, so it also could have been a detail added later to further legitimize this side of the family.
Now, our earliest information on Tarashi Naka tsu Hiko’s reign comes largely from the Nihon Shoki. The first account is actually one of a strictly filial nature, emphasizing his connection to his father, Yamato Takeru: Tarashi Naka tsu Hiko decides to gather white birds to adorn the pond at his father’s, tomb mound. Now, as you may recall, Yamato Takeru’s soul is said to have flown up to the heavens in the form of a white bird, and so this would seem a fitting tribute—though don’t ask me how they were going to get the birds to stay there once they brought them down. Maybe a whole lot of birdseed and some glue?
Anyway, as birds were being brought from the Koshi region, the delegation camped out along the bank of the Uji river. There, they were stopped by Prince Gamami Wake of Ashigami, a younger brother of the sovereign, Tarashi Naka tsu Hiko, though by a different mother. I believe this may be the same as the prince elsewhere listed as Ashikagami, but there isn’t really a clear link either way, other than mention of his relation to Naka tsu Hiko. Anyway, Prince Gamami Wake asks why they are taking the birds, and when he hears it is because of an order by his elder brother-by-different-mother, the sovereign, Tarashi Naka tsu Hiko, for their father’s tomb, he scoffs. “These may be white birds, but they will be black birds, once I’ve roasted them.” And so saying, he confiscates the birds and has them cooked to eat.
Tarashi Naka tsu Hiko was none too pleased with this, and he sent troops to go and put his younger brother to death for disrespecting their father in such a manner.
This seems to have put people on notice—Tarashi Naka tsu Hiko may be the middle child, but he wasn’t taking the middle way. He wasn’t about to take disobedience from anyone, even members of his own family. Of course, this also strikes me as a very Confucian—and thus continental—story, and it is quite possible it was added in after the fact for some reason.
Now the second thing of note that he did was to move the court. You may recall that his grandfather, Oho Tarashi Hiko, had moved the court to Shiga Taka Anaho in the last three years of his reign, and it is assumed that Waka Tarashi Hiko had kept the court there, along Lake Biwa, away from its traditional home in the Makimuku district. But Tarashi Naka tsu Hiko moves it yet again, this time up to Kehi, in Tsunoga—aka Tsuruga. If that sounds familiar, it should be, but we’ll get to that later. This is really quite something, though—he’s literally moved the palace to the other side of Honshu, which seems pretty drastic, although it is noted that this is just a temporary palace. Still, to move the entire court up there seems to have been quite the move to make.
Anyway, after moving everyone up to Kehi, including his queen, Okinaga Tarashi Hime, the sovereign decides to take a tour of the quote-unquote “southern provinces”. Here, again, we see something interesting because for Tarashi Naka tsu Hiko, the “Southern Provinces” seems to have meant Kii—and possibly Yamato. For this journey, he takes a quote-unquote “small” number of courtiers—just three high officials, known as “daibu”, and several hundred officers. I don’t know about you, but that hardly feels like it is simply a “small” retinue, but it is what it is. The daibu aren’t actually listed by name, and so all of this may be an exaggeration.
Now, while he was down in Kii, staying at yet another palace, this one at Tokorotsu, word reached the sovereign that, just as in his father’s time, the Kumaso were in rebellion again, and he decided to go, much like his father, and put a stop to it. Without a thought, he put his men on boats and sailed west through the Seto Inland Sea, and he sent word to his wife, Okinaga Tarashi Hime, to come join him. She—and, one presumes, the rest of the court—took the northern route from Tsuruga Bay across the Japan Sea coast of Western Japan, eventually coming around through the straits of Shimonoseki. As they were doing that, the sovereign had already reached his staging ground of Anato—aka Nagato province, modern Yamaguchi prefecture. There, he anchored at Toyora and set up the Toyora Anato Palace, traditionally identified as being in the area of modern Shimonoseki city.
Of course, it was easy enough for him to slip over through the Seto Inland Sea, but his wife, Okinaga Tarashi Hime, had a bit farther to travel. And on the journey she had a few notable encounters. The first was at a place called Nuta, where they decided to have a meal aboard the ship, rather than stopping to eat on land. This seems to be identified with the area off of Mikata district, in modern Fukui Prefecture, just around Tsuruga Bay—so quite early in the journey.
Now, this idea of cooking and eating on board may not seem like much to us. After all, cruise ships are known for their all-you-can-eat buffets. But remember that the images we have of these early Japanese vessels are something more akin to large canoes than the broad-based ships of later periods, and I’m guessing it is unlikely that there was a lot of room on board for cooking and other such things, so I suspect that this means she wanted to keep them moving. On the other hand, it could also mean that she wanted to obtain food while still on the sea—in other words, take some time to throw out the nets and see what could be brought up that might be edible.
Either way, the story says that there were tai—or sea bream—schooling around the boat. Tai are a very popular fish in Japanese cuisine, even today, and its red scales can be quite striking. Apparently Okinaga Tarashi Hime had an idea and she poured out sake into the ocean around the ship. According to the legend, the fish got so drunk on the sake that they bobbed up to the surface and the sailors could just pick them up, providing the crew a feast. It is said that the fish of that place would regularly float belly up in the 6th month of the year in honor of that event.
Now, I don’t know if there is an actual event that would cause fish to float belly up during a particular time of the year—and if there was, I don’t know if I would trust those fish to be any good for eating. Typically, floating upside down indicates a problem with a fish’s swim bladder, and probably indicates some kind of illness or problem. But anyway, there you have the story.
In fact, I’d just like to state: Please don’t try to get fish drunk. Yes, they can get drunk, but too much is poisonous. Which, of course, could definitely explain them floating upside down. In fact, you can find suggestions on the Internet of using alcohol to help settle a large fish. Basically, the idea is that as fish swim through the alcohol, it is very quickly absorbed through the gills. This also means that it can hit them much harder than humans, going straight to the bloodstream, which is poisonous. Not a problem if you are just going to eat them, but I can stress enough that I am not condoing anyone going out and trying to get fish drunk.
More interesting, to me, is the praise that is given for the fish, because the sailors claim that the fish were “given to us by our wise sovereign.” Remember, this is Okinaga Tarashi Hime, not her husband, Tarashi Naka tsu Hiko. Why would she be considered a wise sovereign? Just something to think about, for now.
Later, they pull into Toyora harbor, alongside her husband’s boats, and when she arrives, Okinaga Tarashi Hime immediately finds an oyster with a nyoi pearl. Now this is clearly an anachronistic term, and probably an anachronistic story. You see, a nyoi pearl refers to the “ever bright and luminous pearl” on a nyoi scepter seen in the hands of particular Buddhist idols – in other words, it is specifically a Buddhist term, and Buddhism wouldn’t show up in Japan for a good while, yet, but it would have been a clear indicator for the Chroniclers and their audience.
Both of these events seem to be foreshadowing Okinaga Tarashi Hime’s larger role in the future.
Once at the Toyora Anato Palace, then, what would you think that Tarashi Naka tsu Hiko and Okinaga Tarashi Hime would do? Would they set up a war council and prosecute the war from there, sending down soldiers to pacify the Kumaso? Apparently not. No, instead, despite all the hurry that he was in to get here, Tarashi Naka tsu Hiko decides that he’s going to just sit there and enjoy the pleasures of Anato for the next five years. Once again, I feel we are seeing some of the limitations in our timeline coming into play, here. But whatever, I guess they just let the country run itself for five years while they worked out of the westernmost tip of Honshu.
Eventually, they decided they were ready, and they headed down to Tsukushi—aka northern Kyushu. In preparing to do so, they were met by the chieftain, or Agatanushi, of a place called Oka. Oka was actually mentioned in the story of Iware Biko as one of the places he passed through on his way to conquer Yamato, but it is unclear just where it was—possibly in northern Kyushu, on the northwest side of the island. There is some thought that it is actually in the are of modern Onga district, at the mouth of the Onga river, in modern Fukuoka prefecture
Anyway, the name of the Agatanushi of Oka was straight out of a made-for-tv SyFy monster movie: Kumawani. For those who don’t know, that effectively means “Bear Shark”. Well, okay, it means “Bear-Sea Monster”, but come on, you can’t tell me that the title “Bear-Shark versus Sharktopus” wouldn’t fit right in with a bunch of other similar titles.
So, Chief Bear-Shark, aka Kumawani, had heard of Tarashi Naka tsu Hiko’s plans, and he decided to go and offer his services. So he had plucked a nice sakaki tree, with some 500 branches, and adorned it with royal symbols, and headed out to meet the royal boats at the bay of Saba. This seems a little out of the way, as Saba is in Suwo Province, which is east of where the sovereign was supposedly encamped if he was actually staying at Toyora Anato, so technically this seems to be back-tracking—but there are enough odd things going on here, I think we can add one more to the questions pile.
So there he was, Chief Bear-Shark, with a white-copper mirror, a 10-span sword, and yasaka jewels hanging from the lowest branches of the sakaki tree, set up on the bow of his ship. It’s like a Yule tree of soverignly symbolism. This was apparently the standard greeting from Kyushu chieftains, as Oho Tarashi Hiko’s men had been greeted in a similar fashion, and then, later, Itote, the ancestor of the chieftains—or perhaps just chieftain himself—of Ito, decorates his boat in a very similar fashion when he comes to greet the sovereign. I do wonder if this is because they were greeting the sovereign of Yamato, or if this was those particular chieftains demonstrating their own wealth and power through prestige items.
And then, Kumawani flexed hard: he basically offered the entirety of northwest Kyushu, from Anato—aka the Shimonoseki straits—all the way down to Nagoya, near Karatsu. I’m not sure if he actually had any authority to offer all of that, but it is quite the claim for him to be making, especially, since we later see someone who may have just been the chieftain of Ito, around modern Itoshima, also greet the sovereign and his fleet. Still, it isn’t like the Yamato forces were going to decline, and they decided that maybe they would head out with him, so they let him act as a pilot and he led them around to Oka Bay.
Now pulling in to Oka Bay was apparently a bit treacherous, and it sounds like you had to properly time your approach with the tides. This would make sense if this bay sat at the mouth of a river, and it may indeed have been difficult to make your way against the flow if you went at the wrong time, depending on what the conditions were like back then. Then again, it could just be that the water was too low for the draw of the boats. Of course, they don’t make mention of tides, but they do say that as they came around Cape Yamaga, the sovereigns boat came to a stop. Of course, they blamed it on a pair of kami—Oho kura Nushi and Tsubura Hime. So Tarashi Naka tsu Hiko appointed his steersman as a priest, or Hafuri, and they conducted prayers to appease the kami, which worked because they were able to then make their way into the harbor. Or, alternatively, the rituals kept them busy until the tide changed direction.
However, it seems that once again, Tarashi Nakatsu Hiko had traveled separately from his wife, Okinaga Tarashi Hime, who was a little bit behind him. And so as soon as Chief Bear-Shark finished piloting the royal canoe into the bay, he had to go back out and meet up with Okinaga Tarashi Hime. Unfortunately, the tide had changed again, it seems, because her boat wasn’t able to make any headway, either, except that here they explicitly mention that the tide was low, and that is why they couldn’t proceed forward.
Now Okinaga Tarashi Hime was not exactly a patient woman—when she saw something she wanted, she seems to have gone for it. And it wasn’t like there was TV, let alone Internet—she couldn’t just sit there and play the latest game on her iPhone while waiting for the tide to change. So Kumawani came up with a diversion. He set up two artificial pools, somehow, and he filled one with fish and one with various birds. How he accomplished this we are not told—maybe more of that birdseed and glue—but it seems to have held the Queen’s attention for long enough that the tides changed and they were able to make headway again.
Now that Tarashi Naka tsu Hiko finally made it down to Tsukushi, he set up a new palace—I think this is palace number four if you are keeping track. This was the palace of Kashii, and tradition places it in the area of modern Fukuoka, between the areas identified as Oka and Ito, in the old country of Na. The Nihon Shoki notes that he was there around 8 months, gathering his forces, before hosting a war council to figure out just what he was doing to about the Kumaso.
This is about the point where the Kojiki picks things up, following all the genealogical info, and it starts by adding a little detail about Okinaga Tarashi Hime, who apparently was something of a shamaness. Specifically it says that she was regularly getting possessed and often summoning kami, which is rather important for the next bit. The Kojiki indicates that there was a purposeful summoning, and provides interesting details. It involved Tarashi Naka tsu Hiko playing the koto—a type of zither—and Okinaga Tarashi HIme acting as the medium. And then there was one other participant: Takechi Sukune—remember him?—who served as the Sanipa, a type of interpreter for the words of the kami.
In the ritual, Okinaga Tarashi Hime made contact with a kami who told them to put the campaign with the Kumaso on hold—after all, they would still be there, later, and, let’s face it, the land in southern Kyushu really wasn’t all that great, anyway. Instead, there was a land of gold and silver, called Silla, just across the sea, and it could all be theirs if they just worshiped the kami who were coming to them, including offering up their ships and various rice paddies.
Well, Tarashi Naka tsu Hiko was more than a little skeptical at all of this. He had climbed the nearby mountains at some point and when he looked out from there, he couldn’t see any evidence of another land—only the expanse of the ocean. He decided to stick with the land that he knew, thank you very much.
That was not exactly the answer that the kami wanted, and they literally told him that he could take his attitude and go you-know-where. Specifically they said that he could go “straight in one direction”, which was their way of saying that he could, well, go-off-and-die.
Takechi Sukune heard this, urged Tarashi Nakatsu Hiko to call out and to call upon the kami and ask for forgiveness, but it was no use. It was growing dark, and the attendants began lighting the torches, but as they did so, the koto went silent, and when the lights finally came up, Tarashi Naka tsu Hiko was dead.
Or, that’s one way it goes. A less dramatic version says that he continued his campaign against the Kumaso, but was struck by an enemy arrow and eventually expired from his wounds.
Either way, his death was seen as a consequence of ignoring the words of the kami. Okinaga Tarashi Hime worked quickly with Takechi Sukune, and they contacted the kami again, and this time they promised to follow their instructions. The kami, appeased, said that it would be the child currently in the Queen’s womb who would rule over the land that they would conquer.
And so it looks like Okinaga Tarashi Hime had some planning to do, but before that, they had to do something about the sovereign’s death. Much like the Takeda would do centuries later, they decided it would be best to keep the royal death hidden for as long as possible, to prevent any kind of shenanigans, especially if they were going to be out of the country for a time. She colluded with Takechi Sukune and the other high officers to protect their secret. They also took Tarashi Naka tsu Hiko’s body back to the Toyora Anato Palace and had it interred in a temporary burial. This ceremony was done quietly, without the normal pomp and circumstance that would be expected upon a royal death. They specifically mention keeping the torches unlit so that people wouldn’t see what was going on.
And with that, they began preparations for the trip to the Korean peninsula. They enshrined the spirits of the kami who had delivered the messages at the top of the royal ship, and put wood ash in a gourd and made flat plates out of chopsticks. All of this was thrown into the ocean to ensure a safe voyage.
Thus ended the reign of Tarashi Naka tsu Hiko, and the regency—or reign—of Okinaga Tarashi Hime had begun.
So there is a lot we could dig into in this. You can see the role, I hope, that Takechi Sukune is playing, throughout, even if the focus isn’t on him, directly. Then there are many parts to this story that feel like they are telling different versions of the same story and trying to mash them all up together. A lot of people don’t believe that anything like this happened at all, and we’ll analyze some of that as we really dig into the campaign on the Korean peninsula. There are a few quick things that I’d like to address, however.
First, is the timing. In our modified chronology, this is all some time in the mid-to-latter part of the 4th century, but the dates in the Nihon Shoki would put us just at the tail end of the 2nd century. That means we are about to crossover into the stories found in the Wei Chronicles, and that could already be causing some confusion. We know that the Chroniclers had access to the continental histories—they more or less quote them line for line at several points. So it is quite possible that some of the action and story that we are seeing has been organized to try to fit what is in those continental histories. After all, the whole thing with Oho Tarashi Hiko and Yamato Takeru would fit in nicely with the idea that there was some chaos before Himiko took the throne, and of course they make mention that she was something of a shamaness. I can’t help but wonder if multiple stories have been conflated.
Then there is the totally unbelievable idea that Tarashi Naka tsu Hiko didn’t know about Silla. After all, it was only a few reigns back that they had visitors coming from the continent, and we know that they had contact with the peninsula well before this point—how else were continental goods getting to the archipelago? Sure, you can’t see it from Kyushu, but I think our sovereign here is a little old to be feigning object impermanence.
There is even the fact that they seem to start at Tsunoga, and the Kehi palace—the very place where one of the Korean princes is said to have landed. This whole thing is rather bizarre.
And speaking of bizarre, let me address one last thing that you may run across in all of this: the theory that Tarashi Naka tsu Hiko and Okinaga Tarashi HIme aren’t Japanese at all. That’s right. There are some that claim that what we are really seeing are stories from the Korean peninsula, and the Buyeo nobles of Baekje that would eventually come in and, according to this theory, take over in Yamato and eventually spread through the whole archipelago. This will be even more pronounced when we get to the next sovereign—that one currently in Okinaga Tarashi Hime’s womb—but I’m not sure that we want to give that theory too much credence without more evidence to back it up. For now we will continue to look at what we have in front of us, even if it seems to make almost no sense at all, sometimes.
So, until next time, thank you for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us on iTunes, Spotify, or wherever you listen to podcasts. If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate through our KoFi site, kofi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the link over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Questions or comments? Feel free to Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.
That’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

Ō, Yasumaro, & Heldt, G. (2014). The Kojiki: An account of ancient matters. ISBN978-0-231-16389-7
KISHIMOTO, Naofumi (2013, May). Translated by Ryan, Joseph. Dual Kingship in the Kofun Period as Seen from the Keyhole Tombs. UrbanScope e-Journal of the Urban-Culture Research Center, OCU, Vol.4 (2013) 1-21. ISSN 2185-2889 http://urbanscope.lit.osaka-cu.ac.jp/journal/vol.004.html
Bentley, John. (2006). The Authenticity of Sendai Kuji Hongi: a New Examination of Texts, with a Translation and Commentary. ISBN-90-04-152253
Piggot, J. R. (1999). Chieftain Pairs and Corulers: Female Sovereignty in Early Japan. Women and Class in Japanese History. Edited by Hitomi Tonomura, Anne Walthall, and Wakita Haruko. Center for Japanese Studies, The University of Michigan. ISBN 1-929280-35-1.
Aoki, Michiko Yamaguchi (1997). Records of Wind and Earth: A Translation of Fudoki with Introduction and Commentaries. As published at https://jhti.berkeley.edu
Chamberlain, B. H. (1981). The Kojiki: Records of ancient matters. Rutland, Vt: C.E. Tuttle Co. ISBN4-8053-0794-3
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4
Philippi, D. L. (1968). Kojiki. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press. ISBN4-13-087004-1

Iribiko Dynasty

Mimaki Iribiko

Ikume Iribiko

Tarashi Dynasty

Ōtarashi Hiko

Waka Tarashi Hiko

Tarashi Naka tsu Hiko

Okinaga Tarashi Hime

Middle Dynasty

Homuda Wake

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The Kings of Goguryeo

The Kings of Baekje

King of Silla

A note about “Wa”

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Locations

People

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Okinaga Tarashi Hime

Homuda Wake

Takechi no Sukune

Ō Naka tsu Hime

Prince Kakosaka Hiko

Prince Oshikuma

Kurami Wake and Isachi no Sukune

Take Furukuma

Kuma no Kori

Izasa Wake no Ōkami

Tarashi Hime's Campaign:

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Waka Tarashi Hiko

Tarashi Naka tsu Hiko

Takechi Sukune

Okinaga Tarashi Hime

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