New Year's 2022 Recap

January 1, 2022 Joshua Badgley

The traditional rooves of the shrine at Ise Grand Shrine, the primary shrine to Amaterasu.

This episode we’ll recap what we talked about in the past year, 2021, and the various episodes. Hopefully this will bring back reminders of a few of the things that happened, but it won’t be everything, so check out the Archives for more. Below I’m including as many of the references as I can from the episodes this past year.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan, and from all of us here:
Akemashite Omedetou Gozaimasu!
May you all have a bright New Year!
As we release it is the start of 2022, and this episode we are taking a short break from our regularly scheduled programming. We’ll be back next episode with the continuation of the Chronicles, but I figured we could celebrate the new year with a quick recap of some of the highlights of the past year’s episodes, which have taken us from the latter half of the third century into the mid-5th century. Our earliest stories are legendary accounts of ancient heroes, set during the fairly opaque events of the early kofun period. As time progressed, we start to see greater correlation with external historical sources, and some idea of what may have been happening.
This past year started by finishing up the story of Ikume Iribiko, the second sovereign in the Iribiko dynasty in the Makimuku region, aka Suinin Tennou. If Ikume actually existed, he probably lived some time in the late 3rd century, during the height of the Makimuku court, in Yamato, at the foot of the holy Mt. Miwa. Many traditions claim an origin during this time, from court ritual to sumo and even the founding of Ise Jinguu.
We also see some interactions with the continent, but they are more about individuals bringing in specific goods, rather than any kind of real state-to-state relations.
Of course, following Ikume Iribiko we get Ohotarashi Hiko Oshiro Wake no Mikoto. Although he’s generally included with Mimaki and Ikume as part of the Iribiko dynasty, some have suggested that Ohotarashi more properly belongs to another dynasty—possibly one based out of Tsukushi, aka Kyushu. Certainly many of his military conquests were in that area, fighting groups like the Kumaso, the Hayato, and the Tsuchigumo—or earth spiders.
Ohotarashi Hiko’s campaigns in Kyushu are later echoed in the tale of the legendary warrior, Yamato Takeru, who was the subject of Episode 34 and 35. Many doubt that Yamato Takeru was an actual person, suggesting that he was a composite hero-figure whose exploits were a mélange of other warrior figures. Nonetheless, his story persisted throughout history.
Of course, it wasn’t all about conquest. Many of the stories are about family relations, and that’s important, even if it isn’t always as immediately exciting. While these relationships are often portrayed as sexual conquests by the sovereign, it nonetheless gives us an idea of other types of political connections that were being built between the elites around the country.
Now, while the Chronicles focus on the lives of the sovereigns—real or otherwise—we do get the occasional look into the lives of other important figures. One such figure is Takechi—or Takeuchi—no Sukune. He is the first prime minister, or Oho’omi, of the Yamato court, and we first met him back in Episode 38. He was supposedly born in the reign of Ohotarashi Hiko and was a trusted advisor for the next four or five sovereigns. Not only is it interesting to see an individual of such renown outside of the royal line in these old stories, but it also gives us some possible bounding around the dates for their reigns, which were likely much shorter than the dates the Chronicles tend to give them. In all likelihood he was prominent around the mid to late 4th century.
These early years, from what we can tell, saw increased contact with the continent, and various expeditions throughout the archipelago. While Yamato may have spread the Miwa faith throughout the islands, through which they exerted influence, the archaeological record shows that we are still a far cry from what we would call an actual state, despite the grandiose language of the Chronicles. Rather than a single state, there were various proto-states expanding their influence in various regions, such as up north in Izumo, and in the nearby region of Kibi.
Meanwhile, similar processes were at work on the Korean peninsula, but with a few different influences. For one thing, the peninsula stood at the edge of the Jin empire, and the commanderies that had been set up there in the Han dynasty had maintained a presence in the region. This both brought many of the technological and bureaucratic developments to the peninsula while at the same time impeding the growth of other polities. In the early 4th century, however, the Jin had become weakened by internal strife, while Goguryeo was growing. Goguryeo forces eventually overwhelmed and conquered the commanderies, ending direct influence by the Jin dynasty.
With the fall of the commanderies, we see the growth of new states on the peninsula. Perhaps the most notable are Silla and Baekje. Silla’s early state appears as a confederation of about six city-states that eventually formed a locus of power around the area known today as Gyeongju, while Baekje nobility likely descended from individuals who had fled the Goguryeo court for some reason and then consolidated the individual polities of the Mahan confederacy.
As these states form, we start to see greater and greater interaction with the Wa, the people on the archipelago. It seems clear from the various stories that the Wa people were skilled navigators with ships that could easily raid up and down the coast of the Korean peninsula. Of course the Japanese Chronicles portray these attacks as conquest, and we examined much of that in Episode 40, as we discussed Tarashi HIme and her so-called “Conquest” of Korea.
It should be noted that many doubt the existence of Tarashi HIme, aka Jingu Tennou, but it nonetheless seems clear that ties between the archipelago—whether directly through the Yamato court or as individual polities—and the peninsula were a mix of diplomacy, piracy, and everything in between. Events at this time set up the general relationships, with Baekje allied with Yamato, and Yamato often raiding Silla, though the social and political exchanges were much more fluid and complex.
Meanwhile, back at home, things were not going too well. There was no system of primogeniture in Japan, and so when a sovereign died there was no guarantee that his designated heir—if he had one—would be the one to assume the throne. The war to secure the throne for the young Homuda Wake was just the first such succession dispute to be had, and, as we would see, it would become more or less the norm for the death of a sovereign to lead to some form of chaotic situation.
At the same time, we started seeing some actual ties to history. For example, in Episode 42 we talked about the Seven-Branched sword that was found at Isonokami Shrine, and which seems to match up with a gift from Baekje recorded in the Chronicles. It gives us a date of about 369 to 372, and matches up with some of the entries in the Nihon Shoki referencing the Baekje Annals: history from Baekje that had been part of the works drawn upon to compile the Nihon Shoki in the first place. Of course, there are still many questions as to just who the sovereign actually was at this time, not to mention differences between the Korean and Japanese stories about the period, but it does seem to lend credence to diplomatic ties of some kind, and to the idea that the “Wa” may have actually referred to Yamato—or at least confederation of Yamato and its allies—more often the not.
It isn’t just decorative swords that came over during this period. We also see other continental advancements, including domesticated horses and writing. Now it is true that we find writing in the archipelago from much earlier, but as David Lurie has pointed out, it doesn’t exactly indicate any kind of actual literary tradition or culture. But with scholars from Baekje we are told that they started teaching people to read and write, which also means that they could start writing down their history. Of course, we don’t know how much of that written history survived for the Chroniclers to use, but we can start to see a change in the tone and tenor of what is being written down.
Still, however, some of our most reliable information for this period comes from outside of the archipelago itself, and as we turn the corner into the early 5th century. It was at this time that a stele was erected at the tomb of Goguryeo’s King Gwangaetto the Great, who reigned from 391 to 413, and which we talked about in Episodes 44 and 45. In it, the Wa are mentioned numerous times, and it gives another view of the relationship between the Wa, Baekje, Silla, and Goguryeo. Important at this time is the story in both the Baekje and Japanese chronicles that Prince Jeonji of Baekje was actually sent to the Yamato court as a sign of friendship, and possibly to protect him from Goguryeo and any enemies he might have had in the Baekje court as well. He would eventually return to Baekje with an honor guard of Wa troops who would help ensure he took his rightful place on the throne.
Of course he wasn’t the only prince sent to the Yamato court, and another famous prince, Misaheun of Silla, was also sent, though seemingly under a bit more duress. Misaheun’s eventual departure was on much less amicable terms than that of his Baekje counterpart.
During all of this, we learn about Katsuraki no Sotsuhiko, a powerful figure who shows up in many of these stories. Sotsuhiko is described by the Japanese sources as merely a vassal of the sovereign, but there are indications that he was more independent than that. Given that his daughter, Iwa no Hime, would eventually marry into the royal line and produce heirs to the throne—something that was otherwise restricted to women of royal lineage—it would seem that he was a bit more than just a vassal.
Most of this takes place during the reign of Homuda Wake, better known as Oujin Tennou, though there is some confusion, especially between what is happening in Homuda Wake’s reign and what is happening in the reign of his mother, Tarashi Hime, likely indicating that many of these were stories unmoored from a specific year that the Chroniclers had to figure out how to place in something resembling chronological order.
This may also have been further confused by the assumption by the Chroniclers in the 8th century that kingship had always been in the same model—that there was a single sovereign and that rulership went back in an unbroken line to the original progenitor. However, there are several things that suggest that rule under a singular autocrat was a more recent development.
First off, there is the fact that despite plenty of evidence for female sovereigns, from Himiko in the Wei Chronicles, to Tarashi Hime and then the women rulers from the start of the 7th century onward. Many of the early stories are about pairs of elites—either an elder and a junior or else a male and a female.
On top of all of that, Kishimoto Naofuji pointed out that the kofun themselves show evidence of at least two separate but chronologically co-incident lineages of elites. This suggests, in part, that there were two “co-rulers” at any given time—one that handled ritual and spiritual matters while the other may have been involved in more administration and bureaucracy. If that is the case, it could mean that some of the rulers were actually co-ruling together, which would certainly explain how it could be hard to pin some events down to a single reign.
Of course, that also means that some co-rulers may have been dopped from the lineage completely, especially female rulers who may have been portrayed merely as the wife of the sovereign rather than the dynamic and politically active figures that they likely were.
Now following Homuda Wake’s death, there was another period of chaos. The throne went empty for years as brothers fought over just who would sit in it. For more on this somewhat bizarre dispute, and more references to Kishimoto’s theories, see Episode 49.
Eventually, however, the throne went to Ohosazaki no Mikoto, aka Nintoku Tennou. During his reign, we see famine, public works, and the one of the earliest ice houses. There are the obligatory stories of his love life, but also many other stories about various events, which honestly could have happened just about any time, and there is very little to actually tie it to this sovereign. Still, we can learn a lot. For one, the public works were often about things like irrigation and flood control—building canals, ponds, etc. Wet paddy rice agriculture relies a lot on regulated seasonal flows. Too much, and the paddies can be washed away, but not enough, and they dry up.
We also see disputes over “rice land”, a concept that would be key to the country’s eventual economic basis. The idea that control over the rice-producing land, and that certain lands were dedicated to produce rice or equivalent goods for a given elite or institution, is an idea that would be critical in later centuries. Likewise, being given charge of such land would come with certain benefits in terms of remuneration.
This is also about the time that we see a term pop up in the Chronicles for the sovereign: “Oho-kimi”. Often translated as “king”, which is actually the sinographic character used in the Chronicles, this appears to have been the ancient title for sovereigns. We know that “Kimi” often shows up as a kabane, or ancient title, for a person or family who were in charge of a large land or country, and so it seems that “Oho-kimi” would logically be an extension of that term, though it isn’t exactly clear that the two are correlated. There are a lot of these old terms, such as “Wake” and “Hiko”, which often show up as though they are name elements when in reality, they were probably ancient titles.
The other title used for the sovereigns throughout is “Sumera no Mikoto”, aka “Tennou”, but this is a term that wouldn’t actually come to be used until the 7th or 8th century, and as such is entirely anachronistic, and I try to avoid it. In fact, as I’ve mentioned in the past, I try to avoid the common term, “Emperor”, because that is an English translation for “Tennou” from a very different period and for very specific reasons that doesn’t necessarily describe the kind of rulership that we are seeing develop in the archipelago. Even “King” may be questionable, as rulership was not necessarily analogous to the kings and queens of Europe and their surrounding environs. As such, you’ll notice I try to rely on “Sovereign” where I can.
Now when Ohosazaki no Mikoto passed away, we are told that we was buried in a grand kofun. Modern tradition states that this is Daisen kofun, the largest kofun in the world and one of the three largest mausoleums in the world—larger than the great pyramids in Egypt and on par with the tomb of Qin Shihuangdi in modern Xi’an. This past year – aka 2021 – they even began new studies of Daisen kofun and its construction, and even if it isn’t the tomb of Ohosazaki, it dates from around the correct period, making it an important clue about what was happening in the 5th century. These giant tombs likely took years to build, and were probably started during the sovereign’s lifetime. While today they are typically covered in trees and forest, when they were new they were likely barren, covered with rocks and sand and rimmed with round clay haniwa. Some of these clay cylinders may have even been topped with bowls and various statuary of boats, houses, and more—though actual human figures would only just start to get popular in the 5th century.
From Ohosazaki no Mikoto, the lineage continues with another period of chaos and the reigns of Izaho Wake and then his brother, Midzuha Wake, aka Richu and Hanzei Tennou. After Midzuha Wake’s death, the throne went to Oasatsuma Wakugo, aka Ingyo Tennou. Oasatsuma is intriguing for several reasons, not the least of which is that he is said to have been unable to use his legs due to a disease in his childhood. He is said to have initially refused the throne, but the ministers at court actually pressed the issue. He did eventually take it, however.
And with that, we are caught up. In the next year we will continue on our journey. In the coming year, well, I honestly don’t know everything that we’ll talk about, but I can hazard a few guesses. First, I know we will talk about the Five Kings of Wa mentioned in the Book of Song, and how they map onto the sovereigns as we know them, but to do that we have at least one more reign to talk about. I also suspect we will start talking more this year about the continent and what is happening. In the 4th century, Buddhist teachings had already made it from India to Korea, and in the 5th and 6th centuries, the trade routes north and south of the Taklamakan desert would become conduits for further teachings to travel across, eventually making their way all Japan—officially in the 6th and 7th centuries, but possibly even earlier. Before that happens, we’ll start to get a better idea of what is going on as the state of Yamato as it consolidates its rule and traditions across the archipelago. We’ll pay attention to the formation of the kingship in Yamato and what would eventually be termed Japan.
And that is just a few of the places we’ll go. Next episode, we’ll finish up Oasatsuma Wakugo’s reign. Until then, thank you for all of the support that you have given this podcast. It is really just something that I started in part to satisfy my own curiosity and I’m touched that others find it of interest as well. The past couple years have been rough on many of us, and has been nice to have this project to keep me going. Also, a special shout-out to my wife, who has not only put up with all of this, but who helps to edit the scripts I type up, often on short notice. Her assistance and help has been invaluable.
Finally, a special thanks to all of those who have donated to support us and help keep this thing going. Dvery little bit helps to keep this running without the need to resort to advertising or something similar, so thank you. And I do hope to keep it going for many years to come.
And so, with that, may I wish you a bright and auspicious New Year from all of us here at Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

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Kawagoe, Aileen (2009). “Did keyhole-shaped tombs originate in the Korean peninsula?”. Heritage of Japan. https://heritageofjapan.wordpress.com/following-the-trail-of-tumuli/types-of-tumuli-and-haniwa-cylinders/did-keyhole-shaped-tombs-originate-in-the-korean-peninsula/. Retrieved 8/24/2021.
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Episode 55: Reluctant Kings and Vengeful Queens

December 16, 2021 Joshua Badgley

19th century artist’s conception of the sovereign posthumously known as Ingyō Tennō.

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This episode we’ll take a look at the extremely short reign of Mizuha Wake, aka Hanzei Tennō, and then on to the succeeding reign of Ingyō Tennō. There may be some slight spoilers in here for the episode (but, again, it is history, so do spoilers really exist?) so I recommend you listen to the episode first. Below you should find some explanations of the various individuals involved and I’ll try to lay out their family connections as best I can.

An important thing to note is that this period is still highly questionable. We’ll get into the continental sources in a bit—probably in another episode or two. Once we do, and we bring this all together, I think it will both help with some context but will also likely muddy the waters a bit more.

Chart of lineages demonstrating a few of the relationships from Homuda Wake to Oasatsuma. — A chart demonstrating some of the apparent relationships shown in the Chronicles demonstrating how interconnected the royal family supposedly is. Click for a larger version.

Midzuha Wake

We met Midzuha Wake back during the reign of his brother, Izaho Wake, and really there is little to say about him here. When he finally comes to the thrown he reigns, peacefully, for five years. That’s about it.

Oasatsuma Wakugo no Sukune

The youngest son of Ōsazaki no Mikoto and Iwa no HIme, making him the full brother to both Izaho Wake and Midzuha Wake. He was struck ill in his youth and we are told in the Nihon Shoki that he lost command of his limbs. Later he would recover thanks to continental medicine.

Ōkusaka no Miko

Another son of Ōsazaki no Mikoto, but through Kaminaga Hime rather than Iwa no Hime. His sister, Kusaka no Hatahi, had been married to Izaho Wake and Ōkusaka would eventually marry their daughter, his niece, Nakashi Hime, but apparently that was all well and good by the standards of the day.

Osaka no Nakatsu Hime

Supposedly a daughter of Homuda Wake and one of his many wives, Kaguro Hime, if the lineage in the Chronicles is to be believed one suspects she was nearly old enough to be Oasatsuma’s mother, despite the fact that they were married. It is quite possible that her lineage was changed so that she could be queen and thus her offspring could inherit the throne.

Sotowori Hime

Also referred to as “Oto Hime”, but that really just means “younger princess”, she was the younger sister to Osaka no Nakatsu Hime, we are told. Her name is supposedly an epithet describing her radiant beauty, though it may have also referred to how she was living outside, or “soto”, from the palace.

Nakatomi no Ikatsu no Omi

Ikatsu is referred to as a toneri, meaning a palace servant. As such, we can assume that the “Omi” in his name was a family kabane, rather than marking him as a literal minister. The Nakatomi family would eventually become known as powerful ritualists at court and eventually a branch of that family would break off and become the Fujiwara. It is unclear if the “Omi” kabane was actually something that Ikatsu would have used at this time, and that may be an anachronism.

Yamato no Atae no Agoko

We’ve already met Agoko in previous reigns, and though he doesn’t have much of a part, here, it is still interesting that he makes even a cameo appearance.

On Poetry

This episode we see the use of poetry—specifically tanka—used in wooing a woman. The format that we see, where a man goes and secretly listens to a woman, and then responds to her poem with one of his own, feels particularly trope-filled. This is the kind of thing that filled the various romances of the Heian period, around the time of the Tale of Genji, and it is interesting to see the format so long ago.

I would note, however, that poems from this period of the Chronicles can still be rough, and 5-7-5/7-7 meter that one might expect is not always present. It is possible this is an error in the transcription of some of the poems, but it is also the case that this meter was not always adhered to strictly, with oral flourishes of one kind or another likely making up for it in the reading by either combining multiple morae or lengthening them appropriately.

6th century haniwa figure of a man playing the zither, or *koto,* found in Ibaraki. From a private collection, on display at the Tokyo National Museum. Photo by author, May 2008.

The Koto

At one point, we are told that the sovereign is playing the koto, a type of zither—a horizontal stringed instrument usually played while seated. Modern koto are very similar to the Chinese guzheng, though the latter has more strings. An earlier version also existed, known later as the wagon (和琴), and I suspect that this is the instrument that is being referenced in the Nihon Shoki. It was apparently smaller than a modern koto, and had even fewer strings, but it was still a very similar instrument.

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 54: Here We Go Again

December 1, 2021 Joshua Badgley

19th century artist’s conception of the sovereign posthumously known as Richū Tennō.

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The following may contain minor spoilers for the episode. Granted, this is history, so technically it has all been spoiled already, but still - with Ōsazaki no Ōkimi’s death the throne ended up once more in a perilous situation. Below are some of the players involved.

The Princes

While there were many princes of Ōsazaki no Ōkimi, only three of them stand out to us: Izaho Wake no Mikoto, Suminoye no Naka tsu Miko, and Mizuha Wake no Mikoto.

Izaho Wake no Mikoto

He was the eldest of the three, and the designated successor to Ōsazaki no Ōkimi, for all that meant. At one point “Wake” seems to have been a title, indicating lordship over some territory, but it is unclear if that is still the case by this period.

Suminoye no Naka tsu Miko

He was the middlest brother of the three. Perhaps that is what is meant by his name, “Naka tsu Miko” — the Middle Prince. Granted, in later names “Naka” shows up as a common enough name element. Sometimes he is referred to as “Prince Naka”.

Midzuha Wake no Mikoto

The youngest of the three, he nonetheless plays a large role in the events that take place. Also, I will apologize ahead of time for those trying to make out “Izaho Wake” and “Midzuha Wake” in the spoken word—I can understand how the two can sound remarkably similar without the visual aids.

The Courtiers

Achi no Atae

Achi no Atae also seems to be referred to as “Achi no Omi”. In this case, I suspect that Atae is the kabane of the family of Achi and Omi is literally the post of the minister, but it is hard to understand, well. It does seem as though this person is meant to at least be related to Achikki, who came over from Baekje with the first horses. It is possible it is the same individual, but all of that is unclear.

Heguri no Dzuku no Sukune

He is referred to several different ways—sometimes just as Dzuku no Sukune and once as Heguri no Tsuka no Sukune, but they all appear to reference the same individual, born at the same time as previous sovereign, Ōsazaki no Ōkimi

Kuro Hime

Daughter of Hata no Yashiro no Sukune, we know very little about her, other than that she was a point of contention between the royal brothers. Even her name, “black princess”, likely just refers to her hair or complexion, and may not have been her actual name.

Sashihire, aka Sobakari

This individual is said to be a Hayato, one of the ethnic groups of Southern Kyūshū. His name is radically different between the Nihon Shoki and the Kojiki, probably do to the fact that it was recorded phonetically. He is said to have been a servant of Suminoye no Naka tsu Miko.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is episode 54, Here we go again.
The palace in flames. Brother fighting brother. And the establishment of the Inner Treasury. These are a few of the things we’ll talk about in this episode. Content warning up front, there will be discussions of violence, death, and assassination. Welcome to history!
Now, of course, last episode we saw the death of the sovereign Oho Sazaki, aka Nintoku Tennou. He probably reigned in the first quarter or so of the 5th century, and tradition holds that his kofun is Daisen kofun, one of the largest mausoleums in the world. The Nihon Shoki shows him reigning for an impressive 87 years, though in reality it may have only been 30 years or less—which would still be an impressive reign for most sovereigns around the world. 87 years isn’t impossible, of course—many sovereigns have come to the throne as children or even infants—but we also see him taking wives 31 years before he takes the throne. So that would be at least 118 years or so. Assuming he was 14 or so when it happened you are talking about 132 years of age, which is already well beyond the oldest verifiable person known to have been alive, today.
Still, we know that there was *someone* important around in the fifth century, as evidenced by the immense size of Daisen Kofun. The power and hegemony of Yamato on the archipelago was continuing to grow, and the state was still developing. Certainly ritual remained at its heart, as I suspect that was a key factor of Yamato’s influence across the archipelago, but they were also continuing to develop the administrative apparatuses that would allow governance of a much larger region. That this growth happens seems incontrovertible—after all, spoiler alert, we already know that Yamato would eventually grow into the state we know, today, as Japan—but when and through what means is a little less clear.
Take, for example, the almost throw-away line in the Chronicles about the establishment of the treasury. It occupies a single line in the Nihon Shoki, and only slightly more in the Kojiki. We are told in the Chronicles that Nintoku’s successor, Richuu Tennou—which is, of course, the posthumous name given to him by the 8th century chroniclers. Well Richuu, created the Treasury and that he gave charge of it to Achi no Atahe. Aston provides us some further sources, noting that the later commentaries in the Shokuin Rei, part of the Taiho Ritsuryo law codes enacted at the very start of the 8th century, give us a little more information. That source differentiates between the sacred treasury and the inner treasury, and identifies this new administrative structure as the Inner Treasury, built to house those material items that had been gifted to the court as a part of complex political trade networks that Yamato was engaged in with the continent. Fabrics, jewels, gold, silver, and objects of art might be kept in the Inner Treasury. The Sacred Treasury, on the other hand, is noted as a much older institution, housing those items dedicated to the kami—which likely were the sacred mirrors and other ritual items from which the ancient elites had once demonstrated their authority.
I can’t help but see this as part of a larger centralization of the government, and a move away from the importance of the ritual position of the individual elites. While ritualists still held considerable authority through their ties to various deities, particularly in local regions, more and more individuals were deriving their authority from the court itself and the administrative power thereof. After all, from the court came appointments over granaries and rice fields, which provided an economic incentive for individuals to partake in the system, as well as another type of recognition separate from ritual. Creating a treasury that wasn’t directly connected to a particular cultic site or deity feels like further growth of the administrative state.
This goes hand in hand with another proclamation, placed around the same time in the Chronicles, that sent literate recorders out to the various provinces. Their job was to write down statements and send communication back to Yamato. On the one hand, this was a great innovation that would help increase the speed at which news and facts could travel. On the other hand, it eroded the autonomy of local authorities, providing greater scrutiny and accountability by the central authority.
Returning, however, to the Treasury—the Taiho Code further provides two individuals who were to oversee this new Treasury. The first was, as we’ve mentioned, Achi no Atahe. The second was Wang’in. If those names sound somewhat familiar, you may be recalling the names of Achikki and Wang’in, the two Baekje scholars sent over, we are told in the reign of Homuda Wake. And here we see where time once again folds neatly in on itself. Because the entry for this record in the Nihon Shoki is 405, which is exactly 120 years, or two 60 year cycles, off of when they say Wang’in arrived in the islands. While we should still remain skeptical of any of the dates in the Chronicles, this would seem to generally support our previous attempts to correct the dates from Okinaga Tararashi Hime forward. However, it brings up another question: whose reign is this happening in? Is it really in Richuu’s reign? Or did it happen some time earlier.
There really is no good way to know, but here’s my current historical head canon: Baekje likely sent scholars over, possibly in 405 CE, and they brought with them the latest continental knowledge of statecraft. From that continental learning, which included reading and writing, Yamato was able to start to develop some of the organs of statehood. As such it was quite likely that this all was occurring during the early 5th century. One might even assume that the reigns of Homuda Wake and Oho Sazaki were much shorter than we are led to believe—possibly no more than 10~20 years per reign. As such, it is quite possible that Achi no Atahe—either Achikki or one of his descendants—was, indeed, put in charge of the Treasury at the beginning of Richuu Tennou’s reign, and if our next story has any truth to it, this would seem to be entirely understandable.
But for that, we need to roll back a bit to just after Oho Sazaki’s death, and to the matter of succession.
Now we are told that it was Izaho Wake, Oho Sazaki’s eldest son, who was made Crown Prince by his father. His mother was Iwa no Hime, daughter of Katsuraki no Sotsuhiko, whom we discussed in some detail back in episode 47, making him likely the successor to more than just the Yamato throne. However, as we’ve seen in the past, succession was rarely a simple process, especially when there were other claimants. And while they hadn’t been named as successors, we know that Izaho Wake had several younger brothers, including Suminoye no Naka tsu Miko and Midzuha Wake. Since, as we’ve seen, primogeniture was not necessarily the rule in ancient Yamato, they all had fairly decent claims to the throne, themselves.
But as we pointed out, there was a designated successor, Izaho Wake, so when Oho Sazaki died, it should have been a simple process of Izaho Wake taking the throne. But things are rarely that straightforward, especially at this point in the Chronicles, and so, as the episode title says, here we go again. It seems there is always something that comes up to throw a wrench into the works and in this case it all started, or so we are told, with a woman.
According to the Chronicles, after mourning the death of his father, the designated Crown Prince, Izaho Wake decided to take Kuro Hime, the daughter of Hata no Yashiro no Sukune, as a consort—one of his many wives. Presumably, this is a *different* Kuro Hime than the one mentioned back in Episode 52 during the reign of Oho Sazaki. That was the daughter of Amabe no Atahe of Kibi, and likely no relation. He made all of the arrangements with her family, and all that was left was to determine an auspicious day for their marriage—essentially explaining when he would come and they would consummate the marriage together. Once that was determined, he asked one of his younger brothers, Suminoye no Naka tsu Miko, to go and give notice to her family.
Now it turns out that this had all been arranged in absentia, and it seems Suminoye took advantage of this fact. In fact, he took Izaho Wake’s name and seduced Kuro Hime in the sovereign’s stead. Presumably it was dark, and she never quite saw his face, but they consummated the marriage. As he lay with her, one of his wrist bells—an apparent fashion at the time—came off, and when he left, likely under the cover of darkness in the early morning, he left it behind.
Shortly thereafter, Izaho Wake, believing his younger brother to have acted faithfully, arrived at Kuro Hime’s chambers himself. Entering her chambers, he drew aside the curtain and sat down upon the jewel-couch—a raised platform for sitting or sleeping on. As he did so, he heard the telltale tinkling of something metal. Sure enough, a bell had come dislodged and rolled out. Since this was apparently a man’s ornament, Izaho Wake’s mind was suddenly filled with questions. He asked Kuro Hime whose bells they were, and she was completely perplexed. After all, weren’t they his from when he visited her the other night?
At that point, Izaho Wake put two and two together, realized what had happened, and left in silence, no doubt leaving poor Kuro Hime wondering at what had just happened.
Now Suminoye, knowing that his elder brother must have realized something was up, began his own preparations, and as they say: “The best defense is a good offense.” After all, Izaho Wake had not yet taken up the throne, and therefore, technically, he wasn’t the Great King, or Oho-Kimi, just yet. In fact, other than the fact that the Chronicles claim he had been named Crown Prince, we can’t actually be sure that this was even the case—that may be an assumption by the Chroniclers. And so, Izaho Wake’s claim on the throne was not absolute and we have already seen, time and again, where it wasn’t necessarily the eldest son who inherited. So Suminoye gathered his forces, and decided to take action.
Fortunately for him, he had a golden opportunity. Before he could deal with his younger brother, Suminoye, Izaho Wake had matters of state ritual to attend to. In fact, it is unclear whether he was planning to take any action at all as he prepared to celebrate Ohonihe—the festival of first fruits—with a traditional state banquet. And so he went about with the preparations and got everything ready.
Now while there was, no doubt, some parts of the ritual that were staid and formal, it was, still, a banquet. That meant that the sake flowed freely, and by the end of the night Izaho Wake was deep in his cups. When it was all over, the Crown Prince headed to his chambers and fell into a deep, drunken slumber.
It was at that moment that Suminoye decided to make his move. He gathered his forces and surrounded the palace in Naniwa. The ministers of the court, including men of influential families such as Heguri no Dzuku no Sukune, Mononobe no Omahe no Sukune, and Achi no Omi all tried to warn Izaho Wake of the danger, but he was fast asleep, and nobody could wake him. Finally, as Suminoye’s troops set fire to the buildings, Achi no Omi, also called in the Kojiki Achi no Atahe, picked up Izaho Wake’s limp body, threw him on the back of a horse, and together they made their escape.
Izaho Wake didn’t regain consciousness until they hit Hanifu hill, at which point they looked back and saw the palace in flames.
Izaho Wake was suddenly homeless, having woken up on the road, and trying to figure out what to do next. Meanwhile, Suminoye was consolidating his own position and reaching out for allies, likely trying to make sure that he dealt with any opposition to his sudden coup and ensure that Izaho Wake and any supporters were entirely eliminated. He reached out to close political allies in an apparent attempt to lock down the capital region.
Thus it was that as Izaho Wake was fleeing towards they came to Mt. Asuka, where they found a young woman, who gave them critical insights into the state of their enemies. She told them that Suminoye’s allies were all over the local hills, and that the only safe way would be to go by way of the Tagima road.
Izaho Wake and his allies realized they would need men of their own, and they quickly raised a force amongst the local people of the district there, around Mt. Asuka, then they took their forces cautiously along the Tagima Road, by way of Mt. Tatsuta. This route likely headed south, through the mountains near where the Yamato River exits the Nara Basin.
As they were moving their forces cautiously, on the lookout for the opposing team, they noticed a group of men heading towards them. And so Izaho Wake had his men hide and sent out a single scout to go find out what they were about. This man went down and inquired as to just who the men were and they told him they were fishermen—and of course, what we know of “fishermen” of this time that probably wasn’t all that far away from “pirate” and “raider”, like all of those who had been plaguing the Korean peninsula. These particular fishermen were from Nojima on the island of Awaji, conscripted by the Adzumi no Muraji no Hamako, who sent them out on behalf of Suminoye to pursue Izaho Wake.
Upon hearing this, the scout alerted Izaho Wake’s troops, who sprung up from where they were hiding and took the fishermen by surprise and captured all of them.
Of course, it wasn’t just conscripted fishermen that Izaho Wake was up against. Suminoye had plenty of friends, and one of those was another familiar face in the narrative: Yamato no Atahe no Agoko. We discussed Agoko back in Episode 49 and last episode, Episode 53. He was the one who helped sort out the legal dispute over the granaries after the death of Homuda Wake. He also was the one who traveled to Toutoumi and oversaw the work to build a boat out of the giant tree that had floated down the river, sailing it around the Kii peninsula. Now, however, he had apparently sided with Suminoye, out of what we are told was his deep affection for the prince. He even had been privy to the original conspiracy to burn down the palace. And so he raised several hundred choice troops in Yamato proper, at Kurusu in Kakibami district, and arrayed them in opposition to Izaho Wake’s advance.
Now Izaho Wake did not immediately know where Agoko and his forces were, and so he and his men were actually several leagues from the mountains, out on the plains, when they saw Agoko and his forces. Cautiously, Izaho Wake sent forward a messenger, who asked whose army it was that they had stumbled across. Agoko told the messenger who he was, and then he asked about the other forces. The messenger told them that it was the Crown Prince, Izaho Wake, at which point Agoko was suddenly faced with something of an existential crisis. Despite raising hundreds of men, he had no idea just how big Izaho’s army might be. To see a small force out on the road, in the open, he feared that it was some kind of trap and he suddenly became worried. Thinking quickly, he told the messenger that he was actually there looking for the Crown Prince, because he wanted to join him.
At this point, Izaho Wake was more than a little suspicious. He’d had plenty of people try to kill him already, and he likely knew something of Agoko’s close relationship with his brother, Suminoye. Perhaps he figured that Agoko might be willing to stay out of the conflict, but it seemed too much that Agoko was willing to raise troops to help Izaho Wake, even if he was the designated Crown Prince. That said, Izaho Wake did allow them to draw closer, and then he suddenly attacked, seizing Agoko and attempting to kill him.
Agoko, fearful that he was going to die, pleaded with Izaho Wake, and even offered up his own younger sister, Hi no Hime, if only Izaho Wake would pardon him. And so, Izaho spared his life, but kept him close.
With no further impediments, Izaho Wake continued on to Isonokami shrine, which, as you may remember, was an ancestral shrine of the Mononobe, holding many sacred objects, including an entire arsenal of swords and other weapons that had been donated over the years. There, Izaho Wake fortified himself, setting up his court in absentia, while working out just how he was going to get out of this whole thing.
And so there they were: Izaho Wake in Isonokami and Suminoye presumably sitting in Naniwa and attempting to solidify his own power base. But as you may recall there were at least three eligible brothers around at this time, and Midzuha Wake had yet to make an appearance.
Now the Chronicles tell us that Midzuha Wake was a true brother of Izaho Wake. He was the youngest of the three, but no slouch. We are told that he was an impressive nine feet 2 and ½ inches tall—and even though a Japanese foot, or shaku, was probably a bit less than an imperial foot, it is clear that he was rather tall. Even his teeth were well-proportioned, like beads strung on a cord—likely quite the feat in an age before modern oral hygiene.
In all of the chaos that had suddenly arisen, Midzuha Wake had gone searching for his eldest brother. But when he found him, there at Isonokami Shrine, Izaho Wake was more than a little suspicious of his motives. After all, even someone like Agoko had been supporting their brother, Suminoye, so it is little wonder if he had become a bit paranoid.
Midzuha Wake asked just what it would take to gain his brother’s trust again, and Izaho Wake claimed it would only happen if Midzuha Wake killed Suminoye, killing off the threat to Izaho Wake’s life.
Midzuha Wake, with a bit of bravado, laughed off Izaho Wake’s concerns. He told his brother that Suminoye’s support back in the court was extremely tenuous, as nobody really cared for him nor what he had done. Midzuha Wake himself had known that something was up, but he didn’t take action because he hadn’t received word from his brother, Izaho Wake, to do anything, so he figured his big bro had it taken care of.
But if Suminoye’s death was what his brother’s trust required, Midzuha Wake would see to it. However, he did ask for one thing: a witness. After all, why should his brother trust that the deed was done? This is before the later samurai custom of cutting off heads on the battlefield to prove that you had killed someone. What would happen if he came back and Izaho Wake didn’t believe him? No, this job called for independent verification.
Enter Dzuku no Sukune.
Dzuku no Sukune was a trusted member of the court, and was old enough to be father to both Izaho Wake and Midzuha Wake. You see his father was Takechi no Sukune, the first Prime Minister, from back in the time of Okinaga Tarashi Hime, and he was born around the same time as the previous sovereign, Oho Sazaki. In fact, his name was actually intertwined with that of Oho Sazaki, because when he was born a wren, or sazaki, had entered the parturition hut where his mother was giving birth, while into Oho Sazaki’s hut flew an owl, called “dzuku”. Homuda Wake and Takechi no Sukune thought this was such awesome parallelism that they each named their sons for the bird that had flown into the other one’s hut, thus subtly tying them together.
Of course, that whole story seems a bit suspect, but it gets at the fact that Dzuku no Sukune was considered trustworthy—if he said that Midzuha Wake did the deed, then it was true.
And so the two left Izaho Wake and his court at the shrine of Isonokami to go find a way to kill their other brother, Suminoye no Naka tsu Miko.
Now, despite all of his bravado with Izaho Wake, Midzuha Wake was clearly conflicted. After all, Suminoye was also his older brother, and now he would have to choose: whom should he actually obey? Whom should he oppose? Working through this dilemma we are told that he eventually decided that he must obey the righteous and destroy the unprincipled. Since Izaho Wake was the rightful heir, and Suminoye had tried to have him killed, Izaho Wake was in the right, and therefore he would be the one that Midzuha Wake decided to obey. I mean, kind of late to be worried about it, right? He took the kings shilling and all that.
Personally, I suspect this bit of introspective moralizing was an insertion by the Chroniclers in an attempt to rationalize Midzuha Wake taking a stance against either one of his brothers, but there you have it.
Back in Naniwa, Suminoye wasn’t really giving much thought to Izaho Wake. From his perspective his brother had fled, leaving the throne vacant. Sure, he had his allies on the lookout, but his focus was less on his brother and more about acting the part of the sovereign. Supposedly he had moved the remaining court to his own palace or something similar, where he had his own staff of servants to help take care of him.
One of these servants was a Hayato, a member of one of the ethnic groups of southern Kyushu, who went by the name of either Sobakari or Sashihire—the Kojiki and the Nihon Shoki vary on this point, but I’ll go with Sashihire for now. Anyway, Midzuha Wake was able to get Sashihire alone, and he promised him great rewards, and even promotion to Prime Minister, or Oho-Omi, once Izaho Wake took the throne. Sashihire was appropriately tempted, and he agreed to the terms.
Thus it was that he took a spear and he waited until Suminoye went out to the privy. There, as Prince Suminoye was at his most vulnerable, Sashihire thrust the spear and assassinated him. And like that, the would-be reign of Suminoye no Naka tsu Miko, aka the Middle Prince of Suminoye, came to an end before it ever got started.
As for Midzuha Wake and Dzuku no Sukune, they started heading back to Isonokami to report the news to Izaho Wake, and they took with them Sashihire, who was convinced he would be greatly rewarded. Dzuku no Sukune, however, pointed out to Midzuha Wake the inherent problem, however. After all, if Sashihire had been so easily tempted into turning against and killing his own lord, how could he be trusted at all?
Mizuha Wake thought on this. What would be best? Was there some way to ensure his loyalty so that Sashihire would never betray him or Izaho Wake?
Finally, he came up with a plan. As they came to the great slope of Ohosaka, leading towards Yamato, Midzuha Wake made a pronouncement. Why wait for the inevitable? As brother to the Crown Prince, he would make Sashihire Oho-omi, the Great Minister, right then and there, binding him through their promise and reward. And so they stopped and quickly put together the trappings for a proper state banquet at the foot of the mountains, even building—or possibly converting an existing structure into—a proper temporary palace.
Sashihire was overjoyed—this was everything he could have hoped for. He eagerly participated and could hardly wait for his new status. Mizuha Wake, for his part, performed the required rituals with appropriate solemnity. He even obtained a large bowl—larger than his own head—and he had it filled with sake, proclaiming: “I will drink wine with the Oho-omi from the same cup.” This tradition of sharing a single cup of sake, while perhaps not the most hygienic of traditions, would continue to show up throughout Japanese history and in a variety of ways, all to help reinforce the bonds between individuals.
And so Mizuha Wake took a long sip from the bowl, and then handed it to Sashihire. And as Sashihire held up the bowl to drink from it, its enormous size completely covered his face. At that moment, Mizuha Wake, who had come to the decision that there was, in truth, no way he could ever truly trust Sashihire, drew out a sword which he had secreted under a nearby mat, and he stabbed Sashihire through his neck, killing him.
And that was the end of Sashihire. Presumably, Mizuha Wake and Dzuku no Sukune spent some time to clean everything up, but then they were both back on the road, eventually arriving at Isonokami, There they informed Izaho Wake that the “Mission of Pacification” had been completed, and they told him everything that had transpired.
With no further threat to the throne, Izaho Wake formally took up the mantle of sovereign, and he got back to the business of governing. It was, indeed, Izaho Wake whom the later Chroniclers would name as Richuu Tennou.
As one of his first duties as uncontested sovereign, Izaho Wake rewarded Midzuha Wake with the Mura-awase granaries, and later would make him his own Crown Prince, despite the fact that he had children of his own. He would also remember those who had helped him—which is perhaps how the Achi no Atahe came to be the ones in charge of the Inner Treasury.
Of course, it wasn’t all about the rewards. For those who had sided with Suminoye, they were punished, but in many cases their sentences were commuted. For instance, the Hamako, the Muraji of Adzumi, whose fishermen had come out to find Izaho Wake, was tattooed above the eye with a tattoo that would let people know of his crimes. Likewise, the surviving fishermen themselves were put to work as laborers at the granaries of Komoshiro, there in Yamato.
A new palace was, of course, required, and rather than rebuilding it in Naniwa, he built it, instead, in Iware, in the Nara Basin. There it was near a mountain that had an out-of-season bloom of Sakura, or blossoming cherry trees, and so it was known as the Wakazakura Palace.
He also finalized the arrangements and formally married Kuro Hime, installing her as his queen. She would go on to give him several sons and daughters.
He also set up four ministers to help oversee the affairs of state. These were Heguri no Dzuku no Sukune, Soga no Manchi no Sukune, Mononobe no Ikofutsu no Ohomuraji, and Tsubura no Oho-omi.
Now, of course, this whole sordid mess still has a lot of holes. The story I’ve given you blends together details from both the Kojiki and the Nihon Shoki, and seems to fit with what some scholars have said about the chaos following the death of a sovereign, and it even parallels, to some extent, the problems that Oho Sazaki had in coming to the throne—proving once more that there was no guarantee on succession.
It is easy to see how a story like this might have evolved from multiple elites vying for power in the vacuum leftover when a ruler passed away. Were they all brothers, or even the sons of the previous ruler? Who is to say.
On the other hand, it is also interesting that the Sendai Kuji Hongi, aka the Kujiki, leaves it out. For the most part this source has been pretty big on providing pre-ascension details, but here it is oddly silent. Is this because the Kojiki and Nihon Shoki were drawing from texts not available to the compilers of the Kujiki? Or did they just not feel that it was part of their mandate? Perhaps they saw it as unimportant? Whatever the reason, it wasn’t included.
There are some differences between the Kojiki and the Nihon Shoki, as well. Most of excuse for the conflict—that being Kuro Hime and Suminoye no Naka tsu Miko seducing her—is only really found in the Nihon Shoki. The Kojiki merely mentions the burning of the palace, a point on which both are pretty clear. The Nihon Shoki also has more names and a few alternate stories, such has having Ohomae no Sukune picking up the sovereign and throwing him on a horse rather than Achi no Omi, aka Achi no Atahe. The Kojiki, in general, is much more abridged, and focuses more on the fight between the brothers and does not bring in as many outside characters.
Still, many things are the same. For instance, in both Chronicles they meet a woman who warms them of the dangers and suggests they take the Tagima Road. The idea of a woman as an oracular figure, giving advice to the sovereign and warning them of danger, is something that we’ve already seen in the Chronicles, and may go back to some of the shamanistic aspects of early religious belief in the archipelago, but it is never so clearly stated. It is unclear if this was something that happened or simply a common storytelling device for the time.
I also wonder about the encroachment of the Chroniclers’ own contemporary politics. Of course, the actions of Izaho Wake and Midzuha Wake are both suspect, in a way, as they are both heirs to the throne. It is also interesting that Suminoye no Naka tsu Miko is given a name that seems to merely translate as the “Middle Prince of Suminoye”, or something along those lines, while both of the other two brothers are mentioned with their names and the title of “Wake”. Was the Middle Prince truly named as such, or is that just a descriptor of an antagonist whose actual name has been lost, possibly deliberately so.
I also can’t help but notice the fact that Suminoye’s treacherous manservant is identified as being Hayato. The “Falcon People” of Kyushu were both an important part of court ritual, with their dances and traditions, but they were also frequently in rebellion against Yamato. In the 8th century I suspect that the fact that Sashihire was Hayato would have been a telling point for the audience, falling in line as it did with contemporary stereotypes.
We also see here the idea of tattooing as a criminal punishment. This is something that continued right up until the modern day, with tattoos still often associated with criminal elements. That said, we know that tattoos were not always a punishment. For example, back in the sections on Yamate in the Weizhi, tattooing is mentioned as a not uncommon form of bodily decoration. And we also have a story from this reign that further supports it.
According to the Nihon Shoki, Izaho Wake went hunting on the island of Awaji, as was common for sovereigns to do, and he took with him a member of the Umakahi-be, or the Horse-keeper’s Be. Now before heading out, Umakahi-be had been tattooed in the face, and his wounds hadn’t yet healed. It is said that a hafuri—a medium for the kami—approached and spoke with the voice of the god Izanagi no Mikoto, who claimed that he could not a endure the stench of blood. Trying to figure out what this meant—after all, this could put a real damper on future hunting expeditions—a divination was conducted and it was determined that the deity’s complaint was specifically about the blood from the wound caused by the tattooing , which was apparently something that every member of the Umakahi-be went through—at least up until then. To appease the kami, Izaho Wake declared that from that day forth, the Umakahi-be would no longer be tattoed.
Clearly this kind of a mark was not one indicative of criminal activity, but rather seemed to demonstrate belonging to a group. Whether other families and groups operated in similar ways I’m not sure, but I suspect this was not an isolated case, and it very well may have been that many people had tattoos of various types indicating their affiliations and other factors.
Speaking of the Kami, while Izaho Wake had largely settled things as far as human administration, there were still issues that came up with the kami. And at one point the Three Deities of Tsukushi—or perhaps their representatives and mediums—appeared in the palace, complaining that they had been robbed of their people, and because of this they would curse the sovereign. By the “Three Deities of Tsukushi” one imagines that they meant the deities of the various shrines of Munakushi, in Fukuoka, and the islands out to Okinoshima—the children of Amaterasu—though it is never clearly stated.
Of course, with such an ominous pronouncement, divinations were done, but here we see that they were not always successful, as nobody had any idea what the kami were talking about. Izaho prayed, but his prayer was not answered. For some time, things went on as normal, but there may have been a feeling as though a Sword of Damocles was hanging over the court.
Sure enough, one day a great voice spoke on the wind, warning the Inheritor of the Divine Sword—aka the sovereign, Izaho Wake—that the “Younger sister of bird-frequented Hata” had gone to be buried at Hasa. Sure enough, shortly thereafter a messenger arrived with word that Kuro Hime, the daughter of Hata no Yashiro no Sukune, had died.
Izaho Wake immediately headed back, but there was nothing he could do. Kuro Hime was dead, apparently from the curse of the Three Deities. Izaho Wake immediately started taking measures to find out who was at fault. He investigated as best he could and finally he learned that the Lord of the Cart-Keepers, Kuruma-mochi no Kimi, had recently traveled to Tsukushi and reviewed all of the Cart-Keepers down there. During his review, he took into his service men who had been previously dedicated to the deities, apparently under the belief that all of the Cart Keepers should report to him, first and foremost.
In learning all of this, Izaho Wake brought the Lord of the Kuruma-mochi up on two charges. First was that he had arbitrarily appropriated subjects of the sovereign. Here we see the centralization of authority over people and what they are doing. Second, was that he had assigned people to the Kurumamochi *after* they had been dedicated to the service of the deities.
As punishment, Kuramamochi no Kimi was first fined the articles for a ritual ceremony for the expiation of evil and the expiation of good. This means he had to produce the ritual items required and effectively pay for the ritual to be completed, so it was essentially an economic fine. Second, the members of the Kurumamochi of Tsukushi were removed from his service and reassigned back to the deities they were supposed to serve.
That appeased the deities, and there is no more mention of the curse.
Perhaps more practically, this demonstrates, again, the extended reach of Yamato. As these various organizations, known as “-be”, which were generally organized to support some activity or another, grew more powerful, they seem to have assumed some authority of their groups’ members. This no doubt conflicted with other, traditional forms of authority, who had their own claims on the labor of certain individuals. In the end, it sounds as if the shrine complained, but the fact that they complained to the court in Yamato—possibly in the form of a medium—would seem to be indicative of the centralization process we continue to see developing during this period.
Beyond the kami and politics, and more, there was one other story that stood out in the life of Izaho Wake, and it may seem a bit anticlimactic, but does demonstrate that Yamato rule was not absolute.
Now, of course, Izaho Wake took many wives, most of whom we might best classify as consorts. These were likely political marriages, but their offspring, while royal, did not hold the same place as those of the designated queen. Two of these consorts were sisters, and when they arrived, they were mourning, for they missed their brother. Izaho Wake asked about this brother they were missing, and they described a man of tremendous exploits who could literally leap tall buildings in a single bound. Well, at least they claimed he cleared an 8-fathom house with a running leap and then went away. His name was Washizumi no Miko.
Izaho Wake was eager to get this talented man to join his team, as it were, and he sent numerous invites out to him, but none of them were returned. Instead, Washizumi continued to reside in the village of Suminoye. Eventually Izaho Wake just let the matter drop and went on to other things.
Washizumi is said to have been the ancestors of Miyakko, or governors, of Sanuki and the Wake of Ashikuhi in Awa. These are the two easternmost of the four countries that make up the island of Shikoku, situated across the Seto Inland Sea from Honshu.
I suspect that this story isn’t just about one individual, but may indicate that Yamato influence was not absolute, and even though they may have been in a superior position, and able to command various marriage alliances. That fits my understanding of a state that was still growing and testing the limits of what they could do.
Now for all of this that happened, Izaho Wake’s reign was not extremely long. The Nihon Shoki claims he only reigned for about five years, and the year of his death may have bene around 432 if the sexagenary cycle is to be believed. It is certainly one of the more reasonable examples of regnal periods.
But that’s it for Izaho Wake. Next we’ll look at his brother and successor, Mizuha Wake.
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 through Patreon, over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode.
Also, feel free to Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page. You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com. We would love to hear from you and your ideas.
And 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 53: [Insert Name of Monarch Here]

November 16, 2021 Joshua Badgley

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This episode we will talk about a lot of little stories. A few of the characters we mention, down below.

The Iron Shields of Goguryeo

There are actually two iron shields that are part of the treasures of the Isonokami Shrine (http://www.isonokami.jp/about/c4.html), one of which is on permanent loan to the Tokyo National Museum. They are of peninsular manufacture, probably late 5th to early 6th century—suggesting that they were not presented in the time of Ōsazaki, and they may not be the shields referenced in the story, but they are likely similar. Iron shields like this seem impractical, given their size and assumed weight, but they were still quite impressive.

Individuals referenced:

Tatebito no Sukune (盾人宿禰) [Literally “Lord Shield Person”], and later it is Ikuba no Toda no Sukune (的戸田宿禰), [Toda no Sukune of the Target]. Later we see Toda no Sukune spelled as (砥田宿禰), but given that he is listed as the founder of the Ikuba no Omi (的臣) and he’s sent traveling with Sakashi-nokori no Omi, who had been granted his rank at the same time, it seems a fair bet that these are one and the same person.
Sakashi-nokori no Omi (賢遺臣), formerly Sukune no Omi (宿禰臣) [This is a weird mixing of kabane]

The story of Tamichi

Takahase (竹葉瀬), ancestor of the Kozuke no Kimi (上毛野君)
Tamichi (田道), his younger brother who went off to attack Silla with him
Harbor of Ishimi (伊寺水門), where Tamichi was killed

The story of the Giant Tree of Tōtōmi (遠江國)

The country—later province—of Tōtōmi was named for Lake Hamana. It was the far (遠) lake (江): Tohotsu Afumi. Meanwhile, Chikatsu Afumi, the “near lake” referred to lake Biwa.

Yamato no Atae Agoko (倭直吾子籠) - this is the same individual whom the brothers went to to help clarify ancient laws. While this story of a giant log doesn’t seem like much, it gives us another view of this particular courtier.

Water torture in the Harima Fudoki

A couple notes. FIrst, Hōki was earlier pronounced Hahaki (伯耆), and along with Inaba (因幡), it sits on the Japan Sea side of the main island, just east of Izumo and north of Harima and Yamato. These are areas that seem to have originally been part of the Izumo sphere of influence, but they adopted the Yamato style round keyhole tombs earlier, possibly indicating a move away from Izumo and towards Yamato.

Kaguro of Hōki (伯耆加具漏) and Oyuko of Inaba (因幡邑由胡) are the two wealthy lords who are basically accused of being overly prosperous and disrespectful.
Una hime (宇奈比賣) and Kuha hime (久波比賣) - daughters of Miso of the Hatori no Muraji and Arasaka HIme. They were likely wives, possibly political marriages to the two wealthy men.
Miso no Hatori no Muraji (服部彌蘇連) - a powerful member of court. Normally his name would be more like “Hatori no Muraji no Miso”, but it seems this may have been a way of giving him greater respect by his daughters’ statement.
Arasaka Hime (阿良佐加比賣). The wife of Miso no Hatori no Muraji, she is said to be the daughter of the Kuni no MIyatsuko of Inaba (因幡國造), though to be honest, the original text does not clearly state that and you could just as easily read it that she was the Kuni no Miyatsuko of Inaba. It wouldn’t be the first important female ruler of that area if we go back and look at some of the Izumo stories, but the general consensus seems to be that she is just the daughter.
Sai no Muraji no Sayo (狹井連佐夜). His name is given in the more standard format. However, this is still perhaps the only real mention of this individual so far.

Sukuna of Hida

This is perhaps the first real mention of Hida (飛騨), the mountainous area north of modern GIfu.

Sukuna (宿儺) - His name resembles a corruption of Sukune—perhaps this was a typo and he was originally of “sukune” rank. Or it was just an example of using similar Chinese characters to make the proper sounds.
Naniwaneko Takefurukuma (難波根子武振熊). This extremely long name seems to start with a title: Naniwaneko. There has been some thought that the “neko” in earlier sovereigns names was a type of title, so that they were “Yamatoneko”. Here it is clearly referencing Naniwa instead of Yamato. The rest of the name is similarly interesting. For instance, should the “Take” be part of the previous title, meaning “brave”? Is any of this an actual name? Perhaps Furukuma?

The Pool of Agatamori

This takes place in Kibi (吉備), modern Okayama area. An “agata” (縣) is a district, and “mori” (守) means to protect, and usually used to indicate a governorship of some kind. Later it would be the “no-kami” of many names, such as “Ise-no-kami” (伊勢守), a title that later became name, indicating that one was nominally in charge of Ise province, though this would lose much of its meaning in later eras.

Kawashima (川嶋) literally means “river island”

Shiratori Tomb

Meki (目杵), the guard who was trasformed.
Hashi no Muraji (土師連), the family who eventually received conservatorship of Shiratori kofun.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is episode 53, Insert Name of Monarch Here .
Before we get started, a quick shout-out to Joe for helping to support the show. If you want to join him, you can find us on our recent Patreon page—just look up Sengoku Daimyo—or you can also donate through KoFi, at Ko-Fi.com/sengokudaimyo.
Also, a quick content warning: some of these entries contain things that may be disturbing. Specifically, this episode we will be referencing a suicide, however briefly.
This is probably going to be our last episode on the reign of the Great Wren, Oho Sazaki no Ohokimi, aka Nintoku Tennou. We’ve gone over the story of how he came to power, of his many loves, and several other stories—including how early elites were getting brain freezes in the summer thanks to their private slushee stash.
This episode is going to be about many of the other stories from his reign—those I didn’t cover previously. I’d generally categorize them in two different ways: First there are stories relating to the mainland, specifically to the Korean peninsula and our favorite cast of characters over there—mostly Silla and Goguryeo. Then there are stories from the archipelago itself. But the big thing that seems to unite these stories, in my mind, and why this episode has the title it does, is the fact that the sovereign’s place really isn’t defined or required for most of them. While the sovereign may, indeed, be referenced, and though some of the stories do seem to fit with other events, the truth of the matter is that it could be any sovereign, and how and why these stories are particularly tied to Oho Sazaki is not immediately clear, at least not to me.
For those stories referencing the continent, I suspect that a large part of that narrative is being driven by stories in things like the Baekje Annals, which the chroniclers were clearly pulling from. As we’ve seen, though, the dates don’t always line up, and it’s possible that some of these stories were added in simply because of the dates—which are still wildly inaccurate in this time period—and not because of a clear connection with Oho Sazaki’s reign.
On the other hand, the stories from the archipelago feel, to me, like local stories, not dissimilar to what we find in the later Fudoki. They are probably set in the 5th century, but as for whether or not they were explicitly set during the time of Oho Sazaki’s reign is unclear.
What does seem clear is that there was a very important fifth century ruler of some import—hence the presence of Daisen Kofun, which we discussed in episode 51 – as a reminder, this is the largest kofun in the archipelago, and one of the largest mausoleums in the entire world. Its construction likely took years, and untold numbers of laborers, crafters, and more. Whether the individual interred there was actually known as Oho Sazaki or not, their reign was no doubt a marker for later generations, and I suspect that, between the reigns of Oho Sazaki and his father, there may have been numerous stories that were attributed to them, particularly if they took place some time early in the reigns of their particular dynasties. And so the stories all get woven together and start to settle into a timeline. As things get written down, they obtain a kind of canonical position in the histories.
So with that understanding, let’s get started!
We’ll begin with the stories regarding the continent. Here we see the continued evolution of the complex relationships between the emerging nation-states of the peninsula and the archipelago. This isn’t as simple as stating that it was Baekje and Yamato—and possibly the states of Kara—against Silla and Goguryeo.
For instance, at one point it seems that Yamato’s relationship with Goguryeo had improved, at least since the days of Gwangaetto the Great. To illustrate this, a Goguryeo embassy is said to have arrived, bringing a gift of two iron shields. These caused quite the stir in a land that had iron armor but seems to have largely still been using shields made of wood. Not a month after the embassy had brought them, the ambassadors were being entertained at the court and people started shooting arrows at the shield. Rather predictably, the shields did as expected, and the arrows seem to have bounced off. Nobody could pierce them, unlike, one presumes, the wooden shields of the time.
Nobody, that was, until one man, Tatebito no Sukune. He stood up and took aim and he must have had quite the draw weight on his bow, as his arrow pierced the target. In recognition of such a feat, Oho Sazaki bestowed on him a new name. While he was previously known as Tatebito, a name that could be translated as “shield person”, he was given the name of Ikuba no Toda, where “Ikuba” means “target”.
Later Toda no Sukune—whose name is spelled differently, but who is claimed as an ancestor of the Ikuba no Omi—was made an ambassador himself, along with Sakashi-nokori no Omi, who gained his title at the same event where Ikuba no Toda no Sukune was given his name for piercing the shield. These two were sent to the mainland because, at least as the Nihon Shoki puts it, Silla had not been sending expected tribute. I mean, it kind of makes sense that you would send a guy who can shoot an arrow through an iron shield as an ambassador to a misbehaving tributary nation, right?
Toda and Sakashi-nokori showed up and were offered—and I use that term in the loosest of meanings—a quite specific one thousand four hundred and sixty pieces of tribute, including silk and various objects. In total it was 80 shiploads—probably just the Chronicles’ way of saying it was a heck of a lot—quite the haul for anyone at that time, however it may have actually been acquired.
Of course, this wasn’t the only “embassy” to Silla. At one point Takahase, who is said to be an ancestor of the lords of Kodzuke, the Kodzuke no Kimi, was sent to Silla, again because of this perceived failure by Silla to send tribute to Yamato. As he started out, though, before he left the islands, he spotted a white deer, a presumably auspicious sign, so he broke his journey and took the deer and returned to the sovereign. He then chose another day and left to travel across to the peninsula.
Shortly after Takahasa had left, Oho Sazaki decided he wanted a little insurance that the mission would be successful, and so he sent Takahase’s own brother, Tamichi, to follow after him, commanding him that if Silla refused to pay up then he should raise up an army and invade. Heck, this is looking more and more like some medieval gangster type shakedown. I can just see Don Sazaki saying something like “leave the sword, take the cannolis.” Or whatever the equivalent sweet of the day might have been.
Now it seems that Silla was, indeed, recalcitrant. They offered battle daily, rather than pay – I mean give - the Yamato forces what they wanted. But Tamichi made strong fortifications, and he refused to leave them. One day, as the siege dragged on, the Yamato forces captured a Silla soldier who was questioned—and probably not in a very nice way—and eventually gave up details of Silla’s order of battle. It seemed that Silla’s strongest forces were typically concentrated in the right van of their forces for some reason, and when Tamichi heard of this he knew what to do. The Yamato forces did go forth to do battle, and as they did so, Tamichi saw the hole in Silla’s left flank, just as the soldiers had said. He took a force of swift men—the chronicle says cavalry which might be an exaggeration, though we do see horse equipment from this period—and he bore quickly down into the gap. Once the left side of the Silla army collapsed, the Yamato soldiers were able to roll up the rest and rout them. In the end we are told they ended up taking—read “enslaving”—four villages worth of prisoners back to Japan, where they were no doubt resettled and put to work for Yamato.
This must have been a huge victory, and Tamichi was no doubt lauded for it, but his story doesn’t end there. For some time after his victory in Silla he was sent to the northeast, as the Emishi were rebelling. Unfortunately he did not fare as well in this campaign, and it would prove to be his last. Tamichi was slain at the Harbor of Ishimi. One of his soldiers was able to obtain his tamaki—an armlet apparently made of beads and bells tied together with a string—and they brought that back to his wife, who used it to strangle herself, thus joining her husband in death . This act moved even the hardest of the soldiers to tears.
At some later point—we aren’t told when, other than it was after Tamichi had been buried and a tomb erected—the Emishi once again rebelled and made as though to carry off many of the people. At the same time they dug up Tamichi’s tomb, presumably somewhere up in the Kozuke region, to loot the grave, and when they did so a giant serpent came out of the tomb. Its poison was potent, and all but two of the Emishi died. Thus it is said that Tamichi was able to get his revenge, even from beyond the grave.
As I mentioned above, these stories seem less about the sovereign, and more about notable individuals, such as Toda no Sukune and Tamichi, and their war-time heroics. Similarly, other stories seem to be about various people and places.
For example, there is the story of the giant tree of Toutoumi, which is to say, the western lands of modern Shizuoka province, around Lake Hamana, formerly known as Tohotsu-a(f)umi, from which the province got its name. Now whether there were particularly torrential rains or a massive earthquake—or just that nature took its course—we aren’t told, but what we are told is that the Kokushi, or provincial governor, of Toutomi reported that a huge tree had fallen along the banks of the Ohowigawa, floating downstream until it got stuck, firm as the Evergiven in the Suez Canal.
Now this wasn’t just some log, but it must have been a massive old-growth tree, likely hundreds of years old. It was 10 “girths” in size—in other words it was an incredibly big tree—and split in two at the very end. This was such an incredible find that the court sent Yamato no Atahe no Agoko himself to take care of things. Now, you may or may not remember Agoko—we mentioned him back in Episode 49 when Prince Oho-yamamori—or perhaps Nukada no Ohonakatsu Hiko—took the rice-lands and granaries from Ou no Sukune during the interregnum, while Oho Sazaki and his brother were still bickering over who would be sovereign. Even though Agoko had been off on a mission on the Korean peninsula at the time, the court tracked him down to help resolve the dispute, since apparently nobody knew the courtly traditions quite like he did. His ruling saw the land and granaries returned to Ou no Sukune and fueled the murderous rage of Oho Yamamori, who tried and failed to kill his own younger brother and take the throne for himself.
Here we see Agoko’s return to the forefront—he traveled to the land of Toutoumi, had the giant tree made into a boat, and then he sailed it back to Naniwa by way of the Southern Sea—in other words he sailed down south, around the Kii Peninsula.
A minor historical note here—this story, besides giving us more evidence of Agoko’s competence, is the earliest story we have that references the person overseeing a land or province as “kokushi”, which might well be termed something like provincial governor. Of course, much like the mention of horses during Yamato Takeru’s campaigns, this could just be an anachronism thrown in by later chroniclers. Nonetheless it could also be an indication of the structural changes occurring in the political make-up of the islands. Certainly Yamato’s hegemony appears to have hit a zenith at the point that Daisen kofun was built, so it may be that they were, in fact, exerting greater and greater control over the provincial leaders.
There are also a number of stories out of the Fudoki—largely from the Harima Fudoki. Many of these are simply etymologies for various place names. For instance, Ikahino, which literally translates to something like “the fields for keeping wild boar” claims that the area was given by the sovereign to keep a wild boar consecrated to Amaterasu. Sawoka, on the other hand, which means rice-planting hill, was named after the annual rice-planting festival that was held there. There is also Kurusu, named after a local chestnut grove, supposedly started from peeled chestnuts presented by the sovereign.
While some of these are interesting, and provide some tidbits on the operation of the court and various beliefs and onomastics, most such entries don’t have the depth that we’d really like. Though there is one with a bit more flair. It is recorded in the entry about Mikazuki Hara—the soaking fields.
We are told that there were two men who were so extravagant that they washed their feet with fine, clear sake. These two men were named Kaguro of the country of Houki and Oyuko of the country of Inaba—both areas on the Japan Sea side of western Honshu. The Yamato court considered that their conduct was excessive and disrespectful, and it sent out Sayo of the Sa(w)i no Muraji to bring them in and face punishment. Accordingly, Sayo went out and arrested all of the members of their households. And since there was no due process nor concepts of “innocent until proven guilty”, on the way back, Sayo tortured his prisoners, dunking—or soaking—them in water.
During the journey, there were two women who wore jewels on their wrists and ankles—not the kind of thing you’d expect to find on a servant, even one in a crazy rich household like that of Kaguro and Oyuko. In fact, after Sayo dug into it a little while he found out that they were, in fact, Una and Kuwa, the daughters of Miso of the Hatori no Muraji and his wife, Arasaka Hime, who herself was the daughter of the kuni no miyatsuko, or lord, of Inaba.
Now Miso was apparently a rather influential man at the court, and Sayo likely had a moment of panic as he realized just who it was that he had been treating as common criminals. He immediately released both of the women and sent them on their way. The place they were released was known as Farewell Hill, or Mi-oki-yama, and the place where Sayo had tortured his prisoners by dunking them in water was Mikazuki Hara, the Soaking field.
Once again, it is hard to exactly place this story in the timeline of Oho Sazaki’s reign, even though the Harima Fudoki does mention that it was the time of the Prince of Takatsu in Naniwa—based on the details, it could have been just about any time. For example, there is no clear evidence for a Hatori no Muraji named Miso, or his influence at the court. Granted, there are few enough individuals mentioned, anyway, and it could be that stories about him just didn’t warrant inclusion in the Chronicles and other records.
Once again, I suspect that this story evolved from some larger conflict the Yamato court had with Houki and Inaba, but what exactly I couldn’t say—just more evidence of the lack of good and reliable records for this period.
There is one thing in this story that would probably be worth noting, however, and that is the use of torture. Now this could be just part of a false etymology given life – finding an explanation for why this given place was called the “soaking field”, but we do see in the archipelago, at least later, that officials were not above using torture to get a confession.
In fact, one might note that the rule of thumb was less “Innocent until proven guilty” but more “guilty until proven innocent.” If you were arrested in ancient times, your guilt was more or less presumed. After all, if you were an upstanding citizen, why would you ever be arrested? Obviously, as we understand the legal system today, this is extremely problematic, but in ancient times it wasn’t uncommon to derive a confession through torture or other means, since that was seen as just streamlining the process. This would be true throughout most of the archipelago’s history, really.
But I digress. Beyond a few details that seem odd, there is nothing too outlandish about the story, overall—well, other than it taking Sayo until after they were tortured to determine that two of the women were actually rather important personages.
But not all of the stories are quite so mundane. While the stories of fighting on the mainland or even just dealing with a literal log jam in Toutoumi, might seem reasonable, the next story is one that seems like it would be more comfortable several reigns back, when Okinaga Tarashi Hime had to deal with literal winged rebels. This is the story of Sukuna of Hida.
Hida, by the way, indicates the area west of the Hida Mountains, in the northern, mountainous areas of what is today referred to as Gifu Prefecture, encompassing the areas of modern Hida, Takayama, and parts of Gero cities. This landlocked area is exactly the kind of treacherous area that was largely uncharted even into modern times. It is also the home of the famous Shirakawa-go and Gokayama villages, where the specialized gassho-zukuri houses have earned the area a UNESCO World Heritage site status. This especially steep-roofed houses were specifically developed due to the deep and heavy snows that regularly inundate the region, indicating the harsh conditions facing anyone in the region, so it may not be surprising that it was the source of some rather fanciful tales.
Which brings us back to Sukuna. We are told that on one “trunk” he had two faces, each turned away from each other. The crowns met, and there was no nape of the necks. Each of the two sides had their own hands and feet, and there were knees, but they were conjoined all the way down the back side. He carried swords on his right and his left side and he used the bow and arrow with all four hands.
Sukuna, who sounds like something out of an episode of He-Man, did not use his powers for good. In fact we are told that he plundered the people, and so the sovereign sent a man named Naniwaneko Takefurukuma, to deal out justice and stop his reign of banditry. Sure enough, Naniwaneko was successful and eventually slew Sukuna, ending his threat to the people.
So let’s break this down somewhat. First off, let’s address the obvious—isn’t it possible that the description we are getting is of conjoined twins? And it probably is possible, but not very likely. I think it is also safe to say that unfortunately, conjoined twins have historically been more at risk of violence from society than threats to it, given that humans can often be cruel and intolerant.
However, I suspect something else may have been going on here, as it seems the much simpler answer is that in the stories about Naniwaneko’s exploits, Sukuna was given monstrous characteristics that would both signal to the audience that he was a bad dude, but it would also make him that much more of a challenge for our hero to overcome. It strikes me as more likely that Sukuna was probably more of a local bandit or warlord, hiding out in the mountainous Hida region, and plundering nearby settlements. Of course, whether he was more of a Blackbeard type or Robin Hood, we cannot know, since we only have Yamato’s side of the story.
In fact, he’s more important, here, as a foil for Naniwaneko, who was an ancestor of the famous Wani no Omi family. We haven’t really discussed the Wani no Omi much, but the stories do mention them over and over, from the stories about Iware Biko, aka Jimmu Tenno, and his march on Yamato, up throughout the narrative. Mostly it is a reference here or there, but given the frequency we can assume that they were a family of some importance. I suspect that stories such as these were likely gleaned from the histories of the noble families, which in turn ensured that they would back the Chronicles as the official history of Yamato.
A similarly fantastical tale is told about another warrior, a man of fierce temper and of great bodily strength. We don’t know his name, but he was the ancestor of the Kasa no Omi and we are otherwise merely told that he was an agatamori—similar to an agatanushi, and likely translated as something like a “district warden”. Now this Agatamori lived in the land of Kibi—that land where it seemed they often rivaled Yamato in their power, or at least in their ability to organize labor and build giant, kingly style round-keyhole tombs.
The Nihon Shoki tells us that there was once a water-snake who sat at a fork in the Kawashima river, in central Kibi—probably the area later known as Bitchuu, in the western area of modern Okayama Prefecture. Travelers who passed by the area where the snake was at were “affected by its poison”, and died. Of course, we aren’t exactly told how they were affected—one assumes it bit them, but there are also stories of snakes effectively belching their poison, like some kind of dragon. Whatever the method it used, it was killing people and needed to be stopped.
The Agatamori went to where the snake was located, and here it seems he tried a diplomatic tack at first, one that seems somewhat at odds with the task at hand. He started by throwing three calabash gourds in the water, telling the water-snake that if he could sink the calabashes then the Agatamori would go away. But if he could not then he would kill the snake.
If this sounds familiar, you may remember a similar test of a water-spirit a few episodes back, when a man who was to be sacrificed to the river to ensure successful completion of a new canal used a similar tactic to prove that the kami was not as powerful as he claimed. In that case, the kami created a whirlwind to try to push the gourds under the water, but in this case the water-snake transformed into a deer and tried to sink them in that form. In both cases, this task proved too difficult, even for supernatural beings to accomplish.
And so, since the water-snake had failed to sink the gourds, the Agatamori raised his sword and entered the water to kill the snake, as well as its kith and kin, which filled a cave in the bottom of the pool. The Agatamori slew them all, such that the river itself ran red with their blood, and the pool became known as the Pool of Agatamori.
Once again, there is nothing in this particular story that is specific to a given sovereign, and it seems that this is more a story of Kibi and of the Kasa no Omi. There are also some curious parallels with other stories, such as the would-be canal sacrifice I just mentioned. It also bears mentioning, here, that kami in the earlier stories often appear as snakes, which in this case would certainly seem to be the implication, given how it could transform itself into a deer and all of that. There are also some intriguing parallels with stories from India and Southeast Asia, where snakes are often connected to rivers and water.
Continuing in the vein of the supernatural, there is one last story that I’ve saved from the Nihon Shoki, and that is the tale of Shiratori kofun, aka the White Bird Mausoleum of Yamato Takeru. We talked about this back in Episode 35—after the death of Prince Yamato Takeru, he was originally buried in a mausoleum over in Ise, where he had died, cursed-slash-poisoned because he had unwittingly disrespected a kami. After his wife and children and come to mourn, we are told that his spirit transformed itself into a white bird—a shiratori—and flew off to Kawachi. When it landed, a second tomb was built to honor his spirit, and it was known as the White Bird Mausoleum.
These kofun were likely more than just giant graves, but rather it seems clear that they were maintained, possibly as worship sites. Some of the features around larger keyhole shaped tombs appear to be built as areas for rituals—either as part of the burial or perhaps for rituals that were held afterwards.
Whatever rituals may or may not have been conducted there, though, the kofun—or at least some of them—were staffed, by guards if nothing else. Well, and a bunch of haniwa, but they were less effective as guards . After all, these giant tombs were not only monuments to the deceased elites of the Archipelago, they were giant treasure chests, filled with treasures of iron and more, just waiting to be opened by some enterprising grave-robbers.
In most cases, no doubt this tomb-guarding was considered an extremely important task, since the kofun contained the remains of the sovereigns and other important personages, but as for Shiratori Kofun, it was more of a memorial—or at least the way the stories were told. Since it wasn’t, technically, the kofun of the actual Yamato Takeru—that was the tomb over on the other side of the Kii peninsula—then when the Yamato court needed more laborers it seemed like a reasonable move to reassign some of the guards from the Shiratori tomb. They determined that their service was no longer required at a quote-unquote “empty” tomb.
However, the spirit of Yamato Takeru—or some other kami—wasn’t too pleased with this bit of bureaucratic reshuffling. Thus it was that one of the guardians-turned-laborers, a man named in the Nihon Shoki as “Meki”, was suddenly transformed into a sacred white deer. When the sovereign heard about this, he apparently had second thoughts, and immediately had the remaining men reinstated as guardians and gave charge of all of them to the Hashi no Muraji.
Of course, I have a few doubts about the whole thing with the transformation into a deer, but there are still a lot of interesting details to consider about the kofun and the way that they operated. I suspect that this story comes from the Hashi no Muraji, and that guardianship of the tombs, much like overseeing a shrine or other sacred place, was as much about the rice-lands and taxes dedicated to its upkeep, as well as possible status for those who were in charge of it. It is stories like this that, looking past the supernatural elements, can really give us a better look into what life was like at this time.
Unfortunately, we’ll have to seek most of these stories elsewhere, as with this episode, we leave behind Oho Sazaki, and start getting into the rest of dynasty and the 5th century.
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 through Patreon, over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode.
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And that’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

Ō, Yasumaro, & Heldt, G. (2014). The Kojiki: An account of ancient matters. ISBN978-0-231-16389-7
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

Episode 52: The Many Loves of Nintoku

November 1, 2021 Joshua Badgley

The Eurasian Wren, or *Sazaki*, the namesake of our current sovereign in the stories. THat said, though the Kojiki clearly names him as Ōsazaki, the Nihon Shoki uses the character for “suzume”, or sparrow, though likely at the time it jsut meant a small bird of some kind. Other translators have suggested the term “wagtail”. Photo detail from a public domain photo found on Wikimedia Commons.

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This episode is mostly going to just be stories from the Chronicles about the many loves of Ōsazaki no Mikoto, aka Nintoku Tennō. Some of the most interesting parts of this, to me, are, for one, the use of songs and poetry to tell the stories. I really think this hearkens back to some kind of tradition of oral history. Also, the fact that many of these songs and poems occur in the same or different parts of the Chronicles, often dealing with similar subjects. While the dating for this period seems to be way off, I find it highly likely that, at least by the 8th century, many of these stories were well known enough, and the different chroniclers were drawing from the same sources when compiling these histories.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is Episode 52: The many loves of Nintoku.
Welcome back.
Before we get started I wanted to give a quick shout out to Chad who joined as a supporter over on Patreon. We had been toying with the idea and after hearing that some people would prefer it we decided to give it a shot. If you want to join him, just look up Sengoku Daimyo over at Patreon.com. We’ll also stay up on Ko-Fi and we’ll be looking into a few other options—if you have thoughts on a preferred donation mechanism, feel free to drop us a line!
That said, let’s get into the actual content.
This episode we are continuing with the story of Oho Sazaki, aka Nintoku Tennou. Last time, in episode 51, we went over some of the stories that seem to contribute to Oho Sazaki’s reputation as a virtuous sovereign, worthy of the throne on which he sat. We discussed how after several natural disasters, he halted taxation and conscription by the government so that the people could rebuild, allowing his own palace to fall into ruin in the process. This was seen as the hallmark of a ruler who cares for his people, that he was willing to take on such hardships for their sake.
Meanwhile, as virtuous as he may have been towards his people, his home life seems to have been a different issue.
Before we get into this, I do want to acknowledge, as I have in the past, that the morals of ancient Japan were not necessarily the same as what we might hold today. For example, we know that polygamy was common especially among the elites, where marriage alliances seem common. It should be noted that these arrangements were typically one man and multiple women, without much evidence for the opposite practice of one woman to multiple men. In fact, this gendered imbalance goes back to the time of Himiko, if the Wei Chronicles are to be believed, so this may not have been directly tied to the waves of misogyny that were coming over from the continent about this time, though there definitely was a strongly patriarchal bent to the narrative.
And I bring this up in part because we have to remember that this is not an unbiased history, so we can’t always assume that the views of the authors match those of the time they are writing about any more than an author today will have the same biases as someone from the 16th or 17th century. So, for instance, it is hard to know how accurate the position of the women being described might be. Iwa no Hime, whom we will talk quite a bit about, is described as the Queen, and this terminology often gets interpreted as meaning the primary wife of the sovereign, more or less, but was that all? Or did she maintain some power and authority in her own right? Unfortunately, since all the stories are filtered through an 8th century, Confucian inspired lens, it is hard to say. Certainly there were women in the 7th and 8th centuries who became sovereigns in their own right and held power equivalent to any male sovereign even as the place of women was changing with greater and greater adoption of continental norms and culture.
And finally, I just want to note again that the morals of the past often aren’t those of our own. Adultery, rape, and murder pop up again and again in the narrative, even committed by individuals otherwise coded, explicitly or otherwise, as virtuous. That such things were not a blemish against these legendary figures may speak to a different set of moral judgments that were being made at this time.
Let me be clear: I am not suggesting that we fall into the trap of moral relativism. Just because people of the time may have considered Oho Sazaki’s actions as virtuous and proper does not mean that we necessarily need to come to the same conclusion. Humans are complicated creatures—much more complicated than most narratives will allow for. However, part of our goal will be understanding, as best we can, what sort of ethical and moral compass was guiding the people of these ancient times to help us get a better understanding of what people did and why. That doesn’t mean we need to condone their actions.
With that said, let’s take a look at the love life of our virtuous Oho Sazaki no Ohokimi, and we’ll start, actually, back in the reign of his father.
You may recall that in the reign of Oho Sazaki’s father, Homuda Wake—aka Oujin Tennou—there was the beauty Kaminaga Hime, who arrived in truly awe-inspiring fashion in boats crewed by sailors all fitted out in deerskins with the antlers attached. Oho Sazaki was smitten by her as soon as they clasped eyes on one another, and though she was meant for his father, the lovesick Oho Sazaki was able to make his feelings known such that they were eventually married and she became one of his wives.
However, when he ascended to the throne as Oho Kimi, or Great Lord, it was not Kaminaga Hime who became his queen but rather another woman, whom we have also mentioned in passing, named Iwa no Hime.
We previously mentioned Iwa no Hime because, despite being the mother to several future sovereigns, she doesn’t seem to have had the credentials one might expect of a queen. Primarily she doesn’t have a clearly royal lineage. Rather, she is the daughter of Katsuraki no Sotsuhiko. As we mentioned several episodes back, talking about Sotsuhiko and Takechi no Sukune, he was only ever mentioned as a vassal of the Yamato sovereign, but there are some clues that he may have been more. He may have been some sort of sovereign in his own right, and for that matter, what did that mean for his daughter? What was up with her?
We aren’t really given any details as to how Iwa no Hime and Oho Sazaki met, but one can assume that it was through her father’s connections. But what political benefit was there in marrying the daughter of a vassal?
On the other hand, if Katsuraki no Sotsuhiko was a ruler in his own right, then his daughter may have been just the thing to help bring their domain or kingdom together with Yamato, perhaps further strengthening an alliance into something more. If this were the case, I have to wonder what Iwa no Hime’s status was. It is possible she was simply a pawn, bartered away on the political stage, and certainly there were many women in the elite families for whom this was their ultimate fate. On the other hand, we know that women held considerably more power back in the earliest times, and we’ve seen the stories of Okinaga Tarashi Hime, who was also related to the Katsuraki family. So it also strikes me as possible that Iwa no Hime may have also have had some political and administrative clout of her own.
She was certainly strong-willed, according to the Chronicles: despite the apparent cultural norm of a man keeping multiple wives, Iwa no Hime put her foot down, and would try to fight it tooth and nail. Of course, it may be that she had little choice in any wives that Oho Sazaki took before she was elevated to the rank of Queen, but after that point she really seems to have laid down the lawn.
The Chronicles claim that this stemmed from an innate jealousy. Even mentioning other women of the palace in her presence was enough to set her off. And so we see this theme throughout the stories we are told.
Now, going back to Oho-Sazaki’s first documented crush, Kaminaga Hime, we hear very little about her after the reign of Homuda Wake. We know that she produced several sons, but for the most part she seems to have faded from the story, her part in it complete.
There were plenty of other women, however, that caught Oho Sazaki’s eye, much to the chagrin of his principal wife and queen, Iwa no Hime. For example, in the Kojiki we are give the story of Kuro Hime.
Now Kuro Hime was the daughter of the Amabe no Atahe of Kibi, and, as is so often the case in these stories, her beauty “was of great renown.” Though the rumor mill version of Yamato Tinder sounds rather single-minded, I suspect that it went beyond merely the physical, even if that is what the chroniclers themselves were concerned with. After all, beauty might be shorthand for <<insert clip of “huge tracks of land”>>. Kibi, as we’ve discussed before, was quite powerful and populous in its own right, building kingly tombs that rivaled those of Yamato, so there was much for someone like Oho Sazaki to desire, and so he summoned her to his court, apparently with the intention of marrying her.
So Kuro Hime packed her bags and sailed over to Naniwa and the court. Once there, however, she started to hear rumors. Confidants in the Yamato court warned her about Iwa no Hime and her jealousy. Rather than risk Iwa no Hime’s ire, Kuro Hime decided that Oho Sazaki wasn’t worth it, and she threw her things back in the boat and prepared to head back home.
Oho Sazaki was apparently heartbroken. Watching out from a high tower he sang a song:
“In the offing / The small boats are stretched out in a row; / In one of them, / Masazuko, my beloved, / Goes down to her native land.”
As sentimental as he might have been, what Oho Sazaki wasn’t was quiet. Iwa no Hime heard his composition, and she became enraged. She sent out people down to the Bay and had them hound Kuro Hime out of her boat, her ride home, and forced her to walk back to Kibi on foot. That might have taken several days, possibly a week or more, depending on the quality of the roads and pathways.
And as arduous and incredible as that journey might have been, what really draws my attention is the power of Iwa no Hime. Her jealous tantrums were not merely biting commentary—she sent people out to physically hound and harass Kuro Hime. And where was Oho Sazaki in all of this? Why wasn’t he standing up to Iwa no Hime?
I guess that the narrative could be explained by the trope of the hen-pecked husband, which seems to be the tack that the stories take. Personally, I like to think that it demonstrated that, at least in Iwa no Hime’s mind, she and Oho Sazaki were equals. But perhaps that is just wishful thinking.
Regardless of why, Oho Sazaki was not one to oppose his wife. Well, not directly, at least. He still longed to see Kuro Hime, and so he went with one of the classic husbandly lies so trope-worthy that from the 8th century to today it is still being used. He told her he was just going out shopping, and he definitely wasn’t going down to the local pub to have a pint with his mates.
Well, okay actually he told her that he was going to Awaji, the island just off of Naniwa that had long been site of royal hunting grounds, where sovereigns had gone to participate in their more leisurely pursuits. He certainly said nothing about heading out from Awaji to Kibi. After all, what his wife didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
Standing on Awaji, looking out across the Seto Inland Sea, Oho Sazaki once again encapsulated his feelings in poetry:
“Setting out / from the point of Naniwa / Of the glittering waves, / I view the land / and behold the island of Awa, / The Island of Onogoro / the Island of Ajimasa / And of Sake tsu Shima.”
On its own, this probably was just a poem about kunimi, or viewing the country, a common ritual of kingship demonstrating hegemony over the land. But if you add an unspoken line, as suggested by Phillipi: “But nowhere do I catch sight of my beloved.” Well, then the whole thing takes on a different tone, one more fitting for the circumstances. And it is likely that this was the unspoken feeling one was supposed to deduce, even if it wasn’t directly stated.
It was certainly the unspoken feeling that was acted upon as Oho Sazaki set out to Kibi, where he found Kuro Hime, who took him to the mountain foothills and fed him there.
At that point, the narrative gives us several poems, or more likely, based on their structure, songs that were meant to be set to music of some kind. Phillipi points out how these poem-songs repeat certain words over and over, and many of these appear in both the Kojiki and the Nihon Shoki, but not always in the same places. That would seem to indicate that the songs were probably well known, passed down as part of a strong oral tradition, but that the actual context of the songs may have been lost. One of the songs is only found in the Kojiki, but then it is also recalled in the Tango Fudoki, but this time in the mouth of a supernatural woman of the Urashima legend. These were songs that the people likely knew well, and so it was easy to slot them in, much in the way that a modern television program might choose well known songs rather than creating a totally original soundtrack.
Looking back at our story, we aren’t really told how Iwa no Hime reacted once Oho Sazaki returned, though presumably she noticed something was off. Most importantly, however, Kuro Hime appears to have stayed in Kibi, and we don’t really hear any more of her. Iwa no Hime’s position remained secure, despite her husband’s dalliance.
In fact, it seems reasonable to conclude that Oho Sazaki may have learned his lesson, for the Nihon Shoki contains a story not about Kuro Hime of Kibi, but rather of Kuga Hime, a lady of the palace. Now Oho Sazaki, like a moth drawn to the flame, lusted after Kuga Hime, and desired to show her his affection—bidden or otherwise. But before going so far as to send her a basket of eggplants and a not so subtle invitation to visit him in his chambers he did something a bit uncharacteristic at this point. He paused.
It seems that his wife’s legendary jealousy had left an impression on Oho Sazaki, and he began to think through what his personal desires might mean for poor Kuga Hime if he actually acted on them. After all, he would be spared, but Kuga Hime would have to bear the brunt of Iwa no Hime’s wrath. On top of that, there is no way that she could ever be considered a queen, such as Iwa no Hime was.
And so, with apparent consideration for her age and not wanting Kuga Hime to waste the best years of her life, Oho Sazaki decided that he could do something better than bringing her into his harem. Instead, he could play matchmaker, himself. Of course it goes without saying that Kuga Hime had no real say in this un-asked-for good deed.
Thus, Oho Sazaki sang out a poem, presumably at a banquet where all the most eligible bachelors were gathered, asking if anyone would be willing to “nourish the daughter of the Omi, who sweeps along the bottom of the water.” The response to this question came from Hayamachi, the ancestor of the governors of Harima, who formed his response in the thirty-one syllable style, known as Tanka, that would eventually become the default for off-the-cuff poetry at the court. In this case, the poem was rather straightforward, stating simply: “I, Hayamachi of Harima / Where the dreadful tides are / though full of awe / like rocks tumbling down / I will nourish her.”
And with that, no doubt quite pleased with himself, Oho Sazaki simply gave Kuga Hime to Hayamachi.
It seems though, that Kuga Hime, who had not been consulted in any of this, had other plans. Even though Hayamichi went to Kuga Hime’s house to collect her, she would not comply. He insisted, however, on approaching her curtained space—a reference to the way that the large, generally open floor plans of early Japanese noble architecture would often be separated with curtains of fabric or reeds, often delineating between the male and female spaces, as well as public and private. In later eras, even when it was customary for women in the summer time to wear little more than an almost transparent gauze robe, it would be scandalous for a man to catch a glimpse of a woman’s uncovered flesh—even if it was just a hand reaching out beyond the curtain.
In the 5th century, however, it is unclear just how sensual such an act might be seen, but the 8th century writers are nonetheless conveying that separation between them—a physical barrier representing, at the same time, an intangible one. For Kuga Hime insisted that she would die husbandless, and that she could therefore not become Hayamichi’s wife.
Well, when Oho Sazaki heard of all of this, he certainly had egg on his face. For all the trouble he had gone through, and he had, in fact, promised Kuga Hime’s hand to Hayamichi. And so, believing this marriage to be for the best—or perhaps simply to avoid the embarrassment he felt—the sovereign, Oho Sazaki, commanded Kuga Hime to go with Hayamichi to Kuhada, where they would be married. However, it was not to be. Kuga Hime’s declaration proved to be prophetic—she tragically passed away during the journey and never made it to Kuhada. Thus, as she said, she died husbandless.
And so we get a glimpse of Oho Sazaki and his relationship with women in his life, but there is one more that stands out above the rest. It is found in both the Kojiki and the Nihon Shoki, with many of the poems showing up in both of them, though occasionally in slightly different parts of the narrative. I’ll try to weave the two accounts together as best I can.
Oh, and before I go much further, I should introduce the new woman in Oho Sazaki’s life. Although she isn’t exactly a new woman. In fact, we mentioned her several episodes back when we talked about the tug of war between Oho Sazaki and his brother, Uji no Waki Iratsuko, over who wouldn’t have to sit on the throne after dear old dad passed away. She was the woman given to Oho Sazaki by Waki Iratsuko on the moment—or even slightly after—his own death. Her name was Yata no Waki Iratsume, aka Yata Hime, Oho Sazaki’s own half-sister.
As you may or may not recall—we honestly didn’t spend too much time on it back then—Yata no Waki Iratsume was given to Oho Sazaki to take on as a wife because her full brother, Waki Iratsuko, had taken his own life. Remember that siblings were only considered to be truly blood relatives if they shared the same mother, and thus the ancient chronicles saw nothing strange in this arrangement. In fact, many would no doubt see it as strengthening the royal lineage, a concept that was popular in many places, not just Japan, leading to tragic things like, well, the Hapsburgs, for one.
Inbreeding aside, despite the fact that she had been granted to Oho Sazaki when he had taken the throne—or so we are told—she remains out of the picture for about 2 decades. Presumably, during this time, she was being well kept, but she was not Oho Sazaki’s queen—she wasn’t even one of his secondary wives. And one of the reasons for this may have been Iwa no Hime.
The Nihon Shoki claims that Oho Sazaki told Iwa no Hime that he wanted to take Yata Hime as his wife, but Iwa Hime would not allow it. Oho Sazaki tried to change her mind with poetry, but Iwa no Hime was just as quick witted, and clearly his equal. As translated by Aston, the exchange goes something like this.
Oho Sazaki sang: “As a means of raising up / Dear ones: / As a spare bowstring / To supply a vacancy / I would place her along with thee.”
But Iwa no Hime wouldn’t have it: “In the case of garments / To double them is well, / But my Lord who would set in a row / The couches of night- / I wonder if he is wise.”
Oho Sazaki persisted, however: “Like the shore of Narabi / Of Cape Naniwa / That projects (into the sea) / It must have been solely to be thy comrade / That the child came into being.”
Still, Iwa no Hime continued to object: “Like the summer insect, / The insect that seeks the fire / Wearing double garments, / That the palace precinct should be thus, / Nay! It is not good.”
Nonetheless, Oho Sazaki would not take a hint: “Even the traveller, / Who with unbared tears / Toils over the little pass of Hika / in Asatsuma - / Well for him had he a companion.”
Iwa no Hime could see he wasn’t going to let up, but neither would she give in, and so she finally just refused to keep going. She refused to answer him, and refused to give her consent.
And that might have been the end of it. The Nihon Shoki tells us that eight years went by, and apparently Oho Sazaki didn’t bring it back up, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t have thoughts.
One day, according to both the Kojiki and the Nihon Shoki, Iwa no Hime left the palace and made an excursion down the Kii peninsula. There she was looking for a special set of leaves, which came in clusters of three and which could be used as drinking cups for certain ceremonies. She was planning to host a lavish banquet, and we are told that she had an entire boatload of these leaf cups that she was bringing back with her.
It was during her absence that Oho Sazaki’s rebellious streak kicked in, and despite the Iwa no Hime’s clear refusal eight years prior, Oho Sazaki finally went ahead and married Yata Hime. They then apparently did what married couples do, and word got around. In fact, as Iwa no Hime’s retinue was returning with her to Naniwa, a common laborer approached one of her handmaidens. He began to give her the latest hot goss, talking about the scandalous way that the sovereign was disporting himself day and night with his newest bride.
Upon hearing this, the handmaiden, who had been in one of the boats near the back of the procession, urged her sailors to row faster, until she caught up with her mistress, Iwa no Hime. There the handmaiden told her everything that the laborer had said, and Iwa no Hime lost it. In a fit of rage she enacted her own table flip, dumping all of the leaf-cups into the ocean—perhaps one of the first great examples of an angry “table clearing”, which Hollywood directors love so much. She then gave the decision not to stop in Naniwa, but instead to sail on by and up the canal towards Yamashiro. She sailed by Naniwa, where her husband, Oho Sazaki, sat on shore, watching with no doubt a confused look on his face as her boats did not put in as expected, but rather continued up river. It was here that she sang:
“As I ascend / As I ascend the river, /The Yamashiro River / Of the connected mountain peaks,
On the bank of the River / There is growing / A Sashibu / A Sashibu Tree
Underneath it / There is growing / A wide-leaved / Sacred camelia tree.
Like its flowers / Shining Brilliantly, /Like its leaves / Wide and calm / Are you, my great lord.”
And so singing, she went on by.
As she arrived around Narayama, she again composed a song, found in some form in both of the chronicles:
o “As I ascend,
As I ascend towards the palace
Up the Yamashiro River
Of the connected mountain peaks,
o I pass by Nara
Of the blue clay
I pass by Yamato
Of the little shields;
o The country which I long to see
Is Takamiya in Kazuraki
Where my home is.”
And by this we can assume she was headed back to her family. Remember, she is the daughter of Katsuraki no Sotsu Hiko—Sotsu Hiko of Katsuraki—so going back to Takamiya, the high palace, may have been a reference to her going back to the site of her family’s territorial seat of power. However, we are told that on the way she took a detour, stopping in the house of one Nurinomi, a man of Kara who lived in Tsutsuki. Or that’s what the Kojiki tells us. The Nihon Shoki claims that she built her own palace on the south side of Tsutsuki Hill, with no mention of Nurinomi.
Now while all this was happening, Oho Sazaki was not exactly standing idle. First, he sent an attendant named Toriyama, once more with a line of verse to tell him what to do, but it appears that Toriyama was unsuccessful. And so he turned to another of his vassals: Kuchiko—or possibly just Kuchi—of the Wani no Omi.
Now Kuchiko was a loyal vassal, and it was apparently no secret where Iwa no Hime was staying. We are told that he went out to deliver a message from Oho Sazaki, but Iwa no Hime refused to hear it. Even though the rain was coming down hard, Kuchiko prostrated him in front of the house, until Iwa no Hime left and went to the rear quarters, at which point he ran around the outside of the house—after all, nobody had invited him in—and he prostrated himself, again, in the wet and the mud, by the back entrance. Iwa no Hime, her own stubbornness by now legendary, simply went back to the front of the building, and, once again, Kuchiko prostrated himself again in the yard.
All this time, the rain kept pouring down on poor, loyal Kuchiko. He had been given a message by the Sovereign, and he had to deliver it, but at the same time, he couldn’t exactly force Iwa no Hime to listen to it. And so he stayed there, in the rain, even though the courtyard was starting to flood, so that the waters were at his waist, and a red cord that he had began to bleed, staining the blue fabric of his clothing and turning it red. Still, Iwa no Hime did nothing.
Now it just so happened that Kuchiko’s younger sister, Kuniyori Hime, was serving in the retinue of Iwa no Hime, and when she saw the poor state that her brother was in, and realizing the futility of his mission, she started to weep for him.
And the rocky exterior of Iwa no Hime seems to have cracked, just a little. She asked her maiden why she was so upset, and Kuniyori Hime said to her: “I am moved to tears / At the sight of my brother / Speaking his message / At the Palace of Tsutsuki / of Yamashiro.”
She then said quite plainly that it was her brother and she felt bad for the situation he was in. Iwa no Hime, moved by Kuniyori’s grief, agreed that Kuniyori Hime could talk to him, even though she would not. And so Kuchiko was apparently brought inside—and hopefully given some dry clothes—and he conferred with his sister and with the master of the house, Nurinomi.
Here, it is the Kojiki that tells us what apparently happened. According to that version of events, the trio of Kuchiko, Kuniyori, and Nurinomi agreed to tell the sovereign that Iwa no Hime had simply come to visit Nurinomi and to see the silkworms that he cultivated. Of course, by this time, silkworms were likely well known on the continent, but I’m not sure how commonly known their lifecycle was. And thus it was possibly believable that Iwa no Hime might go to visit and see the process.
With this little white lie they apparently hoped to put off the sovereign and his curiosity—after all, it seemed as if there was no way that Iwa no Hime was going to change her mind. And for a little while it worked. But only a little while. A month went by, and Oho Sazaki was apparently beginning to wonder. He made his own way up the river towards Yamashiro, eventually reaching the palace in Tstusuki where Iwa no Hime had apparently put down some roots.
Once there, Oho Sazaki called out to her, with yet more poetic verses, asking that she come back with him, but it was no good. She refused to go with him and essentially told him that as long as *that* woman was still in the palace, she would never return to the palace.
Dejected and empty-handed, Oho Sazaki returned to Naniwa. We are told that Iwa no Hime kept her word, and they never saw each other again. According to the Nihon Shoki, Iwa no Hime would die five years later, leaving several heirs to the throne.
As for Yata Hime—she and Oho Sazaki continued to live in the palace, and several years after Iwa no Hime’s passing, Yata Hime was made Queen.
It is said that Oho Sazaki and Yata Hime would often spend their days and nights in one of the high towers, because the weather was so hot one autumn. While they were up there, they could hear the hauntingly musical cry of a deer out on the nearby Toga moor, and they would feel great pity for the animal. One evening, about mid-month, the moor went silent, and they both wondered what might have happened. The next day, a man of the Saheki-be showed up with an offering—a buck that head taken out on the Toga Moor. Oho Sazaki immediately deduced that this was likely the deer they had been hearing, and he was suddenly filled with resentment, even though, logically, he knew there was no way for the man to have known. Still, he had him banished from the royal presence, such that he was not allowed to approach the royal palace and he would be removed to Nuta.
There is an accompanying story in the Nihon Shoki about a man who went to Toga and spent the night on the moor. As he was out there, two deer, a buck and a doe, came and laid down beside him. In the morning, the buck miraculously spoke up, telling the doe about a dream he had had, where he was covered in white mist. He wondered what it could mean. The doe said that it must meant that if he went out that day, he would surely be shot. The white mist would be like the salt that would cover his body to help preserve the meat. Nonetheless, the buck went out, and sure enough there was a hunter on the moor, and he shot the buck, just as the dream had foretold. Thus there is a saying: “Even the belling buck follows the interpretation of a dream.”
Now Yata Hime and Oho Sazaki seem to have loved one another very much, but despite this, Yata Hime was never able to bear him any children. And here we get an interesting note from the Kujiki, which we should remember, was very keen not just on the royal lineage, but on the lineage of the once-powerful Mononobe clan, whose fortunes had declined somewhat by the 8th century. It tells us that because she was childless, the sovereign basically selected an attending minister, Mononobe no Oho Wake no Muraji, to be set up as a prince, the adopted son of the Queen, Yata Hime. Her name, “Yata” was turned into a surname, a new Uji, or clan group, and she was made the Uji no Miyatsuko and given the title of Yatabe no Muraji. This seems to be confirmed by the Shinsen Shoujiroku, who claims that the Yatabe no Muraji descended through Ikaga Shikowo, as Oho Wake was a descendent in the fourth generation.
There is one more story that I’d like to leave you with, for it turns out that even the sovereign had rivals, and he was not always lucky in love. This story comes to us in two versions, from the Kojiki and the Nihon Shoki.
Now it came to be that Oho Sazaki wished to marry his half-sister, Medori no Miko, the sister to his wife, Yata Hime. And so he sent as an intermediary one of his younger brothers, a man by the name of Hayabusa Wake no Miko. Now the Kojiki places this story sometime during the reign of Iwa no Hime as queen, for Medori no Miko was concerned. She feared that, for all of his prestige, Oho Sazaki was not a good match because of the arrogance—or jealousy—of his wife, Iwa no Hime, which had even kept him from marrying Yata Hime for so long. Instead, she decided to marry Hayabusa Wake, instead. They got married in secret, and, perhaps unsurprisingly, Hayabusa Wake decided not to return to the palace. After all, what was he going to say? “Sorry bro, I know I was supposed to chat her up for you, but, like, we got married, instead. Cool?”
Not hearing back from his intermediary, Oho Sazaki went to the place where Medori no Miko was staying. He stood at the doorsill while she was at a loom, weaving. He called out to her with a poem:
“For whom is intended, / The garment being woven / By my lady / Medori.”
Medori Hime must not have known that it was Oho Sazaki who stood at the door, because she replied:
“It is a cloth for a coat / for the high-flying falcon, / Hayabusa Wake no Miko”
Having heard her reply, Oho Sazaki, whose name means the “Great Wren” or “Great Wagtail”, realized that her heart belonged to Hayabusa, whose name means “Falcon”. According to the Nihon Shoki’s account, Oho Sazaki decided to just let it go at first. After all, there was no need to stir up trouble, and Medori was, after all, sister to his wife, Yata Hime.
Later, however, there were stories that started to drift out about Hayabusa Wake starting to get various ideas, and a song that his own attendants were heard singing:
“ The Falcon / Ascending to Heaven / With soaring flight-- / Let him seize the wren / On top of the Tsuki trees.”
Well, given their names, this seemed like a clear claim of rebellion. Oho Sazaki had been patient, for his wife’s sake, but he couldn’t let a private quarrel develop into full blown rebellion, and so he decided to nip the entire thing in the bud. Medori Hime and Hayabusa Wake heard about the plans for them, however, and they fled.
As soon as Oho Sazaki heard they had fled, he sent Kibi no Honchi-be no Wofuna and Harima no Saheki no Atahe no Aganoko to pursue and kill the couple. Before they left, however, Yata Hime stepped in. Though she recognized her sister’s error and the need for her to be punished, she asked the generals to help her, nonetheless, maintain some dignity. It was not uncommon, at that time, for the defeated to be slain and for their goods to be divvied up amongst the victors. Yata Hime asked for an exception in the case of her sister, requesting that she remain covered up, with some dignity, even in death.
Sure enough the two generals, Wofuna and Agonoko, caught up with the lovers around Uda, but the two escaped over Mt. Soni. Eventually they were caught and slain on the Komoshiro moor in Ise. Despite the orders, Wofuna searched the princess and took her jewels and then buried the princess and Hayabusa on the bank of the Ihoki River. The generals then returned and gave their report—conveniently skipping over what happened with the jewels.
Time went by, and later in that same year it came time for the Festival of First Fruits. During this festival, Yata Hime noticed some familiar jewelry on the hands of a couple of the women. She immediately asked where they had gotten them, and they pointed out that they had received them from Aganoko. When questioned more directly, Aganoko eventually came clean, admitting that he had stolen the jewels against the orders he was given.
The sovereign was furious, and the charge would normally have been death for Aganoko, but instead Aganoko offered up all of his own lands to the throne. Because they had been forfeit due to the jewels, or Tama, that Aganoko had stolen, these lands were known as “tamade”.
And that was the story of the Falcon and the Wren, and the last of our stories about Oho Sazaki’s love life. I hope you have enjoyed them. Next we will probably talk about some of the more miraculous and unbelievable tales from this reign.
But that’s all for now, 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.
Also, feel free to Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page. You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com. We would love to hear from you and your ideas.
And 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 51: Flood Control and Refrigeration

October 16, 2021 Joshua Badgley

Daisen Kofun (大仙古墳), part of the UNESCO World Heritage Mozu-Furuichi tomb group (百舌鳥古市古墳群), traditionally believed to house the body of Ōsazaki no Sumeramikoto, aka Nintoku Tennō. It is not only the largest kofun in Japan, but one of the largest tombs in the entire world, at least twice the size of the Great Pyramid of Giza. Photo copyright © National Land Image Information (Color Aerial Photographs), Ministry of Land, Infrastructure, Transport and Tourism.

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This episode we start our series on the early 5th century sovereign Ōsazaki, aka Nintoku Tennō. And first off we will talk about that posthumous name given to him at some later date—possibly as late as the 7th or 8th centuries. Nintoku (仁徳) would seem to indicate that this sovereign was seen as a virtuous king. And so we see stories about how he lived in a humble style while there was a drought so that the people could take what little they had and make it through the lean times. He even removed requirements for forced labor.

Once taxes and labor were restored, we see him working on projects to control the waters and hold back the flooding of the Yodo Rivier, which may have been something that happened in this period, but it also feels very much like the kind of thing that would be said about the ancient rulers on the continent, particularly in the Yellow River region.

In fact, there is an early concept of the formation of kingship being largely derived in the various wet rice agricultural societies by those who were able to move water around. This is the so-called “fluvial hypothesis” of state formation. And although more recent concepts of state formation may be focused on a more complex model with multiple different factors contributing to the eventual formation of what we would call a “state”, the movement of water was definitely an important role in agricultural societies. After all, if you are cultivating rice with wet paddy agricultural methods, you have to occasionally flood and drain the paddies. Even today, rice farms in Japan can be seen linked to various irrigation canals so that paddies can be flooded or drained on schedule. And of course that is the key, because if there are any problems, those same irrigation ditches might overflow and floods might occur out of cycle, ruining the crops and destroying entire harvests.

This becomes even more likely when you site your fields near easily accessible sources of water, such as rivers and streams, which might overflow in the heavy rains that can sweep the archipelago. So anyone who could make some claim to control the waters—both through spiritual as well as secular acts—would be important in those societies. Of course, those same individuals were also likely important for organization of military forces, trade, and more.

Ice Houses of Ancient Japan

Himuro (氷室) in Tenri city, Nara. Photo by うぃき野郎, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons

One of the more surprising features of the narrative this time around might be the mention of an ice house, or himuro (氷室). A “muro” is a type of pit dwelling, and “hi” means ice. Now storing ice in covered pits goes back to at least 3~4,000 years ago, with perhaps the oldest reference being to one in Mesopotamia. But it is still rather incredible. By digging down into the earth, you end up using the natural cooling effects of the earth itself to help insulate the ice, and while they couldn’t necessarily make ice during hot months, they could certainly store ice from the winter months. There is even a shrine in Nara called “Himuro Shrine” that claims to go back to at least the 8th century as being dedicated to a kami of ice houses. Apparently they were on the hook to supply the court and the royal family.

Of course, ice would still have been something precious, at least in the summer months, so it was likely only ever accessible by the aristocracy, but it was something that they had, which is pretty neat. Consider, also, that as you sip on your ice water on a hot summer’s day, you are the envy of so many of our ancient ancestors around the world.

Daisen Kofun

The supposed resting place of Ōsazaki is Daisen Kofun, and you can see a photo of it, above. The truth, however, is that we don’t know who rests in the main chamber. Recently, the Imperial Household has given permission to do rare excavations of portions of the tomb, but mostly it remains off-limits as it is considered a sacred resting place.

That said, there have been people inside the main burial chamber. In the Edo period there were people who went in and catalogued what was there, and another exploration took place in 1876. Some of the items from the tomb are on display in local museums, including the haniwa, and we have an old drawing of the interior. However, none of that definitively identified the occupant.

Drawing of the inside of the main tomb chamber.

Drawing of the sarcophagus inside the tomb.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is Episode 51: Flood Control and Refrigeration.
So before we got interrupted in our narrative by last episode’s diversion into new DNA evidence about Japanese populations, we were about to get into the reign of Ohosazaki no Mikoto, also known as Nintoku Tennou.
As you may recall from Episode 49, when Oho Sazaki no Mikoto’s father, the previous sovereign, Homuda Wake, aka Oujin Tennou, passed away, he left three possible heirs. The eldest brother, known most popularly as Oho Yamamori, though he also seems to be conflated with a prince Nukada—who may or may not be the same person--had been given command of the mountains and forests. Oho Sazaki no Mikoto, the middle brother, had been put in charge of the administration, assisting the Crown Prince, the youngest of the three brothers, known as Uji no Waki no Iratsuko. What should have been a straightforward succession, though, turned into a bit of a muddled mess. Waki Iratsuko didn’t want the job and thought that Oho Sazaki no Mikoto should take it. Oho Sazaki no Mikoto may or may not have wanted the job, but didn’t want to go against his father’s wishes, and so he refused it. Oho Yamamori actually *did* want the job, but nobody else thought he should have it. Oho Yamamori tried to take it from Waki Iratsuko, who turned the tables on him and sent him to sleep with the fishes, quite literally. Then Waki Iratsuko and Oho Sazaki both refused to take up the role of sovereign, which went on for several years, or so we are told. Finally, Waki Iratsuko committed suicide in order to force his brother’s hand, even going so far as to come back from the grave to briefly give his brother his blessing.
And if you don’t believe a word of that whole mess, don’t worry, you are in good company. In all likelihood this story has been twisted, taken apart, and put back together several times over as we are still in a confusing period. Some archaeological evidence points to there being co-rulers, but the narrative says only one, and the lengths of these reigns—those of Homuda Wake and Oho Sazaki no Mikoto—have been generously expanded in order to link Homuda Wake’s mother, Okinaga Tarashi Hime, aka Jinguu Tenno, with the reign of Queen Himiko.
There are little hints here and there, though, as to different underlying truths, particularly in the way that some stories are told in the reigns of different sovereigns, depending on the source. For instance the story of the Karano is given in the Nihon Shoki during the reign of Homuda Wake—that incredibly fast ship that eventually become rotted out and roasted for salt. Well, in the Kojiki the Karano was built during the reign of Oho Sazaki, and the burning for salt happens on his watch. Of course, it is possible that memories simply fade and the exact details of any given activity can’t truly be traced, but there is also the possibility that if Ohosazaki – Nintoku-tenno – and his father Homuda Wake – Ojin Tenno - were in reality acting as co-rulers of some kind, then the Chroniclers were struggling with which events should go under which sovereign.
Despite all of that confusion, however, we can still draw some conclusions. First off, it is very clear that succession at this point was not a settled tradition. It wasn’t necessarily the oldest son who inherited, and so one can only imagine how easily disputes must have arisen upon the death of a sovereign as various factions formed behind one candidate or the other. I’ve seen it suggested that perhaps this was de rigeur for the times, and that the death of a sovereign would have often led to periods of fighting and even civil war as people asserted themselves in the power vacuum.
Eventually, however, Oho Sazaki no Mikoto was the only one left, or at least according to the stories, and so he reluctantly took on the title of Oho Kimi, the Great Lord, or Sovereign.
We’ve talked about 3 brothers, but Oho Sazaki was actually the 4th child of Homuda Wake by a woman known only as “Naka tsu Hime”, or “The Middle Lady”. However, we are told that she was the granddaughter of Ihoki Iribiko, who himself was the son of Oho Tarashi Hiko, aka Keiko Tenno, reinforcing the concept that it was just as important for the maternal line to be of royal blood as it was for the paternal.
Speaking of which, there was one more prince of royal blood that gets mentioned, but isn’t part of all of this ruckus. In the Chronicles he bears the moniker of Futamata no Miko, and at this point in the story we don’t get much other than a strange bit of genealogy, but we’ll get back to him in a future episode. For now, just realize that he is also prioritized in the story, despite a plethora of other sons and daughters listed in those long rolls of begats that all of these sources loved so much.
But for now let’s get back to our main character, the new sovereign. I have to say, some of the information we have on Oho Sazaki no Mikoto feels like pure propaganda. For instance, when he finally took the throne the land was in pretty bad shape, and no wonder, when you think about it. After all, how long had things been going on without a central authority? If there is any truth to the stories, after all, Oho Sazaki and his brother Waki Iratsuko had been playing keep-away with the kingship for a long time. It is likely that quite a few things had been neglected in that time—though presumably they at least had buried dear old dad before they descended into their squabbling over just who wouldn’t sit on the throne in his absence. But now it seems that things weren’t looking too good.
One of Oho Sazaki’s first orders of business was to build the new palace building. As we’ve seen during this time, it was common to build a new palace as the seat of the court when a new sovereign came to the throne. This would continue for the next several centuries. This may have had to do with the belief that the previous court buildings were polluted with the death of the previous sovereign, which is the most common explanation we have. Truth be told, though, there are a lot of questions, including the actual location of the various court buildings. This practice could also have just been practical—in the same way that the shrine at Ise was, and continues to be, rebuilt every 20 years, it may be that by the end of a given reign the palace would have that much more age, with possible structural issues that just couldn’t be easily repaired, and building it anew, in a different location, may have been a way to keep things relatively fresh. No doubt much of the materials would be recycled if they could be.
Still, for whatever reason, we are told that Oho Sazaki no Mikoto established a new palace in the Naniwa area, but that he did so quickly—more quickly than was typical. The Nihon Shoki tells us that his palace was built “without plaster or paint” and that the thatching was “uneven”. The plaster and paint may reference later architectural features—I don’t know if that was being done at the time—but I think we get the general impression that things were a bit slapdash, and they didn’t take the time to ornament the palace as usual. This was in order to spare the workers for the fields. After all, the communal nature of the harvest meant that it was more or less all hands on deck at certain parts of the season, and pulling people away for other projects, even projects for the court of Oho Kimi, risked them not being available for their agricultural duties. It sounds like things were already pretty bad.
In fact, there is another part of the record that claims Oho Sazaki climbed up to a high place—possibly a mountain—and viewed the country. We’ve talked about this in past episodes, where sovereigns real and mythical would climb to high point and perform kunimi, or a viewing of the countryside. This seems to have been an important aspect of rulership, and Phillipi notes that it may have practical roots in looking out from a high place to help determine which fields needed to be planted or harvested and helping to generally direct the activities of the surrounding area. Of course, later this activity would become more of a diversion, as the role of the sovereign changed. Mizoguchi notes how the elites gradually changed from the time of the Yayoi, when they were actually valued for their skills in performing work for the community, whether administrative or spiritual, to an attitude in the Kofun period where the elites came to see themselves as generally deserving of their position based on the nature of their birth rather than any specific work they were doing. This was part of a general slide away from the more egalitarian society of independent groups to a more centralized model with more despotic tendencies, a process that the archipelago was still in the midst of, in many ways.
Anyway, as Oho Kimi was performing this ritual-slash-royal field trip to the mountains, he was crestfallen to note a distinct lack of smoke rising up from the valley. This was extremely puzzling, as it meant that there was a dearth of activity.
Now this may not be something we all immediately see. After all, smoke and smog are so often things we hope not to see in the world, especially given what we now know about the state of the climate. But back in the Kofun era, smoke would have been a key indicator of human activity. From casting terracotta figures to smelting metals, to simply cooking food, one would normally expect to see a good deal of smoke. But if the hearth fires weren’t operating, that meant that there were problems.
Sure enough, we are told that there was a severe drought that affected the crops. Without food to cook, why build a fire? And while we know that in the Jomon period people had been able to live off the land, the Yayoi and Kofun populations had already grown well beyond what hunting, gathering, and basic horticulture could sustain. They needed their agricultural harvests if they were to feed their people.
And this was likely one reason for the less than glorious construction of the palace, but it went even further. We are told that Oho Sazaki excused forced labor for three years, and he let the palace and other administrative buildings fall into disrepair. This wasn’t just for Kawachi and neighboring Yamato provinces, but for all of those who submitted to Yamato hegemony. He is even said to have rationed his own food and that of the court. Though not everyone agreed with his actions, he felt that it was the role of the sovereign to provide succor to the people in times of need so that they could deal with the situation and get back on their feet.
And sure enough, it seems to have worked. Three years later, Oho Sazaki went back to look out over the land and the smoke was rising up once more, indicating that the people had something to cook. Realizing that his people were flourishing once again, he returned to the palace, satisfied that he and his people were prosperous once more.
Of course, not everyone felt quite the same way, and one of the more vocal opponents to Oho Sazaki’s position was actually his own queen: Iwa no Hime.
Now Iwa no Hime is someone we’ve mentioned previously, as her father was none other than the famous Kadzuraki no Sotsuhiko. In fact, it is her place as the official queen that make people wonder if there wasn’t more to Sotsu Hiko himself than we are really led to believe.
Iwa no Hime could hardly believe her husband. Here he was, rejoicing at how prosperous they were all because he saw some smoke. Perhaps he might have been a little too close to the wrong kind of smoke, though, if you know what I mean. After all, their palace was so dilapidated that it could not even be repaired—they were going to have to completely rebuild it. The roof leaked, they were still rationing their food, and their belongings had become worn out and threadbare. She was the Queen, dammit; she was supposed to be living in luxury and having people wait on her. They were supposed to be the upper crust—the elite. Instead they were barely any better off than the farmers who grubbed around in the dirt! How could Oho Sazaki claim that they were at all prosperous?
But to all of these accusations, Oho Sazaki merely replied that as the sovereign, if the people are prosperous, then the ruler can’t help but be prosperous as well. And even though the provincial administrators were starting to petition the court to once again allow them to start collecting taxes in goods and labor so that they could repair their administrative buildings, still, Oho Sazaki held off for just a little bit longer to give the people time to fully recover. Eventually, though, with life back on track, he did reinstate policies of forced labor and taxation, roughly six years after he first noticed the problem.
I may not need to mention this, but this whole thing seems quite dubious an account, and it is filled with language that is very continental in its outlook and thinking. Clearly later Chroniclers were placing into Oho Sazaki’s mouth a very Sinified explanation for his actions, describing him in terms that well-read scholars would recognize as aspects of the coveted sage-kings of old, following the Way of Heaven. It is possible that this was just the 7th and 8th century language for describing the way that Oho Sazaki no Mikoto was adored as a wise ruler. It is also entirely possible that he was dealing with things like drought and famine, but perhaps not for six years—that may be an exaggeration to just fill in some of the dates.
Whatever the facts may have been, the Truth that the Chroniclers wanted to convey was just how much he earned his posthumous name of “Nintoku”. The first character, “Nin” actually means duty or responsibility—literally carrying a burden. The second character, Toku, is the same one seen in the name “Tokugawa”, as in the Edo period shoguns, and it means “virtue” or even “benevolent”. Duty and Virtue—that is the name that later generations would ascribe to this sovereign based on the stories that were told about him.
Stories of his virtue weren’t limited to the austerity measures he imposed on himself in times of need for his people though. The Chronicles also talk about his projects and great works. For instance, the water-slash-irrigation works he had performed, such as building a channel in the plains north of the palace. Now, granted, this seems to be fairly common stuff for a ruler and a modern day comparison might be, I don’t know, something along the lines of a large infrastructure project. Where we might invest in roads, electricity, and broadband, back then it was more often than not an investment in water. Either ponds, to hold water, or channels to help get water from point A to point B, thus opening up more land for cultivation. Since land—and the rice it produced—was wealth, this was directly contributing to the bottom line of his people.Of course, it doesn’t hurt that continental sage kings were also praised for the ways in which they tamed the waters. In their case it was usually the Yellow River or the Yangtze, whose banks would regularly overflow and flood the surrounding areas if not kept in check, but nonetheless I think we can safely assume that the focus on water projects was anything but accidental.
Now this period likely had plenty of water works to focus on. You may remember how I mentioned that Kawachi province was once the home to a large bay that stretched from the mountains to a small strip along the inland sea shore between the areas of the modern Yamato and Yodo Rivers. This bay emptied out around the port of modern Ohosaka, where it joined the Seto Inland Sea. Over the centuries, however, it silted in, and the shallow, estuarine bay likely became more of a lake by Kofun times. This process continued as it likely became more of a swamp, and eventually a marsh and then dry land. No doubt as that happened, workers would, on the one hand, be needed to convert the new lands into rice fields, but there would also need to be works to help move the water, draining swampy areas and irrigating those that were too dry, while also preventing unexpected or excess flooding.
All that to say that controlling the water was more than just an ancient form of virtue-signaling: It was dealing with a real problem. And some times things required a little extra intervention.
For example, one of the problems that the Kawachi plain no doubt had as it silted up was that it was still extremely low-lying terrain. Since it silted up it was likely just at or even slightly below sea level. And so it no doubt wouldn’t take much flooding along the Yodo river to spill over and down into those low-lying areas. Given the numerous tributaries that feed into the Yodo River before it dumps out into the Seto Inland Sea, it is easy to understand how this may have been a quite thorny problem. And so a decision was made to build up an embankment along the river to help keep it from spilling over. This was called the Mamuta embankment, and tradition seems to indicate that it went from Neyagawashi, in the north, down to somewhere around the Asahi district of modern Ohosaka. A portion of this embankment is even thought to lie behind the main shrine building of Tsutsumine Jinja—“Tsutsumi” meaning “embankment” in Japanese.
Work on the embankment seemed to be going well except for two areas where they had continual problems, as no matter what they did the embankment kept rupturing. Workers and overseers on the project were at a loss for what to do and turned to Oho Sazaki no Oho Kimi to figure something out.
And here is where Oho Sazaki used decidedly traditional methods to solve the problem. After giving the matter some thought, he apparently slept on it. And the next morning he awoke refreshed, but also with a potential answer to this thorny problem, as apparently he had been visited at night by the spirit of the river. Of course, the River Kami didn’t bring a new form of hydrological engineering, nor did it promise to hold back the flood waters itself. No, rather the kami demanded a sacrifice. And not just any sacrifice, mind you—you couldn’t just ride over to the nearest village, find a couple of unlucky stiffs and throw them into the river. No, these two were specific, named individuals. The first was Musashi no Kowakubi—aka Mr. Strong Neck of Musashi province. The other was a local man, Kawachi no Mamuta no Muraji no Koromo no Ko—aka Mr. Garment Child of the noble Mamuta clan of Kawachi.
I know we’ve talked about this rather morbid practice before, known as hito-bashira. It was the idea that, in extreme cases, a human being might be sacrificed in order to help prop up or protect a building or location. Of course, it should be noted that many of those locations eventually were identified as being haunted by the very spirits of the people who had been sacrificed in the first place, so I’m not sure that one could say this was in any way a sound architectural practice. Furthermore it is unclear just how often this practice was actually carried out vice simply stories that it happened. Still, that appears to be a part of the tradition that we see here.
Now Musashi no Kowakubi was a devout and loyal individual, from all we can gather, and he appears to have accepted his fate with some amount of acquiescence, grace, and dignity. They say that even though he wept, he jumped into the waters himself and drowned. That was in the area of the Asahi district of modern Ohosaka, or so tradition states, and there is a rock and a sign back in one of the neighborhoods there commemorating the incident at what is called Kowakubi no Taema—Kowakubi’s Gap.
Meanwhile, it seems that Koromo no Ko was a bit more hesitant. He apparently was not convinced by the sovereign’s dream and demanded proof of the River Kami’s divine nature. He made the claim that whatever kami had whispered in the ear of the sovereign as he was dreaming it was not actually the kami of the river. And so when we was called to sacrifice himself he showed up with a couple of calabash gourds.
Now no doubt the officials who were there to oversee the ritual were a bit confused, but Koromo no Ko quickly explained his logic. The gourds were not meant, as one might initially assume, as some kind of ancient floatation device to help him stay afloat when he went in. Rather the two gourds would be his test to ensure that it really was the river kami who demanded his sacrifice. He said to those that were gathered there: “If this river-god is a true god, then it will sink these calabashes, and I will enter of my own accord. But if they do not sink, then this kami is not a true god and why would I waste my life in vain?”
And so saying he threw the two guards into the river. Immediately a whirlwind formed, and it seemed that some force was trying to pull or perhaps push the gourds under, but it was no use—they eventually floated away on the wide waters. Given the evidence before them, the officials agreed to let Koromo no Ko go free and then they eventually did finish the embankment without need for further sacrifice.
The area where Koromo no Ko was going to be sacrificed be came known as Koromo no ko no Taema and is traditionally held to be around the site of modern Taema bridge in Neyagawa.
Of course, beyond just the implications for how the water works fit in with Oho Sazaki’s status as a continental style sage-king, this story really has some fascinating details. First off, there appear to have been no recriminations against Oho Sazaki for getting it wrong. They don’t even touch on the fact that he almost sent a man to his death. Apparently that is just how things worked and sometimes you got a sign that didn’t work out as it should have. His reputation seems untarnished by this incident.
Second, it is notable that there seems to be no particular blame or questioning of Kowakubi’s sacrifice. If anything, I would suggest that his sacrifice was probably considered the cultural norm—or at least the cultural norm that the court wanted to emphasize. If your sovereign called you to do something dangerous and foolhardy that might require you to give up your own life, it was perfectly acceptable—even admirable—to be loyal to a fault. The tragedy of the possibility that such a sacrifice wasn’t actually needed doesn’t really play into the narrative as far as I can tell, which memorializes both men equally.
And that’s the other side of the coin. Despite the fact that Koromo no Ko appears to have proved Oho Sazaki wrong, his cleverness is rewarded, and he is able to continue living. He even gets a section of the embankment named after him, just as Kowakubi did.
Of course, I think I know who I’d rather be in this particular story, but I still wonder how people of the time saw it.
For these projects, Oho Sazaki conscripted local labor, but also foreigners—as in previous reigns we see Men of Silla, supposedly part of a diplomatic envoy, conscripted and put to work on the Mamuta embankment. Again I have to wonder about just how much of a “diplomatic” mission this really was or if these were more captives—people enslaved during raids on the peninsula.
Other works included canals, such as the one in Kurikuma in Yamashiro. But it wasn’t just water that was important. The Nihon Shoki mentions a variety of public works and infrastructure projects: bridges, roads, irrigation, etc. Oho Sazaki even established granaries at Mamuta for the first time—possibly taking advantage of land reclaimed by the embankment.
An interesting note is that the vast majority of all of this building activity takes place quite specifically in the Nihon Shoki—perhaps the most Sinified of the Chronicles. The Kojiki, built as it was around the performance of these tales at court, seems much more focused on the torrid love affairs, the likes of which would no doubt make for near perfect daytime TV serials. Meanwhile, the Kujiki runs through the story with an almost montage-like pacing, providing highlights of a few of the key stories, but still skipping over a lot of the public works projects that the Nihon Shoki enjoys so much.
Much of this preference in the Nihon Shoki only seems to further emphasize its authors’ preference towards a certain type of Continental narrative. While they all clearly praise Oho Sazaki’s virtues, and many pull from the Big Book of Confucian Cliches to demonstrate it, only the Nihon Shoki seems to translate so much of it into the kind of work that would be expected of a continental sovereign. Unfortunately, that also brings into question just what sources were they drawing on for this information, and how much of it was just propaganda stuck in there to fill up pages—and decades—with material is hard to say.
Likewise, the Nihon Shoki doesn’t just focus on the internal issues that Oho Sazaki was dealing with, but also with the external foreign relations as well. There were raids on Silla, and the so-called tribute—probably just the normal diplomatic gifts that were part of the international trade system—from a variety of places. They even claim that there was tribute from Goguryeo and from the Jin court itself.
Many of these stories are fanciful, and don’t really say much about Oho Sazaki no Mikoto. For example,at one point, in the Nihon Shoki’s account of this reign, we are given the story of Lord Chyu, grandson of the King of Baekje. We discussed this in the episode on Katsuraki no Sotsuhiko. Lord Chyu had been extremely disrespectful to Ki no Tsuno no Sukune, and was sent back to Japan with Sotsuhiko in chains. Of course, rather than going to the court he made his escape and sought refuge with Nishikoro no Obito no Koroshi, where he claimed that he had been pardoned and asked to be taken in for “maintenance”. Eventually the sovereign forgave him.
One day a strange bird was caught and offered up to Oho Sazaki no Ohokimi, but nobody seems to have known what it was. Lord Chyu, however, identified it as what he called a “kuchi”, which was swift and could easily be tamed. And so Oho Sazaki gave the bird—which may have been a goshawk, or taka—to Lord Chyu to train, and this seems to be the first account of falconry in the archipelago. Eventually they set him up at the village of Takaama. Now Aston translated this as “Hawk” and “Sweet”, but I can’t help but notice that our fishermen from previously were also called “Ama”. So is this then the village of “Hawk Fishermen”? Regardless of the precise etymology, Lord Chyu is held as the founder of the Takaama-be, the group presumably set up to supply falconers for the court, though for a long time it seems that the very best falcons themselves were imported from the continent.
Some of these stories we may put in a later episode, telling the exploits of various individuals and some of the wonders from the period, but for now let’s keep an eye to the works of Oho Sazaki no Ohokimi, the sovereign of Yamato.
Perhaps one of the more surprising things from this account is the mention of a type of storehouse, but not one for grain. Rather, it is in this account that we get the first mention of an early icehouse. It seems that one of the royal princes, Nukada no Oho Naka tsu Hiko, who was apparently conflated in other stories with the late royal brother, Oho Yamamori, was out hunting in the country of Tsuke when he looked down from top of a mountain or hill onto a nearby moor where he noticed a shape like a hut. He sent a messenger to go take a look at it and the messenger told him it was some kind of muro, which is to say a pit dwelling. Specifically it was an ice-muro. The people of that land had learned to dig a deep hole—over ten feet deep, compared to a normal muro which was typically only several feet deep—and over that giant hole they had placed a thatched roof, which from ground level made it look just like any other hut. In the winter time they would lay down thick layers of reed grass on dirt floor and then ice would be stacked upon the mat. Doing so, they found they could keep ice even through the heat of the summer months, and during the hottest months of the year they could take the ice and place it in water or sake to create cool drinks. News of this was taken straightaway to the court, and Oho Sazaki instituted his own ice muro and rules to always store ice from the last month of winter until the second month of spring, when the ice would melt away.
This is really incredible when you think of it—we so often equate ice in our drinks with technology like refrigeration and here they had ice for their drinks back in at least the 8th century. Pretty remarkable if you think about it.
And there is one last major work that we are told Oho Sazaki no Ohokimi instituted, and that was to choose the size of his own tomb. He is said to have sited it at Mozu, or Mozuno. The Nihon Shoki says that construction started in the 67th year of his reign, and that he died twenty years later.
Now it is quite probable that the dates are an exaggeration, but the idea that he was responsible for his own tomb, not so much. After all, as tombs grew larger and more elaborate, it must have taken more and more time to build them. Timber and labor that a future sovereign may not wish to lavish on his predecessor, regardless of his filial piety. It makes a lot more sense to build your own tomb, so you have it just as you like it.
And, if tradition is correct, he certainly got his money’s worth. Many believe Oho Sazaki, aka Nintoku Tennou, to be buried in Daisen Kofun, which is not only the largest kofun in Japan, but it is one of if not the largest manmade burial structures on the planet. Because of its shape, it may not seem as large in some contexts, but it is only three meters shorter than that great pyramid of Giza, and over twice as long. It stands with the Great Pyramids and the tomb of the Emperor Qin Shihuangdi as one of the three largest tombs in the world.
It must have been quite the site, and a bit of memento mori, being erected, as it was, during Oho Sazaki’s own lifetime. It isn’t exactly sitting directly outside of Naniwa palace itself, but it was still likely a well known landmark pretty early on in its construction.
However, very little is actually known about Daisen Kofun—we aren’t even sure if it is the tomb mentioned in the Nihon Shoki or not. It is possible that it belongs to one of the other sovereigns of the era. Unfortunately, as the supposed burial site of one of the ancestors of the Imperial Family of Japan, the site has been off-limits to any but the most cursory of surface examinations. Nonetheless, excavations do occasionally occur, often as part of some kind of repair, and recently teams have been given the green light to perform new excavations on the tomb, though don’t expect them to be opening up any treasure rooms. From what I can tell, the excavations seem focused on the structure of the tomb, which is still largely covered in the forest that has grown up on it over the centuries, and it will examine some previously discovered features, such as rock pavement and possible looking for more haniwa, or clay figures. I haven’t seen any indications that they are actually going to disturb the burial chamber, however—whoever lies interred in that monumental structure shall continue their slumber unhindered.
Still, this is really fascinating, and we’ll be waiting to see what is found. It is unlikely that anything will directly state “Oho Sazaki sleeps here,” but one can hope. More likely they’ll be looking to get greater insights into the construction of one of the most massive man-made structures of the pre-industrial era. Good luck to all of those working on the project!
With that, I think we will bring this episode to a close. I wanted to focus on Oho Sazaki and some of those things that helped garner him a reputation as a wise and virtuous ruler. There are still plenty more stories to tell from this period, though. For one thing, we hardly touched on the drama in the “hinter palace”, and it certainly seems that love and lust were high on the list of things people were interested in knowing about the ancient sovereigns. And no doubt the nobles’ own desire for a genealogical link to the royal family only helped fuel interest.
And then there are the fantastical and heroic stories and tales. Many of these are focused on other players, and the sovereign and the court is merely the backdrop. There are numerous stories of wars, fighting, magic, and revenge from beyond the grave. So we’ll get into that as well.
But that’s all for this episode, 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.
Also, feel free to Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page. You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com. We would love to hear from you and your ideas.
And that’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

- (2020). Website: 仁徳天皇陵古墳百科. Last visited 14 October 2021. 文化観光局博物館学芸課. https://www.city.sakai.lg.jp/kanko/hakubutsukan/mozukofungun/kofun.html
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 50: New Research on the Origins of the Japanese Population

October 1, 2021 Joshua Badgley

New research shows that the old dual-structure hypothesis of the origins of the the Japanese populations—that is that there were contributors from the Jōmon period and then a second wave—or waves—of immigrants from the Yayoi period onward—may need to be refined or even re-written to show three distinct ancestral groups: Jōmon, Yayoi, and then another group that came in during the Kofun period.

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Archives

This episode is focused on discussion of the recent paper “Ancient genomics reveals tripartite origins of Japanese populations” by Cooke, et al, which many people are claiming is “re-writing” ancient Japanese history. But what history is it re-writing and what do their findings mean for us, going forward?

Map showing rough areas of the various river basins—the Amur River Basin in the north, the Yellow River Basin in the southwest, and the West Liao River Basin in between. In red see the approximate location of the Longtoushan site.

Geography

So first off, there is a lot of talk about various locations on the mainland that we don’t normally cover, so we’ll have some maps here to help out.

So one of the places we will be discussing is the West Liao River Basin. The Liao river runs into the Yellow sea on the western side of the Liaodong peninsula (in fact, Liaodong can be translated as basically “east of Liao”). The River Basin includes the various rivers and tributaries that flow into the Liao River and then on into the ocean. Three of the individuals from the continent that the researches compared DNA to were from the Longtoushan site, a bronze age site in the West Liao River Basin, hence the nomenclature of WLR_BA and WLR_BA_o. The first referring to the two individuals with significant DNA matches to populations in the Yellow River Basin while the second referred to the one individual with DNA that indicated ancestry in the Amur River Basin. This was the individual who most closely matched with the Yayoi samples on the archipelago.

Map demonstrating possible gene flows during various periods based on the most recent findings. An attempt has been made to show the possible maximum extent of the ancient shoreline, when the archipelago and the continent were directly connected, which likely lasted until maybe 16,000 years ago, or even earlier, about the start of the Jōmon period, where populations show signs of extreme isolation.

This next map is extremely general, and shows what seems to be the general gene flow into the archipelago, based on the latest research. There is a flow that comes from Southeast Asia up north and into Japan from the earliest period of migration, which likely happened from ~38,000 to ~16,000 years ago. Then there is gene flow detected from what seems to be the Amur River Basin, possibly passing through Western Liao River Basin before making its way to the islands around the time of the Yayoi, about ~3,000 years ago—around 900 BCE, when rice first starts to show up as a crop on the archipelago. Finally, we have gene flow from the Yellow River Basin sometime between the Yayoi and the late Kofun period, between roughly the 3rd and 7th centuries CE. By the end of the Kofun the genetic makeup of the Japanese population appears to be fairly stable up through the modern day, with only slight variation as compared with earlier populations.

Previous Episodes

If you want to go back and listen to some of the episodes that may be relevant to the discussion, here’s a brief, non-exhaustive list:

Episode 1 - Pre-historic Japan
- Perhaps a bit of a misnomer since we stayed in pre- or proto-history for quite some time—many even still count proto-history up until the actual publication of the Chronicles themselves. Anyway, in this first episode we talked about Minatogawa Man and the earliest traces of homo sapiens on the archipelago, including how they may have got there.
Episode 5 - Goggle Eyes and Wet Earwax
- Episodes 2 through 5 were all about the Jōmon, and in our fifth episode we talked about what we learned from the DNA sequencing of the woman from Rebun island, off the coast of Hokkaidō. She is one of the previously sequenced genomes that this study used in their research and analysis.
Episode 7 - Rice comes to Japan
- Though we touched on some of the continental movements in Episode 6 and the birth of rice agriculture in the Korean peninsula, Episode 7 is where we really see rice coming over to Japan and the start of the Yayoi period. This is presumably when the Amur River ancestry makes its way into Japan.
Episode 8 - Bronze and Iron
- Here is where we discussed the establishment of Lelang and the various Han commanderies on the Korean Peninsula, though it is at the very end of the episode. The fact that the commanderies were established in 108 BCE, though, means that while they could have brought Yellow River DNA with them, it was much too late for the first wave to cross over to the archipelago about 800 years prior.
Episode 9 - The Langauge of Wa
- This is one area where I think we definitely have some questions to ask ourselves. If the early Yayoi were people with Amur River ancestry, then did they bring the language of “Wa”—that is to say, Japonic—with them or did the origins of Japanese in the archipelago come later? It is still possible that there is a link to the Shandong peninsula, but if so, perhaps the Japonic language families didn’t come in until some time after people with Yellow River Basin ancestry arrived. We certainly see traces of what looks to be Japonic in the names used for the countries of Japan in the mainland accounts, so it would seem to have been established by that time, but who brought it to the islands, and when?
Episode 30 - Yamato and the Continent
- For about 21 episodes we covered the Age of the Gods and various legendary—possibly mythic—sovereigns, finally coming back to the connections with the continent—something that we touched on throughout, but here we talked about some of the evidence in the Chronicles pointing to emigration from the peninsula from a very early period.
Episode 39 - Birth of the Three Kingdoms
- This was the episode we concentrated on what was going on over on the mainland, including the destruction and collapse of the commanderies, leading to an apparent diaspora of the ethnic Han citizens across the peninsula and over into the archipelago.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is episode 50: New Research On The Origins Of The Japanese Population.
Before we get started, quick shout out to Poser27 for your support. If you’d like to join them, feel free to drop us a few dollars over at ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo. That’s K-O-DASH-F-I-DOT-COM SLASH “Sengokudaimyo”.
Now this episode is a bit special: we’re taking a break from the Chronicles to talk about a breaking piece of research, a new study just published by a team of scholars out of Trinity College, in Dublin, as well as many others from around Japan. You may, if you follow the right hashtags, have seen some flashy headlines about this, such as “Ancient DNA rewrites early Japanese history”—a pretty bold claim. So this episode I would like to dig a bit into this study itself, how it connects to what we’ve been talking about in the podcast about the changing population of Japan, and hopefully get beyond the clickbait.
And, since it’s Episode 50 – wow, time flies! – and we’re referring back to some topics we’ve already touched on, I’m going to feel free to name-drop earlier episodes to provide you a handy guide to where to find a refresher on anything we’ve already talked about.
A few caveats up front as we get into this: First off, you are mostly getting my take, as discussed with my lovely wife and editor, based on our reading of the study, various articles, and Twitter threads by scholars who know their stuff about Japanese history, so I’ll try to have links to all of that in the show notes at up at Sengokudaimyo.com/Podcast. Second, though I want to dig into the article, I make no claims at being a geneticist. I will be trying to do this without directly discussing things like haplogroups and the statistical functions used to compare ancient genomes. These are accomplished scientists and this is a peer reviewed paper, so I am taking them at their word. Rather than looking at the science of the genetic research, I want to see how their conclusions match up with what we think we know about early human activity on the archipelago in the pre- and proto-historical eras.
The study itself was published in the Journal “Science Advances”, which is a well-respected, open-access, multidisciplinary journal published by the American Association for the Advancement of Sciences. If you’ve heard of the journal “Science”, these are the same people and they’re legit. The study, which came out on 17 September, is called “Ancient genomics reveals tripartite origins of Japanese populations” - we’ll have a link to the article itself up on the website, at sengokudaimyo.com/podcast.
The study reported out 12 newly sequenced ancient Japanese genomes, and compared all of them with each other, and other previously-known genomic data from Japan as well as the continent. Their findings would appear to indicate three different contributors to the DNA of modern Japanese populations: Jomon and Yayoi contributions are unsurprising, but they noted a third contributor showing up by the late Kofun period.
So is this a big deal, and if so, why? Let’s go back to the source and talk about the whole practice of tracing the origins of the people of the Japanese archipelago.
As you may have gathered, this has long been a part of Japanese historical studies. Heck, even the 8th century Chronicles that we read were making attempts to do that very thing by ascribing a divine origin to the creation of the islands and the descent of its people—or at least of the ruling elite.
For the longest time, this was *the* history of the archipelago that people followed, and though it does speak of various people coming over from Korea, and families who claimed descent from either Korean or Chinese families, the general assumption appears to be that those immigrants were assimilated into a much larger and uniquely Japanese population that maintained its links to that original heavenly descent.
In the late 19th century, though, archaeology was added to the mix, providing a means to place various artifacts into an historical context. In some cases this helped confirm what written sources had to say, but in others it just brought up more questions. Jomon and Yayoi pottery weren’t necessarily new—no doubt farmers and others had been digging them up for centuries—but with new tools and concepts of how to date and categorize the finds, the history of the archipelago exploded. While the Kofun period had always been apparent—after all, giant mounds of earth in distinct keyhole shapes, often moated, are hardly inconspicuous—the addition of the Jomon and Yayoi periods not only added more context, but they pushed back the boundaries of when people had arrived on the archipelago. Instead of history starting in the already fanciful 7th century BCE, the Jomon period and other prehistoric finds pushed the early date of human habitation back to about 38,000 years ago. We discussed this, and briefly covered the Jomon people in the first five episodes back in 2019—we’ll have links on the site so you don’t need to comb through the archives to find them.
Further studies showed a distinct change with the advent of rice farming. Originally thought to have been about 300 BCE, that date has since been pushed back to about 900 BCE. During the Yayoi we see rice, bronze, and new lifeways entering the archipelago. There was a lot of debate about where all of this came from, with strong indications that it arrived from the continent via the Korean peninsula, though some theories did suggest a southern route, up from south China and Taiwan. At this point, though, I think we can fairly confidently assert clear influence from the Korean archipelago during this period.
That said, the prevailing theory even with this new archeological evidence was that the people of the archipelago had not significantly changed. That is, the idea still held that the Japanese people themselves were established in the archipelago some 38,000 years ago and that, though they may have acquired technology and other cultural goods from abroad, they were essentially the same people. Of course, in this one might also see shades of discussions of things such as race, prevalent in the early 20th century, and the idea that the Japanese were somehow unique and distinct from the rest of Asia was definitely a view pushed by nativists and nationalists, who were seeking reasons to tout Japan’s superiority over other people.
However, much to the nationalists’ dismay, further archaeological studies demonstrated that there was not only a cultural change, but a demographic one as well. Skeletal remains from the Yayoi period demonstrate different morphological features that seemed to indicate at least two different groups of people existing in the islands at the same time. One group was more similar to the Jomon and ancient people of the archipelago, wile a second group was more closely related to the people of the peninsula and the continent—as well as modern Japanese.
Some people tried to push the idea that this was just part of the natural changes that could occur in populations over the years. After all, just between the Edo period and modern times a distinct change can be detected in the average height of Japanese people, largely attributed to things like changes in overall health and diet. However, more and more people questioned this idea, especially given the presence of the Ainu, in the north of the archipelago, a people who appeared to share more physical similarities to the earlier Jomon people, at least in regards to skeletal dimensions. Furthermore, it was in the north of the archipelago where the Jomon culture continued and evolved into the epi-Jomon, while in the central part of the archipelago the Yayoi culture was thriving. Later DNA tests demonstrated that there was an ancestral link from the Ainu to ancient Jomon populations, though intermixed with other people of the Okhotsk Sea region.
From this type of research emerged the idea, now generally taught in textbooks: The islands had been populated by the early Jomon people, but then a new group came in and, through the use of technologies like rice farming and new bronze, and later iron, weapons, were able to soon supplant or assimilate the previous inhabitants of the archipelago. This idea that modern Japanese are a mixture of these two populations—the earlier Jomon people and the later Yayoi, a group who came over during the Yayoi in one or multiple waves – is called the dual origin theory of the modern Japanese population, and it was largely solidified through the ideas of Hanihara Kazuro, who wrote about it in Japanese in the 1980s and then later published in English in 1991. Some of the Jomon people who didn’t assimilate into the new ethno-culture complex on the islands became ancestors of the Ainu, in the north, mixing with other groups in and around the Okhotsk and Japan sea regions, but the rest mixed with the North Asian population.
Where this wave of Yayoi immigrants ultimately came from—beyond the obvious answer of the southern Korean peninsula—has been a question for some time. Many of the early studies were based on various physical characteristics of the Yayoi and later Japanese, many associated with cranial dimensions—that is the specific dimensions of the skull. By the way, the origin of these studies, known as craniology, have a particularly nasty past, having to do with Eurocentric theories about the existence of racial characteristics as well as attempts to measure skulls against so-called Caucasian traits to determine some kind of racial hierarchy. While the racial underpinnings of craniological research have been discarded by modern anthropologists, it can still be a useful tool for distinguishing potentially different populations, particularly in a paleo-anthropological context, and so the these kinds of physical measurements continue to be used today for description, rather than classification.
From those kinds of studies, it was determined that the Jomon were associated with traits found in Southeast Asia, and were assumed to have come from South Asia during paleolithic times. The Yayoi were associated with traits more common in North Asian populations—and specifically Northeast Asian populations.
Now, linguists have largely assumed that these immigrants to the archipelago are the source for the Japonic languages. After all, cultures associated with Yayoi or later, such as the Japanese and Ryukyuan populations, speak some form of Japonic, while the Ainu language is its own thing, possibly connected to a language spoken in the archipelago prior to the spread of Yayoi culture.
Given this connection between Japonic languages and Yayoi culture, linguists searched out the roots of the language and some have looked at these findings in the context of what we knew about the coming of the Yayoi people—people that were likely the Wa of the ancient Chinese chronicles. Some scholars connected the Japanese language to Koguryoic, the language family of Korean, identified with the people of Goguryeo and the Buyeo people, among others. This in turn was connected to larger “transeurasian” language families.
More recently there has been some suggestion that proto-Japonic may have come over to the Korean peninsula via the rice cultivating cultures of the Shandong peninsula. Under that theory, any similarities between the Japanese and Korean languages are more likely related to their many centuries of close interaction, rather than an actual direct link between them.
All of this linguistic work seemed to enhance the idea that a large group of people came over in the Yayoi period, further emphasizing this concept that the Yayoi was, in a way, the “birth” of the Japanese people—that it was these two groups, the Yayoi and the Jomon, coming together that gave rise to the Wa, the ancestors of the modern Japanese population.
Of course, besides skeletal morphology and linguistics, this brings us up to one other category of evidence, something we’ve brought up in previous episodes and which is the subject of this latest study, and that is DNA. Unfortunately, as I’ve mentioned before, the Japanese soil doesn’t tend to be the best for preservation of organic material. It tends to be more acidic, and so many times human remains are hard to find. Still, to date there have been enough bones and bone fragments found for scientists to start to build a picture of ancient genomes. For instance, in our first episode we discussed the pre-Jomon era Minatogawa Man, down in the Ryukyu Islands, and back in Episode 5 there was the Jomon woman up in Hokkaido whose genome told us, among other things, that people in the Jomon period had already developed a tolerance for alcohol..
Most of those genetic studies have been largely focused on individuals found in a Jomon context or earlier—so pre-Yayoi immigration. When compared with modern Japanese, we find that there are certain genetic markers in modern populations that would seem to trace back to those early Jomon populations. This correlates with some of the physical data as well, suggesting traits of both north and south Asian populations are found heterogeneously in the modern Japanese population. This information is important because it suggests that the Jomon were not simply conquered and wiped out, but that, as some of the archaeological evidence has suggested, they were assimilated and incorporated into Yayoi society.
There are also studies that looked at the current Japanese population and where they had the most affinity with the people of the continent. Those studies seemed to confirm an affinity, along with modern people on the Korean peninsula, with the larger East Asian population, including the ethnic Han people and the Yellow River Basin.
Of course, that would make sense if the dual origin theory was correct: A wave of people coming over from the continent, bringing with them wet rice agriculture. Since that rice agriculture seemed to have a basis in the Yellow River or nearby Shangdong peninsula regions, we seem to have a nifty line connecting language, culture, and people. The Yellow River basin is part of North Asia, and so, even if it was multiple, successive waves of people coming over from the continent, the implication is that they were largely the same people.
So, that’s a summary of the prevailing theory: the dual origin hypothesis, which makes sense given the archeological, linguistic, and genetic evidence available to date. But this new study has provided some evidence that sets some of this – not all, but some - in a new light. Though it largely supports previous theories, it raises some interesting questions.
First off, this latest study has increased our understanding of the changes in the genetics of the Jomon people. The study reports out an unprecedented 12 new genome sequences—nine of whom were from individuals buried in a Jomon context. Together with previously sequenced genomes, the team has been able to determine several things.
First, the Jomon DNA that was studied demonstrates attributes that are strongly associated with the modern populations in the Japanese archipelago, but are otherwise rare on the continent. All of the Jomon individuals studied formed a tight cluster when compared with other populations, suggesting that they had, indeed, been largely isolated—otherwise we would expect to see more similarities between them and the continent. This is consistent with the idea that, as the glaciers receded and the oceans rose after the last glacial maximum, it left a population of humans stranded on the archipelago. These people, who may have been part of a lineage of hunter-gatherers who came north into East Asia from Southeast Asia some time prior would be the people we would come to know as the Jomon. And while genetic isolation is not quite the same as cultural isolation—we find, after all, evidence of cross-strait commerce—this does seem to fit with previous theories of early life in the Japanese islands.
Now in addition to the Jomon DNA, the study looked at five examples of post-Jomon DNA. Three of those were newly sequenced DNA from Kofun era individuals who were all buried in the same general area, south of the Noto peninsula. Two of the individuals were previously sequenced in other studies, and were found in a late Yayoi context in Northwest Kyushu and demonstrated a physical resemblance to Jomon people. What is a bit surprising, and what is driving those dramatic headlines, are both the differences between these Yayoi and Kofun individuals, and the fact that the Kofun era individuals group extremely well with modern Japanese, suggesting much less change between the Kofun and today than between the Yayoi and the Kofun period.
So what does this mean for the dual origin hypothesis? If if was the Yayoi immigration that largely shaped the genetics of modern Japanese, why do we see such differences in the genetic samples between Yayoi and Kofun?
One possible explanation for this could simply be that there was continuous immigration to the islands from the Yayoi into the Kofun period of state formation. So rather than a single wave of Yayoi era farmers coming over and setting up shop in the archipelago, that suggests to me the idea that continuous waves of people may have been coming across at various times. This would be in line with an extension of Hanihara’s dual structure hypothesis, as well as what we know from the Chronicles.
However, the DNA situation here suggests that it is a bit more complex. The Yayoi samples from the study definitely contain significant contributions from the Jomon people in the study, but there is also another contributor that’s a bit surprising. Given that the Yayoi is when rice farming appeared, we might expect that this other contributor might be from individuals tied to the Yellow River Basin, which is thought to have been the source of rice farming culture that made it to Japan and kicked off the Yayoi period. However, the two individuals sampled showed little affinity to the Yellow River Basin. Where the study’s authors did detect some kind of connection was with a genetic sample from the non-rice farming people of the West Liao River Basin, which stretches from Inner Mongolia to the border of North Korea, sits northwest of the Korean peninsula and northeast of the Yellow River Basin. More specifically, these individuals were from a site known as Longtoushan, near the village of Tuchengzi, Chifeng, in Inner Mongolia
In fact, this West Liao sample consisted of three individuals from the same archaeological site but with fairly diverse genetics. Two of the three individuals studied had genetic ties to the Yellow River Basin area. For those looking on a map, the Yellow River is the large river that empties into the Yellow Sea, between modern Chinese mainland and the Liaodong and Korean Peninsulas – so really, not that far of a hike from Japan. But the third had a greater connection to people of the Amur River basin, which makes up the northern most border between the People’s Republic of China and the Russian Federation, for the most part significantly north of modern Japan and Korea except at the very northern edge of the Korean peninsula.
Of those West Liao individuals, it was the one with Amur River genetic affinity, not the two associated with Yellow River populations, that had a high genetic affinity with our Yayoi samples. This suggests—at least given the current data—that the Yellow River basin was not likely to be a major source of the non-Jomon ancestry in these two Yayoi individuals, which somewhat violates our expectations. Rather, it is with people more associated with the Amur River region.
The study’s authors further tested several potential sources of continental ancestry, creating hypothetical mixtures of their DNA with that of the known Jomon DNA. These were all groups who shared a dominant Northeast Asian component to their ancestry. In the end, the Yayoi seem closest to individuals of the middle Neolithic and bronze age from the West Liao River Basin who also had a high level of Amur River ancestry, and the West Liao River Basin is just north of one of the supposed routes that rice agriculture took, from the Shandong peninsula, down the Korean peninsula, and to the archipelago. And so it isn’t out of the question that there were some people with northeast Asian ancestry, and specifically Amur River ancestry, who were part of the wave pushing that technology across the early Korean peninsula and then to the Japanese islands.
In contrast, the three individuals who had been buried in a Kofun context, hundreds of years later, tell of a different story. In their case they are much closer to modern Japanese. They don’t show the specific traits that linked the Yayoi to the Amur River basin - instead they show a much greater affinity with people of the Yellow River and, in fact, to much of the rest of east Asia.
And so the story that is emerging from all of this is that it seems there was one wave of immigrants that came over with the Yayoi, as already expected, but then there was at least one more wave of immigrants that came over around the time of state formation. It is even possible that there were other, successive waves.
By this time, if you’ve been following the podcast, you might be saying: Well, yeah. The Chronicles themselves talk about numerous people coming over from the Korean peninsula, including elites who married into the royal line. However, this isn’t exactly the narrative we get in all the histories. Usually it is just: People arrive, get isolated on the islands, and start making pottery with cord markings. Then a new group of people arrive, bringing rice and bronze and iron. They build up their settlements and eventually we get Queen Himiko, the shaman queen. From there, a big question mark, people start building giant, kingly tombs. That becomes a fad and then we get state formation. Hurray! Japan!
Okay, maybe not quite that simplistic, but I think you get my drift.
The DNA from this study supports some the theories and evidence that exist outside this long-standing official narrative. We can point to the change in material goods, and even what the written histories have to tell us, but this really gives us another data point to go off of, and hopefully we will get more.
And while many are quick to point out that this overturns the dual structure hypothesis, I would argue that it more refines it. Where Hanihara had originally had two sources for the origin of the Japanese population, South and North Asia, respectively, his models don’t rule out the possibility of multiple waves of immigration from different parts of north, northeast, and east Asia.
Now, quick caveat time—the Yayoi samples come from two individuals, from the same location, in Northern Kyushu. It is entirely possible that these two individuals happen to be outliers, though I would note that they contain a mixture of Jomon and external genetic markers, such that they are unlikely to be just off the boat. Furthermore, since they determined that none of the individuals in the study were related, that would indicate that there were at least two descendants from the initial mixing—probably several generations. Likewise our three Kofun samples come from the same area, and they were not occupants of keyhole shaped tombs, so they may be of some status, but they weren’t the elite running the country, and, again, the sample size is limited.
There is still a lot we don’t know. We don’t know how all of this information on genetic diversity matches up with stories of the Emishi, the Tsuchigumo, the Kumaso, or the Hayato—some of the ancient groups of the archipelago—possibly different ethnicities. We don’t know if the ancestry of the people in the mountains was different from those in the plains and farmland. And it would be especially interesting to see comparisons with various people on the Korean peninsula.
But given what we do know, at this point, what does it tell us?
Well let’s go back to the information about the Amur River connection to our two Yayoi individuals. We know that farming came across 900 BCE—about 600 years earlier than was previously thought, even 20 years ago, and there are *still* sources that have it start at 300 BCE or later, even today. In 900 BCE, from what we can tell, there wasn’t much Han presence in the peninsula region, and so it makes some sense that the people coming across would be more broadly connected with Northeast Asia, even though the West Liao River basin seems to have been a mixing pot of various people.
Unfortunately, from what I can tell, we seem to have a gap on the Korean peninsula itself. There have been various studies on the modern Korean population and trying to link them to various ancient ancestors, but I’m not sure that there is much in the way of paleo-genetics for the peninsula between the Yayoi and Kofun periods. While later studies confirm a relationship between Korean, Japanese, and ethnic Han populations, it seems that this relationship is assumed to generally extend back into the distant past.
But if we have another population coming to the archipelago in the Yayoi, then one assumes that the peninsular people were similarly different, at least in that early Neolithic and bronze age period.
I suspect this could be explained by the creation of the Han commanderies on the peninsula in 108 and 107 BCE, which we first discussed back in Episode 8. I suspect that a large number of ethnic Han immigrated to the peninsula at this time. It is possible that some intermarried with local populations, bringing in new genetic source material to the peninsula.
And then, in the early 4th century CE, we see the destruction of the commanderies by Goguryeo, and soon thereafter we see written culture arising in places like Silla and Baekje—possibly brought with an influx of ethnic Han fleeing Goguryeo and the destruction of the commanderies. Lots of population churn during this period, as we discussed in Episode 39.
There are still some important questions to be asked in terms of timing. We know that the Kofun era individuals in the latest study closely resemble modern Japanese, bringing in a much higher proportion of East Asian DNA. But when did that happen? The study says that the specific Kofun individuals were from about 1300 years ago. That actually puts them towards the end of the Kofun period. So we can see that change happened between the Yayoi and the end of the Kofun, but we still have a question of when.
Was there immigration during late Yayoi? Is that what led to the creation of the giant keyhole tomb mounds? That is one of the defining features of the Kofun period, so it could be a logical leap.
I would note, however, that there were already mounded tombs in the islands in the Yayoi period, in the form of funkyubo. Based on that, we don’t exactly need an external explanation for the arrival of mounded tombs, unless it came even earlier in the Yayoi period. The earlier, simpler tombs could have locally evolved into more complex practice along with changes in social complexity, the role of elites, and so on.
On the other hand, perhaps the kofun were part of the later migrations that were happening. Proponents of Egami’s horse-rider theory might point to this as another piece of evidence supporting their supposed conquest of the islands: A large group sweeping south. Of course, that theory suggests that those same riders were part of a general Buyeo ethnic group moving south, from Goguryeo to Baekje. But I wonder how that squares with the higher genetic connection to the Yellow River Basin? After all, the Buyeo and Goguryeo populations were likely more connected to other northeast Asian populations, themselves.
Perhaps this is all just was increased emigration over the course of the Kofun period, especially if the Wa people had some foothold on the peninsula, providing an entry point to mix and travel back and forth. Could it be that simple? Greater contact with the continent, and with the peninsular kingdoms, and more people coming over—enough to significantly affect the gene pool on the archipelago.
One thing is certain: We need more of this kind of research. Not just the new tools of DNA analysis, but the application of various big data techniques to draw out relationships. It then needs to be incorporated into our understanding of the past. In the last decade, the tools and methods for this kind of data to be collected and analyzed have been refined and expanded, and I expect to see more of it.
So what are the lessons we should take away from this whole thing?
Well, for one, if you see a dramatic headline, check your sources—and then check the sources behind what you are reading. The Internet, for one, is horribly mixed up. There are plenty of places that will still cling to old sources. And sometimes it takes a while for the latest research to show up in a form that is easily accessible to most of us. Even here in this podcast I’m trying to do my best to accumulate current research but it isn’t always an easy task, especially for an independent scholar outside of the academic system. One of the reasons I try to give you my sources is because then you can check them out yourselves and take a look at the date on the information.
Now, it isn’t the case that newer is always better. Sometimes new theories don’t pan out, but that is a decision you can make on your own.
For another thing, I think this study provides another piece of clear evidence of the complex relationship between the archipelago and the continent, with multiple waves of immigration coming over, bringing new people, new technology, and new ideas. Although we often talk about the insular nature of the Japanese archipelago, more and more we can see that they were actively involved with the continent in trade, politics, and populations, and the Kofun period was a particularly dynamic time.
For example, in the same week that this article on ancient Japanese DNA was posted, we got word that in a Yayoi era kingly tomb in Fukuoka, northwest Kyushu, were found glass beads which seem to have originated in the Mediterranean region of the Roman Empire. Similar beads were also found in Mongolia, and based on scientific studies they appear to have come from the same place, meaning that glass beads traveled from the Mediterranean all the way to Japan via Mongolia and the central steppes of Eurasia.
And this isn’t entirely new. Exchanges between Asia and the Mediterranean have long been known, traveling through trade networks and handled by individuals traveling the long routes from one side of Eurasia to another. Most of their journeys aren’t captured in any writings or histories, but their imprint and impact can surely be felt. This is something we will talk about as we see more things coming across, but it is always good to keep in mind that it isn’t just the modern world that is incredibly connected—and Japan has long been a part of that connected world.
Next episode we’ll bring the focus back around the Chronicles and the stories therein. We are going to look at the stories of Oho Sazaki no Mikoto, aka Nintoku Tennou, and his court in Naniwa—modern Ohosaka.
And that’s all for this episode, 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.
Also, feel free to Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page. You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com. We would love to hear from you and your ideas.
And that’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

Cooke, N. P., Mattiangeli, V., Cassidy, L. M., Okazaki, K., Stokes, C. A., Onbe, S., ... & Nakagome, S. (2021). Ancient genomics reveals tripartite origins of Japanese populations. Science Advances, 7(38), eabh2419. DOI: 10.1126/sciadv.abh2419
Ning, C., Li, T., Wang, K., Zhang, F., Li, T., Wu, X., ... & Cui, Y. (2020). Ancient genomes from northern China suggest links between subsistence changes and human migration. Nature communications, 11(1), 1-9. DOI: 10.1038/s41467-020-16557-2
HANIHARA, K. (1991). Dual Structure Model for the Population History of the Japanese. Japan Review, 2, 1–33. http://www.jstor.org/stable/25790895
-, -. (2020). A History of Crainiology in Race Science and Physical Anthropology. The Penn Museum Website. Last viewed on 9/28/2021. https://www.penn.museum/sites/morton/craniology.php

Episode 49: Three Brothers, One Throne

September 16, 2021 Joshua Badgley

Crown Prince Uji no Waki Iratsuko (菟道稚郎子), as imagined in the 19th century.

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When Homuda Wake died, we are told that he left his youngest son, Uji no Waki Iratsuko, as Crown Prince. However, there were still two other brothers with a claim to the throne, and not everyone was committed to upholding their father’s wishes. This episode we discuss the succession crisis that arose after Homuda Wake’s death. We also try to provide a little external context, looking beyond the story in the Chronicles. Finally, we briefly touch on a UNESCO World Heritage Site associated with this whole episode.

The Dual Kingship Model

One of the discussion points in this episode is the dual kingship model, as presented by Kishimoto Naofuji in his article, “Dual Kingship in the Kofun Period as Seen from the Keyhole Tombs.” He builds on the previous theory of gendered co-rulers—the Hiko-Hime-sei—suggesting that the co-regents weren’t necessarily gendered, but simply had different functions. He explains this through the grave goods and the shapes of the various tombs: While they all have the same general “round-keyhole” or “前方後円” shape, there are slight differences in the tiers and shape, such as various protrusions, that seem to come from different “lineages” of tomb construction. Since these tombs are roughly equal in size and therefore assumed to be roughly equal in status, and the two lines continue through successive tombs, he suggests that they were for royal elites with slightly different functions.

Of course, it is hard to see any such model in the continental references. Nowhere do they explicitly reference multiple “kings”, though in the Wei Chronicles they do mention someone who helped with the administration while Himiko handled more sacred and mystical duties. One reason for this lack in the external sources may be that the continental chronicles just didn’t have a full understanding of Wa politics and therefore assumed that they governed under rules similar to the ones they themselves knew.

It is also possible that this whole thing is wrong. Without access to most of the kingly kofun, we may never know for certain who is buried there—and even with access there is likely to be debate. But it does keep us on our toes and should be a good reminder not to trust everything that the Chroniclers throw at us.

Prince Ō Yamamori (大山守皇子) and Prince Nukata Ō Naka tsu Hiko　(額田大中彦皇子)

The connection between the prince known as Ō Yamamori and Prince Nukata no Ō Naka tsu Hiko is still somewhat uncertain. It seems clear that they were conflated into a single character by the 8th century chroniclers, but it is quite possible that in truth, their stories were combined at a later date. This seems further emphasized by the fact that in the story about Ō no Sukune and the rice-lands of Yamato, the Prince in question is referenced consistently as Nukata (or Nukada) no Ō Naka tsu Hiko. However, in the scene after this, it is Prince Ō Yamamori who is referenced. The placement and the grudge would seem to indicate that the story of the rice-lands incident added to the frustration that Prince Ō Yamamori felt with his position, and there is even a mention that the reason Prince Ō Naka tsu Hiko felt entitled to the lands was because they belonged to the “Yamamori”.

However, I would be remiss not to note that there is a later story—some 60+ years later—that also mentions Prince Nukata no Ō Naka tsu Hiko. This is many decades after Prince Ō Yamamori’s death. Unfortunately, that simply leaves me with more questions.

Regardless, we maintain here Aston’s assertion that the two were actually one and the same, with Ō Yamamori being the title (Great Mountain Protector) and Nukata no Ō Naka tsu Hiko may have been the prince’s actual name, such as it is.

Ujigami Shrine (宇治上神社)

This shrine is well late of our narrative, as we don’t have evidence for it until some time between the 8th and 10th centuries, but it still is interesting and it is connected to our story because it enshrines three of the individuals we discuss: Homuda Wake, aka Ōjin Tennō, and two of his sons: Uji no Waki Iratsuko and Ōsazaki no Mikoto. On top of that it is an UNESCO World Heritage Site, and if you are ever in Uji city, you should check it out.

The honden, or main worship hall, of Ujigami Shrine—one of the oldest extant examples of shrine architecture, in this case dating back to the Heian period. This hall is a national treasure and a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is episode 49: Three brothers, one throne.
Quick content warning upfront in this one—there is some brief mention of suicide in this episode, as well as other forms of violence in this episode. We’ll add notes about it to the episode description when it is released if you need more specific details.
Also, before we get going a quick shout out to Craig and Shinanoki for donating to support what we do here. Also thanks to Shinanoki to making the suggestion to open “memberships” on Ko-Fi, which is a new feature, so now you can either drop us a one time payment or set up a monthly donation. That is all over at Ko-fi.com, that’s “K”-“O”-“DASH”-“F”-“I”, “dotcom”, “Slash” “sengokudaimyo”.
More on that at the end of this episode.So, when we left off at the end of our last episode, Homuda Wake was dead. The sovereign who had ruled over Yamato through so many eventful years was no more. Over the course of his reign, Yamato’s influence on the peninsula had expanded, along with its influence on the rest of the archipelago. Weavers, seamstresses, smiths, and more had made their way from the continent to the islands where the Wa lived, spurring advancements in a wide swath of different fields. The islands now had horses, and people could read and write. And one thing that seems true around the world: reading and writing greatly increase the speed at which a people can import new ideas, thoughts, and philosophy.
One thing was for certain: things were changing, and fast. Like the parable of the frog in a pot of water, we don’t always notice change until well after it has happened. In fact, we often tend to see change as though it wasn’t change at all—we project back on the past an image consistent with what we know. Maybe we make some comparative notes between how it was when we were growing up and how it is today, but there is a tendency to assume that anything quote-unquote “beyond living memory” was just some version of life like our grandparents told us about.
How that’s relative here is that we are watching change happen over some two hundred years—from the end of the Yayoi period in the 3rd century and the mention of Queen Himiko to the current era in our story. For comparison, as of this episode, recorded in September 2021, the US constitution is roughly 233 years old – and the Edo period in Japanese history lasted for a little over two and a half centuries, depending on how you count it. And both those periods have been marked by enormous change as well.
During the 200-year span in our narrative, we have seen the emergence of small countries, or perhaps proto-states, across the islands. It may not be fully correct to assume that they had complete control, even within the borders attributed to them, however. The polities that arose from the Yayoi period were based on a practice of wet-rice cultivation and trade that saw them spread out the plains and river deltas, as well as along the coastal regions, but at the same time various other lifeways continued in the mountains, which even then made up the majority of the archipelago’s landmass. Given that most fertile plains in Japan are around the deltas where rivers empty into the sea or large lakes, like Lake Biwa, it seems quite understandable that the waterways would also be an important means of travel and communication, which only further draws a distinction between the plains and the mountains.
Which isn’t to say there weren’t population centers built around other commodities, such as the jade-producing regions in the Koshi region, but these appear to have been exceptions, rather than the rule. Even the various mountain communities interacted with the rice-growing cultures on a regular basis, though they are clearly depicted as being outsiders.
Of all of these early states, Yamato appears to have been the largest and most powerful of these entities, but all the same it is questionable how much direct control it had beyond its own borders. Control, however, is different from power. Levers of power are complex, even today. There are many types of power that any individual or group can access and deploy to their benefit. Legal and military power are the ones we probably think of most often when we think of a modern state or country, but influence can be achieved through other means as well. Religions often wield considerable power through the influence they have on their followers, such that leaders like the Catholic Pope or the Dalai Lama might be seen as highly influential figures on the world stage, despite not having the typical trappings of a state apparatus. Economic and trade networks also create their own levers of power that can influence others. Or you might just be able to use logic and persuasion to get people on your side and to do what you want them to do. And then there is simply the force of tradition, and traditional relationships, which may generate influence between groups. There are so many ways that one can influence others, it isn’t just about being the person at the top of the legal pyramid. After all, what is a leader if nobody decides to follow them?
And whatever else we may say about the state of Yamato, it does appear to have become a leader in the archipelago. This had likely been accumulating through a variety of means, one of them possibly being the spread of the cult of Mt. Miwa and a burial ritual for elites based around monumental tomb structures – the giant kofun that we’ve been talking about, which by this time period were reaching truly impressive sizes. Whether this cultural practice was part and parcel of the spread of direct Yamato power, or a separate influence, I can’t really say, though they may have encouraged one another. Either way, as this ritual and the knowledge of its specifics was based in the area of Yamato, that seems to have given the Yamato elites a leg up in their dealings across the archipelago. These relationships, properly cultivated, and reinforced through marriage politics across the various countries, had grown into something more—perhaps a kind of confederation.
A similar process seems to have been going on over on the peninsula, within the areas of the Samhan, the three Han of Ma, Jin, and Byeon. Here, we know a little from the accounts in the Records of the Three Kingdoms, including the Wei Chronicles, as well as the stories from the annals of the Silla and Baekje kingdoms that eventually were recorded in works like the Samguk Sagi and the Samguk Yusa. In particular, in the Baekje Annals we are told that there was a single ruler, or King, of the Mahan confederation, but that position was replaced by Baekje as they began to conquer, assimilate, and subjugate their neighbors. Silla, we are told, grew up out of an alliance of six members of the Jinhan, eventually rising to power as the pre-eminent state in that region. Byeonhan looks to have been in a similar process, with various mentions of a King of the states known as Kara, or Kaya, as well as a ruler of Nimna—whether or not those were the same individual is hard to say, but the Chronicles seem to suggest that there were different positions. Kara, however, seems to have been late to the game—perhaps it never had the external impetus of others to bring the various communities together, or perhaps, trapped as it was between Silla, Baekje, and the Wa of the archipelago, it was pulled in too many directions, given that it was the crossroads across which the others would often march in their conflicts. This is a position the entire peninsula would find itself in, later, but for now it appears to have affected the growing states of Kara the most.
So, looking at the details of how these states on the peninsula consolidated their power, it is reasonable to assume that a similar process was at work in the archipelago – although the Chronicles, being the official record of the Yamato court written centuries after the fact, don’t go into the same level of detail of how their own sausage was made. This power consolidation wasn’t necessarily a conscious decision on any one person’s part. There was no great unifier to point to who was bringing these states together—no Oda Nobunaga with his armies, nor a Julius Caesar or Alexander the Great. At least, not yet. And still, a shared culture was being built through various rituals and ties across the various countries of the islands.
Early on, we see this not only in the monumental tombs, but in the distribution of elite goods. Bronze mirrors seem to have been the most popular such item, at least early on. These were likely acquired from the continent, from groups like the Wei and the early Jin courts, and then distributed by a central authority, whom many assume to be the Yamato court. In addition to those acquired from the continent, local copies were also produced. The importance of these mirrors is further emphasized in the stories, such as when various local lords bring out their finery to meet envoys of Yamato, or even in the depictions of how Yamato’s own missions were decked out. Furthermore, the mirror’s place in the legend of Amaterasu also seems to be key.
But as the centuries went on, the 4th century, into the 5th, saw another item, also mentioned in the story of Amaterasu, which we start to see more of, even as incidents of bronze mirrors begin to decline. These are iron swords, and as we start to see more of them in tombs, especially as the bronze mirrors diminish, we can make some assumptions as to where the people of the archipelago were placing their values. Mirrors may represent ritual authority, but they also represent a kind of wealth. Mirrors have a use, but having many mirrors seems to be more about strict wealth—and access to the kinds of continental goods that would make someone important in the early periods. Swords, along with armor and other tools of war, are also signs of wealth, as iron was still largely obtained through continental trade, but these have a much more direct use, as well. After all, arm 100 people with mirrors and, unless you are constructing an Archimedean death ray, they aren’t going to do a whole lot in a fight. Arm those same 100 people with swords and armor, and you have a formidable fighting force, especially when previous forms of arms and armor consisted largely of bronze or stone and lacquered wood. It seems that there was, in this period, a greater emphasis on military might and achievements.
Which isn’t to say that it was all peace and love before—we certainly have examples of the kind of mass violence seen in inter-group conflict early on, but this doesn’t appear as one of the defining aspects of the social elite as it would come to be later on. This change may be understandable given the turmoil that had taken place on the continent. Goguryeo had destroyed the old commanderies, which no doubt caused disruption in the trade networks. That could help explain increased incidents of Wa raiders along the coast of the peninsula—though for all we know this may have been something that had been going on for much longer, with nobody around to record it. It is also possible that the concept of a warrior elite was coming over from the peninsula with waves of immigrants, many of whom were captives or refugees; victims of the violence that seems to have characterized this period.
Evidence of immigrants can be found across the archipelago. For one thing, immigrants are tied to many places in the archipelago, and specifically to the current dynasty. We’ve talked a little bit about immigrant influences in places like the country of Toyo, as well as Kawachi, Izumo, and Koshi on the main island of Honshu. Indeed, Kawachi, in the south of modern Ohosaka, is a hotspot in the chronicles for immigrant presence, and it seems to have been a the center of activity, as that is where this dynasty‘s tombs, and many of their supposed palaces, were located. The narrative of the royal family even claims ties back to Silla princes and there is evidence that they may have also had marriage ties to the Baekje royal line.
We’ve also heard about artisans brought over from the peninsula to revolutionize weaving and other crafts. In the 5th century we will see the rise of sue-ware pottery, a kind of high temperature fired stoneware that likely came over from Kara. You see the same techniques adopted in Silla for their pottery around the same time. These techniques required extremely high temperatures, requiring a new kind of kiln, built upon a hillside. These same high-temperature techniques would have been useful in the process of extracting iron, necessary for all of the arms and armor we are seeing.
But of course, when it comes to pottery, it isn’t just peninsular style stoneware that we see—local traditions were also evolving. In particular, we see more and varied styles of haniwa, those terracotta clay figures that adorned so many of the kofun, particularly the monumental kingly kofun. Eventually these figurines would come to be important windows in to what life actually looked like at this time.
And as we are talking about the march of time and things that were eventually forgotten, I’m also reminded of Professor Kishimoto Naofumi’s dual kingship model. We talked about this a little bit previously, but this model states that for a time, there were actually two sovereigns: one who ruled as a sacred authority, interpreting the signs of the kami and directing the spiritual well-being of the land, while another dealt with more secular matters, having to do with things like administration of the government as well as any military activities. This goes back to the description in the Wei Chronicles of how Queen Himiko ruled through her spiritual power, and others seemed to be handling the day to day work of administering Yamato, and it is further indicated in the shapes of the kofun themselves. In fact, Prof. Kishimoto points to aspects of their shapes like certain protrusions, and the number of tiers, that appear to show at least two parallel lineages for tomb construction. I wanted to bring this back up, because otherwise we get just the view of the Chronicles, which crams all of the rulers into a single, largely unbroken, patrilineal descent model, either because the 8th century chroniclers couldn’t conceive of anything different from their current model or possibly because they had drunk too much of the continental KoolAid in regards to what was a quote-unquote “proper” model of kingship.
So here we have the possibility for two separate lines stretching back to at least Himiko. When, with Homuda Wake, the power of Yamato moved from the Nara basin out to Kawachi, with its greater access to the sea, that could be a demonstration of another chiefly line taking control, or it could be indicative of a desire for easier access to the waterways that led to the peninsula and the rest of the continent. Either way it pulls the sacral ruler further west, away from the holy mountain of Mt. Miwa, and seems to turn the face of Yamato towards the trade connecting it with the continent.
And that brings us back to where we are in the narrative. The sovereign, Homuda Wake, was dead. His body may have been laid out for a time—mogari—before being entombed in one of the kingly kofun. Tradition says that this was Kondayama Kofun, and based on the size it was likely constructed well before his death, as some have estimated that construction of something that large would have taken at least a decade. Tomb construction was probably a business all unto itself, constantly in motion, organizing the labor, resources, etc. for both the tombs of the rulers but also other elites across the archipelago. The construction would likely have been taking place as the backdrop to Homuda Wake’s court.
Now from what we are told, the succession issue after Homuda Wake passed should have been pretty cut and dried. After all, Homuda Wake had set up his son, Uji no Waki Iratsuko, as the Crown Prince. As for his other two eligible sons, he had actually set them up as well. Oho Yamamori had been put in charge of the mountain areas, while Oho Sazaki, whom you may recall from last episode gave Homuda Wake the answer he had been looking for in terms of his succession decision, was made the Assistant to the Crown Prince and put in charge of administration—which sounds vaguely similar to idea that he may have been set up as a co-ruler, per professor Kishimoto’s model, while his brother, Uji no Waki Iratsuko, was set up to succeed Homuda Wake directly.
Whatever was actually going on, of course the story in the Chronicle maintains the story of a single throne and a single ruler, and Uji no Waki Iratsuko was supposed to be that ruler. But, as you might have guessed, that isn’t how everyone saw things. Now Oho Sazaki had no problem with this arrangement, we are told. He immediately turned over the reigns of government to his brother. Uji no Waki Iratsuko, on the other hand, well he didn’t actually want to take the reigns of power himself. He looked at his older brother, and everything he was doing to run the country, and he tried to turn everything over to him. Oho Sazaki wouldn’t hear of it, of course—their father had made his decision, and Oho Sazaki was determined that they would stick to it.
Meanwhile, their eldest brother, Oho Yamamori, aka Nukada no Oho Naka tsu Hiko, had other ideas. He wasn’t at all pleased with how things had turned out, and he was more than willing to take matters into his own hands.
The first we hear about Oho Yamamori gathering power is in the Nihon Shoki, and it is something of an ancient legal dispute. You see, he attempted to use his position to take administration of the official rice-lands and granaries in Yamato from a member of the court, Ou no Sukune, claiming that the lands had originally been a part of the Mountain Warden, or Yamamori, land. As Oho Yamamori, he believed that he should have governance over those lands and how the granaries were run. From a western perspective, this is like requesting the keys to the royal vault. From at least the 8th century, when the Chronicles were written, and probably going back to the early structures of wealth in the rice-growing Yayoi culture, control of the production and distribution of rice was one of the main features of elite administration. Owning rice-land, which is to say being entitled to the taxes on that land, as well as handling the granaries where taxed rice was stored would provide a tremendous income boost, as throughout most of Japan’s history, it was common for the one controlling the taxes to take some amount for themselves, as long as the state got what it was owed.
And so it is little wonder that Ou no Sukune was taken aback at having these fields and granaries removed from his administration. He went Homuda Wake’s designated heir, Uji no Waki Iratsuko, to submit a report and ask for a ruling, but Uji no Waki Iratsuko delegated—perhaps showing that he was cut out for leadership after all. He sent Ou no Sukune to his older brother, Oho Sazaki no Mikoto, to make the report to him, instead. Of course, Oho Sazaki had been administering the government for his father already, so he knew what needed to be done. In this case he went to a man named Maro, the ancestor of the Yamato no Atahe. He asked Maro if it was truly the case that that the granaries and rice-land originally belonged to the administration of the Yamamori. This was probably because much of the early Wa legal system seems to have been based on precedent and tradition. It is, of course, unclear how such precedent would be passed down originally—perhaps there were specialists among groups like the Katari-be who memorized not only genealogies but important events as well. After the advent of writing, court families would maintain their own diaries and records of what had happened, and why, and these would be passed down, creating private repositories of precedent that helped cement their family’s status and importance to the court.
In this case, however, Maro was at a loss, but he suggested that they contact his younger brother, Agoko, whom he was sure would have an answer for them. Unfortunately, Agoko was off on a mission in Kara, and so Ou no Sukune was sent to recall him. Ou was given command of some 80 fishermen—one might say a boatload of fishermen—from Awaji to act as oarsmen. There seems to be a correlation that the more oarsmen, the faster a boat will travel, and so this seems to indicate he was sent off with all haste.
Ou no Sukune made it to Kara and found Agoko and brought him back to the court. Agoko, who must have been quite the student of the old stories, told the court what he knew. According to Dr. John Bentley’s translation in the Sendai Kuji Hongi, aka the Kujiki, Agoko said: “Tradition says that during the reign of the Great King who ruled from the Makimuku Tamaki Palace—which is to say Ikume Iribiko, aka Keikou Tennou, the 11th sovereign and part of the previous dynasty—the authority was given to Heir to the Throne, Oho Tarashi Hiko, who established the granaries of Yamato. At that time, the edict read, ’All granaries of Yamato are to be the granaries of the Great King and not the property of the child of a Great King. If the Great King is not in power, then the granaries are not his.’ Therefore this land is not the land of the Yamamori.”
While that is likely an insertion by the Chroniclers—after all, we have no evidence of written edicts from the time of Oho Tarashi Hiko, for one thing—the answer that Agoko was giving was pretty clear: The granaries and rice land all were owned by the actual sovereign—the Oho Kimi, or Great King—so Prince Oho Naka tsu Hiko – aka Oho Yamamori - could get bent. Sure, Uji no Waki Iratsuko and Oho Sazaki were still vacillating on who should actually be running things, but it wasn’t Oho Yamamori , so he couldn’t just go around demanding control of the rice lands and granaries.
Oho Yamamori was at a loss. He apparently didn’t have anyone on his side to refute Agoko’s argument, and so he dropped his case. Specifically we are told that he “realized that he was in the wrong”, and because of his contrition his brother, Oho Sazaki, forgave him and didn’t do anything to further punish him for his actions.
The story goes on that Oho Yamamori was fuming. First, he had been passed over to inherit the throne by his father, Homuda Wake, and now he had been rice-blocked by his two younger brothers. *He* was the eldest and *he* was entitled to sit on that throne, and he would do whatever it took to make sure that came true. And so he started to raise an army in secret to kill his brother, Uji no Waki Iratsuko, the heir to the throne.
“Secret”, however, is a relative term. Word of Oho Yamamori’s plans reached their middle brother, Oho Sazaki no Mikoto, who immediately went and told Uji no Waki Iratsuko, who in turn raised up an army of his own. The Kojiki tells us that these men were concealed along the banks of what may have been the Kizu River, south of Uji, and that curtains were placed at the top of a nearby mountain or hill, to make it look like Waki Iratsuko was there, holding court. They even dressed a decoy up and placed him on a dais so that it would further seem like it was Waki no Irtasuko up there. The Nihon Shoki and the Kujiki suggest that this was the location of Waki Iratsuko’s own palace—hence the “Uji” in his name. Either way, Oho Yamamori approached with his men, expecting to catch him unawares.
Meanwhile, Waki Iratsuko had put on a disguise. This is one feature that all of the Chronicles agree on—he disguised himself as a common ferryman and set himself up on the side of the river. Some accounts even claim that he greased the boats to make them more slippery. And it wasn’t only Waki Iratsuko who had disguised himself—Oho Yamamori had concealed his troops and moved them in secret, while he, himself, wore clothing over his own armor, to hide his martial intentions. When he finally arrived at the river, he looked across and saw what he thought was Waki Iratsuko on the other side. Confident that his victory was a mere boat ride away, Oho Yamamori got into the ferry, not realizing that the commoner running it was none other than his own brother.
Glowing the confidence of a comic book supervillain just before his plans come to fruition, Oho Yamamori posed a cryptic question to the ferryman, asking him if he thought that he could take the “huge enraged boar” on the mountain on the other side. At this the Waki Iratsuko said that he would not take the boar, and then suddenly he tipped the boat, dumping his brother, Oho Yamamori, into the river.
As Oho Yamamori floundered in the river, fighting against the weight of his armor, he begged the ferryman to help him, still not realizing it was his brother. Of course, he was a royal prince, so this wasn’t just some exclamation, but it was sung out in lines of poetry. Or so we are told—that may just have been a narrative device to help remember and recount the dramatic part of the story. Either way, he called out, and, when no help was forthcoming, he tried to swim to shore. As soon as Waki Iratusko had tipped the boat, however, his own men arose on the banks of the river, bows in hand, and they kept Oho Yamamori from reaching either bank before he finally sank beneath the water. Later they would search the river near where he went under and eventually they found him as their poles hit his metal armor, and they dragged his body out of the river at a place known as Kawara, said to be part of modern Kyoutanabe city, just south of Uji. There is a poem of grief attributed to Waki Iratsuko, who *had* just thrown his own brother overboard and watched him drown, after all. Later, he would have Oho Yamamori buried in a tomb on Mt. Nara—traditionally identified as Sakaimedani Kofun, aka Narayama-baka, north of modern Nara city, south of the supposed site of the conflict. Oho Yamamori’s line didn’t end with him, however, and several families traced their lineage back to this figure.
So with that out of the way, one might assume that Uji no Waki Iratsuko had finally come into his own. He had shown that he could raise an army, outsmart a foe, and take the necessary steps to stay in power—even if it meant the death of his own older brother. One assumes he could have used his victory to cement his place in the lineage. And yet… he *still* insisted on making his older brother, Oho Sazaki no Mikoto, take the throne. And Oho Sazaki continued to defer, claiming he didn’t want to go against his father’s wishes. And so for a while there they were, each in their own private homes, which should have become the new court once Homuda Wake passed away, but each refusing to take up the mantle. Waki Iratsuko had his palace up in Uji and Oho Sazaki was probably living in Naniwa—modern Ohosaka.
Things were so bad, that people weren’t sure what to do. For example, one day a fisherman, or “ama” in Japanese, came to the Uji Palace with a mat filled with fresh fish to offer up to the sovereign. He approached Uji no Waki Iratsuko with the gift, since he had been named as Crown Prince and successor by the previous sovereign, Homuda Wake. But Waki Iratsuko refused the gift. “I am not the sovereign,” he told the fisherman, and anyone listening. He insisted that the gift should be presented down river at the Naniwa palace of his brother, Oho Sazaki no Mikoto. This was a journey of probably around 40 km, or 24 miles, and would have taken a day on foot—perhaps not quite so much on the river, but still something of a hike.
And so the fisherman dutifully took his catch down to Naniwa, where he presented it to Ohosazaki no Mikoto, but Oho Sazaki also refused it, just as had his younger brother. He would not go against their father’s orders, and so he commanded the fisherman to head back to Uji no Waki Iratsuko.
Now by this time the day had grown late, and the fish were starting to go bad with all of the travel, and so the fisherman tossed the whole thing and resolved to try again the next day with a new catch.
Sure enough, he caught the fish and wrapped them up, just as before. He went to the palace in Uji, this time prepared to explain that Oho Sazaki had sent him back, but it was no use. Just as before, Uji no Waki Iratsuko insisted that he was not the sovereign and that any offerings had to be made down in Naniwa to Oho Sazaki. Once again the fisherman made the treck, but just as had happened the day before, Oho Sazaki refused, claiming he was not the sovereign. Once again, with all the back and forth, the fish were rotten and no longer good for anyone to eat, and we are told that the fisherman just threw up his hands and wept, for there was nothing else he could do.
From this came a saying: “Ama Nare Ya, Onogamono kara nenaku”—“There is a Fisherman who Weeps on account of his Own Things”.
And it seems like things may have continued on like this, which couldn’t have been good for anybody. Somebody was going to have to budge, but who would it be.
According to the Nihon Shoki, it was Uji no Waki Iratsuko who finally took matters into his own hands. Seeing that his older brother would not give in, and realizing that this couldn’t continue like this or everything would fall apart, Uji no Waki Iratsuko, we are told, took his own life.
As soon as the shocking news reached Waki Iratsuko’s brother, Oho Sazaki, he raced upriver to Uji. As he got there, they were already preparing Waki Iratsuko’s body for burial, and we are told that he was lying in the coffin, dead, when Oho Sazaki arrived, weeping and wailing and pouring out his heart. It seems, however, that Waki Iratsuko was not quite ready to fully leave the mortal plane, however. Though he seemed to be dead as a doornail he suddenly sat bolt upright in his coffin and addressed Oho Sazaki. The zombie prince told his older brother not to grieve, because this was in the best interest of the country, and Waki Iratsuko then asked Oho Sazaki to take Waki Iratsuko’s sister—a daughter of Homuda Wake, but by a different mother than Oho Sazaki—as a wife and to install her in one of the side palaces. After saying all of that, he then fell down dead once more. Tradition states he was buried at Maruyama Kofun in Uji—also just known as Uji-baka—a round keyhole style tomb on the north side of the Uji River in modern Uji city.
And so it was that Oho Sazaki no Mikoto, also known as Nintoku Tennou, finally ascended the throne.
We’ll talk about his reign over the next few episodes, but let’s quickly take a look back at this story. One of the things that struck me as I was reading this in the different sources is that this seems to be one of the stories where there is generally agreement between the various chronicles. It isn’t something that just shows up in one or two, but all three, and the with similar beats in the action, with only small differences in the details. So either they were drawing from the same story or it was a fairly well known and popular one, I would assume.
Still, that doesn’t mean I fully trust all the details. For instance, were they really all siblings, sons of Homuda Wake? Or were they simply separate claimants to the throne? Even if they were all three sons of Homuda Wake, did they all have an equal claim to the throne? We’ve typically seen in the past that there is a single queen whose progeny are then eligible, but here we have three different potential sovereigns from three different queens. It is, of course, possible that the blood ties were fabricated, later, based on an assumption that it was needed to succeed the previous ruler.
Then there is the question of whether or not things were really this cut and dried. It seems like a lot, even when dressed in peasant garb, to assume that Oho Yamamori would not recognize his own brother. Things still have a somewhat fantastical bent to them, though it certainly is possible—the idea of lining the river with your men and having them shoot at someone so they could not swim to either bank seems like a tactic that someone might try.
Even if we take the whole thing at face value, though, it says something about just how perilous and chaotic the period after a sovereign’s death could be. Without a clear tradition that laid out who would succeed, fights could easily erupt between different claimants to the throne, even when a Crown Prince had clearly been named. In this case the eldest clearly thought that they deserved the throne, and the middle and youngest brothers continued to bicker over just who should have it. And while I wonder if some of that isn’t just a romantic face to a much more complex and, perhaps, bloody affair, it is probably the case that this was often what happened. Heck, even back in the stories about Queen Himiko it sounds as if there was often some chaos a ruler passed away as they tried to determine who would be next. So let’s keep that in mind as we see stories of seemingly “simple” succession stories.
I’ll end this episode with one more note, and that is actually about a rather famous shrine that is connected with this whole episode, and that is Ujigami Jinja, in, as you may have guessed by the name, Uji city.
Uji city, situated between Kyoto and Nara, is known for many things, tea being one of the more well known. Uji-cha has a long history, but not as long as what we are looking for. Uji is also home to the Byodoin, an ancient Heian aristocrat’s home along the Uji river that was turned into a Buddhist worship hall after his death. And just across the river from the Byoudouin is the relatively unassuming Ujigami Shrine.
If you didn’t already know about it, you might easily pass by this UNESCO world heritage site, and yet it features some of the oldest shrine architecture in Japan. Specifically it has a honden, or main shrine, that dates back to the late Heian period, demonstrating some interesting features of classic Heian architecture. Inside the building there are three bays, each one a shrine to the three main kami of Ujigami shrine, those being, chiefly: Homuda Wake no Mikoto and two of his sons: Uji no Waki Iratsuko and Oho Sazaki no Mikoto. Homuda Wake, aka Oujin Tennou, is considered the chief deity, and worshipped at the central shrine in the main building. Interestingly, this shrine, though worshipping Oujin Tennou, does not appear to be a part of the Hachiman cult—it is not considered a Hachiman-gu. Remember, we discussed last episode how Oujin Tennou became associated with Hachiman in later years, and this may have been an association that predates that connection. In the two side shrines, Uji no Waki Iratsuko is enshrined to the left while Oho Sazaki no Mikoto, is enshrined to the right. And while the main building is the oldest and goes back to the late Heian period, there are several other buildings on the shrine grounds that go back to the Kamakura period.
Now we aren’t exactly sure when the shrine was founded, except that it was before even the main shrine hall, or honden, was erected. The shrine is mentioned in the 10th century Engi Shiki—a collection of volumes on various ceremonies written down in the Engi era, including mention of many of the more important shrines that were part of the court system around the country at that time. It is said to have been mentioned in the Fudoki as well. That still puts it some 3 centuries after the events the Chronicles describe, but it would not be surprising to learn that a shrine had been built some time ago to a local elite, and that it is quite possible that the story that was passed down in the area would be connected with the shrine. We just don’t have any written records to confirm that this is the case.
But nonetheless, if you are in Uji, drop by and maybe pay your respects to the Prince who refused to be King.
And that’s all for this episode, 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.
And as I mentioned at the top of the episode, we are opening up recurring monthly payments and the option to become a “member”, but we are still looking at what that might entail, to include transcripts, early release, special episodes, and more. If you have ideas of what you think membership might entail, hit us up at Feel free to Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page. You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com. We would love to hear from you and your ideas.
And 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.
Kishimoto, Naofumi (2013). Dual Kingship in the Kofun Period as Seen from the Keyhole Tombs. UrbanScope: e-Journal of the Urban-Culture Research Center, OCU. http://urbanscope.lit.osaka-cu.ac.jp/journal/pdf/vol004/01-kishimoto.pdf
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 48: The Life and After-Life of Homuda Wake

September 1, 2021 Joshua Badgley

19th century depiction of Homuda Wake, aka Ōjin Tennō

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This episode sees the end of the reign of Homuda Wake, and a little glimpse into the future as well. When talking about history, there is always something of a pull between trying to tell the story of the particularly time period you are looking at but also looking across the years at the influence those events had. Since almost all of history is basically one giant spoiler alert for everything up to the present, it is easy to see things as inevitable, much in the same way that we see our now as an almost ever-present Now and assume that things will always be as they are at this moment. There are so many things that don’t get any attention unless they are connected to something else.

And this episode we do a little of both. We’ll try to look at things in the context of the late 4th and early 5th centuries, but we will also take a peek into the future, particularly in regards to Homuda Wake and his connection with an important god of war whose cult will play an important role in future.

In this blogpost, we’ll dig in a little past the narrative covered in the podcast. We’ll provide some of the individuals involved, but also some of the details that just didn’t make it into the podcast itself this time around. So let’s get started.

Who’s who?

Ajikki (阿直岐)

The Baekje subject who was sent over to Yamato with the tribute of two horses in 404. He helped care for them and teach the Wa what they should do. We are also told that he could read and write and he actually became the tutor to the Crown Prince, Uji no Waki Iratsuko. He is said to be the ancestor the Atogi (Ajikki) scribes.

Wang’in/Wani (王仁)

Baekje scholar sent to Yamato in the year 405. It is thought that he may have been an ethnic Han scholar, descended from those scribes and scholars who supported the Han Commanderies in the 4th century, or possibly even from somewhere across the Yellow Sea. As soon as he arrived in the archipelago he took over Uji no Waki Iratsuko’s education.

Takuso (卓素)

Mentioned in the Kojiki as a smith from Kara who was sent over by the Baekje. The Kara region seems to have long been known for smiths and iron, at least in the archipelago, and was probably where much of Yamato’s early iron products came from. This may explain, somewhat, the similarity of arms and armour between the two regions.

Susukori (須須許理), aka Nipo (仁番)

Mentioned in the Kojiki as a brewer sent over by the Baekje king along with or shortly after Takuso. He apparently made quite the brew for the sovereign and his court, which had Homuda Wake stumbling home. In the podcast we talk about a particular proverb, or kotowaza, that comes from this episode:

堅石避醉人也　ー＞　堅石（かたしわ）も醉人（えいびと）を避（さ）く
Katashiwa mo Eibito wo Saku -> Even a solid stone avoids a drunkard.

Maketsu (眞毛津)

Seamstress (縫衣工女) sent over by the King of Baekje in 404 to the Yamato court. She is claimed as the ancestor of the seamstresses of Kume.

Saiso (西素)

A weaver of Kure (呉服 - see below) whom the Kojiki tells us came over with the smith Takuso, sent by the King of Baekje. The Nihon Shoki gives a more detailed account of how weaving came from Kure, however.

Achi no Omi (阿知使主) , Tsuga no Omi (都加使主), and the Weavers of Kure

A father and son who came over with members of the “17 Districts” (十七県). We aren’t exactly sure where they came from, but it is said that they started the Aya clan of Yamato (倭漢), where “Aya” uses the character for the Han dyansty (漢). They would eventually head back to the continent and bring back four weavers of Kure with them.

A map of northern China around 406, during the 16 Kingdoms period. YOu can see a few of the kingdoms that were competing and vying for power at this time. Map by SY, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons.

Regarding the 17 districts, I wonder if this is referencing some of the many divisions in the north of what is today the modern country of China. Though this period is called the “16 Kingdoms” period, those kingdoms were constantly shifting. Even the specific count seems to depend on what gets counted, with the name “16 Kingdoms Period” coming in around the mid-6th century. While I’m not sure of the accuracy of the specific boundaries, I think the map here, taken from Wikipedia, does a decent job of showing the confusion around the time that Achi and Tsuga would have been traveling.

Also, I’d note that the “Omi” here (使主) is interesting to me. Usually the kabane of “Omi”, which usually indicates either a minister or minister-level clan, uses the kanji for “minister”: 臣. In this case, though, they use two kanji, the first of which is often found to indicate “messengers” or “envoys”, and the second is “lord” or “master”. A more intuitive reading might be “tsukahi-nushi”, but universally it seems that “Omi” is the given reading. Dictionaries note that this is a kabane that is regularly found with foreigners. It is not uncommon to find titles that are similar in Japanese, but that use different kanji to differentiate their exact meaning.

To get to Kure, Achi and Tsuga are given two guides. Their names are Kure Ha (久礼波) and Kure Shi (久礼志). The meaning would seem to be clear, and yet their names are not spelled with the character for “Kure” (呉) used for the country.

Finally, we are actually given names for the four weavers that Achi and Tsuda are said to have brought back. They are:

Ye Hime (兄媛) - Elder Lady
Oto Hime (弟媛) - Younger Lady
Kure Hatori (呉織) - Weaver of Kure (aka Wu)
Ana Hatori (穴織) - Weaver of Holes

As you might notice, these names are not exactly informative. Two of them are little more than mentions of birth order—there is even another Ye Hime mentioned elsewhere in Homuda Wake’s own reign—and “Weaver of Kure” sounds purely descriptive. “Ana Hatori” is the only one that doesn’t immediately come to mind as an obvious place name, and yet who knows. There are places such as “Ara” on the peninsula—an “Ana” wouldn’t seem too far off. On a truly far stretch I could possibly draw a connection between the story of Amaterasu and the Heavenly Rock Cave, but that is a bit too far at this point, I think. Notably, there is nothing close to the name “Saiso”, given in the Kojiki.

King Jeonji of Baekje (腆支 / 直支)

Prince (and eventually King) of Baekje. He reigned from 405 to either 415 (the date given in the Nihon Shoki) or 420 (the date given in the Baekje records in the Samguk Sagi). His name is most popularly known as Jeonji (腆支), but is also recognized as Jikji (直支), though Aston posits that this later name is taken from the name of Ajikki, and is a mistake. The Samguk Sagi seems to also claim that “Jikji” is another name, but given its dating it is always possible that for some of these entries they were consulting the Japanese chronicles—though if that were the case I would expect more consistency between them on certain issues, to be honest.

Speaking of, the death of King Jeonji is odd for its disagreement between the sources. In large part, we can match up the sexagesimal dates between the Samguk Sagi records and the Nihon Shoki, at least when the same record exists. Occasionally they might be a year off, which could be explained by when they leave one court and eventually arrive at another. But in this case there are at least 5 years difference between the sources. So which one is correct?

On the one hand, we might assume that the Samguk Sagi is correct since it is the peninsular source. However, it was also written much later, compiled from earlier histories which, as far as I am aware, are no longer extant. The Nihon Shoki was written closer to the events—though still centuries out, and the compilers also appear to have had access to annals specifically from Baekje.

Personally, I suspect that the Nihon Shoki may be right, in this instance, or at least closer to the truth, and they may be in good company. Dr. Jonathan Best, in A History of the Early Korean Kingdom of Paekche, notes that there is a record for Emperor An of the Eastern Jin (晉安帝), who, in 416, sent an envoy to bestow various titles on the King of Baekje. This shows up in the Nan Shi (南史) and the Song Shu (宋書 - compiled 492-493), where they refer to this king as “餘映” (Yú Ying in Pinyin or Yeo Yeong in modern Korean). Later, in 420, Yeo Yeong is given a new title by the Eastern Jin court, and in 424 that same King, King Yeo Yeong, is said to have sent an envoy to the court of Liu Song.

Now if the Nihon Shoki is correct, it is possible that the king known to the Eastern Jin as Yeo Yeong was Guisin, and perhaps 420 was the year that he attained his majority and even started ruling by himself, which could explain why the Eastern Jin bestowed him with a new title, celebrating his changed status. If, however, this was King Jeonji, as the Samguk Sagi claims, then that envoy arriving in 424 must have somehow been sent at least 4 years earlier, or else we get another contradiction.

My suspicion is that later Baekje records cleaned things up, so that Guisin’s reign began upon him attaining the age of majority, possibly overlooking or sweeping away a potentially embarrassing incident involving Mong Manchi, for whatever reason—either because he just wasn’t considered that important or because the story is less than flattering for the Baekje royal house.

Prince Hunhae of Baekje (訓解)

As the brother of King Asin, Hunhae was the uncle to Jeonji, and upon Asin’s death, Hunhae took the throne of Baekje, reportedly holding it until Jeonji returned, at least according to the Samguk Sagi. However, he was killed by Asin’s youngest brother, Jeomnye, who then usurped the throne. One has to wonder whether or not Hunhae actually had intended to hold the throne for Jeonji, or if he was just another claimant to the throne, despite the noble intentions ascribed to him.

Prince Jeomnye [Jeoprye?] of Bakeje (蝶禮)

Youngest brother of King Asin who killed Prince Hunhae and usurped the throne. Because of this, Prince Jeonji held off his return, holing up on an island with 100 Wa troops. Eventually the people overthrew him and welcomed Jeonji back. Or at least that is what the official records tell us.

King Guisin of Bakeje (久爾辛)

Son and heir to King Jeonji of Baekje. He was apparently too young to rule when he came to the throne, and Mong Manchi seems to have acted as a regent, at least according to the Nihon Shoki. The Baekje Annals of the Samguk Sagi ignore this altogether, which may partly account for why his reign starts many years later in peninsular chronicles.

Mong Manchi (木満致)

Mong Manchi is the son of the general Mong Nageunja (木羅斤資f) (or possibly Mongna Geunja? Given the names, the former is probably correct, though Aston had it in the latter form) and a Silla woman. He seems to have been a lord or even king in Nimna (任那) one of the states of Kara (加羅). When King Jeonji of Baekje died, the Nihon Shoki claims that he took over the administration of that state. The Japanese record claims that Mong Manchi had an affair—or at least improper relations—with the Queen Mother, and so he was recalled by Yamato. The section of the Baekje chronicle claims that he was recalled because of his violence. Of course, there remains a question: what power did Yamato have to recall him in the first place?

Continental Clans

There are three clans, or uji, that come up this reign, and I want to talk briefly about them. All three of these may even be found as surnames, today, and the kanji used for each comes from a particular dynasty, with various claims of connection. The strange thing is that the name associated—the way the name is pronounced—has no apparent connection to the dynasty or kanji in question, but it is thought that it may have something to do with a weaving technique or type of fabric or similar that may have been brought over and associated with each one, much like we associate porcelain with “China”. These may have originally been groups—probably with immigrant roots—who were dedicated to making the products in question. The names are:

Hata (秦) - This name references the Qin dynasty of the 3rd century BCE. Some sources would associate people of this name with the early attempts at finding the Island of the Immortals. Others claim that they traveled over to Jinhan during the Qin and later emigrated to the archipelago from there, possibly with the people of Yutsuki. Hata may reference weaving and looms.
Aya (漢) - This is less common, today, it seems. The name references the Han dynasty, and some stories connect them with Achi no Omi and his son, whom they claim descended from the Han ruling family before it fell. Aya likely refers to figured cloth.
Kure (呉) - This references the Wu kingdom, one of the Three Kingdoms that arose after the fall of the Han. I am less confident on what the word “kure” could have been referring to, but it seems obvious that much of what is called “Kure” in the chronicles would have to have been some other place.

Hachiman

The god Hachiman will be quite important in later centuries. For our purposes it is mainly the fact that he is associated closely with Homuda Wake that is of interest, though that is likely due to stories that came out around the 9th century.

If you are looking to read up on the early stories about Hachiman, his divinations, etc., Dr. Ross Bender did a lot of work in this area. You may want to check out his work on Hachiman and how it plays into the Dōkyō Incident.

Homuda Wake’s Kofun

Aerial photo of Kondayama kofun. Copyright © National Land Image Information (Color Aerial Photographs), Ministry of Land, Infrastructure, Transport and Tourism. — **Aerial photo of Kondayama kofun. Copyright ©** **National Land Image Information (Color Aerial Photographs), Ministry of Land, Infrastructure, Transport and Tourism.**

As with other early kofun, we are not positive that this one belongs to Homuda Wake, but it certainly is grand. It is the second largest kofun in size, but it is estimated that it has more actual material than any other kofun in Japan. There are several kofun around it, as well, crowding it, and earthquakes and erosion have done their fair share as well. By all accounts it does seem to be around the 5th century, and had an impressive number of Haniwa—though human figures would still be a little later on.

The informal name of the kofun seems to be “Konda Yama”, using the first two characters of Homuda Wake’s name: 誉田山.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is episode 48: The Life and After-Life of Homuda Wake
This episode is probably the last episode for Homuda Wake—we’ve covered some of the points about his reign, from the events written down on the Gwangaetto Stele in the 5th century, to the hostages from Baekje and Silla living at his court, all of which seem to indicate that the Wa were a power of some sort in the region—if not quite as powerful as their own Chronicles make them out to be. We are also told that this is when writing, in the form of Sinographic characters, first came to the islands, along with horses and classic continental literature. We’ve also talked about a few of the other characters from this period, including Takechi no Sukune and Katsuraki no Sotsuhiko, who dealt with things on the continent as well as those back at home. This episode we’ll continue with a few other things between the archipelago and the continent, and discuss briefly what this means. We’ll also discuss matters on the archipelago, such as the division of Kibi, Homuda Wake’s choice of Crown Prince, and more. And then, of course, we’ll talk about what happened after Homuda Wake’s reign—and we’ll touch briefly on how he is connected to one of the most famous kami in the archipelago: Hachiman, the God of War. We’ll talk about all that and finish up with a brief description of the kofun said to be his—one of the largest kofun in all of Japan.
Now, as a reminder, based on all of the stories and some of the events that can be corroborated with the peninsular records, we can make the assumption that this was all went down sometime in the late 4th and early 5th century, which is also a period of change in the archaeological record. Swords and suits of armor start to replace the bronze mirrors that had previously been common in large tombs, which would also seem to indicate that soldiers and martial pursuits were well valued, which certainly seems in step with the various conflicts both on the peninsula and within the archipelago.
And thus through trade and conflict, continental culture was flowing across the straits to the archipelago, where it was mingling with the people and traditions already present. Given the close ties between the islands and the peninsula throughout the previous centuries, it may be difficult to say just when any particular thing came over, but during this reign, as we’ve seen, travel and immigration in both directions was particularly noted.
Most of the immigration appears to be through Yamato’s close ally on the peninsula, the Kingdom of Baekje. Of course, some of those who came to Yamato were only temporary residents. These are the envoys and high status individuals like Prince Jeonji, King Asin’s own Crown Prince. Others seem to have come over on a more permanent or at least semi-permanent basis—primarily scholars and artisans. For instance, we already talked about how Ajikki was sent over with the Baekje king’s gift of horses to teach the Wa how to care for them and eventually raise horses of their own. And then there was Wang’in, who was brought over specifically to help teach the continental classics and how to read and write.
The Kojiki notes a smith, named Takuso, who also came over during this reign, and then there was the man known as Nipo, aka Susukori. He was a brewer, which put him in good stead with the court, who appreciated a good drink. Now we know that Yamato had alcohol, so this wasn’t exactly new technology, and we aren’t even told if he introduced anything particularly new to the archipelago. But he was, apparently, quite talented. He brewed a stiff drink for the Sovereign and his court, and it seems that everyone drank their fill, singing songs and just having a grand old time—in other words, not that much different from certain types of Japanese celebrations, today. Homuda Wake even made up songs of praise for Susukori, he was so pleased. Later that evening, the sovereign, Homuda Wake, staggered down the road, where he came upon a large rock. We are told that he struck the rock with his walking stick and sent it flying away.
From this seemingly innocuous incident we are told there was a kotowaza, or proverb, that you might even hear today:
Katashiwa mo Eibito wo Saku.
In English we might say: “Even a solid stone avoids a drunkard.”
Of course, it isn’t as if this proverb led to any kind of temperance movement. People continued to enjoy their adult beverages, nonetheless.
The other major craft that is mentioned as coming over during this reign was that of fabric arts. We previously mentioned the seamstress Maketsu coming over—a seamstress, likely bringing over continental fashions and how to make them. And then, elsewhere, they mention weavers—those who make the actual fabric from which the clothes are put together—coming over as well. The Kojiki mentions a weaver named Saiso, who is said to be from Kure, while the Nihon Shoki gives us more details.
In fact, it is in the Nihon Shoki where we hear the story of Achi no Omi and Tsuga no Omi, a father and son team. Achi no Omi himself is said to have immigrated from the continent around 409, bringing with him his son, Tsuga. They came to Yamato with a retinue of people from what the Chronicles call the 17 districts. While there doesn’t seem to be anything that firmly identifies just *which* 17 districts we are talking about, Achi no Omi is said to be the ancestor of the Yamato no Aya, where the name “Aya” utilizes the character for the Han dynasty. Later genealogies would claim that he was a direct descendant of the Han royal family, which might make sense if we were using the uncorrected dating of the chronicles, but seems less plausible for the 5th century. Nonetheless, there is a clear connection between him and the continental mainland, suggesting he may, indeed, have been an ethnic Han immigrant. The Yamato court would later ask Achi no Omi and his son to travel back to the land they had come from and to ask for weavers to be sent to Yamato.
Indeed, they headed out on their mission, but when they reached the peninsula, they couldn’t find a way to their apparent homeland. We are told they were headed to the court of Kure, more commonly known as Wu, one of the three Kingdoms that arose after the fall of the Han in the 3rd century. Which might have been accurate if we took the Nihon Shoki’s dates at face value, but even the Wu had been displaced by the time of our current sovereign, given our corrected dates, so if this happened then it was likely that they were traveling to either Eastern Jin, whose court was, at that point, operating out of the area of modern Nanjing, or else to one of the other, northern states that had arisen—perhaps one of the Yan or Wei kingdoms. This is known, after all, as the era of the Sixteen Kingdoms—though even that number may be off depending on how you count. Suffice it to say there are a lot of possibilities here for where they ended up.
Regardless, to get from the peninsula to the mainland, it seems that these envoys would need more than just the assistance of Baekje, and the Nihon Shoki claims that it was only through the help of Goguryeo, who provided them guides, that they were able to make the journey to “Kure”, whichever polity that was—which is somewhat interesting given that Baekje had established relations with the Eastern Jin by at least 372. It is possible that, given the turmoil on the peninsula several decades later, during the reign of Gwangaetto the Great, any unilateral path to the Eastern Jin court had been blocked, making Goguryeo the ultimate interlocutors for relations with the continent. Or perhaps, as mentioned, they were going somewhere else altogether. Either way, they were successful in their mission, and Achi and Tsuga returned with four weavers who brought with them the traditions of the mainland. Of course, we don’t have any clear evidence for this in any of the court records from the mainland, though, again, that may be understandable if they were dealing with one of the outer states and not a formal envoy to the imperial capital.
All of these stories demonstrate the kind of contact that the archipelago had with the mainland, and the individuals who were coming over, often starting new families who would, one assumes, become responsible of the production of continental goods in the archipelago. Information may even be hidden in the names, here. The names “Aya” and “Kure” for instance, though spelled with the sinographic characters for the Han and Wu dynasties, use a native Japanese gloss in their reading that doesn’t clearly identify with anything on the continent, but which may instead refer to the type of woven fabrics that were associated with each dynasty.
It is also interesting to me how the court was relying on a lot of continental assistance in the form of allies or immigrants to undertake these missions for them. Achi and Tsuga are said to have come over to the archipelago less than a decade before they were back up and heading back to the mainland. Horses and writing were sent to Yamato by the King of Baekje. Even the muscle that was being used on the peninsula was apparently a Baekje general.
But of course, it isn’t just what Baekje could do for Yamato—it was also about what Yamato could do for Baekje. Enter the story of Prince Jeonji.
Just a quick recap from previous episodes, Prince Jeonji was a hostage at the Yamato court, sent in 397 by his father, King Asin of Baekje, who came to the throne after the death—some sources suggest overthrow and murder—of Asin’s own uncle, King Jinsa. Prince Jeonji may have been sent to keep him safe, given that Goguryeo had previously defeated Baekje and taken several members of its court back with them, or he may have been sent to appease an angry Yamato. Either way, young Prince Jeonji grew up in Yamato until the unwelcome tidings of his father’s death reached the court 12 years later, in 405 CE, a date that seems to correspond between the Nihon Shoki and the Baekje annals of the Samguk Sagi with a clean break of 120 years, or two sexagesimal cycles of 60 years each.
Immediately, Homuda Wake suggested that Prince Jeonji return and take the throne, which I’m sure was entirely altruistic and had absolutely nothing at all to do with making sure that Yamato had a known quantity and a friendly ruler in place in Baekje. Homuda Wake even gave him command of 100 Wa soldiers to help.
Of course, this may have been more than just some courtesy. The Tonggam and the Samguk Sagi appear to agree that when King Asin died, his brother, Prince Hunhae, took over as regent until Prince Jeonji could return, and he was likely the one who sent for Jeonji in the first place. However, before Prince Jeonji could arrive King Asin’s youngest brother, Cheomnye, took the throne. The Samguk Sagi seems to make this out as an usurpation, but I would note that from what we’ve seen of the period and penn-insular succession rules in general, neither primogeniture nor patrilineal descent appears to have been necessary to claim legitimacy. In fact, in many cases it seems to have only been a requirement that one be the eldest—probably male—member of the family, and even *that* hasn’t been a hard and fast rule. Forms of agnatic succession—where the throne passes to a brother, rather than the sovereign’s own children—are definitely in evidence. This is all well and good, of course, until you get a couple generations in and suddenly have a plethora of potential royal candidates.
Anyway, it may have been this usurpation by Cheonmye that caused Homuda Wake to provide some Wa soldiers to help out. And yet, they were hardly used. Prince Jeonji made his way to the peninsula, but upon hearing that his uncle had usurped the throne, he withdrew with the troops to an island. There he waited until the people themselves, fed up with Cheonmye’s rule, overthrew him and placed Prince Jeonji on the throne as the true successor.
Now did the people really just overthrow Cheonmye, or did the Wa forces see a bit of action? We aren’t entirely sure, though it seems that the Baekje people have a suspicious habit of nobly rising up against a king as soon as it is convenient to prevent any whiff of the Wa having a hand in regime change. For my part, I see the heavy hand of Yamato in continental politics once again.
Of course, none of this should be too surprising, given the close association between the Wa and the peninsula. And here is where we get into territory that will likely cause some people a bit of a headache. Because there is plenty of reason to believe that a lot more came over from the continent than just new technologies. With artisans coming over and bringing others, as did Achi no Omi, they likely did what immigrants around the world have done and brought their own ideas, beliefs, and spiritual practices. We’ve already seen how material evidence of Yayoi spiritual life echoes, in some ways, the spiritual life that we see on the peninsula, and so it would seem no great stretch if the residents of the archipelago continued to incorporate some of the beliefs of the people immigrating into Japan. And so it is with little surprise that we see similarities in the ancient myths and legends of the archipelago with those of the continent. Even some of the kami that would come to be central to later beliefs, have connections with the continent. Susanowo is actually said, in some stories, to have first come down from heaven to the peninsula, where he then made his way over. And some of the aspects of the story of even Amaterasu Ohokami herself, and her weaving hall, seems to have a connection with the various weaver deity cults that we see elsewhere on the mainland. This is not to suggest that these are exactly foreign—the stories as we know them were still developing. For example, the kofun burials of this time were largely pit burials, dug into the top of the main mound of the kofun. It wouldn’t be until some time later that they would being a practice of building a corridor into the mound, which itself would seem to inspire some of the imagery around the whole world of the dead—the dark world of Yomi. And by that time, local and foreign legends and stories were merged, and foreign aspects were localized to the archipelago.
And there is nothing to suggest that the transfer was simply one way. It is hard to know what went from the peninsula to the archipelago and what went from the archipelago to the peninsula. Importantly, though, is that many of these things were transnational, meaning they crossed the various borders, often blending foreign and native concepts together. This is why I spend so much time talking about the mainland as well as the islands, because none of it developed in an isolated bubble. This often causes problems when people would like to have a clean narrative, especially for nationalists who want to see Japan and the Japanese Imperial Household as more isolated, unique, and unadulterated than it ever actually was. In contrast, we have plenty of examples of high ranking court nobles, whose offspring would marry into the royal line, with claims of continental descent. There is even an example of a Baekje princess who was sent to Yamato to become one of the sovereign’s wives.
Looking in the other direction, material culture, such as pottery and even burial practices from the archipelago show up in the peninsula from at least the Yayoi period onward. In the late 5th century we even see round keyhole shaped tomb mounds, oddly similar to those in the archipelago, showing up in the Yongsan River Basin in the southwestern peninsular region. This was a highly dynamic time for the region, during which many of the things that we may take for granted as being fundamental to Japanese history and identity were still being forged in the fires of international trade and immigration.
Back to the story of King Jeonji, there is one more event that I want to touch on here before we take a look at the rest of what was happening in the archipelago, and that is the death of King Jeonji. It seems that he was not fated to outlive Homuda Wake, and the Nihon Shoki claims that he died in 414, only nine years after his father and his return to Baekje. Upon his death his son, Kuisin, was named king, but he was still a child. And so a regent came to power: Mong Manchi. Now Mong Manchi was the son of Mong Nageunja, whom you may remember as the Baekje general who had helped in the late 4th century Baekje-Wa Alliance and who later had gone to Silla to stop Katsuraki no Sotsuhiko—though sometimes it is questionable whether he served Baekje, Yamato, or was his own independent warlord of some sort who allied with both.
Anyway, the excerpt of the Baekje Annals in the Nihon Shoki claims that Mong Manchi had taken over Baekje forcibly. According to the Nihon Shoki, with apologies to Aston, the Baekje record states: "Mong-man-chi was the son of Mong-na Keuncha, born to him of a Silla woman when he invaded that country. The great services of his father gave him absolute authority in Nimna. He came into our country [that is, Baekje] and went back and forward to the honourable country, accepting the control of the Celestial Court. He seized the administration of our country, and his power was supreme in that day. The court, hearing of his violence, recalled him." The Japanese Chroniclers of course assume that the “honorable country”, or “Kui-guo”, is Japan, as is the “Celestial Court”. Their own entry embellishes this story further, claiming that Mong Manchi was a subject of Yamato and that his actual crime wasn’t forcibly placing himself on the throne but rather having improper relations with the widowed Queen Mother.
Now this isn’t clear evidence of any actual Yamato interference and influence, at least not to my mind. After all, we aren’t sure that the “honorable country” actually referred to Japan, and the idea that Homuda Wake was presiding over something that Baekje would call the Celestial Court also appears to be equally suspect to my eyes. However the idea that that the throne of Baekje was briefly usurped by someone, possibly the King of Nimna itself may not be too farfetched.
And perhaps that is where we would leave it if it weren’t for one *tiny* detail. You see the Samguk Sagi and the Dongguk Tonggam appear to refute this whole story. They claim that King Jeonji didn’t die in 414, as the Japanese chronicle would appear to suggest, but rather that he died in 420, and his son, Kuisin, then took the throne, without any evidence of the kind of trouble suggested by the Baekje record in the Nihon Shoki. So what, exactly, is going on here? Did the Chroniclers just insert that entire episode in there because they thought it sounded good?
And with that, I think we’ll turn aside from the continent for a bit and focus on what else was happening on the archipelago. Much of the events recorded in the Chronicles are fairly standard compared with what we’ve heard about from earlier reigns. For example, even while Yamato was flexing its muscle on the continent, there were still independent entities on the archipelago. Mention is made early in Homuda Wake’s reign of the eastern Emishi attending with tribute, and they were put to work building the Mumazaka road, similar to the way that continental envoys were put to work building ponds, bringing into question, in my mind, just what sort of “envoys” these all really were. Then there is discussion of Homuda Wake meeting with the Kuzu, who are, in the Hitachi Fudoki, equated with the Tsuchigumo. In this case, though, they appear to be the kuzu of the mountains areas of the Kii peninsula, which suggests to me that while Yamato held sway over the plains and river deltas, where rice farming could be particularly successful, there may have still been plenty of independent groups living in the mountains, possibly with their own culture and values, which focused more on the mountain lifestyle than that of the plain-bound farming culture that largely sustained kofun-era Yamato. Of course, these are peripheral cultures, and therefore largely invisible in the text except when they directly interact with the people and court of Yamato.
In this instance we are given some insight into their ways—particularly into their rituals. For Kuzu offered songs and sake to the sovereign. In particular we are told that after they sang they “struck their mouths like drums” and laughed. The Kuzu are described as a plain and honest people who gather wild berries and boil frogs as a delicacy. They lived amongst the steep cliffs and ravines of the Yoshino river area, and produced such things as chestnuts, mushrooms, and trout. All of this speaks to me of people with very different lifeways from those common in the large settlements of Yamato.
But it wasn’t just the people living in the Japanese hollers and tucked away in the mountain crevasses who were outside of the larger Yamato polity, but there were plenty of other rice-growing areas as well. Of course, in either case, the Chroniclers extend the cloak of national unity over everything, but in this case I think we get a very interesting story, and it is tied in to Homuda Wake’s last queen.
I say his last queen because, based on what we’ve seen of royal succession to date, there appear to have been several. Takaki no Iribime, for example, is said to have been a descendant of Ikume Iribiko. She gave birth to one of the princes and eventual claimants to the throne. Then there was Naka tsu Hime—the Middle Princess, whom most genealogies name as the primary wife and queen, though little is actually said about her. She was a sister to Takaki no Iribime, we know that much, and their father was, oddly enough, Homuda no Mawaka no Miko, a royal prince with a name eerily similar to that of the sovereign, Homuda Wake. Naka tsu Hime would give birth to another eligible Prince.
But it is the last lady, who gave birth to the youngest of Homuda Wake’s eligible sons, who is the subject of our current story. She is Miyanushi Yagawa no Ye Hime, or the Elder Princess of Yagawa.
Now of the three possible claimants to the throne, Takaki no Iribime’s son, Ohoyamamori no Mikoto—who may be the same as Nukata no Oho Naka tsu Hiko—was the eldest son. Naka tsu Hime then gave birth to Ohosazaki no Mikoto. He was also eligible to become Crown Prince, and is the middle of three children who seem to have been in the running. The third eligible prince was known as Uji no Waka Iratsuko (or Uji no Waki Iratsuko), and he was the son of Miyanushi Yagawa Ye Hime, who was the daughter of Wani no Oho-omi, the great minister of the powerful Wani clan.
Ye Hime herself is mentioned several times throughout the reign, while Naka tsu Hime and her sisters are really only mentioned in the various lists of names and genealogies. Regarding Ye Hime, on the other hand, we get the full Hallmark treatment, from her courtship in Chika tsu Afumi to her later travels to Kibi.
Now the courtship of Ye Hime is given primarily in the Kojiki, where we are told of how they met and got married with the typical feasting that seems common in these kinds of stories. Ye Hime’s father has her serve Homuda Wake a large wine cup, which seems to have been about as close to a betrothal as you could get.
It is interesting that the Kojiki places all of this in Chika-tsu-Oumi, and in the song, that he sang at the feast, Homuda Wake seems to make the claim that he is from Tsunoga—aka Tsuruga Bay. That was where he had exchanged names with the Kami, and the area where Ame no Hiboko had been worshipped, which again begs the question about potential links between Homuda Wake and the peninsula.
The Nihon Shoki, however, gives Ye Hime a slightly different place of origin. For in that case we are told that one day, while they were both looking out over the land from a high tower, Ye Hime had a longing to go home and see her parents. And so Homuda Wake, who loved her so much that he would do nearly anything, summoned up 80 fishermen and had them take Ye Hime to Kibi. He even composes a song as she leaves where he calls her, quite blatantly, his spouse of Kibi.
And this seems a rather intriguing disagreement between the sources. The Kojiki has them meeting in what was presumably her home of Chika tsu Oumi—which is to say around Lake Biwa. Meanwhile, the Nihon Shoki claims that she is from Kibi. Of course, it could be that some other Ye Hime is meant in one of these accounts.
Either way, the Nihon Shoki claims that Homuda Wake then followed Ye-Hime to Kibi, dwelling in the palace of Ashimori, in Hata. This is traditionally identified as being along the Ashimori river northwest of modern Okayama city. This is an area with large, keyhole shaped tomb mounds that rival those in Yamato, and it may have actually been the home to an independent kingdom, particularly in the early 5th century.
This is why it is interesting what else we are told: That, while dwelling at Ashimori, Homuda Wake took a particular liking to a gentleman named Mitomo Wake, who, along with his entire family, waited on the sovereign, hand and foot. Eventually, Homuda Wake decided to divvy up the land of Kibi. Five of the various lands went to the five sons of Mitomo Wake, while the district of Hatoribe is said to have been given to his wife, Ye Hime, as her own. Mitomo Wake himself was designated as the Kuni no Miyatsuko, and his sons as Agatanushi, and the divisions—which may reflect later political boundaries—would largely remain in use, either formally or informally, until the present day.
Once again, we need to look beyond what the Chronicle is telling us. For instance, we know that there are huge, round keyhole shaped kofun in that region. The largest is known as Tsukuriyama Kofun, and it was built sometime in the late 5th century. By the way, “Tsukuriyama” is actually the name of several kofun, largely because its name merely means “man-made mountain”. In this case, though, we are talking about the fourth largest kofun in all of Japan, larger than most of the so-called imperial tombs. Many believe that it belonged to a king of ancient Kibi, and based on the size of the kofun, one who likely rivaled Yamato in terms of the power and labor that they were able to mobilize. And not only that, but the Kibi region has some of the densest concentrations of kofun outside of the Kinai region of central Honshu, built between the 4th and 7th centuries. There are over 140 of the large keyhole tombs, with at least twenty of them in the region of Tsukuriyama and the modern city of Okayama.
And yet I can’t help but note that they were following in the tradition set by Yamato in building a giant, round-keyhole tomb.
From the earliest stories, Yamato is said to have conquered and subjugated Kibi. But then again, they were also said to have conquered and subjugated the Korean peninsula, and in that case we have both textual and archaeological evidence to the contrary. Here we only have archaeological evidence, but I wonder: would Yamato have really allowed a subject to build such a large and grandiose resting place if they could prevent it? I figure at the very least it shows that the local elites had a fair amount of autonomy. Still, there are so many things that we are missing, and I wish we had records from outside of the main narrative, but alas, we will have to console ourselves with what the archaeology tells us.
Perhaps this story about Homuda Wake was actually about another king altogether—a king of ancient Kibi. Or perhaps there is some evidence here of an ancient marriage link to Kibi through his wife, Ye Hime, and perhaps even with her son, Uji no Waki Iratsuko.
Speaking of whom…
Now we know that Homuda Wake himself was quite enamored of his youngest son, and he had decided to make him the Crown Prince, which would seem fitting if he was actually the product of two powerful royal families. That said, he had at least two other sons who were apparently eligible for the throne, and if they didn’t support Uji no Waki Iratsuko’s claim it could be problematic after Homuda Wake’s death. And so, in one of those epic bouts of parenting that the royal lineage up to this point is so known for, he questioned his two elder sons, Oho Yamamori and Oho Sazaki, to ask, in a roundabout way, their thoughts. Of course, you can’t be direct with this kind of question, right? You know, just come right out and say, “Hey boys, I’m thinking of making your youngest brother the next ruler. You cool with that?” Nope, instead he sets up this whole elaborate thing. First he pulls them over to him and he comments about how they both have children of their own already—so they were already fully grown adults, themselves, by this time. He then asks which of their own children is more deserving of their love, the youngest or the eldest. Basically playing a game of “who does dad love the best” with the two that you’ve already decided are out of the running. Really?
Now, neither of the two other sons seem to have had any idea what he was getting at, but Oho Yamamori thought that this might be the moment to put in a bid for the throne himself. After all, he was the oldest, and he was the most experienced, right? Anyway, Oho Yamamori expounded upon the virtues of the older brother and how they were the most loved.
As Oho Yamamori went on about this, I imagine Homuda Wake’s visage took on a dark cast. You know that feeling when the audience has soured on what someone is saying, but they just keep going, anyway? Yeah, awkward…
So while Oho Yamamori was busy bombing on pitching their pater, Oho Sazaki saw what was happening and realized this wasn’t what their father wanted to hear. So when it got to his turn, he took a different tack, and he basically told his father what he thought he wanted to hear.
First off, he talked about how older children have already grown up and discovered their way in life. They were adults and had experience and could fend for themselves. The younger children, however, were still children. They didn’t have as much experience and therefore they needed the most love and support.
Clearly this was the answer that Homuda Wake was looking for. In the end, neither Oho Yamamori nor Oho Sazaki, despite their seniority, would be named the Crown Prince—that honor would go to their youngest brother, Uji no Waki Iratsuko. However, perhaps in response to the brown-nosing, he did appoint Oho Sazaki as assistant to the Crown Prince, and asked him to help administer affairs of state. Meanwhile he gave Oho Yamamori, well, he made him Oho Yamamori, which is to say the warden of the mountains and forested areas. This is probably where his name, or more properly title, actually comes from. His actual name may have been Nukata no Oho Naka tsu Hiko, but this is largely a guess on our part, based on the lists of Homuda Wake’s many offspring.
Of course, I’m sure that there were absolutely no hard feelings, and when Homuda Wake passes away, everything will be fine, right? Well, for that you’ll need to wait for the next episode.
First though, there is one more thing I’d like to touch on, though it isn’t exactly mentioned in the chronicles, and that is the story of Homuda Wake after his death. No, I don’t mean to suggest that he rose from the grave like some undead revenant, though that would have been a cool. Rather, I mean how the idea of Homuda Wake continued and evolved after his death.
So, yes, Homuda Wake did eventually pass away, and we are told he is buried in one of the large, round keyhole style mounds in the Mozu-Furuichi tomb mound group. But his spirit lived on in an interesting and, perhaps, appropriate way.
You see, centuries after his death Homuda Wake, aka Oujin Tennou, would be worshipped as one of the most famous deities of the archipelago, for he came be associated with the famous god-slash-Boddhisatva, Hachiman.
Now most people are familiar with Hachiman due to his later connection to the Minamoto family. His shrine in Kamakura, once the headquarters of the early shogunate, founded by Minamoto Yoritomo, is still extremely impressive, and an easy daytrip from Tokyo. But Hachiman was important before the Minamoto ever existed. And to examine the origins of Hachiman we are going to have to travel away from Kamakura and all the way to the western island of Kyushu.
It was here, on the island of Kyushu, that the cult of Hachiman was born, likely sometime in the 5th or 6th century, and the processes that come together in the founding of the Hachiman cult are highly demonstrative of the changes that are happening in the archipelago in general during the time of Homuda Wake, and so it is not entirely without merit that the two are linked, in my opinion.
It is difficult, of course, to know when an idea or story first comes into being, and much of what we have is based on the later information in works like the Shoku Nihongi, the successor to our current chronicles, and the founding tales of Usa shrine, that were passed down through the ages and eventually written down. Scholars suggest that originally this new tradition centered around a deity of a place called Yahata or Yabata, the native Japanese, or kun’yomi, reading of the characters in the name “Hachiman”. Yabata probably meant something like “eight fields”—a quite plausible locative, which could be just about anywhere in the archipelago. Eventually, though, worship of this deity took hold in Usa, one of the ancient settlement sites of northern Kyushu.
From the records we know that there were three families associated with Hachiman from an early time. One of these was, unsurprisingly, the Usa clan, who were probably the chieftains of the place with the same name. Usa comes up from time to time in the Chronicles, such as during Iware Biko’s march from Kyushu to Yamato, and later they were known for their Buddhist priests, whom they would occasionally send to the court. They certainly appear to have been an important place, even if the connection with Hachiman isn’t mentioned until much later.
Also involved in the early Hachiman cult were the Karajima. They appear to have been based out of the country of Toyo, but their name suggests that they descended from people who came over from the peninsula and settled there. The scholar Nakano Hatayoshi suggested that between the 3rd and 6th centuries they pushed south into the area of the Usa clan and conquered that region.
The last family were the Ohoga, whose name is just a different reading for “Ohomiwa”. Indeed, it seems they claim descent from the family charged with looking after the ancient holy site of Mt. Miwa, and they may have been sent out to the region as an extension of the Yamato court to help provide oversight of the Yamato-centered rituals. In fact, it may have been through such ritualist envoys that Yamato was able to exert some measure of control, along with sending out specialists in, of all things, burial mound construction—hence why we see the proliferation of the round keyhole style and related burial mounds in the kofun period.
And so we see here a merger of the local traditions, through the Usa clan, the Yamato traditions in the form of the Ohomiwa, and peninsular traditions of the Karajima. Three different traditions coming together.
It is this syncreticism that make Hachiman so interesting to many scholars of Japanese religion. To an outside observer, the shrines and rituals of Hachiman may closely resemble other forms of Japanese Shinto practice, but in many ways it is its own unique thing. At Usa shrine, Hachiman was venerated along with an image of Maitreiya Bodhisattva, and the worship of both was carried out together. Later, Hachiman would be designated as the protector of the Great Buddha at Toudaiji, in Nara, and the oracles of Hachiman would have significant impact on Japanese history.
The earliest records we have of Hachiman, in the 8th century, depict him as helping to secure a military victory, though this seems to have been a relatively minor part of his portfolio, at least early on. Later, as the chosen deity of the Minamoto clan, his God of War aspect would definitely be further developed. Initially, however, it was his role as a protector and his oracular divinations that caused such a splash. These divinations are at the heart of the famous Dokyo Incident in the 8th century, and came through the voices of the priests and mediums of Usa Shrine, rather than divine visions of the sovereign or reading the cracks on burnt deer scapulae or turtle shells. This was different from the type of divination generally seen with other kami, and it has been suggested that it was the result of a combination of practices from the peninsula and on the archipelago. It also likely didn’t hurt that there was no one single family that could lay claim to Hachiman and his cult. He was, in a way, a free agent, meaning that he could be shaped by later courts and sovereigns into what they needed him to be.
The connection of Hachiman with Homuda Wake, aka Oujin Tennou, actually comes in rather late. It is in the 9th century that we get a text which tells us that Hachiman revealed himself to be Oujin Tennou to the sovereign known as Kimmei Tennou in the mid-6th century, after Hachiman had already been adopted by the royal house as a protector.
In all likelihood, Hachiman had nothing to do with Homuda Wake until centuries after the fact. But even then it is intriguing to think about just what Homuda Wake meant to people. By all accounts he seems to have been from a different dynasty than the 8th century ruling family, though his line was important enough for them to work into their own narrative, and his story is often tied up with the reign of his mother—where Okinaga Tarashi Hime was a conquerer and warlord, the story of Homuda Wake focuses more on assimilation of new people and ideas. This balance of martial prowess—Wu or Bu—with literary pursuits—Wen or Bun—is a common dichotomy in Asian thought and philosophy, and so it is unsurprising that the narrative might reflect that.
And yet, as Hachiman, Homuda Wake is often depicted wearing arms and armor, and as much a conquering hero as an administrative governor. Of course, these different aspects may better reflect the needs of the people at any given time, rather than any core aspect of Homuda Wake’s character.
And with that, we have just one more thing to discuss before we move on and say farewell to Homuda Wake, or at least his human incarnation—as Hachiman he will definitely be putting in an appearance in later episodes, don’t you worry. Now this wouldn’t be the kofun period if we weren’t talking about the giant kingly tombs that these sovereigns are said to be buried in, and in Homuda Wake’s case it is a grand tomb, to be sure.
Measuring 425 meters in length, the Ega-no-mofushi no Oka Kofun, also known as the Konda Gobyou Yama or just Konda Yama Kofun, is the largest of the Furuichi kofun group, which lies in modern Ohosaka, south of the Yamato River, and just west of the mountain pass leading to the Nara basin. Not only is it the longest in its group, but it is the second longest in all of Japan, and the largest by volume of any of the kofun in the archipelago. As for the largest kofun, at least by length, that distinction falls to Daisen kofun, which lies just a little ways to the west in the Mozu kofun group, and which is said to be the burial site of Homuda Wake’s son, the sovereign known as Nintoku Tennou. Together they are part of the UNESCO World Heritage Mozu-Furuichi Kofun group, which attained official status in 2019. This is the height of kofun construction in the archipelago, at least for sheer monumental size.
In addition to its size—and the impressive array of haniwa figures that adorned it--Kondayama Kofun is, predictably, also the site of a shrine to Hachiman—Konda Hachimangu. By the way, I should probably note, since you can’t tell through the microphone, that the “Konda” here is just another reading of the name “Homuda”. The shrine itself claims that it was originally built in the front of Homuda Wake’s mausoleum in about the 6th century, and then later moved to the present location (south of the mound) in the 11th century. I have reason to question this, but that is the claim that the shrine appears to make.
And that’s all that I really have for you this episode. I appreciate everyone who has stuck with it—there has been so much this reign, it has taken us roughly six episodes to get through it all. Next episode, though, we get to move on and we’ll see just who becomes the next sovereign. Is it young Uji-Waki-Iratsuko, who was the designated Crown Prince and Successor? Or perhaps Oho Yamamori, who was passed over by their father. Or perhaps Oho Sazaki will step up. You’ll just have to wait and find out next episode.
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
Lee, D. (2014). Keyhole-shaped Tombs and Unspoken Frontiers: Exploring the Borderlands of Early Korean-Japanese Relations in the 5th-6th Centuries. UCLA. ProQuest ID: Lee_ucla_0031D_12746. Merritt ID: ark:/13030/m52j7s88. Retrieved from https://escholarship.org/uc/item/7qm7h4t7
SCHEID, B. (2014). Shōmu Tennō and the Deity from Kyushu: Hachiman's Initial Rise to Prominence. Japan Review, (27), 31-51. Retrieved August 10, 2021, from http://www.jstor.org/stable/23849569
Kawagoe, Aileen (2009). “Did keyhole-shaped tombs originate in the Korean peninsula?”. Heritage of Japan. https://heritageofjapan.wordpress.com/following-the-trail-of-tumuli/types-of-tumuli-and-haniwa-cylinders/did-keyhole-shaped-tombs-originate-in-the-korean-peninsula/. Retrieved 8/24/2021.
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
Ishino, H., & 石野博信. (1992). Rites and Rituals of the Kofun Period. Japanese Journal of Religious Studies, 19 (2/3), 191-216. Retrieved August 16, 2021, from http://www.jstor.org/stable/30234190
Chamberlain, B. H. (1981). The Kojiki: Records of ancient matters. Rutland, Vt: C.E. Tuttle Co. ISBN4-8053-0794-3
Bender, R. (1979). The Hachiman Cult and the Dōkyō Incident. Monumenta Nipponica, 34(2), 125-153. doi:10.2307/2384320
Bender, R. (1978). Metamorphosis of a Deity. The Image of Hachiman in Yumi Yawata. Monumenta Nipponica, 33 (2), 165-178. doi:10.2307/2384124
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
Hall, John W. (1966). Government and Local Power in Japan 500 to 1700: A Study Based on Bizen Province. Princeton University Press. ISBN978-0691030197

Episode 47: The Man Who Might Be King

August 16, 2021 Joshua Badgley

Haniwa of a quiver full of arrows from the 5th century Muromiyayama Kofun. Photo from the Archaeological Institute of Kashihara, Nara Prefecture.

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This episode we talk about Katsuraki no Sotsuhiko, covering what we know of the stories he is in as well as discussing what might be lurking behind these stories.

Katsuraki no Sotsuhiko

The names we find in the Chronicles are primarily 「葛城襲津彦」 (Katsuraki [no] Sotsuhiko) in the Nihon Shoki and 「葛城長江曾都毘古」 (Katsuraki [no] Nagae [no] Sotsuhiko) in the Kojiki. In the Old Japanese of the Kofun period it is probably something like Kaduraki [no] Sotubiko. Old Japanese had many differences from modern Japanese pronunciation, and is a study unto itself.

The other name we see is from an excerpt from the Baekje annals in the Nihon Shoki, and it is「沙至比跪」(Satibiko). There is technically the possibility that this story is about someone else, or that the Baekje Annals themselves had it wrong, in the first place. The general consensus, though, appears to be that these figures are, indeed, referencing the same person.

The idea of him being a high ranking chieftain, and possibly one of those responsible for the trade routes with the continent—after all, there were only so many ways to get from the archipelago to the peninsula—is intriguing. Perhaps he was some sort of King. However, I would also note that the excerpt from the ancient Baekje Annals, which is no longer extant, other than the fragments in the Nihon Shoki and other histories, like the Samguk Sagi, does not refer to him as the sovereign of all of Yamato, and puts him in a subservient position. That said, it is clear that the Chroniclers tinkered with the wording of the Baekje annals in places. Sometimes it was simply to update words to increase understanding, such as changing “Wa” to “Yamato”. It would have been easy enough, however, for them to “clarify” something in such a way that it changed the meaning to better suit what the Chroniclers knew to be the truth, so even here we can’t be entirely sure that we are getting a faithful transliteration. Still, it seems reasonable to assume that Satibiko—or Sotsuhiko—is, indeed, the one being referenced here.

Ame no Hiboko

You might recall the “Heavenly Sun Spear”—「天日槍」in the Nihon Shoki or「天之日矛」 in the Kojiki—from our earliest discussions of relations with the continent. He was said to be a Silla prince who eventually settled in the area of Kehi, along modern Tsuruga Bay, where he came to be worshipped as a kami. Of course “Ame no Hiboko” is a Japonic name, and unlike other names on the peninsula. He might be the same, however, as the man named Sonaka (or Tsunoga) Shichi (or “Cheulchi” in modern Korean). Some accounts have his origin in Silla, while others point to Nimna and the confederated Kara states. In some stories he even has a title that would appear to equate to about the 3rd rank of the Silla court.

The Chronicles make Katsuraki no Sotsuhiko one of Ame no Hiboko’s descendants, and provide yet another connection to the areas of Silla and Kara on the southern Korean peninsula.

Takechi no Sukune

We just talked bout him last episode (Epsiode 46), and while the Chronicles suggest he was Katsuraki no Sotsuhiko’s father, there is enough evidence to question whether or not that was actually the case.

Okinaga Tarashi Hime

Also known as Jingū Kōgō (神功皇后), she was the sovereign who is said to have “subjugated “ the Korean peninsula for Yamato. She is also connected to the Katsuraki family, through her lineage, and some of the earliest stories about Sotsuhiko happened, ostensibly, during her reign.

Homuda Wake

The sovereign for most of this period that we have been discussing, aka Ōjin Tennō (応神天皇). We’ll cover more on him next episode.

King of Kara and his Sister

The King of Kara is referenced as “Kwi-pon” in the Aston translation (己本旱岐—Kwi-pon Kanki). Aston goes on to note that the Dongguk Tonggam, a 15th century compilation of Korean history, gives the sovereign at this time as “I Si-Bpeum” (伊尸品). It is possibly a transliteration error, or it could be the difference between the king of Geumgwan Kara, the primary city-state of the Kara confederacy, or it could be that this is a different '“King” altogether. We have little to go on besides what is written here.

It is interesting that he is given a similar Silla rank to Ame no Hiboko, that of Kanki. I don’t know if this was added later or if it is indicative of Kara kings accepting court rank from Silla, similar to how other states sought out titles from the Wei and Jin courts, a practice we will go over in more detail in a later episode.

His younger sister’s name is given as 「既殿至」, which Aston translates as “Kwi-chon-chi”. Unfortunately, I don’t have enough information on the language of Kara to give you anything more, but it is likely better than reading it using modern Japanese on’yomi. This is the younger sister who then goes to the court of the “Great Wa” to complain about “Sachihiko” not following through with his orders.

Mongna Geunja

Mongna Günja (or Mongna Künja—possibly even something like Mong Nagunja: 木羅斤資) is a Baekje general who shows up during the reign of Okinaga Tarashi Hime, helping out with the Baekje-Wa alliance and later chasing down “Sachihiko” and stopping the assault on Kara. Later he would have a son (with, interestingly enough, a Silla wife) who would have his own role to play in pen-insular events.

Yutsuki / Kungwol

Specifically this individual is referenced as “Yutsuki [no] Kimi” (弓月君)—Lord Yutsuki or Lord of Yutsuki. Yutsuki here is the traditional pronunciation in modern Japanese, and the Korean would be something like Kungwol (and the characters at that time may have been something like “Kung-ngwet” based on a Middle Chinese reading of them). The Chronicles don’t specify exactly where they are from, which has given rise to various theories, many of them trying to connect Yutsuki to someplace in modern China or even out in the Xinjiang region, near the border with Kazhakstan. While that certainly is possible—the trade routes of central Eurasia have long been in operation—it seems difficult, if not impossible, to prove by just this particular entry.

Maketsu

Maketsu (眞毛津) was a seamstress sent over to Yamato from Baekje. She is hailed as the ancestor of the seamstresses of Kume. At that time it seems common to set up villages that specialized in particular goods and skills, and many of the stories of this time talk about the deliberate importation of expert crafters from the continent.

Clothing in particular we have a rather murky view of until we get more human-shaped haniwa in the 6th century, and even then it can be difficult to make out what is actually going on and what is exaggeration by the haniwa sculptures, but here we can see textual evidence of what we see later on, which is the influence of continental styles on the archipelago. Granted, prior to this they were probably in synch with at least what was going on in the southern tip of the peninsula, but I suspect that what Maketsu and people like her were bringing may have been a more Sinified aesthetic.

I should note that it mentions she was sent as “tribute”. It is unclear to me just how much choice that artisans like this had in their assignments, but my guess is that they didn’t have much. It has been a not-uncommon move across the globe for artisans to be forcibly taken and re-established elsewhere so that another group could acquire their intangible cultural properties. Of course, there are also examples where artisans were also enticed with lucrative offers of a comfortable living, and some may just have wanted to travel and explore the world, but given the way it is written and how people were enslaved, resettled, and sometimes sent to foreign courts, I suspect that there was very little choice involved here.

Iwa no Hime

We are told that Iwa no Hime (磐之媛) was the daughter of Katsuraki no Sotsuhiko. She would go on to become the queen of the sovereign Ōsazaki, aka Nintoku Tennō, and her son, Izaho Wake, would eventually follow him on the Yamato throne, becoming known as Ritchū Tennō. I wonder if this connection had something to do with the way that Sotsuhiko is treated in the narrative.

King Naemul of Silla

Naemul was the first historically attested sovereign of Silla in the 4th and very start of the 5th century. Naemul sent the future King Silseong to be a hostage at the Goguryeo court, and may have been the one to send Prince Misaheun to the Wa.

King Silseong of Silla

Silseong followed Naemul, despite the fact that Naemul had at least three sons: Nulji, Bokho, and Misaheun. In the first year of his reign, according to the Samguk Sagi, Prince Misaheun was sent to the Wa as an envoy, though this may have happened in the reign of Naemul, as attested to in the Samguk Yusa. Later he would send Prince Bokho to Goguryeo, and he married his daughter to the eldest of Naemul’s sons, Nulji. Eventually, though, he seems to have had a change of heart and attempted to have Nulji killed, but the plan would ultimately backfire.

King Nulji of Silla

After killing King Silseong in retaliation for Silseong’s attempted assassination of Nulji, one of the first things that King Nulji would do is to set about trying to get his brothers returned from the various courts at which they were being held hostage. This was eventually accomplished by the loyal courtier, Pak Jesang

Prince Bokho of Silla

Prince Bokho was sent by King Silseong as a hostage to the court of Goguryeo. He eventually escaped their custody with assistance from Pak Jesang.

Prince Misaheun of Silla

Prince Misaheun was a hostage at the Wa court. His eventual rescue is mentioned across multiple sources, with slight variations in the details, including the Nihon Shoki, the Samguk Sagi, the Samguk Yusa, and the Dongguk Tonggam. In the Nihon Shoki, Katsuraki no Sotsuhiko plays a prominent role in those events.

Pak Jesang

Pak Jesang was a loyal courtier of the Silla court. He offered to personally go and bring back King Nulji’s brothers, the Princes Bokho and Misaheun. Even today he is held up as a legendary example of loyalty, giving up everything, including his family and, eventually, his life for his lord.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is Episode 47: The Man who Might be King
There are certainly a lot of names that get thrown around in the Chronicles. Most of them only appear once, usually in a list telling us who begat whom, which usually looks like a rather blatant attempt to connect some high muckety-muck with the royal family or otherwise explain the origin of some person or group that was around in the 8th century. This is especially true of the eras we’ve been discussing, I’d say, probably because of the lack of good source material to draw from, among other things. Still, you occasionally get a recurring character here or there that keeps popping up and making an appearance.
Last episode we talked about one such supporting character, Takechi no Sukune, the first Prime Minister, or Oho-omi, who supposedly held his job through at least 5 different reigns, and who was involved in some of the more impactful parts of the narrative, even if he wasn’t the main character.
Now Takechi no Sukune isn’t the only name that keeps popping up again and again in the Chronicles for this time—though certainly he seems to be one of the most influential, not to mention long-lived. Unfortunately, just like the sovereigns he served, we cannot confirm anything about his actual existence. Was he an actual person? Or was he, perhaps, an amalgamation of individuals, perhaps all serving under the name or title of “Takechi”? I suspect that he was an important figure in the transition to the new dynasty—possibly someone referenced in various stories, and maybe he did provide some kind of connection back to the previous dynasty, but all of that is speculation.
At the same time, we have evidence of at least one individual from this time who, more likely than not, did exist. In fact, he’s got a better claim to actual historicity than do either Homuda Wake, the supposed sovereign of Yamato, or his prime minister Takechi no Sukune, since he unlike either of them, this person is directly referenced in the Baekje annals by name. Furthermore, despite not having as many entries in the Japanese chronicles as either of those other two, he seems intimately tied in to the royal lineage. On top of all of that we’ve mentioned him before, though just in passing. His name is Katsuraki Sotsu Hiko.
Now, Katsuragi is a place name, as well as the name of a prominent family group, which is quite likely related. It is located in the southwest corner of the Nara Basin, opposite the old capital at Miwa in modern Sakurai. I haven’t found anything that clearly states when it became a place of significance—or even if the place was named for the family or vice versa. Regardless, the family group claims a lineage going all the way back to the time of Iware Biko, though you may have some inkling just what kind of stock I put into all of that.
More importantly for our current narrative, the Katsuraki family are found in the lineage of Homuda Wake’s mother, Okinaga Tarashi Hime. Specifically they are mentioned as part of the lineage descending down to her from that ancient Silla Prince, Ame no Hiboko. So they are both tied to the royal family and to the royal family of Silla, though of course there is no evidence for this prince in the Silla annals, just in the Japanese chronicles. Still, that tie to the continent is going to be important, because it is in dealing with the continent—and in particular dealing with Silla, where Katsuraki no So-tsu-hiko will gain most of his notoriety.
Before we get to those stories, let me quickly touch on the rest of his name, though: Sotsu Hiko. It is an interesting name, in part because it would seem to mark this character as the lord or prince—Hiko—of some place called “So”, assuming that the “tsu” here is, indeed, that possessive marker we’ve seen and discussed before. In the Baekje annals his name is rendered as Sachihiko, which may simply be a transliteration error from the Japanese to the Korean and then back again. In Old Japanese these characters likely sounded even closer: probably something like So tu Bpiko, and “Sa ti Bpiko”.
So to start with, let’s go with the story that is at the core of the belief that So-tsu-hiko was, indeed, a real boy, and that is the excerpt that the Japanese Chroniclers included from the Baekje Annals for the year 382. Now in the hodgepodge of the Chronicles this event actually shows up during the reign of Okinaga Tarashi Hime, backdated by 120 years to 262, but given the rest of the contextual evidence we can fairly confidently put this incident at about 382, which is about 9 years before the events recorded on the stele of King Gwangaetto the Great. This is in the time of King Gusu—aka Geungusu—of Baekje, who had succeeded his father, King Chogo, in 375. In Silla this was still the reign of King Naemul, who had sent his envoys to the Jin court only a year earlier.
According to the Baekje records, the Wa were angered when Silla didn’t wait upon them—by which I assume they mean that they didn’t send them the expected payment-slash-bribe that they were expecting—and so the Wa sent a force to attack Silla, under the command of So-tsu-hiko. So-tsu-hiko had his forces ready to march on Silla, but Silla had a rather unusual plan of their own. Rather than readying an army to oppose him they decided to appeal to try a different approach, sending two beautiful Silla ladies to seduce him. Apparently this ploy worked, and So-tsu-hiko called off the attack on Silla, though that left him with a conundrum: He had troops in the field, and no doubt they were expecting some action.
While we don’t know a lot about the military armies or bands or whatever they were at this time, certain things we can deduce from what we know about militaries around the world. One of those things is that, historically, you need to make sure your troops get properly rewarded, since they are putting their lives on the line. Even in conscript armies you need to keep morale up, and in this period I suspect that many of the soldiers fighting were probably doing so on a semi-voluntary basis, mainly because Yamato court didn’t quite seem to have the kind of authority to just force people off of their land to go fight and possibly die on their behalf. I doubt anyone at this time had true standing armies, though we are starting to see more weapons and armor—something that will become common burial goods, replacing the earlier bronze mirrors as high status grave goods.
Besides, it takes a lot of organization to keep soldiers fed, clothed, armed, and trained, and typically the resources to do that came from the booty acquired during the actual fighting. In later periods we would see this as land that could be given out to those warriors who had fought exceptionally well, while in this period it may have been more material goods, captured during the fighting.
Either way, these troops would need to be taken care of—to send them all the way to Silla, ready to fight, but then to balk at the last minute might have been a rather dangerous ploy for So-tsu-hiko. In all likelihood it he found it easier to simply redirect his forces, and so, instead of reprimanding Silla, the army marched into the lands of Kara, instead.
Of course, this was not exactly a subtle change in direction. The King of Kara, given in the Baekje Annals as Kwi-pon—though Aston gives his name as Si-Bpeum according to his reading of the Korean Tonggam—fled to Baekje due to So-tsu-hiko’s assaults. The King’s sister, Kwi-chon-chi, then went to the Great Wa—aka Yamato—and asked the sovereign there, Okinaga Tarashi Hime, for assistance, complaining about the assaults by So-tsu-hiko and his Wa troops. Well Tarashi Hime was quite livid to hear of this impertinence. Her orders to So-tsu-hiko had been clear, after all, and they had been all about reprimanding Silla, nothing to do with attacking Kara. And so she asked for the Baekje general, Mongna Keuncha, to go and sort things out. Mongna Keuncha, as you may recall from some episodes back, was one of the generals that had led troops as part of the Baekje-Wa alliance, and so here he is again, setting things right in Kara.
Mongna Keuncha appears to have been successful at stopping the assault on Kara, but he didn’t capture So-tsu-hiko, who remained at-large on the continent, presumably with those two Silla women to keep him company, though who knows if they had stuck with him through his defeat. Another account, for which, like a viral meme on social media, we aren’t given the actual source, claims that So-tsu-hiko went into hiding as soon as he learned that Tarashi Hime was upset with him.
That said, Sotsu Hiko had his own eyes and ears in the court. He seems to have had an in with one of the ladies at court, who still thought well of him, despite everything that had happened. After giving everything some time to blow over, he secretly sent her a message and asked her to feel out the mood in the court—specifically that of the sovereign. This court lady found a time to bend the ear of Tarashi Hime. She claimed to have had a dream about So-tsu-hiko. Well as soon as the lady in waiting mentioned his name, Tarashi Hime’s mood soured, and she loudly declaimed that should he ever show his face around Yamato again, she would have him killed.
And so no, things hadn’t blown over. Realizing that no pardon would be forthcoming, So-tsu-hiko headed off into a cave and died.
Which, of course, would seem to bring our story to a close. He was a general, he went to Silla, he was seduced into betraying his orders, attacked Kara, and then died, hiding in seclusion.
Except, of course, that isn’t at all where this ends. In fact, it is barely the beginning, and this is probably why the Chroniclers caveated that whole portion with “one source says” because I suspect even they were having some problem putting all of this together.
You see, Katsuraki So-tsu-hiko shows up—either by his full name or just as So-tsu-hiko, in stories from at least the adjusted year of 325 and then continuing for the next century and a half, scattered across three reigns. Of course, from what we can verify we can more reliably trace him in the historical record from about 325 to probably 418, and maybe even 426. For all of that, though, many of the stories about him seem to be retellings of the same incidents, just placed in different reigns, though with some of the actors changed. We’ve seen similar “repeated” stories in the Chronicles after all.
For example, in the 14th year of Homuda Wake’s reign—probably about 403 CE, right smack dab in the middle of the conflicts with Silla and Goguryeo--, we are given another story about So-tsu-hiko. In this case an envoy named Yutsuki—or possibly something like Kungweol, in modern Korean—attempted to travel from Baekje to Yamato to provide his allegiance. Word may have been sent with an envoy earlier that same year, or perhaps the year prior. The Baekje annals in the Samguk Sagi note that Baekje had sent an envoy to Wa to seek out large pearls, while the Japanese chronicles mention a seamstress named Maketsu who was sent over—possibly as part of the ongoing exchange surrounding the, shall we say, residency of Crown Prince Jeonji of Baekje at the Yamato court. To help Yutsuki make the journey, So-tsu-hiko was sent out to see them safely from Kara at the end of the Korean peninsula, over to Yamato, but after he left, the court heard nothing.
Of course, in this age before modern communication, it is little wonder that nobody heard anything back immediately. All sorts of pitfalls could waylay a journey, and who knew how long it would take on the other side before anyone heard anything back. In this case, though, it was rather excessive, as three years went by and still nobody had showed up at the Yamato court. And so they sent two generals out to find out what happened. Convinced that Silla had interfered and was holding them, the troops made there way to Silla and, low and behold, Silla was indeed keeping So-tsu-hiko and Yutsuki hostage. Under the threat of the Wa forces, or so we are led to believe, Silla admitted to kidnapping them and allowed them to return with the Wa forces.
Now some see in this story a retelling of the earlier So-tsu-hiko story, possibly mixed with something like the early stories of the Baekje ambassadors from the supposed first meeting of Baekje and Wa, who were also waylaid by Silla and, in that case, forced to bring Silla envoys along with them to the Yamato court. In both casesHere, you have So-tsu-hiko going to the continent and someone else having to go after him. In this story, though, he is treated as more of a victim, rather than a rogue general. And in all of these instances it is Silla who somehow detains him or causes him to stray from his mission.
Of course, this could just be a common theme in pen-insular relations—Silla may have regularly looked to intercept Wa and Baekje ships, and vice versa. But there are a few of these kinds of accounts scattered about.
Unfortunately, there isn’t too much too corroborate this in the Korean sources. The Samguk Sagi does have the Wa attacking the peninsula around 405 CE, but according to Silla they were repelled. Then there were two attacks in 407 where they kidnapped 100 people and took them back with them. But whether any of this correlates to the other stories is impossible to say for certain.
Now as to why one story has So-tsu-Hiko as the villain, disobeying the court, and the other paints him as a victim of Silla’s treachery may have to do with the different sources that the stories were coming from, as well as what we are told afterwards. You see, Katsuraki no So-tsu-hiko had a daughter named Iwa no Hime, who would wind up marrying Ohosazaki, the successor to Homuda Wake. She would give birth to one of the future sovereigns, Izaho no Wake. This, by extension makes So-tsu-hiko the ancestor of several generations of sovereigns in the Middle Dynasty, as well as the current lineage, at least according to the Chronicles.
This is interesting for a few reasons, beyond perhaps the obvious. I mean, let’s face it, everyone was trying to tie themselves to the royal lineage, so I don’t think that his placement there is all that big of a shock—if you were a major family and you didn’t claim some tie in with the court then come on, you aren’t even trying, and there were some big names that claimed descent from So-tsu-hiko.
Beyond that, though, it wasn’t just that one of his daughters was married to the sovereign, but rather that she was considered a queen. You see, as we’ve discussed before, there are multiple women who are brought into the royal family as wives of the sovereign, but most do not become the queen, and so their offspring are not considered to be in line for the Yamato throne. To be considered eligible to be a queen, and thus for one’s offspring and descendants to be considered eligible to inherit the throne, a woman had to be of royal blood herself.
Now, of course, technically Iwa no Hime is of royal blood, as is So-tsu-hiko. The Chroniclers saw to that, making sure to connect So-tsu-hiko to Takechi no Sukune, but as we discussed in the last episode on Takechi no Sukune, there are a few things that call this lineage into question, not the least being their disparate titles.
Of course, this wouldn’t be the first questionable lineage in the sources, especially for women who would become the queens and mothers of the official sovereigns. However, in this case, she is the daughter of a supposed subject, rather than being the daughter of some lord outside of the Yamato court. So, unlike with those others for whom a royal inheritance may have been manufactured, here we see no obvious political benefit to the royal line for her to be considered as a Queen, let alone for her children to be considered legitimate claimants. Dr. Cornelius J. Kiley discussed this back in 1973 in an article entitled “State and Dynasty in Archaic Yamato”, published in the Journal of Asian Studies. There he discusses a few other points about the succession, but regarding So-tsu-hiko in particular he points out that the stories have him defying the orders of the Yamato sovereign, and later some of his descendants would go on to found the powerful Soga clan, which dominated court politics in the 6th and early 7th centuries. And of course the Soga’s power seems to have been partly based in their association with Buddhism and the continent, which we will see in a bit coming over from the Korean peninsula as well.
Dr. Kiley isn’t the only one to have noticed all of this, and there is some thought that the truth may be that So-tsu-hiko was not actually a vassal of the Yamato court, but rather another sovereign or independent Wa lord who was heavily involved in the activities of the peninsula. Here it is suggested that So-tsu-hiko, wherever he was based, was perhaps in alliance with Yamato, but likely had his own powerful territory or kingdom, and it may be that more than a few of the actions ascribed to figures such as Homuda Wake or the ambiguous “King of Wa” may have actually been referencing him, or some similarly independent figure. We can’t know for certain of course, but we do know that there were other powerful figures—perhaps even rival courts—across the archipelago, given the number of large, kingly tombs that we see outside of the immediate geographical base of the Yamato court.
And so it may be that So-tsu-hiko was his own kind of sovereign—a king in his own right, as it were. He may have been allied with Yamato, and it is even possible that, as an independent ruler of some part of the archipelago or the southern peninsula, he was supporting a larger confederation of Wa countries. Of course, this totally goes against the narrative of the Yamato court, where the rule of the Heavenly Descendant was just a natural consequence of their divine nature and the fact that the kami had gifted the archipelago to them. Even early stories of conquest are treated more like inspection tours, with the odd outsider or resistance from uncivilized barbarians, rebels, and bandits, but no real talk of any other sovereigns. This is especially true in dealings with the continent, where the official story continues to push a narrative of conquest and subjugation by Yamato—a narrative that is not exactly backed up by the other evidence we have available to us.
So was So-tsu-hiko an independent king in his own right, possibly even the true power behind the early Baekje-Wa alliance? Or was he just another court noble, who was then entrusted with great responsibilities on the continent? Or was it something in between? Could this be why we have some stories where he seems rebellious and antagonistic, and others where he is shown in a more positive light, the Chroniclers working from stories from different parts of the archipelago and from different dynastic eras?.
These are the things I urge you to keep in mind as we read further stories about So-tsu-hikothese stories and try to piece together what is happening. That said, let’s get into those stories, and what they tell us.
Now, of only passing interest to us, perhaps, is an account from the 41st year of the reign of Ohosazaki—a year that probably didn’t exist as Ohosazaki was, most likely, not on the throne for that many years to begin with, but they still had to make up all that time since they were condensing the entire 3rd and 4th centuries into only three reigns.
Now in the account of that year we are told that the grandson of the King of Baekje was rather disrespectful towards the Wa envoy, Ki no Tsuno no Sukune, and he was delivered up to So-tsu-hiko to be brought back to Yamato as a form of punishment.
Again, this story has some eerie parallels with another.
There was another act of disrespect from Baekje during Homuda Wake’s reign, where Ki no Tsuno was also sent to the Baekje court to handle the matter. In that case it was king Jinsa of Baekje, whereas the later story focused on a different king, but there are enough similarities to make you wonder if they aren’t just different stories of the same event. So this could be taking place any time around the end of the fourth or first quarter of the 5th century.
And where this intersects with us is that, in the later telling, So-tsu-hiko appears to have been on hand at the Baekje court, or at least in close enough proximity that he could come and take charge of the young princeling and escort him across the straits to Yamato, where he was basically kept as a hostage as penance for his insulting behavior.
Thus, once again we see So-tsu-hiko in a role of essentially escort. Whether it was the young Baekje prince being sent to Yamato as a punishment, or envoys like Yutsuki being brought to pay tribute, So-tsu-hiko was the one who was helping them from the peninsula to the archipelago, and facilitating their journey across the ocean.
Now I’ve tried to save the best for last. It is, in my opinion, the most dramatic account that So-tsu-hiko is involved with, and that is the escape of Prince Misaheun of Silla from the Yamato court.
Now back in Episode 45 we mentioned that Prince Misaheun was sent to the Wa in the year 402, by the continental reckoning, which was also during the events inscribed on the Gwangaetto Stele. Silla claims he went as a peaceful envoy, but the Wa held onto him as a hostage, refusing to let him return home. It is a tale that is found not only in the Samguk Sagi, which says he was sent by his uncle, King Silseong, but it is also found in the more fantastical accounts of the Samguk Yusa, where blame for his departure was put on King Naemul. I tend to lean towards the Samguk Yusa story on this one, given a variety of factors. The Nihon Shoki, as usual, plays fast and loose with dates, and without going into too much details, let’s just say the Japanese chroniclers put this story during Okinaga Tarashi Hime’s reign because it fit right into the stories of various raids and military exploits that they were lumping together. Regardless, Prince Misaheun becoming a hostage of the Wa was a big deal, no matter when it happened. Although, had King Silseong had his way, it likely would have become a non-issue altogether.
We’ve already talked about how King Silseong came to the throne of Silla, having spent ten years as a hostage in the Goguryeo court before succeeding his brother, King Naemul, Misaheun’s father. Upon coming to the throne, he almost immediately sent Misaheun as a hostage to the Wa—though perhaps that had already happened during the Wa invasion mentioned on the stele during his brother’s reign. Ten years after taking the throne, Silseong would send another of his nephews, Prince Bokho, to the Goguyreo court, to be a hostage there, much as Silseong himself had been. You can see in both of these examples a trend: Silseong wass getting his brother’s children, future rivals for the throne, out of the way.
And sure enough, only five years later, Silseong was starting to worry. He had taken the throne in the first place under the pretense that none of his brother’s heirs were old enough at the time, but now his eldest nephew, the eldest, Nulchi, was getting on in years. Though Nulchi was married to Silseong’s own daughter—proving that it wasn’t just the Wa who liked to keep it in the family, so to speak—about fifteen or sixteen years into his reign, Silseonghe decided that he would do something about Prince Nulchi—permanently. The stories claim that he hired a man from Goguryeo—an outsider, an one whom he probably had contacted through his network within the Goguryeo court. He hired this ancient hitman to kill Prince Nulchi, and arranged for the two of them to meet on the road.
As you might guess, things didn’t go according to plan. Apparently the hired sword had a soul, and when he saw Nulchi on the road he was struck by his appearance—the elegant air of a prince of the blood. Rather than kill the Prince, the would-be assassin told him how he had been hired by his uncle, the king, to kill him, and then he returned to Goguryeo. Nulchi was incensed, and rightly so. Taking matters into his own hands the Silla annals tell us that he found his uncle, King Silseong, and killed him and took the throne for himself. The Samguk Yusa gives slightly different details than the Samguk Sagi, claiming that it was group of soldiers that were sent after Nulchi, and that when they met him they switched sides and killed King Silseong instead, installing Nulchi on the throne.
Once he was on the throne, King Nulchi immediately decided to get the gang back together, and he started looking for a way to bring his two brothers back to Silla. Into this stepped a man of Silla known as Pak Jesang. Much like Takechi no Sukune and Katsuragi no So-tsu-hiko, Pak Jesang is one of those fascinating characters who lives in the margins of the stories of the rulers of these ancient countries. Much of what we know about him comes from this story – which, according to Samguk Sagi, along with the Dongguk Tonggam, took place around 418, while the Samguk Yusa gives the date as 426, and most of the details come from the Samguk Yusa and the Nihon Shoki, with some corroboration coming from Aston’s notes on the Tonggam.
Now Nulchi was grieving for his brothers. Neither Goguryeo nor Yamato were ready to just give up their royal hostages, and so Silla needed a wise and brave man to help them hatch a plan. They found such a man in Pak Jesang, the form of the magistrate of Sapna county, and his name was Pak Jesang. Pak gladly accepted the task from his king, and after taking his leave of the court he disguised himself and headed north, to Goguryeo, to the capital at Gungnae—modern Ji’an, where Gwangaetto the Great was buried. There he found out where Prince Bokho – the Goguryeo hostage – was staying, and found a time to talk with him in secret.
Here it may be helpful to understand that being a royal hostage wasn’t quite the same as being a prisoner. Though the prince was unable to leave, it is quite likely that he was being kept in a manner befitting his station, and he would regularly attend the King’s court. He had the opportunity to meet with the members of the court and the people around him and get to know them. He just wasn’t allowed to leave.
Unfortunately, the actual escape from Gungnae—which only sounds like a Snake Plissken flick—isn’t recorded in any great detail. What we do know is that Pak Jesang had a plan, but that plan apparently consisted of the Prince pretending to be sick for a few days, and then finally running off to meet at Koseong, on the coast, where Pak Jesang would have a getaway boat ready. Seems easy enough… except when you realize that the coast would have been well over 300 kilometers away. I hope he had a horse.
Regardless, it seems to have worked, in part because of the good friends that Prince Bokho had made, particularly amongst the guards. When they king found out he ordered his guards to chase him down, but they used headless arrows when they fired at him, and deliberately missed, since he had been such a good friend to all of them—or so the stories go.
When Prince Bokho made it back to Silla, his brother, King Nulchi, was overjoyed, but there was still one more prisoner left—Misaheun, hostage of the Wa. Pak Jesang left on that voyage so quickly he didn’t even stop to say goodbye to his wife, who ran after him, only to see his ship already departing the shore.
Now when Jesang made it to the islands of the Wa where they were holding Prince Misaheun hostage, here’s where we get the Japanese Chroniclers’ perspective on things as well. The Chronicles claim that Silla sent three envoys as part of a tribute mission, none of whom had names resembling Pak Jesang. In the Samguk Yusa we are told that Pak made it to the Wa court by claiming that he was running away from Silla, since the King there had killed his father and brothers without a legitimate reason. Apparently this was believable, and the Wa ruler provided him a place to stay.
As he was staying there, he made friends with Prince Misaheun, and the two of them began heading down to the seashore and bringing back their catch each morning to the Wa sovereign. They kept this up until one day, the fog rolled in, and Pak Jesang saw their chance. He had the Prince taken away by a Silla boatman, and then he went back to the Prince’s house to buy some time. When the Wa came looking for Misaheun to check on him, Pak Jesang told them that he was feeling tired from hunting the previous day, so he was resting. They came again at noon to ask after him, and by then they discovered that Prince Misaheun had fled.
The ruler of the Wa was wroth and ordered his men to go in pursuit, but it was to no avail—the Prince was long gone. Returning back to the court he sought out Pak Jesang and poured out his rage on him, since he had claimed to become a vassal of the Wa king. Pak Jesang, however, now defiantly claimed that he was a man of Silla, through and through, and even as they tortured him, standing him up on a red hot iron, he would not say anything but that he was a vassal of the King of Silla. Finally, realizing they would get nothing out of him, they hung Pak Jesang on Kishima—Ki island.
The story in the Nihon Shoki is similar, but definitely without the pro-Silla angle to it. There, Prince Misaheun beseeches the sovereign to let him go, claiming that the envoys told him that since he’d been away for so long, the King of Silla had confiscated his wife and family and had them enslaved. He asked to go back to Silla to find out if this was true.
The sovereign gave him leave to go, and here is where our friend, Katsuragi So-tsu-hiko, re-enters the narrative. As we already demonstrated, he was the go-to guy for people traveling from or to Yamato. Together they all reached Tsushima together—So-tsu-hiko, Prince Misaheun, and the three Silla envoys, along with whatever sailors and soldiers were sent along as well. They then stayed the night at the harbour of Sabi no Umi.
It was here that the envoys found the chance they had been waiting for. They put Prince Misaheun on a boat that they had arranged to meet them and they sent him back to Silla. In his place, they created a dummy made of straw, which they put in Misaheun’s berth on the ship, and made it seem like he was ill. So-tsu-hiko was worried about his health, however, and sent men to check on him, and help nurse him back to health, but of course, they discovered the ruse.
Angry and upset at being deceived, So-tsu-hiko had the three envoys placed in a cage and then burned them all alive. He then proceeded on with his ship and his men and attacked Silla, taking the castle of Chora, and capturing and enslaving numerous people whom he brought back to Yamato. These were the ancestors of several villages and families. He never did catch up with Misaheun, however, who made it safely back home.
There is one more telling, somewhere in between these two, which comes from the Dongguk Tonggam, and it is provided by Aston in his footnotes to the Nihon Shoki. As with the Samguk Yusa, it claims that Pak Jesang was the one who went to rescue Misaheun, but in this story he went to the trouble of actually having his own family and that of Prince Misaheun imprisoned so that when the Wa checked his story they would see it was true. Indeed, the Wa believed that both Misaheun and Pak Jesang were rebels, and so when they decided to send an army to attack Silla, they enlisted both of them as guides. The Wa generals were plotting each day on how to get in and take back the families of Prince Misaheun and Pak Jesang, but meanwhile, the Prince and Jesang were spending a little time each day in a separate boat, fishing, where they could discuss things.
One day, everything being arranged, when they went out on their excursion, Pak Jesang had Prince Misaheun taken in another boat back to Silla, while he stayed behind. He stayed out as long as he could, all by himself in the boat, until he was sure Misaheun was far away.
As soon as the Wa learned that Misaheun had escaped, they bound Pak Jesang and attempted to pursue Prince MIsaheun, but mist and darkness meant that they could not catch up. The lord of the Wa was enraged and threw Pak JChesang into prison. He interrogated him, asking him why he would help Prince Misaheun to escape, and, as in the Samguk Yusa, Pak Jesang simply stated that he was a vassal of the King of Silla. They tortured him numerous times, but he would not stray from his story. Finally, he was burned to death.
Though slightly different, we can see here three stories that are clearly about the same events. The actual names are a bit different, due to the problems of transliteration and even changes in the languages over time, though I have tried to standardize them here. Still, there are enough similarities that we can make out the general picture.
Now there is one more reference to So-tsu-hiko that I want to bring up, and that comes from the Man’yoshu. I can’t recall if we’ve talked about this, but the Man’yoshu is the oldest anthology of native Japanese poetry. While, yes, many poems exist in the chronicles, the Man’yoshu was written specifically for poetry, and it not only contains many poems that are said to be much older than the work itself, which was compiled around the same time as the Chronicles, in the 8th century, but it specifically made an effort to translate the sounds of Japanese, using Chinese characters.
Anyway, that work deserves an episode of its own, but for now I want to talk about just one poem that is found in that work, and it goes something like this:
Katsuraki no So-tsu-hiko ma-yumi araki ni mo;
Tanome ya kimi ga wa ga na norikenu
I’m not sure I can quite do this poem justice from a translation standpoint, but based on what others have said, it appears to be equating the strong, unfinished wood bow of Katsuraki no So-tsu-hiko with the act of telling someone—or possibly asking for—a woman’s name. This was a rather intimate act, as most women’s names were private, and typically only known to the family and to a prospective husband.
Because of the subject matter and the fact that it references So-tsu-hiko, some have attributed this poem to So-tsu-hiko’s daughter, Iwa no Hime. Of course, authorship is rather difficult to truly ascertain, but it does at least tell us that So-tsu-hiko was well enough known that his name appears in yet another source, even if just a fleeting reference.
We also can get a sense that he was more than just an escort. The reference to his bow being made of raw wood certainly suggests that people assumed he had a warrior’s aspect, and who knows what stories were being told that just aren’t around anymore?
Whatever else may have been floating around out there about So-tsu-hiko, this is what we have. We don’t even have a good story about his death, beyond that one which claims he killed himself because he couldn’t come back to the court of Okinaga Tarashi Hime, but we already covered how he was apparently active after her, though of course, who can really be sure of any of these things, particularly if the reigns overlapped in some fashion, as opposed to the strictly serial pattern of inheritance that the Chronicles put forth?
We do have a possible candidate for So-tsu-hiko’s final resting place, though even that is suspect. There is nothing mentioned, of course, in th e Chronicles, but there are some traditions claiming that he is buried at Muromiyayama Kofun, in Gose City. Of course this might be a bit awkward, as that is also said to be the burial place of Takechi no Sukune, and we covered it last episode. I doubt both of them are buried there, and it is just as likely that it is neither of them, but it’s interesting that both of these “recurring characters” in the Chronicles have these parallels in death as well as in life..
So that’s the story of Katsuraki no So-tsu-hiko. I hope you enjoyed it. Next episode we’ll continue, and hopefully wrap up the life of Homuda Wake, aka Oujin Tennou, and maybe even get into the cult

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.
太田蓉子. (2020)「葛城」を詠んだ万葉の歌. http://www.baika.ac.jp/~ichinose/o/20211125ota.pdf
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
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
Kiley, C. (1973). State and Dynasty in Archaic Yamato. The Journal of Asian Studies, 33(1), 25-49. doi: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

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References

Midzuha Wake

Oasatsuma Wakugo no Sukune

Ōkusaka no Miko

Osaka no Nakatsu Hime

Sotowori Hime

Nakatomi no Ikatsu no Omi

Yamato no Atae no Agoko

On Poetry

The Koto

References

The Princes

Izaho Wake no Mikoto

Suminoye no Naka tsu Miko

Midzuha Wake no Mikoto

The Courtiers

Achi no Atae

Heguri no Dzuku no Sukune

Kuro Hime

Sashihire, aka Sobakari

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References

The Iron Shields of Goguryeo

Individuals referenced:

The story of Tamichi

The story of the Giant Tree of Tōtōmi (遠江國)

Water torture in the Harima Fudoki

Sukuna of Hida

The Pool of Agatamori

Shiratori Tomb

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References

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References

Ice Houses of Ancient Japan

Daisen Kofun

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References

Geography

Previous Episodes

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References

The Dual Kingship Model

Prince Ō Yamamori (大山守皇子) and Prince Nukata Ō Naka tsu Hiko (額田大中彦皇子)

Ujigami Shrine (宇治上神社)

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References

Who’s who?

Ajikki (阿直岐)

Wang’in/Wani (王仁)

Takuso (卓素)

Susukori (須須許理), aka Nipo (仁番)

Maketsu (眞毛津)

Saiso (西素)

Achi no Omi (阿知使主) , Tsuga no Omi (都加使主), and the Weavers of Kure

King Jeonji of Baekje (腆支 / 直支)

Prince Hunhae of Baekje (訓解)

Prince Jeomnye [Jeoprye?] of Bakeje (蝶禮)

King Guisin of Bakeje (久爾辛)

Mong Manchi (木満致)

Continental Clans

Hachiman

Homuda Wake’s Kofun

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References

Katsuraki no Sotsuhiko

Ame no Hiboko

Takechi no Sukune

Okinaga Tarashi Hime

Homuda Wake

King of Kara and his Sister

Mongna Geunja

Yutsuki / Kungwol

Maketsu

Iwa no Hime

King Naemul of Silla

King Silseong of Silla

King Nulji of Silla

Prince Bokho of Silla

Prince Ō Yamamori (大山守皇子) and Prince Nukata Ō Naka tsu Hiko　(額田大中彦皇子)