Gishiwajinden Tour: Ito-koku and Na-koku

July 16, 2024 Joshua Badgley

Example of the large bronze mirrors found in the area of Ito-koku. Is this the same kind of mirror as the Yatakagami held at Ise Shrine? What does it mean for them to have had such a mirror in the 3rd century?

This episode we covered the final leg of our trip to Ito and Na—which is to say Itoshima and Fukuoka. There are a few photos, below, and the famous mirror at the start of this post.

Agricultural equipment

Various agricultural tools found in the area of the ancient Itokoku. From Itokoku Museum.

Hirabaru Mound

The Hirabaru burial mound, where they found a kingly burial with the very large mirrors. Today, it is largely just the mound, and not the other accompanying buildings.

Seal of the King of Na

The seal of the King of Na of Wa, granted by the Han dynasty as recorded by the Houhanshu and rediscovered in the 18th century on Shika Island. It was kept by the Kuroda family, rulers of Fukuoka Han, until the Meiji period, when the family donated it to the Fukuoka City Museum.

Seal for Dian (Replica)

Replica of an extant Han seal to Dian, which also uses the snake backed motif similar to that used in the seal for the King of Na.

Dazaifu Tenmangu

Tenmangu shrine for the spirit of Sugawara Michizane on the site of the old Dazaifu, where he once served. Although the government buildings are no longer there, the area is still known as Dazaifu.

Kourokan layout

Model of what the Kourokan, the foreign guest house in Fukuoka, may have been like based on archaeological investigations.

Kourokan reconstruction

At the site of the old Kourokan, they have rebuilt a life-sized model of a part of one of the buildings, demonstrating the construction techniques of the time.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is Gishiwajinden Part Five: Ito-koku and Na-koku
This episode we are finishing up our Gishiwajinden Tour, focusing on our journey to Ito-koku and Na-koku, or modern day Itoshima and Fukuoka. We’ll talk about what we know from the records of these two areas in the Yayoi and early Kofun periods, and then look at some of the later history, with the development of the Dazaifu, the build up of Hakata and Fukuoka, and more. A key thread through all of this will be our discussion about why it was Yamato, and not these early states, who eventually became paramount. If this is where things like wet paddy rice agriculture started, and they had such close ties to the continent, including sending a mission to the Han dynasty, why did the political center shift over to Yamato, instead? It is certainly something to wonder about, and without anything written down by the elites of Na and Ito we can only really guess based on what we see in the histories and the archaeological record.
We ended our tour in Na for a reason: while the Gishiwajinden—the Japanese section of the Wei Chronicles—describes the trip from the continent all the way to Yamatai, the locations beyond Na are largely conjecture. Did ancient travelers continue from Na along the Japan Sea coast up to Izumo and then travel down somewhere between Izumo and Tsuruga to the Nara Basin? Or did they travel the Inland Sea Route, with its calmer waters but greater susceptibility to pirates that could hide amongst the various islands and coves? Or was Yamatai on the island of Kyushu, and perhaps the name just happens to sound similar to the Yamato of Nara?
Unfortunately, the Wei Chronicles have more than a few problems with accuracy, including problems with directions, meaning that at most we have some confidence in the locations out to “Na”, but beyond that it gets more complicated. And even “Na” has some questions, but we’ll get to that later.
Unlike the other points on our journey, we didn’t stay overnight at “Ito-koku”, , and we only briefly stayed at Na—modern Fukuoka, but I’ll still try to give an account of what was going on in both places, and drawing on some past visits to the area to fill in the gaps for you.

Both the Na and Ito sites are believed to be in the modern Fukuoka prefecture, in Itoshima and Fukuoka cities. Fukuoka prefecture itself actually spans all the way up to the Shimonoseki straits and includes the old territory of Tsukushi—Chikuzen and Chikugo—as well as the westernmost part of Buzen, the “closer” part of the old land of “Toyo” on the Seto Inland Sea side of Kyushu.
When it comes to locating the country of Ito-koku, we have lots of clues from current place names. The modern Itoshima peninsula, which, in old records, was known as the country of Ito, and was later divided into the districts of Ito and Shima. Shima district, at the end of the peninsula, may have once been an island—or nearly so. It is thought that there was a waterway between the two areas, stretching from Funakoshi bay in the south to Imazu Bay, in the north, in Fukuoka proper. Over time this area was filled in with deposits from the local rivers, making it perfect for the Yayoi style wet rice paddy agriculture that was the hallmark of the growth in that period. And indeed there are certainly plenty of Yayoi and Kofun era ruins in the area, especially in eastern reaches of the modern city of Itoshima, which reside in the valley that backs up to Mt. Raizan. There you can find the Ito-koku History Museum, which tells much of the story of Ito.
The Weizhi, or the Wei Chronicles, note that Ito-koku had roughly a thousand households, with various officials under their own Queen, making it one of the few Wa countries that the Chroniclers specifically noted as being a “kingdom”, though still under the nominal hegemony of the queen of Yamatai or Yamateg.
If you continue eastward along the coast from Itoshima, you next hit Nishi-ku, the Western Ward, of modern Fukuoka city, which now continues to sprawl around Hakata Bay. Nishi-ku itself used to also be known as “Ito”, though spelled slightly differently, and you can still find Ito Shrine in the area. So was this part of Ito-koku also? It’s very possible.
Na-koku, or the country of Na, was probably on the eastern edge of modern Fukuoka, perhaps around the area known as Hakata down to modern Kasuga. Much like in Karatsu, this area features some of the earliest rice fields ever found in Japan – in this case, in the Itazuke neighborhood, just south of Fukuoka airport. The land here is mostly flat, alluvial plains, formed by the rivers that empty out into Hakata Bay, another great area for early rice agriculture.
Locating the country of Na is interesting for several reasons. For one, unlike all of the other Wei Chronicles sites we’ve mentioned, there is no clear surviving placename that obviously matches up between “Na” and the local area. It is a short enough name that it may simply be difficult to distinguish which “Na” is meant, though there is a “Naka” district in Kasuga that may show some promise. There certainly is evidence for a sizeable settlement, but that’s much more tenuous than the placenames for other areas, which remained largely in use in some form up to the modern day, it would seem.
The name “Na” shows up in more than just the Weizhi, and it is also mentiond in the Houhan-shu, or the Record of the Later Han, a work compiled later than the Weizhi, but using older records from the Late Han dynasty period. There it is asserted that the country of Na was one of the 99 some-odd countries of Wa, and they sent an embassy to the Later Han court, where they received a gold seal made out to the “King of Na of Wa”.
We talked about this in Episode 10: The Islands of the Immortals: That seal, made of gold, was seemingly found in the Edo period—1784, to be precise. A farmer claimed to have found it on Shika island, in Hakata Bay, which is quite prominent, and connected to the mainland with a periodically-submerged causeway. The description of the find—in a box made up of stones, with a large stone on top that required at least two men to move it—seems like it could have been an old burial of some kind. The island certainly makes sense as an elite burial site, overlooking Hakata Bay, which was likely an important feature of the lifeways of the community.
While there have been questions about the authenticity of the seal, if it is a forgery, it is quite well done. It looks similar to other Han era seals, and we don’t really have a way to date the gold it is made of. Without the actual context we can’t be quite sure.
This certainly seems like pretty strong evidence of the country of Na in this area, somewhere – probably not on the island itself, then close by.So unless something else comes along, I think we can say that this is at least the vicinity of the old country of Na.
Okay, so now that we’ve talked in general about where these two places were, let’s go back and look at them in more detail.
The Ito-koku site is just up the coast from where we stayed for Matsuro-koku, in Karatsu, which all makes sense from the position of the Chronicles in that it says the early envoys traveled overland from one place to the other. Of course it also says they traveled southeast, which is not correct as the route is actually northeast. However, they had traveled southeast from the Korean peninsula to Tsushima and then Iki and Matsuro, so that direction was well established, and this is an easy enough error that could have been made by the actual envoys or by later scribes, as it would be a one character difference.
For Ito-koku, as with Matsuro-koku, we have no large, reconstructed sites similar to Harunotsuji on Iki or Yoshinogari, further inland in Saga prefecture, where we have an entire, large, so-called “kingly” settlement. There is evidence of settlements, though, both near the major burial sites as well as around the peninsula. And as for those burial sites, well, Ito has a few, and they aren’t merely important because of their size. Size is often an indication of the amount of labor that a leader must have been able to mobilize, and so it can be used to get a general sense of the power that a given leader or system was able to wield, as they could presumably turn that labor to other users as well. However, it is also important to look at other factors, like burial goods. What kind of elite material was the community giving up and placing with the deceased?
That is the case with the first site we’ll discuss, the Hirabaru burial mound. At first glance it isn’t much—a relatively unassuming square mound, about 12 by 14 meters, and less than 2 meters in height. It was discovered in 1965 by a farmer who started digging a trench to plant an orchard and started pulling up broken pieces of a bronze mirror, one of the first clues that this was someone important. They later found various post holes around the site, suggesting that it was more than just an earthen mound, and as they excavated the site they found pottery, beads, mirrors, and more.
Let’s start with those post-holes. It looks like there was at least one large pillar set up due east of the burial. We don’t know how tall it was, but it was likely of some height given the size of the pillar hole—I’ve seen some estimates that it could have been up to 70 meters tall. A tall pole would have provided visibility, and it may also be significant that it was east, in the direction of the rising sun. We know that the ancient Wa had a particular connection with the sun, and this may be further evidence of that. There are other holes that may be a gate, and possible a storehouse nearby, presumably for various ritual items, etc. Suddenly, even without knowing exactly what was there, we start to see a picture of a large, manmade complex that seems to be centered on this burial and whomever is there.
On top of that, there was a mirror in the tomb that was larger than any other ever found in Japan at that time—certainly the largest round mirror of that period. It is not one of the triangular rimmed mirrors that Yamato is known for, but may have been part of another large cache brought over from the mainland. About 40 mirrors in total, many of them very large, were found buried in the tomb, some of which appear to have been broken for some reason. Furthermore, the large mirrors appear to fit within the dimensions given the Great Mirror—the Yata no kagami—housed at the sacred Ise Shrine. There is a document in 804, the “Koutai Jingu Gishiki Chou”, detailing the rituals of Ise shrine, which describes the sacred mirror sitting in a box with an inner diameter of 1 shaku, 6 sun, and 3 bu, or approximately 49.4 centimeters, at least using modern conversions. The same measurements are given in the 10th century Engi Shiki. So we can assume that the mirror in Ise, which nobody is allowed to actually see, let alone measure, is smaller than that, but not by much, as the box would have been made to fit the mirror, specifically. It isn’t like you can just grab a box from Mirror Depot. The mirrors found at Hirabaru Mound measure 46.5 centimeters, and have a floral pattern with an eight petaled flower on the back. Could this mirror be from the same mold or the same cache, at least, as the sacred mirror at Ise? At the very least, they would seem to be of comparable value.
In addition, there were many beads, jars, etc. Noticeably absent from the burial were swords and weapons. Based on this, some have argued that this was the burial of a queen of Ito-koku. There is evidence that this may be the case, but I don’t think the presence of weapons, or the lack thereof, is necessarily a good indicator. After all, we see in the old stories that women were also found wielding swords and leading troops into battle. So it’s dangerous to make assumptions about gender based on this aspect alone.
I wonder if the Hirabaru tomb assemblage might have more to do with something else we see in Yamato and which was likely applicable elsewhere in the archipelago: a system of co-rulership, where one role might have to do more with administrative and/or ritual practice, regardless of gender. This burial assemblage or mirrors and other non-weapons might reflect this kind of position. The Weizhi often mentions “secondary” or “assistant” positions, which may have truly been subordinate to a primary ruler, or could have just been misunderstood by the Wei envoys, who saw everything through their particular cultural stratification. In a similar fashion, early European explorers would often name people “king”—from the daimyo of Sengoku era Japan to Wahunsenacawh, known popularly as “Powhatan” for the name of his people, on what would become known as North America. That isn’t to say that these weren’t powerful individuals, but the term “king” comes with a lot of Eurocentric assumptions and ideas about power, stratification, etc. Is there any reason to believe that the Wei envoys and later chroniclers were necessarily better at describing other cultures?
And of course we don’t have any physical remains of the actual individual buried there, either. However, there is a good reason to suggest that this may have been a female ruler, and that is because of something in the Weizhi, which specifically says that the people of Ito lived under the rule of a female king, aka a queen, using a description not unlike what is used for Queen Himiko. In fact, Ito gets some special treatment in the record, even though it isn’t the largest of the countries. Let’s look at those numbers first: Tsushima is said to have 1,000 households, while Iki is more like 3,000. Matsuro is then counted at 4,000 families, but Ito is only said to have 1,000, similar to Tsushima. Just over the mountains and along the Bay, the country of Na is then counted at a whopping 20,000 households, so 20 times as many. These numbers are probably not entirely accurate, but do give an impression of scale, at least.
But what distinguishes Ito-koku in this is that we are told that it had a special place for envoys from the Korean peninsula to rest when they came. It makes you wonder about this little place called Ito.
Hirabaru is not the only kingly tomb in the area. Walk about 20 to 30 minutes further into the valley, and you might just find a couple of other burials—in particular Mikumo-Minami Shouji, discovered in 1822, and Iwara-Yarimizo, which includes artifacts discovered in the 1780s in the area between Mikumo and Iwara as they were digging a trench. Based on evidence and descriptions, we know that they pulled out more bronze mirrors and other elite goods indicative of the late Yayoi paramounts. In these areas they have also found a number of post holes suggesting other buildings—enough to perhaps have a relatively large settlement. As noted earlier, we do not have a reconstructed village like in Harunotsuji or Yoshinogari, given that these are private fields, so the shape of the ancient landscape isn’t as immediately impressive to people looking at the area, today.
The apparent dwellings are largely found in the triangle created between two rivers, which would have been the water source for local rice paddies. The tombs and burials are found mostly on the outskirts, with the exception of the kingly burial of Mikumo-Minami Shouji. This is also interesting when you consider that the later Hirabaru mound was situated some distance away, raising a bunch of questions that we frankly do not have answers for.
The area of these ruins is not small. It covers roughly 40.5 hectares, one of the largest Yayoi settlements so far discovered. Of course, traces of other large settlements—like something in the Fukuoka area or back in Yamato—may have been destroyed by later construction, particularly in heavily developed areas. This is interesting, though, when you consider that the Weizhi only claimed some 1,000 households.
There are also other graves, such as various dolmens, across Ito and Shima, similar to those found on the peninsula, and plenty of other burials across both ancient districts. And as the Yayoi culture shifted, influence of Yamato can be seen. While Ito-koku clearly had their own burial practices, which were similar to, but not exactly like, those in the rest of the archipelago, we can see them start to adopt the keyhole style tomb mounds popular in Yamato.
During the kofun period, the area of Itoshima built at least 60 identified keyhole shaped tombs, with a remarkable number of them from the early kofun period. Among these is Ikisan-Choushizuka Kofun, a large, round keyhole tomb mound with a vertical stone pit burial, estimated to have been built in the latter half of the 4th century. At 103 meters in length, it is the largest round keyhole tomb on the Genkai coast—that is to say the northwest coast of Kyushu.
All of these very Yamato-style tombs would appear to indicate a particular connection between Ito and Yamato—though what, exactly, that looked like is still up for debate. According to the various early Chronicles, of course, this would be explained because, from an early period, Yamato is said to have expanded their state to Kyushu and then even on to the Korean peninsula. In particular, the Chronicles talk about “Tsukushi”, which is both used as shorthand for the entirety of Kyushu, while also indicating the area largely encompassing modern Fukuoka prefecture. On the other hand, this may have been a sign of Ito demonstrating its own independence and its own prestige by emulating Yamato and showing that they, too, could build these large keyhole tombs. After all, the round keyhole shape is generally thought to have been reserved, in Yamato, for members of the royal family, and Ito-koku may have been using it similarly for their own royal leaders.
It may even be something in between—Ito-koku may have recognized Yamato’s influence and leadership, but more in the breach than in actuality. Afterall, until the standup of things like the various Miyake and the Dazai, we aren’t aware of a direct outpost of the Yamato government on Kyushu. The Miyake, you may recall, were the ”royal granaries”, which were basically administrative regions overseeing rice land that was directly controlled by Yamato, while the Dazai was the Yamato government outpost in Kyushu for handling continental affairs. On top of a lack of local control in the early Kofun, the Weizhi appears to suggest that the Yamato paramount, Himiko, was the “Queen of the Wa” only through the consensus of other polities, but clearly there were other countries in the archipelago that did not subscribe to her blog, as it were, as they were in open conflict with Yamato.
This all leads into something we’ve talked about in the main podcast at various times, but it still bears discussing: How did Yamato, over in the Nara Basin, become the center of political life in the Japanese archipelago, and why not somewhere in Kyushu, like ancient Na or Ito? While we don’t entirely know, it is worth examining what we do and some of the factors that may have been in play.
After all, Kyushu was the closest point of the main Japanese islands to the mainland, and we see that the Yayoi culture gets its start there. From there, Yayoi culture spread to the east, and if we were to apply similar assumptions as we do on the spread of the keyhole shaped kofun, we would assume that the culture-givers in the west would have held some level of prestige as groups came to them to learn about this new technology, so why wasn’t the capital somewhere in Kyushu? We likewise see other such things—Yayoi pottery styles, fired in kilns, rather than open fired pottery; or even bronze items brought over from the continent. In almost every instance, we see it first in Kyushu, and then it diffuses eastward up to the edge of Tohoku. This pattern seems to hold early on, and it makes sense, as most of this was coming over from the continent.
Let’s not forget, though, that the Yayoi period wasn’t simply a century: by our most conservative estimates it was approximately 600 years—for reference, that would be roughly equivalent to the period from the Mongol invasions up to the end of the Edo period, and twice as long as the period from Mimaki Iribiko to the Naka-no-Oe in 645, assuming that Mimaki Iribiko was ruling in the 3rd century. So think about all that has happened in that time period, mostly focused on a single polity, and then double it. More recent data suggests that the Yayoi period may have been more like an 1100 to 1300 year range, from the earliest start of rice cultivation. That’s a long time, and enough time for things in the archipelago to settle and for new patterns of influence to form. And while Kyushu may have been the first region to acquire the new rice growing technology, it was other areas around the archipelago that would begin to truly capitalize on it.
We are told that by the time the Wei envoys arrived that the state of Yamato, which we have no reason not to believe was in the Nara Basin, with a focus on the area of modern Sakurai, had approximately 70,000 households. That is huge. It was larger than Na, Ito, and Matsuro, combined, and only rivaled in the Weizhi by Touma-koku, which likely referred to either the area of Izumo, on the Japan Sea coast, or to the area of Kibi, along the Seto Inland Sea, both of which we know were also large polities with significant impact in the chronicles.
And here there is something to consider about the Yayoi style agriculture—the land determined the ultimate yield. Areas with more hills and mountains are not as suited to wet rice paddy agriculture. Meanwhile, a flat basin, like that in Yamato, which also has numerous rivers and streams draining from the surrounding mountains into the basin and then out again, provided the possibility for a tremendous population, though no doubt it took time to build.
During that time, we definitely see evidence of the power and influence of places like Na and Ito. Na sent an embassy to the Han court—an incredible journey, and an indication of not only their interest in the Han court and continental trade, but also their ability to gather the resources necessary for such a journey, which likely required some amount of assistance from other, nearby polities. Na must have had some sway back then, we would assume.
Meanwhile, the burial at Ito shows that they were also quite wealthy, with clear ties to the continent given their access to large bronze mirrors. In the absence of other data, the number and size of bronze mirrors, or similar bronze items, likely only useful for ritual purposes, indicates wealth and status, and they had some of the largest mirrors as well as the largest collection found for that period. Even into the stories in the Nihon Shoki and the Kojiki we see how mirrors, swords, and jewels all are used a symbols of kingship. Elite status was apparently tied to material items, specifically to elite trade goods.
Assuming Yamato was able to grow its population as much as is indicated in the Weizhi, then by the 3rd century, they likely had the resources to really impress other groups. Besides things like mirrors, we can probably assume that acquisition of other goods was likewise important. Both Ito and Yamato show evidence of pottery shards from across the archipelago, indicating extensive trade networks. But without any other differentiating factors, it is likely that Yamato, by the 3rd century, at least, was a real powerhouse. They had a greater production capacity than the other states listed in the Weizhi, going just off of the recorded human capital.
And this may answer a question that has been nagging me for some time, and perhaps others: Why did other states acquiesce to Yamato rule? And the answer I keep coming back to is that it was probably a combination of wealth, power, prestige, ritual, and time.
For one thing, wealth: Yamato had it. That meant they could also give it. So, if Yamato was your friend, you got the goods, and you had access to what you need. You supported them, they could help you with what you needed. These transactional alliances are not at all uncommon, and something I think most of us can understand.
There is also power—specifically military power. With so many people, Yamato would likely have been a formidable threat should they decide that violence was the answer. That said, while we read of military campaigns, and no doubt they did go out and fight and raid with the best of them, it’s expensive to do so. Especially exerting control over areas too far out would have been problematic, especially before writing AND horses. That would be costly, and a drain on Yamato’s coffers. So while I do suspect that various military expeditions took place, it seems unlikely that Yamato merely bested everyone in combat. Military success only takes you so far without constant maintenance.
And so here is where I think prestige and ritual come into play. We’ve talked about how Yamato did not exactly “rule” the archipelago—their direct influence was likely confined to the Kinki region for the longest period of time. And yet we see that they influenced people out on the fringes of the Wa cultural sphere: when they started building large, keyhole shaped kofun for their leaders, and burying elites only one to a giant mound, the other areas of Japan appear to have joined in. Perhaps Yamato was not the first to build a kofun for a single person, but they certainly were known for the particular shape that was then copied by so many others. But why?
We don’t know for certain, but remember that in Yamato—and likely the rest of the Wa cultural sphere—a large part of governance was focused on ritual. The natural and what we would consider the supernatural—the visible and invisible—worked hand in hand. To have a good harvest, it required that workers plant, water, harvest, etc. in the right seasons and in the right way. Likewise, it was considered equally important to have someone to intercede with the kami—to ensure that the rains come at the right time, but not too much, and a host of other natural disasters that could affect the crop.
And if you want to evaluate how well ritual works, well, look at them.   Are you going to trust the rituals of someone whose crops always fail and who barely has a single bronze mirror? Or are you going to trust the rituals of someone with a thriving population, multiple mirrors, and more? Today, we might refer to this as something like the prosperity gospel, where wealth, good health, and fortune are all seen as stemming from how well one practices their faith, and who’s to say that back in the day it wasn’t the same? Humans are going to human, after all.
So it makes sense that one would give some deference to a powerhouse like Yamato and even invite their ritualists to come and help teach you how it is done. After all, the local elites were still the ones calling the shots. Nothing had really changed.
And here is where time comes in. Because over time what started as an alliance of convenience became entrenched in tradition. Yamato’s status as primus inter pares, or first among equals, became simply one of primus. It became part of the unspoken social contract. Yamato couldn’t push too hard on this relationship, at least not all at once, but over time they could and did demand more and more from other states.
I suspect, from the way the Weizhi reads, that Yamato was in the early stages of this state development. The Weizhi makes Queen Himiko feel like something of a consensus candidate—after much bickering, and outright fighting, she was generally accepted as the nominal paramount. There is mention of a male ruler, previously, but we don’t know if they were a ruler in Yamato, or somewhere else, nor if it was a local elite or an earlier paramount. But not everyone in the archipelago was on board—Yamato did have rivals, somewhere to the south (or north?); the directions in the Weizhi are definitely problematic, and it may refer to someone like the Kuma or Kumaso people in southern Kyushu or else people that would become known as the Emishi further to the east of Yamato.
This lasted as long as Yamato was able to continue to demonstrate why they were at the top of this structure. Theoretically, anyone else could climb up there as well, and there are certainly a few other powerful states that we can identify, some by their mention and some by their almost lack of mention. Izumo and Kibi come to mind almost immediately.
The Weizhi makes it clear that Himiko’s rule was not absolute, and part of her reaching out to the Wei in the first place may have been the first attempt at something new—external validation by the continent. A large part of international diplomacy is as much about making people believe you have the power to do something as actually having that power. Getting recognition from someone like the Wei court would further legitimize Yamato’s place at the top of the heap, making things easier for them in the long run.
Unfortunately, it seems like things did not go so smoothly, and after Himiko’s death, someone else came to power, but was quickly deposed before a younger queen took over—the 13 year old Toyo. Of course, the Wei and then the Jin had their own problems, so we don’t get too many details after that, and from there we lose the thread on what was happening from a contemporary perspective. Instead, we have to rely on the stories in the Nihon Shoki and Kojiki, which are several hundred years after the fact, and clearly designed as a legitimizing narrative, but still present us something of a picture. We don’t see many stories of local elites being overthrown, though there do seem to be a fair number of military campaigns. Nonetheless, even if they were propped up by Yamato, local elites likely had a lot of autonomy, at least early on, even as they were coopted into the larger Yamato umbrella. Yamato itself also saw ups and downs as it tried to figure out how to create a stable succession plan from one ruler to the next. At some point they set up a court, where individuals from across the archipelago came and served, and they created alliances with Baekje, on the peninsula, as well as with another polity which we know of as Nimna. Through them, Yamato continued to engage with the continent when the dynastic struggles there allowed for it. The alliance with Baekje likely provided even more legitimacy for Yamato’s position in the archipelago, as well as access to continental goods. Meanwhile the court system Yamato set up provided a means for Yamato to, itself, become a legitimizing factor.
Hierarchical differences in society were already visible in the Yayoi period, so we can generally assume that the idea of social rank was not a new concept for Yamato or the other Wa polities. This is eventually codified into the kabane system, but it is probably likely that many of the kabane came about, originally, as titles of rank used within the various polities. Yamato’s ability to claim to give—or even take away—that kabane title, would have been a new lever of power for Yamato. Theoretically, other polities could just ignore them and keep going on with their daily lives, but if they had already bought into the social structure and worldview that Yamato was promoting, then they likely would have acquiesced, at least in part, to Yamato’s control.
Little by little, Yamato’s influence grew, particularly on those closer to the center. Those closer, and more affected, started to listen to Yamato’s rules about kofun size and shape, while those further on the fringes started to adopt Yamato’s traditions for themselves, while perhaps maintaining greater independence.
An early outlier is the Dazai. It is unclear whether this was forcibly imposed on the old region of Na and nearby Ito, or if it was more diplomatically established. In the end, though, Yamato established an outpost in the region early on, almost before they started their practice of setting up “miyake”, the various royal granaries that appear to have also become local Yamato government offices in the various lands. The Dazai was more than just a conduit to accept taxes in the form of rice from various locals—it was also in charge of missions to the continent. Whether they were coming or going, military or diplomatic, the Dazai was expected to remain prepared. The early iterations were likely in slightly different locations, and perhaps not as large, but still in roughly the area near modern Fukuoka and Dazai. This was a perfect place not only from which to prepare to launch or receive missions from the continent, but also to defend the nearby Shimonoseki straits, which was an important entryway into the Seto Inland Sea, the most direct route to Naniwa and the Yamato court.
The first iterations of direct Yamato control in Tsukushi—modern Fukuoka—claim to have been focused largely on being a last point to supply troops heading over to fight on the peninsula, not unlike the role of Nagoya castle on the Higashi-Matsuura peninsula in the 16th century. Over time, though, it grew into much more. The Weizhi, for its part mentions something in the land of Ito, where there were rooms set up for envoys from the continent, but the Dazai was this on steroids.
Occasionally we see evidence of pushback against Yamato’s expansion of powers. Early on, some states tried to fool the envoys into thinking that they were Yamato, perhaps attempting to garner the trade goods for themselves and to take Yamato’s place as the interlocutor between the Wa polities and the continent. We also see outright rebellions—from Iwai in Kyushu, in the 6th century, but also from various Emishi leaders as well. The Iwai rebellion may have been part of the impetus for setting up the Dazai as a way to remotely govern Tsukushi—or at least help keep people in line. For the most part, though, as time goes by, it would seem that Yamato’s authority over other polities just became tradition, and each new thing that Yamato introduced appears to have been accepted by the various other polities, over time. This is likely a much more intricate process than even I’m describing here, but I’m not sure that it was necessarily a conscious one; as the concept of Yamato as the “paramount” state grew, others ceded it more and more power, which only fed Yamato’s self-image as the paramount state. As the elites came under the Yamato court and rank system, they were more closely tied to it, and so Yamato’s increased power was, in a way, passed on to them as well. At least to those who bought in.
By the 5th century, we know that there were families sending people to the court from as far away as Hi no Kuni in Kyushu—near modern Kumamoto—and Musashi no Kuni in the east—including modern Saitama.
All of that said, while they may have subordinated themselves to Yamato in some ways, the various polities still maintained some independent actions and traditions. For example, whatever their connection to Yamato, the tombs at Itoshima also demonstrate a close connection to the peninsula. The horizontal entry chamber style of tomb—something we saw a lot in Iki, and which seems to have been introduced from the continent—started to become popular in the latter half of the 4th century, at least in the west of the archipelago. This is well before we see anything like it in Yamato or elsewhere, though it was eventually used across the archipelago. Itoshima appears to have been an early adopter of this tomb style, picking it up even before the rest of the archipelago caught on, making them the OG horizontal chambers, at least in Japan.
Ultimately, the image we have of Ito-koku is of an apparently small but relatively influential state with some influence on the cross-strait trade, with close ties to Yamato.
The history of the region seems a bit murky past the Kofun period. There are earthworks of an old mountain castle on Mt. Raizan that could be from the Asuka period, and in the 8th century the government built Ito castle on the slopes of Mt. Takaso, possibly to provide some protection to the Dazaifu, which was the Yamato outpost in Kyushu, and eventually became the main administrative center for the island. It seems, then, that whatever power the country of Ito may have once had, it was subsumed by the Dazai, which was built a little inland, east of the old Na territory. Furthermore, as ships grew more seaworthy over time, they could make the longer voyages straight to Iki or Tsushima from Hakata. For the most part, the area of the Itoshima peninsula seems to have been merely a set of districts in the larger Tsukushi and then the Chikuzen provinces.
The area of Na, meanwhile, which is said to have had 20,000 households in the 3rd century—much larger than nearby Ito—was completely eclipsed by the Dazaifu after the Iwai rebellion. After the fall of Baekje, the Dazaifu took on even greater administrative duties, and eventually took over all diplomatic engagement with the continent. They even set up a facility for hosting diplomatic envoys from the continent. This would come to be known as the Kourokan, and they actually found the ruins of it near the site where Maizuru castle was eventually built in what is now Chuo-ku, or the central ward, of Fukuoka city.
From the Heian period onwards, the Harada family eventually came to have some power in the area, largely subordinate to others, but they built another castle on Mt. Takaso, using some of the old Ito Castle earthworks, and participated in the defense of the nation during the Mongol invasions.
The Harada family rose briefly towards the end of the Sengoku Period, pushing out the Otomo as Hideyoshi’s campaign swept into Kyushu. They weren’t quite fast enough to join Hideyoshi’s side, though, and became subordinate to Kato Kiyomasa and eventually met their end during the Invasions of Korea.
The Ito district at some point after that became part of the So clan’s holdings, falling under Tsushima’s purview, along with a scattering of districts elsewhere, all likely more about the revenue produced than local governance. In the Edo period, there were some efforts to reclaim land in Imazu bay, further solidifying links with the Itoshima peninsula and the mainland, but that also fits in with the largely agricultural lifestyle of the people in the region. It seems to have remained largely a rural backwater up into modern times, when the Ito and Shima districts were combined into an administrative district known as “Itoshima city”.
Meanwhile, the Dazaifu continued to dominate the region of modern Fukuoka. Early on, worried about a Silla-Tang alliance, the Yamato state built massive forts and earthworks were built around the Dazaifu to protect the region from invasion. As the Tang dynasty gave way to the Song and Yuan dynasties, however, and the Heian court itself became more insular, the Dazaifu’s role faded, somewhat. The buildings were burned down in the 10th century, during the failed revolt of Fujiwara no Sumitomo. The government never rebuilt, and instead the center of regional government shifted to Hakata, closer to the bay.
Appointed officials to the Dazai were known as the Daini and the Shoni. Mutou Sukeyori was appointed as Dazai Shoni, the vice minister of the Dazaifu, in the late 12th century. Though he had supported the Taira in the Genpei wars, he was pardoned and made the guardian of Northern Kyushu, to help keep the region in check for the newly established Kamakura Bakufu. He would effectively turn that into a hereditary position, and his family became known as the “Shoni”, with their position eventually coming to be their family name. They would provide commendable service against the Mongol invasion, and eventually became the Shugo Daimyo over much of western Kyushu and the associated islands, though not without pushback from others in the region.
Over time, the power of the Shoni waned and various other daimyo began to rise up. The chaos of the Sengoku period saw the entire area change hands, back and forth, until Hideyoshi’s invasion of Kyushu. Hideyoshi divided up control of Kyushu, and Chikuzen, including the areas of Hakata and modern Itoshima, was given to Kobayakawa Takakage. Hideyoshi also began to redevelop the port of Hakata. After the battle of Sekigahara, Kobayakawa Hideaki, Takakage’s adopted son and nephew to the late Hideyoshi, was transferred to the fief of Okayama, and the area of modern Fukuoka city was given to Kuroda Nagamasa, creating the Fukuoka Han, also known as the Kuroda Han.
Nagamasa would go on to build Maizuru Castle on the other side of the Naka river from the port of Hakata, creating two towns with separate administration, each of which fell under the ultimate authority of the Kuroda. Hakata, on the east side of the river, was a city of merchants while Fukuoka was the castle town, and largely the domain of samurai serving the Kuroda. The Kuroda would remain in control of the Fukuoka domain through the Edo period, and only lost control at the very start of the Meiji, as the domain system in general was dissolved. Over that time, Hakata remained an important port city, and the samurai of Fukuoka were known for maintaining their martial traditions.
In the Meiji era, samurai from the Kuroda Han joined with other Kyushu samurai, rising up during Saigo Takamori’s rebellion. Later, it would be former samurai and others from Fukuoka who would form the Gen’yosha, an early right wing, nationalist organization that would greatly influence the Japanese government heading into the latter part of the 19th and early 20th century.
But that is getting well into more modern territory, and there is so much else we could discuss regarding the history of this area, and with any luck we will get to it all in time. For now, this concludes our Gishiwajinden Tour—we traveled from Kara, to Tsushima and Iki, and then on to Matsuro, Ito, and Na. From here the envoys traveled on to Fumi, Toma, and then Yamato. Fumi and Toma are still elusive locations, with various theories and interpretations as to where they were.   For us, this was the end of our journey.
Next episode we will be back with the Chronicles and getting into the Taika era, the era of Great Change. There we will really see Yamato starting to flex its administrative muscles as it brings the various polities of the archipelago together into a single state, which will eventually become known as the country of Nihon, aka Japan.
Until then, thank you for listening. If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts. If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode.
Also, feel free to reach out to us at our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page. You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.
Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast.
And that’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

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

Gishiwajinden Tour: Matsuro-koku

July 1, 2024 Joshua Badgley

Reconstructed Nabatake fields at the Matsuro-kan in Karatsu city. Here they found some of the oldest rice paddies in Japan, and they try to recreate the conditions, including the methods of irrigation, and use it as a teaching opportunity for local schools to come and learn about planting and growing rice.

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This episode we talk about “Matsuro-koku”, the land after Iki-koku in the Gishiwajinden, and the first “country” on one of the larger islands, where the envoys would start walking from there. We are fairly certain that “Matsuro-koku” was in the area of the old “Matsura” or “Matsuura” district on the western coast of Kyushu. However, that district was much larger than the reduced “Matsura city”, today, which is really just a collection of what was left over when most of the rest of the area had been incorporated. It stretch from Hirado up past modern Karatsu, and we have reason to believe that the area around Karatsu and the Higashi-Matsuura peninsula (which is not part of modern Matsuura city) had several Yayoi era settlements, including one in the area of modern Nabatake.

Nabatake is special because it is one of the few sites where we have the earliest evidence of wet paddy rice agriculture. Today you can visit this at the Matsurokan, in Karatsu city. Unfortunately, that community did not continue into the 3rd century, when then envoys came over from Wei, but we can likely assume that the “Matsuro-koku” where the envoys landed was probably somewhere nearby. Karatsu would long be a place where people would land when coming or going from the continent, and even when better ships and navigation meant that ships could travel almost directly to Hakata, people would still stop here.

The Matsura district would largely be only a part of the larger land of Hi, later to be considered Hizen in the western part of the province under the Ritsuryo system that was the ultimate result of the changes started with the Taika reforms. Much of the written material focuses on places like the Dazai, in Fukuoka, but over time, groups in Matsura banded together, creating their own “family” of multiple factions. As Matsura is a coastal region with many nearby islands, natural bays, and the like, it is unsurprising that this “Matsura” family amassaed a not inconsequential navy.

They would find themselves in the spotlight after the Toi Invasions of the 11th century, and they continued as a local power up through the Warring States period. During the Edo period, they were granted the Hirado domain, including Iki island, and thus played a continued role in trade with the continent.

After Toyotomi Hideyoshi conquered Kyushu at the end of the 16th century, he began to look at the continent. He would eventually order the construction of Nagoya castle on the tip of the Higashi-matsuura peninsula. It was erected in months, including a five story tenshukaku, or castle keep, on the 90m high hill. This may have been helped by previous earthworks built there by members of the Matsura family. Hideyoshi ordered all of his generals to come and set up “camps” around the castle, and a bustling jokamachi, or castle town, sprung up. For seven years it was the de facto capital of Japan, with Hideyoshi using it to direct the two failed invasions of the Korean peninsula.

Since the town was so new, images of it show mostly thatched roofed houses, even for some of the more prominent daimyo under Hideyoshi’s command. And yet this is where Hideyoshi met Ming envoys and spent the last seven years of his life.

After he passed away, the town quickly dispersed and the castle was deliberately ruined, with key stones removed from the walls, to help prove to the Joseon kingdom that Japan was no longer seeking to invade. Focus in the Edo period turned to nearby Karatsu city.

Karatsu city had its own castle, built, in part, with some of the elements taken from Nagoya. Karatsu means “Chinese port”, indicating their role in receiving ships from the continent. Trade would be important, and the role of the daimyo of Karatsu was seen as so important that they could not be given secondary duties. This would occasionally lead to lords requesting a transfer, should they be ambitious and wish to apply for higher office within the bakufu.

In the early Edo period, a strip of pine trees was set up along the shore. This was done as a windbreak to help protect the farmland behind from storms that might blow in of the water and damage the crops. Today it is one of the oldest such groves still in existence, and it has been immortalized in story and song.

Today, the town maintains some of its traditions, and has rebuilt the tenshukaku of Karatsu castle. They also retain their “Kunchi” festival, which was modeled on that of Gion, with giant floats, now protected through UNESCO.

Karatsu

Karatsu castle overlooking the bay and the entrance to the Matsuura River.

Ancient Rice Grains

Ancient rice grains on display at the Matsurokan.

Nabatake Yayoi Village

Depiction of the Yayoi settlement based on the finds at the Nabatake site. Notice that the rice fields are all found in the swampy land by a natural stream, rather than the expansive fields you see throughout the countryside, today.

Yayoi wood beams

Wood beams like this give us some idea of what a Yayoi house looked like, along with the various post holes and other evidence. It still doesn't tell us everything, though, so there is a lot of inference.

Matsurokan Yayoi Reconstruction

On the grounds of the Matsurokan, they have conjectural examples of Yayoi and even Jomon houses, to help people get a better understanding of what life may have been like.

Karatsu Shrine

The main shrine of Karatsu city, enshrining the Sumiyoshi deities as well as Koda Munetsugu. Supposedly Koda Munetsugu first built the shrine in 755, and then it was rebuilt in 1186 and his spirit was worshipped there, as well. It is the shrine of Karatsu castle and the later Karatsu city, domain, and the old prefectural shrine.

Karatsu Bay

Karatsu's position on the west coast of Kyushu has always been its strength, providing it a link to the continent and lucrative trade.

Nagoya castle model

Model of Nagoya castle, a massive structure built in months with labor mobilized from across the archipelago.

Karatsu castle keep

An image of the castle keep from a reproduction of the Nagoya Castle Picture Screen.

Fortified "camp"

Many of the daimyo settled around the castle in fortified "camps" that were quickly erected residences for the lords to be close to the seat of power.

Nagoya city

The city of Nagoya, which sprung up around the castle, was hastily assembled, and you can see that in drawings of it. Some more permanent buildings were established, but many were made of unpainted wood and thatch.

Reproduction of Hideyoshi's teahouse

Hideyoshi is said to have carried out much of his daily business at an unassuming teahouse on the castle grounds. Based on evidence from the various drawings of the town, this is what it may have looked like.

Hideyoshi's golden tearoom

In contrast to the typical wabi-sabi feel of most teahouses, Hideyoshi had a "portable" tearoom covered in gold that could be transported with him, designed to show off his wealth and power. This is a reproduction at the Saga Prefectural Museum at Nagoya castle.

Japanese warship

Japanese naval vessels were made like floating castles for samurai to fight from. They were not the most seaworthy vessels, more suited to coastal waters, but they were used to ferry troops over to the Korean peninsula.

Korean Invasion (reproduction)

A replica of a Korean scroll depicting the Japanese invasion. The Japanese are often depicted in more Joseon style, though often with two curved swords. They are typically shown without the iconic armor as well.

Nagoya castle ruins

After Hideyoshi's death and the withdrawal of troops from the peninsula, the regents abandoned Nagoya castle for Osaka. Later, Ieyasu would order the castle to be "ruined", taking out strategic stones so that it could not be adequately defended, to indicate Japan had no further ambitions on the continent.

Karatsu Castle

Karatsu castle was built with some of the materials taken from Nagoya castle, and Karatsu became the center of trade and government administration in the area.

Niji Matsubara

A grove of trees was planted along the shore of Karatsu Bay to form a windbreak and protect the farms behind it. The picturesque pine grove is now over 300 years old, and still a popular tourist destination.

Niji Matsubara

Inside Niji Matsubara, the pine trees grow thick and close together. You can see the impact of the wind and weather. The grove is still managed, today, and quite popular.

Kunchi floats

The Karatsu Kunchi festival is one of the highlights on the city calendar, and considered an intangible cultural heritage by UNESCO.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is Gishiwajinden Tour, Part Four: Matsuro-koku
So far on this tour through the locations listed in the Weizhi’s Wa Record, the Gishiwajinden, following the route to Queen Himiko of Wa, we’ve hit the area of Gaya, or Gara; Tsushima—or Tuma-koku; Iki, aka Iki-koku; and now we are arriving at Karatsu, thought to be the location of Maturo-koku.
Now before we go any further, let’s talk about the name. After all, up to this point in the account, the names haven’t been too far off. Well, Tsushima was recorded as something like Tuma in the Chinese record, which seems reasonable, and “Iki” was actually recorded as something like “I-dai”, though we are pretty sure that was a transcription error based on other evidence. But Karatsu and Maturo, really don’t seem related. Also, didn’t we earlier equate Matsuro with Matsuura, Matsura? But if you look for Matsuura on a map it is quite some distance away from Karatsu—in fact, it is in modern Nagasaki prefecture as opposed to Karatsu, which is in modern Saga prefecture.
First off, Karatsu is a later name for the city, not the area. It literally means “Tang Port”, and that name seems to appear in the 15th century in the form of Karatsu Jinja, or Karatsu Shrine. So no, the names Karatsu and Matsuro are not related. Prior to being called Karatsu, though, it was part of a larger area called Matsura. It sits at the head of the Matsura River, which spills out into what is now called Karatsu Bay. In ancient times this seems to have been the heart of the area known as Matsura or Matsuro. Over time it was incorporated into the larger area known as Hi no Kuni, and when Hi no Kuni was divided up by the Ritsuryo state into Hizen and Higo, we see the Matsura district, or Matsura-gun, is a part, along the coast. The fact that it is spelled as “Matsu” and “Ura”, meaning “pine beach”, might hint at the original name of the place or could be a false etymology, imposed by the need to record the location in kanji, the Sinitic characters used at the time.
Fun fact time: Hizen refers to the area of the land of Hi that was closer to Yamato, while Higo refers to the area of the land of Hi that was further away. If you look at a modern map of where these two ancient provinces were, however, you’ll notice that by a slight technicality, Higo is actually closer, as the crow flies. But remember, people are not crows, at least not in this life, and in all likelihood, most of the travel to and from Yamato would have been via sea routes. So Hizen is closer to Yamato from that perspective, as you would have to sail from Higo, around Hizen, or take the long way south around Kagoshima.
But where were we?
So Matsura district in Hizen started at Matsura-gawa and the area around Karatsu bay, and included modern areas of Hirado all the way out to the Goto islands. That was a pretty large area. It later got further subdivided into East, West, North, and South Matsura subdistricts, with Karatsu in the Eastern subdistrict, and some portion of the west. Eventually, Karatsu city became its own administrative district, in modern Saga prefecture, and so did Hirado city, in what was the old Northern Matsura sub-district, joining Nagasaki prefecture. The western sub-district went to Karatsu or incorporated as Imari, known for their Imari-ware pottery. And that left a small portion of the northern sub-district.
The incorporated villages and islands eventually came together as Matsuura city, in Nagasaki prefecture, which is what you’ll see, today. And that is why, looking at a modern map, “Matsura” and modern “Matsuura” are not precisely in the same place.
That history also helps demonstrate the historical connections between Karatsu, Hirado, Iki, and Tsushima—as well as the Goto islands. This region was where the Matsura clan arose, which controlled at least out to Iki, Hirado, and the Goto archipelago, and it was known for its strong navy, among other things.
For our trip, heading to Karatsu was originally borne out of convenience: Our goal was to take the ferry so that we could travel along the ocean routes. We had traveled the route from Izuhara, on Tsushima, to Ashibe port, on Iki island. During that trip it was interesting to watch as Tsushima disappeared and then eventually Iki appeared on the horizon, but it wasn’t immediate, and I suspect you would have wanted an experienced crew who knew the route and knew what to look for. Conversely, from Indoji port, on Iki, to Karatsu I felt like we were constantly in sight of one island or another, or at least could see the mountains of Kyushu to get our bearings. There wasn’t really a time that felt like we were that far out from land. Even so, it would still have been a treacherous crossing back in the day.
Coming in to Karatsu from the ferry, the first thing you will notice is the castle. Karatsu castle, also known as Maizuru Castle, is a reconstructed castle, but it really does provide a clear view of what one would have seen. The original was abandoned in the Meiji period and sold off in 1871. The main keep was later demolished and made into a park. In 1966 they built a new, 5-storey keep on the original base, and from 1989 onward have continued to make improvements to various parts of the castle moats and walls. You can still see the layout of the Ninomaru and honmaru sections of the castle, encompassing the old samurai districts of the jokamachi, or castle town, of Karatsu during the Edo period.
Our primary goal in Karatsu, however, was not castle focused. We wanted to go back to an earlier time – the Yayoi period, to be precise - and Karatsu and the Matsuro-kan did not disappoint. While not quite as extensive as the reconstruction at other Yayoi sites like Harunotsuji or Yoshinogari, the site at the Matsuro-kan is still impressive in its own right.
What is the Matsuro-kan, you might ask? It is the building and grounds of what is also known as the Nabatake site. In 1980, construction workers were excavating for a road through the Nabatake section of Karatsu when they noticed they were pulling up artifacts. An investigation between 1980 to 1981 determined that the artifacts were from the late Jomon to middle Yayoi period. Further investigation discovered the presence of old rice paddies. In 1983 the site was designated as a national historic site, further excavations were carried out, and the Matsurokan was built to house the artifacts and also provide some reconstructions of what the rice paddies would have looked like. For context these are some of the oldest rice paddies found in Japan, along with the nearby Itazuke rice paddies, in neighboring Fukuoka prefecture, and are key for giving us insights into what we know about early rice field cultivation.
Here I should point out that these fields were in use through the middle Yayoi period, while the mission to Yamato—or Yamatai—recorded in the Weizhi would have been in the late Yayoi or early Kofun period, so likely several hundred years later. There are other Yayoi settlement remains found up and around the peninsula, and there are Kofun in the area, especially along the banks of the Matsura river. Given how built up much of the area is, it is possible that any large scale settlement may have been destroyed by subsequent settlements, or is somewhere that there just hasn’t been a good reason for a full excavation. Still, who knows what we might eventually find.
The Matsurokan appears to stick with the dating of the Yayoi period from about 300 BCE. This is based largely on assumptions regarding the development of different pottery styles. Recent research has suggested that this should be pushed back to about 800 or even 1000 BCE, suggesting a more gradual development. For our purposes, it is enough to note that this site appears to cover from the final Jomon era in Kyushu to the coming of wet rice agriculture with the advancing Yayoi culture.
Based on what was found at the site, the wet rice paddies were created in what at least one scholar has suggested as a “primitive” wet rice paddy. The paddies themselves appear to have been placed in a naturally swampy area, irrigated by a natural stream. This would have made flooding the fields relatively simple, without the large ponds or waterworks required to cover a more extensive area. This may have sufficed for a small village, possibly only a handful of families living together and working the land.
Besides the impressions of the paddies themselves, various tools, pottery, and more were also found at the site. Stone harvesting knives were plentiful—a semicircular stone knife that was held in the fingers of one hand, allowing a harvester to grasp the stalks and cut them quickly. This was the standard method of harvesting prior to the arrival of the sickle, or kama, and is still in use in some parts of China and Southeast Asia. It is more labor intensive than the sickle, but provides some benefits in the consistency and lack of waste product.
The Matsurokan demonstrates how a lot of the Yayoi tools are, in fact, still in use in one form or another in different cultures that also absorbed rice cultivation, showing how widespread it became.
In addition, there are artifacts such as shards of pottery showing what looks to be the imprint of a woven fabric, and various equipment for weaving and sewing. We have some beams and posts from buildings, which give us something at least try to guess at how things were put together.
There are bones of various animals as well as stone arrowheads. There are also fish and even dugong bones, suggesting they also made a living from the nearby sea. And there are various bits of jewelry, including magatama, and what appears to be a shark’s tooth with holes drilled in so it could be worn on a cord.

There are also carbonized rice grains found at the site, likely grown there.
We don’t have any ancient strains of rice that can be proven to come from these fields, but in their reconstruction, outside the museum, they have rebuilt some of the rice fields and grow old rice variants in them. This is used, in part, to teach local schoolchildren about rice cultivation – in fact, local schools are allocated individual paddies each growing season.
Besides the rice paddies, the Matsurokan also boasts several reconstructed dwellings. These are similar to ones you might find elsewhere depicting what life was like back in the Yayoi period.
As the Yayoi period gave way to the kofun, we do see some mounded tombs in the area, though not quite as many as in others. Matsura appears to be rather rural.
Around the Heian period, we see the rise of a local group that comes to be known as the Matsura group, or Matsura-tou, which eventually consolidated into the Matsura family. There are several lineages claiming that the Matsura family descended from the Minamoto or Abe clans or through branch families thereof. Matsura-to itself is sometimes called the 48 factions of Matsura. It wasn’t as much a family as an alliance of local warriors, each with their own base of operations. I can’t quite tell if the lineage of the later Matsura clan, as they were known, were meant to represent a single lineage or the various lineages that came together. For all we know, they may have married into official families or otherwise concocted lineages to help legitimize them as much as anything else—this far out from the center, in the 11th century, there wasn’t necessarily as much oversight.
Early in the 11th century they also had a chance to prove themselves with the Toi invasion – that was the Jurchen invasion we mentioned last couple episodes. After the Toi invaders attacked Tsushima and Iki, they set their sites on Hakata Bay, which was the closest landing to the Dazaifu, the Yamato government in Kyushu. They were chased off and headed down the coast. Minamoto Tomo is said to have led the forces that repelled the Toi invaders, who finally departed altogether, striking one more time on Tsushima before heading back to wherever they came from.
Minamoto Tomo is said, at least in some stories, to have been the founder of the Matsura clan, or at least the leader of the 48 factions, which then coalesced into the Matsura clan, which eventually would run the Hirado domain.
Over two hundred and fifty years after the Toi Invasion would come the Mongols. If the Toi were bad, the Mongols were much worse. The Toi were a band of marauders, who caused a lot of havoc, but do not appear to have had state backing. The Mongols were perhaps more appropriately the Yuan empire, who had already conquered the Yellow river valley and were working on the Song dynasty along the Yangzi. While the Toi had brought with them Goryeo warriors as well—who may or may not have joined up willingly—the Mongols had huge armies from all over that they could throw at a problem.
As we talked about in the past two episodes, the Mongols swept through Tsushima and Iki and then headed straight for Hakata, the closest landing zone to the Dazaifu, the government outpost in Kyushu. Even during the height of the Kamakura shogunate, this was still an important administrative center, and would have given the Mongols a huge advantage on holding territory and eventually sweeping up the archipelago.
Fortunately, they were stopped. Whether it was the gumption, skill, and downright stubbornness of their samurai foes or the divine wind that swept up from the ocean, the Mongols were turned back, twice.
During each of these invasions, the Matsura clan and others rushed to the defense of the nation, but unlike with the Toi invasions, there do not appear to have been any serious battles along the Matsuura coastline—not that I can make out, anyway.
After the Mongol invasion, Kyushu was not left out of the troubles that would follow, including the downfall of the Hojo, the rise of the Ashikaga, and the eventual breakdown of the shogunal system into the period known as the Warring States period. Through it all the Matsura continued to ply the seas and encourage the trade from which they and others, like the Sou of Tsushima, came to depend on. They also allied with other entrepreneurial seafarers, known to others as pirates, and they started trading with a group of weird looking people with hairy beards and pale skin, who came to be known as the Nanban, the southern barbarians—known to us, primarily, as the Portuguese.
One faction of the Matsura were the Hata—no relation to the Hata that set up in what would become the Kyoto region in the early periods of Yamato state formation. The Hata ruled the area that would become Karatsu, but eventually they were taken over by the Ryuzoji, who were allied with Toyotomi Hideyoshi.
Hideyoshi’s interest in the Karatsu and Matsura area had to do with its easy access to the continent. And so Hideyoshi began to pay attention to Nagoya, at the end of the peninsula down from Karatsu.
And no, not that Nagoya. If you hear Nagoya, today, you are probably talking about the bustling metropolis in Aichi, which was where Toyotomi himself got his start, growing up and going to work for the local warlord, named Oda Nobunaga. Due to a quirk of Japanese names and how they read particular characters, this is a different Nagoya.
The Kyushu Nagoya had been one of the Matsura trading posts, run by a sub-branch of the Hata family, who had built a castle on the site. Hideyoshi had much grander plans for the area. In 1591 he began work on a massive castle and associated castle town. This castle was to be his new headquarters, and he moved his entire retinue there from Osaka, with an expectation that all of the daimyo would follow him. Sure enough, they showed up with their own vassals, setting up camps around the peninsula and in the new city-to-be.
The castle was the base of operations from which Hideyoshi coordinated the invasions of Korea. It was a massive undertaking, and extremely impressive. The city itself sprung up, and although the wood was still new, and the buildings somewhat hastily put together, it was soon a bustling metropolis and briefly became the center of art and culture in the entire archipelago.
Hideyoshi himself had a teahouse built within the confines of the castle, where he apparently spent most of his days, even when receiving reports on how things were going across the sea on the archipelago. The city had a Noh theater, as well. It must have been a sight to see.
As for the castle itself, based on the remains, it was massive. It appears to use the contours of the hill upon which it sits. It seems there was a previous castle there of some kind, and it is unclear how much this was merely expanded, but Hideyoshi’s new castle was truly monumental, with a labyrinth of gates to get in -- similar to Himeji Castle, for anyone who has been there, but with a serious vertical incline as well. Nagoya Castle was second only to Osaka castle, and yet it was erected quickly—only 8 months. I guess that’s what you can do when you can mobilize all of the daimyo across Japan. Even today, ruined as it is, the walls tower over you, and you can spend hours wandering the grounds.
For all that it was impressive, the good times at Nagoya Castle lasted only for a brief seven years—when Hideyoshi passed away, the council of regents moved back to Osaka, and Nagoya castle was deliberately destroyed, stones removed from the walls such that it could never survive a true siege. This was a sign to the Korean peninsula – the Joseon court - that, with the death of the taiko, Japan had given up any pretext of conquering the peninsula.
Today, only the stones and earthworks remain of the briefly thriving city, but on the grounds is a wonderful museum that catalogs this particular slice of Medieval life. The Nagoya Castle Museum of Saga prefecture is off the beaten path—there is no train, so you’ll need to take a bus or private car to get there—but it is well worth it.
The museum itself is dedicated to Japanese and Korean cross-strait relations, which feels a bit like atonement given that the castle was built with conquest in mind.
Of course, the centerpiece of the Museum is the castle, but it also does a good job telling the story of relations between the peninsula and the archipelago. It starts in the ancient times, talking about how, even during the Jomon period, there were commonalities in fishhooks and similar equipment found from Kyushu up through the Korean peninsula. From there, of course, trade continued, as we’ve seen in our journey through the Chronicles. It talks about some of the shared cultural items found from the Yayoi through the Kofun, and also demonstrates how some of the earliest Buddhist statues have clear similarities to those found in Silla. It goes over the various missions back and forth, and even gives a map of the Toi Invasion that we talked about hitting Tsushima and Iki.
The Mongol invasion is also heavily talked about, but not nearly so much as the invasion of Korea. There is another reproduction of the letter of King Sejeong, with the faked seal from the Sou clan in Tsushima. This of course, was the period when they built Nagoya-jo into a castle and city of at least 100,000 people, almost overnight. Even the Nanban were there, trading in the city while supplies from across the country were gathered and shipped off to keep troops fed on the invasion of Korea.
There are plenty of images from this time—from a Ming envoy to Nagoya castle to images of the invasion from the Korean perspective, with Koreanized samurai manning the walls of the castles they had taken. They don’t exactly lionize the samurai, but they don’t accentuate some of the more horrific things, either, like the piles of ears taken from those killed because taking their heads, as was standard practice in older days, was too cumbersome.
There is also some discussion of relations afterwards—of the Joseon embassies, though those went through Hakata, Nagoya-jo having long been abandoned at that point. For reasons one can probably understand, it doesn’t go into the post-Edo relations, as that is much more modern history.
After the destruction of Nagoya castle, the area was largely abandoned, but the city of Karatsu proper really thrived during the Edo period. Karatsu was also a castle town, as we’ve mentioned, but a bit out of the way. As sailing ships were now more sturdy and able to handle longer sea crossings, it was now often Hakata, in Fukuoka, that received much of the trade, and the Dutch traders who had replaced the Portuguese, were limited to Dejima, in Nagasaki.
When Hideyoshi swept through, the Hata were not exactly considered trustworthy, and were placed under the Nabeshima, a branch of their rivals, the Ryuzouji. During the invasion of Korea, the Hata rebelled, and were destroyed for it in 1593. Their territory was given to Terazawa Hirotaka, who had been put in charge of the construction of Nagoya castle and later put in charge of the logistics for the invasion effort from the Kyushu side. As a result, he was granted the lands formerly controlled by the Hata, including Karatsu, and what would become the Karatsu domain.
Hirotaka could see which way the wind blew—in more ways than one. After Hideyoshi’s death, he supported Tokugawa Ieyasu, allowing him to keep and even expand his fief. He redirected the Matsura river—then known as the Hata river—to its present course, and he built a pine grove along the northern beach that is the third largest such grove in all of Japan. Known as the “Niji no Matsubara”, or the ”Rainbow Pine Forest” for its shape, it was erected as a windbreak to protect the precious farmland just on the other side. It is still there today, still managed, and quite famous. You can drive through the pine trees or stop and walk through them, even out to the beach. And there is even a fantastic burger truck that parks along the main road through the pine grove, so you can enjoy a lovely picnic among the trees.
The Terazawa would not remain in place for very long. During the Shimabara rebellion of the early 17th century—a rebellion based on either taxes or Christianity, depending on whom you ask—the Terazawa line was extinguished. Terazawa Katataka, then ruler of the Karatsu domain, was held liable for mismanagement of the domain and loss of a castle to the rebels. He had land confiscated and he felt publicly humiliated, and so he took his own life while he was in Edo. As he had no heir, the Terazawa line died out.
Karatsu domain went through a variety of hands after that. Its value fluctuated, but it is generally thought that the real value of the domain, thanks to the ability to trade, was well beyond what it was assessed to produce. As such it was a lucrative position, and also held sway as a check against Nagasaki, watching the trade there with the Dutch merchants. Because of all of this, the lord of Karatsu was also banned from holding certain government positions, so as not to distract from their duties, making the position something of a blessing and a curse.
Through the years, Karatsu thrived. They were and are still known for a type of traditional pottery, known as Karatsumono, or Karatsuware, and they maintain elaborate festivals.
One of the festivals, the Karatsu Kunchi, is considered a UNESCO Intangible Cultural Heritage.The Karatsu Kunchi is an annual parade where neighborhood associations carry giant floats through the city from Karatsu Shrine down to the shore. It was inspired, in the early 19th century, by the famous Gion Matsuri of Kyoto—a wealthy merchant saw that and donated the first lion-head float to Karatsu Shrine. Later, others would create their own floats.
These floats, known as “Hikiyama” or “pulled mountains” can be five or six meters high and weigh anywhere from two to five tons. There appear to be 14 hikiyama, currently, though there used to be 15—a black lion is currently missing. The floats have gone through a few iterations, but are largely the same, and often have some relationship to the neighborhoods sponsoring them.
From Matsura, aka Matsuro-koku, we went north along the coast of Kyushu to Itoshima, thought to the be old country of Ito-koku, and beyond that, the Na-koku of Fukuoka. We’ll cover both of those in our next and final installment of our Gishiwajinden tour.
If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts. If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode.
Also, feel free to reach out to us at our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page. You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.
Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast.
And that’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

Conlan, Thomas. (2001). In little need of divine intervention : Takezaki Suenaga's scrolls of the Mongol invasions of Japan. Ithaca, N.Y. :East Asia Program, Cornell University,
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4

Gishiwajinden Tour: Iki-koku

June 16, 2024 Joshua Badgley

Sakura (cherry) blossoms still blooming at Iki Shrine. Iki Shrine is a newcomer, having been built in 1948, but the site includes a memorial to the Mongol invasions, including a giant stone anchor likely from the Mongol ships, or at least ships of that era, as well as a plaque detailing the assistance provided by Yamato to their ally, Baekje, on the Korean peninsula. Photo by author.

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This episode we continue on our tour according to the records in the Weizhi of the embassy to Queen Himiko of Wa. This time we stopped at Iki island, mentioned in the Weizhi as, conveniently, “Iki-koku”, or the Country of Iki. Not only has the name of the island remained relatively unchanged for all this time, we also have some amazing archaeological finds on the island, including a full Yayoi era setttlement at a place called “Harunotsuji”. Harunotsuji is pretty impressive, including an old docking facility and buildings of various shapes and sizes. Much of the site is interpreted—and given that it is the only site of its size found on the island so far, it is considered to be the capital of the “kingdom” of Iki. “Kingdom”, of course, is a term that might not be fully appropriate in English, but it does seem to have had a stratified society and a fair amount of wealth, given what we see.

There was also quite a bit going on during the Kofun period, with many mounded tombs found on the island, including the largest keyhole shaped tomb in Nagasaki prefecture. Thanks to the relatively peripheral nature of Iki island, most were never built over and destroyed, helping to ensure that they were preserved for future generations.

We appear to be less fortunate with later eras, though we do know where some things were built, many of the structures themselves—houses, temples, etc.—are long gone. Shrines and temples may occupy the same or similar sites as previous incarnations, but the original buildings from before the Edo period largely do not appear to have survived, with a few counter-examples from the end of the Warring States period.

Listen to the podcast for more, and see some of the photos, below.

Harunotsuji

Harunotsuji Site

A view of the reconstructed interpretation at the Harunotsuji site from the observation deck of the Iki-koku museum.

Face-shaped object

This is considered a particular treasure of Iki. We don't know what it was for--whether it was an object used in rituals, a toy for someone's child, or simply considered decorative.

Yayoi fishing culture

A small diorama at the Iki-koku Museum demonstrating what it might have looked like on the shore, where the people harvested food from the sea and brought that, and various trade goods, up the rivers to sites like Harunotsuji.

Reconstructed boat

Here is what an early boat may have looked like, based on later haniwa models as well as various pieces we have found in the archipelago and the peninsula.

Yayoi docks

An example of the "docks" built at Harunotsuji. The stones found conform to similar structures found on the mainland, suggesting that this idea was likely imported from there at some point..

Daily Life

The Iki-koku museum makes life at Harunotsuji more approachable through its detailed and often humorous depictions, that nonetheless help get feel for what life might have been like those many years ago.

Yayoi construction

While the specific architectural details are often unclear, the location and size of post holes and the occasional beam with holes and other carvings for interlocking with others, along with later architecture and depictions, have helped drive interpretations.

Harunotsuji buildings

Various reconstructed buildings at Harunotsuji, including one left in a state of construction so that the public can see how they interpreted the actual construction techniques of the time.

Harunotsuji Buildings

An example of some of the different building structures and shapes found at Harunotsuji, based largely on their postholes and other such evidence.

Yayoi village entrance

An interpretation of the two post-holes found along the perimeter. There are some pieces that could be considered abstract bird shapes that some believe may have sat on top of the posts. This is a common theory as to why shrine gates are called "torii", which translates to something like "bird perch", and mimics some things seen on the peninsula. Still, without finding a clearly intact one, it will remain largely conjecture.

Harunotsuji Gate

Reconstruction of what they think the gate would have looked like at Harunotsuji.

Yayoi Agriculture

A look at the types of rice paddies found at Harunotsuji. These are similar to other sites as well. Rice agriculture is thought to have been one of the main reasons that the Yayoi period saw such a dramatic spike in population.

Harunotsuji Granary

Early raised buildings are thought to have possibly been meant as granaries, to store the harvested rice. A detached ladder could give access when necessary, and wooden boards were added at the legs to prevent mice and other wild animals from climbing up the posts to get in.

Ikikoku Museum

The Ikikoku Museum, viewed from the Harunotsuji site, is built to blend into the landscape. You can see Harunotsuji from it, but only the observation tower really rises up above the rest of the surrounding area.

Ikikoku Museum Storeroom

The Ikikoku Museum is also a working archaeological research center, and you can see archaeologists at work in the lab and get a glance at all of the items that are not on display.

Kofun of Iki

Kakegi Kofun (Later 6th Century)

A round kofun with a stone chamber and a horizontal entryway from the late 6th century. The interior is lit, and you can see inside if you so choose. There are three chambers, and it appears there were later burials in the 7th century.

Yurihata Kofun Group

A group of kofun located on a slope in the center of Iki. There are round and keyhole shaped kofun around the same area. Towards the bottom of the slope is a keyhole shaped tomb designated as No. 18. You can take a look inside the entry chamber.

Oni-no-Iwaya Kofun, Late 6th C

A round, late 6th C kofun with a stone burial chamber and a horizontal entry chamber, which seems to have seen later burials in the 7th century. The name means the "Demon's Stone House", and for a long time it was believed to be the home of an oni, or demon, that would terrorize the local area.

Oni-no-Iwaya Kofun Chamber

A view into the Oni-no-Iwaya kofun. Though the entrance is blocked, a light was installed so that you could see to the back. The stacked stones in the back appear to have been added later.

Soroku Kofun, Late 6th C

At 91 m long and over 10 m high, this is the largest kofun on the island, and in all of Nagasaki prefecture. It is a type of round-keyhole shaped tomb, with a stone chamber and a horizontal entryway that comes from the side of the rear mound. There are traces of red paint inside the chamber, and paving stones, and they found many elite grave goods.

Entrance to Soroku Kofun

The entrance is blocked, but you can still see inside the rear, round chamber.

Sasazuka Kofun, mid to late 6th C

A round kofun, the shape is not easily seen, today, as it is covered in trees and otherwise blends in, other than the open entrance along the slope. Like others, it is a stone burial chamber and horizontal entryway, and likely had secondary burials in the 7th century. In this case you can go inside, though it has not been rigged with any lighting, so you will need to bring your own. It is also out of the way in an area where the roads are not as well maintained, and does not have any designated parking nearby.

Other Sites of Interest

Iki Kokubunji Site

A small image sits on the site of where the Iki Kokubunji was originally erected.

Mongol Ship Anchor

A stone anchor thought to belong to one of the Mongol ships from the 13th century.

Ankokuji

Temple built in the 14th century to memorialize those killed in the Mongol Invasions and later civil wars.

Ankokuji cedar

The largest cedar tree on Iki, found at Ankokuji, and thought to be over 1,000 years old--even older than the temple.

Shomogu Gate

Gate at Shomogu Shrine said to have been built through donations by Kato Kiyomasa in the 16th century during preparations for the invasion of Korea.

Shomogu Torii

The current torii of Shomogu Shrine. This is an old shrine in Katsumoto, that appears in Edo period depictions of the Joseon envoy missions.

Inari Shrine at Shomogu

Iki island has a lot of red brick shrines that appear to be the local version of the Inari shrines. Inari shrines are usually known by their many red torii gates, often donated by local groups and individuals, and Inari's connection to foxes, so these are sometimes called fox shrines.

Shomogu Wall

Shomogu shrine once sat on the very edge of the shore, though now the land has been slightly extended to make room for a park and the modern docks. Still, it sits largely exposed to any weather that comes in off the sea, and around it are old stone walls, such as this one.

Katsumoto Castle Ruins

Here you can see where the stones at the corner have been removed from the castle, so that it could not be used as a defensive structure. Any structure built on top would likely collapse over time, as the corners are where stones were particularly made to lock together to distribute the weight above.

Toi Residence

The stone wall is all that remains of the Toi residence. The Toi family, who made their fortune as whale hunters, among other things, were the most powerful family in Katsumoto and often in charge of feeding and looking after foreign missions coming through the island.

LAMP Iki

An old building, over 100 years old, used as a ryokan, it captures the flavor of the streets of Katsumoto. Friendly staff and great for those who want a traditional experience but be warned--there are no elevators, so if you are on the top floor you are carrying your luggage all the way up!

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is Gishiwajinden Tour Stop 2: Tsushima.
As I mentioned last episode, we are taking a break right now from the workings of the Chronicles while I prep a bit more research on the Taika reform. As we do so, I’m taking you through a recent trip we took trying to follow the ancient sea routes from Gaya, on the Korean peninsula, across the islands to Na, in modern Fukuoka. This may have been first described in the Wei Chronicles, the Weizhi, but it was the pathway that many visitors to the archipelago took up through the famous Mongol invasion, and even later missions from the Joseon kingdom on the Korean peninsula.
Last episode, we talked about our start at Gimhae and Pusan. Gimhae is the old Geumgwan Gaya, as far as we can tell, and had close connections with the archipelago as evidenced by the common items of material culture found on both sides of the strait. From the coast of the Korean peninsula, ships would then sail for the island of Tsushima, the nearest of the islands between the mainland and the Japanese archipelago. Today, ships still sail from Korea to Japan, but most leave out of the port of Pusan. This includes regular cruise ships as well as specialty cruises and ferries. For those who want, there are some popular trips between Pusan and Fukuoka or Pusan all the way to Osaka, through the Seto Inland Sea. For us, however, we were looking at the shortest ferries, those to Tsushima.
Tsushima is a large island situated in the strait between Korea and Japan. Technically it is actually three islands, as channels were dug in the 20th century to allow ships stationed around the island to quickly pass through rather than going all the way around. Tsushima is the closest Japanese island to Korea, actually closer to Korea than to the rest of Japan, which makes it a fun day trip from Pusan, so they get a lot of Korean tourists.
There are two ports that the ferries run to, generally speaking. In the north is Hitakatsu, which is mainly a port for people coming from Korea. Further south is Izuhara, which is the old castle town, where the So family once administered the island and relations with the continent, and where you can get a ferry to Iki from.
Unfortunately for us, as I mentioned last episode, it turned out that the kami of the waves thwarted us in our plans to sail from Busan to Tsushima. And so we ended up flying into Tsushima Airport, instead, which actually required us to take an international flight over to Fukuoka and then a short domestic flight back to Tsushima. On the one hand, this was a lot of time out of our way, but on the other they were nice short flights with a break in the Fukuoka airport, which has great restaurants in the domestic terminal. Furthermore, since we came into the centrally-located Tsushima airport, this route also gave us relatively easy access to local rental car agencies, which was helpful because although there is a bus service that runs up and down the islands, if you really want to explore Tsushima it is best to have a car. Note that also means having an International Driver’s Permit, at least in most cases, unless you have a valid Japanese drivers’ license.
As for why you need a car: There is a bus route from north to south, but for many of the places you will likely want to go will take a bit more to get to. If you speak Japanese and have a phone there are several taxi companies you can call, and you can try a taxi app, though make sure it works on the island. In the end, having a car is extremely convenient.
Tsushima is also quite mountainous, without a lot of flat land, and there are numerous bays and inlets in which ships can hide and shelter from bad weather—or worse.
Tsushima is renowned for its natural beauty. Flora and fauna are shared with continent and the archipelago. There are local subspecies of otter and deer found on the islands, but also the Yamaneko, or Mountain Cat, a subspecies of the Eurasian leopard cat that is only found in Japan on Tsushima and on Iriomote, in the southern Okinawan island chain. They also have their own breed of horse, as well, related to the ancient horses bred there since at least the 8th century.
Tsushima is clearly an important part of Japan, and the early stories of the creation of the archipelago often include Tsushima as one of the original eight islands mentioned in the creation story. That suggests it has been considered an ancient part of the archipelago since at least the 8th century, and likely much earlier.
Humans likely first came to Tsushima on their crossing from what is now the Korean peninsula over to the archipelago at the end of the Pleistocene era, when sea levels were much lower. However, we don’t have clear evidence of humans until later, and this is likely because the terrain made it difficult to cultivate the land, and most of the activity was focused on making a livelihood out of the ocean.
Currently we have clear evidence of humans on the island from at least the Jomon period, including remnants such as shellmounds, though we don’t have any clear sign of habitation. It is possible that fishermen and others came to the islands during certain seasons, setting up fish camps and the like, and then departed, but it could be that there were more permanent settlements and we just haven’t found them yet. Most of the Jomon sites appear to be on the northern part of Tsushima, what is now the “upper island”, though, again, lack of evidence should not be taken as evidence of lack, and there could be more we just haven’t found yet. After all, sites like Izuhara, which was quite populated in later periods, may have disturbed any underlying layers that we could otherwise hope to find there, and perhaps we will one day stumble on something more that will change our understanding.
Things change a bit in the Yayoi period, and we see clear evidence of settlements, pit buildings, graves, and grave goods at various sites up through the Kofun period. Unsurprisingly, the assembly of goods found include both archipelagic and continental material, which fits with its position in between the various cultures.
Understandably, most of these archeological sites were investigated and then either covered back up for preservation or replaced by construction – so in many cases there isn’t anything to see now, besides the artifacts in the museum. But some of the earliest clear evidence that you can still go see today are the several kofun, ancient tumuli, scattered around the island at different points.
Most of the kofun on the island appear to be similar, and overall fairly small. These are not the most impressive kofun—not the giant mounds found in places like Nara, Osaka, Kibi, or even up in Izumo. However, to students of the era they are still very cool to see as monuments of that ancient time. One example of this that we visited was the Niso-kofungun, or the Niso Kofun group. The Niso Kofungun is not like what you might expect in the Nara basin or the Osaka area. First, you drive out to the end of the road in a small fishing community, and from there go on a small hike to see the kofun themselves. Today the mounds are mostly hidden from view by trees, though there are signs put up to mark each one. Some of them have a more well defined shape than others, too, with at least one demonstrating what appears to be a long, thin keyhole shape, taking advantage of the local terrain. Most of these were pit style burials, where slabs of local sedimentary rock were used to form rectangular coffins in the ground, in which the individuals were presumably buried. On one of the keyhole shaped mounds there was also what appears to be a secondary burial at the neck of the keyhole, where the round and trapezoidal sections meet. However, we don’t know who or even what was buried there in some instances, as most of the bones are no longer extant.
Besides the distinctively keyhole shaped tomb, two more kofun in the Niso group caught my attention. One, which is thought to have been a round tomb, had what appeared to be a small stone chamber, perhaps the last of the kofun in this group to be built, as that is generally a feature of later period kofun. There was also one that was higher up on the hill, which may also have been a keyhole shaped tomb. That one struck me, as it would likely have been particularly visible from sea before the current overgrown forest appeared.
There are also plenty of other kofun to go searching for, though some might be a little more impressive than others. In the next episode, when we talk about the island of Iki, we’ll explore that ancient kingdom’s much larger collection of kofun.
After the mention of Tsushima in the Weizhi in the third century, there is a later story, from about the 6th century, involving Tsushima in the transmission of Buddhism. This story isn’t in the Nihon Shoki and was actually written down much later, so take that as you will. According to this account, the Baekje envoys who transmitted the first Buddha image to Japan stopped for a while on Tsushima before proceeding on to the Yamato court. While they were there, the monks who were looking after the image built a small building in which to conduct their daily rituals, effectively building the first Buddhist place of worship in the archipelago. A temple was later said to have been built on that spot, and in the mid-15th century it was named Bairinji. While the narrative is highly suspect, there is some evidence that the area around Bairinji was indeed an important point on the island. Prior to the digging of the two channels to connect the east and west coasts, the area near Bairinji, known as Kofunakoshi, or the small boat portage, was the narrowest part of Tsushima, right near the middle, where Aso Bay and Mitsuura Bay almost meet. We know that at least in the 9th century this is where envoys would disembark from one ship which had brought them from the archipelago, and embark onto another which would take them to the continent, and vice versa. Likewise, their goods would be carried across the narrow strip of land. This was like a natural barrier and an ideal location for an official checkpoint, and in later years Bairinji temple served as this administrative point, providing the necessary paperwork for crews coming to and from Japan, including the various Joseon dynasty missions in the Edo period.
Why this system of portage and changing ships, instead of just sailing around? Such a system was practical for several reasons. For one, it was relatively easy to find Tsushima from the mainland. Experienced ships could sail there, transfer cargo to ships experienced with the archipelago and the Seto Inland Sea, and then return swiftly to Korea. Furthermore, this system gave Yamato and Japan forewarning, particularly of incoming diplomatic missions. No chance mistaking ships for an invasion or pirates of some kind, as word could be sent ahead and everything could be arranged in preparation for the incoming mission. These are details that are often frustratingly left out of many of the early accounts, but there must have been some logistics to take care of things like this.
Whether or not Bairinji’s history actually goes back to 538, it does have claim to some rather ancient artifacts, including a 9th century Buddha image from the Unified, or Later, Silla period as well as 579 chapters of the Dai Hannya Haramitta Kyo, or the Greater Perfection of Wisdom Sutra, from a 14th century copy. These were actually stolen from the temple in 2014, but later recovered. Other statues were stolen two years previously from other temples on Tsushima, which speaks to some of the tensions that still exist between Korea and Japan. Claims were made that the statues had originally been stolen by Japanese pirates, or wakou, from Korea and brought to Japan, so the modern-day thieves were simply righting an old wrong. However, Korean courts eventually found that the items should be returned to Japan, though there were those who disagreed with the ruling. This is an example of the ongoing tensions that can sometimes make study of inter-strait history a bit complex.
More concrete than the possible location of a theoretical early worship structure are the earthworks of Kaneda fortress. This is a mid-7th century fort, created by Yamato to defend itself from a presumed continental invasion. We even have mention of it in the Nihon Shoki. It appears to have been repaired in the late 7th century, and then continued to be used until some time in the 8th century, when it was abandoned, seeing as how the invasion had never materialized, and no doubt maintaining the defenses on top of a mountain all the way out on Tsushima would have been a costly endeavor.
Over time the name “Kaneda” was forgotten, though the stone and earthworks on the mountain gave the site the name “Shiroyama”, or Castle Mountain, at least by the 15th century. In the Edo period, scholars set out trying to find the Kaneda fortress mentioned in the Nihon Shoki, and at one point identified this with an area known as Kanedahara, or Kaneda Fields, in the modern Sasu district, on the southwest coast of Tsushima. However, a scholar named Suyama Don’ou identified the current mountaintop site, which has generally been accepted as accurate. The earthworks do appear to show the kind of Baekje-style fortifications that Yamato built at this time, which took advantage of the natural features of the terrain. These fortresses, or castles, were more like fortified positions—long walls that could give troops a secure place to entrench themselves. They would not have had the impressive donjon, or tenshukaku, that is the most notable feature of of later Japanese and even European castles.
Most of the Baekje style castles in Japan are primarily earthworks—for example the Demon’s castle in modern Okayama. Kaneda is unique, though, with about 2.8 kilometers of stone walls, most of which are reportedly in quite good condition. There were three main gates and remains of various buildings have been determined from post-holes uncovered on the site. There is a name for the top of the mountain, Houtateguma, suggesting that there may have once been some kind of beacon tower placed there with a light that could presumably be used to signal to others, but no remains have been found.
The defensive nature of the position is also attested to in modern times. During the early 20th century, the Japanese military placed batteries on the fortress, and an auxiliary fort nearby. These constructions damaged some of the ancient walls, but this still demonstrates Tsushima’s place at the edge of Japan and the continent, even into modern times.
For all that it is impressive, I have to say that we regrettably did not make it to the fortress, as it is a hike to see everything, and our time was limited. If you do go, be prepared for some trekking, as this really is a fortress on a mountain, and you need to park and take the Kaneda fortress trail up.

Moving on from the 8th century, we have evidence of Tsushima in written records throughout the next several centuries, but there isn’t a lot clearly remaining on the island from that period—at least not extant buildings. In the records we can see that there were clearly things going on, and quite often it wasn’t great for the island. For instance, there was the Toi Invasion in the 11th century, when pirates—possibly Tungusic speaking Jurchen from the area of Manchuria—invaded without warning, killing and taking people away as slaves. It was horrific, but relatively short-lived, as it seems that the invaders weren’t intent on staying.
Perhaps a more lasting impression was made by the invasions of the Mongols in the 13th century. This is an event that has been hugely impactful on Japan and Japanese history. The first invasion in 1274, the Mongols used their vassal state of Goryeo to build a fleet of ships and attempted to cross the strait to invade Japan. The typical narrative talks about how they came ashore at Hakata Bay, in modern Fukuoka, and the Kamakura government called up soldiers from across the country to their defense. Not only that, but monks and priests prayed for divine intervention to protect Japan. According to the most common narrative, a kamikaze, or divine wind, arose in the form of a typhoon that blew into Hakata Bay and sank much of the Mongol fleet.
That event would have ripple effects throughout Japanese society. On the one hand, the Mongols brought new weapons in the form of explosives, and we see changes in the arms of the samurai as their swords got noticeably beefier, presumably to do better against similarly armored foes. The government also fortified Hakata Bay, which saw another attack in 1281, which similarly failed.
Though neither attempted invasion succeeded, both were extremely costly. Samurai who fought for their country expected to get rewarded afterwards, and not just with high praise. Typically when samurai fought they would be richly rewarded by their lord with gifts taken from the losing side, to include land and property. In the case of the Mongols, however, there was no land or property to give out. This left the Kamakura government in a bit of a pickle, and the discontent fomented by lack of payment is often cited as one of the key contributors to bringing down the Kamakura government and leading to the start of the Muromachi period in the 14th century.
The invasions didn’t just appear at Hakata though. In 1274, after the Mongol fleet first left Goryeo on the Korean Peninsula, they landed first at Tsushima and then Iki, following the traditional trade routes and killing and pillaging as they went. In Tsushima, the Mongol armies arrived in the south, landing at Komoda beach near Sasuura. Lookouts saw them coming and the So clan hastily gathered up a defense, but it was no use. The Mongol army established a beachhead and proceeded to spend the next week securing the island. From there they moved on to Iki, the next island in the chain, and on our journey. Countless men and women were killed or taken prisoner, and when the Mongols retreated after the storm, they brought numerous prisoners back with them.
Although the Mongols had been defeated, they were not finished with their plans to annex Japan into their growing empire. They launched another invasion in 1281, this time with reinforcements drawn from the area of the Yangtze river, where they had defeated the ethnic Han Song dynasty two years prior. Again, they landed at Tsushima, but met fierce resistance—the government had been preparing for this fight ever since the last one. Unfortunately, Tsushima again fell under Mongol control, but not without putting up a fight. When the Mongols were again defeated, they left the island once again, this time never to return.
If you want to read up more on the events of the Mongol Invasion, I would recommend Dr. Thomas Conlan’s book, “No Need for Divine Intervention”. It goes into much more detail than I can here.
These traumatic events have been seared into the memories of Tsushima and the nearby island of Iki. Even though both islands have long since rebuilt, memories of the invasion are embedded in the landscape of both islands, and it is easy to find associated historical sites or even take a dedicated tour. In 2020, the events of the invasion of Tsushima were fictionalized into a game that you may have heard of called Ghost of Tsushima. I won’t get into a review of the game—I haven’t played it myself—but many of the locations in the game were drawn on actual locations in Tsushima. Most, like Kaneda Castle, are fictionalized to a large extent, but it did bring awareness to the island, and attracted a large fan base. Indeed, when we picked up our rental car, the helpful staff offered us a map with Ghost of Tsushima game locations in case we wanted to see them for ourselves.
As I noted, many of the places mentioned in the game are highly fictionalized, as are many of the individuals and groups—after all, the goal is to play through and actually defeat the enemies, and just getting slaughtered by Mongols and waiting for them to leave wouldn’t exactly make for great gameplay. Shrines offer “charms” to the user and so finding and visiting all of the shrines in the in-game world becomes a player goal. And so when fans of the game learned that the torii gate of Watatsumi Shrine, one of the real-life iconic shrines in Tsushima, was destroyed by a typhoon in September of 2020, about a month after the game was released, they came to its aid and raised over 27 million yen to help restore the torii gates. A tremendous outpouring from the community.
And while you cannot visit all of the locations in the game, you can visit Watazumi Shrine, with its restored torii gates that extend into the water.
Watatsumi Shrine itself has some interesting, if somewhat confusing, history. It is one of two shrines on Tsushima that claim to be the shrine listed in the 10th-century Engi Shiki as “Watatsumi Shrine”. This is believed to have been the shrine to the God of the Sea, whose palace Hiko Hoho-demi traveled down to in order to find his brother’s fishhook—a story noted in the Nihon Shoki and which we covered in episode 23. Notwithstanding that most of that story claims it was happening on the eastern side of Kyushu, there is a local belief that Tsushima is actually the place where that story originated.
The popular shrine that had its torii repaired is popularly known as Watatsumi Shrine, today. The other one is known as Kaijin Shrine, literally translating to the Shrine of the Sea God, and it is also known as Tsushima no kuni no Ichinomiya; That is to say the first, or primary, shrine of Tsushima. Some of the confusion may come as it appears that Kaijin shrine was, indeed, the more important of the two for some time. It was known as the main Hachiman shrine in Tsushima, and may have been connected with a local temple as well. It carries important historical records that help to chart some of the powerful families of Tsushima, and also claims ownership of an ancient Buddhist image from Silla that was later stolen. In the 19th century it was identified as the Watatsumi Shrine mentioned in the Engi Shiki, and made Toyotama Hime and Hikohohodemi the primary deities worshipped at the shrine, replacing the previous worship of Hachiman.
Shrines and temples can be fascinating to study, but can also be somewhat tricky to understand, historically. Given their religious nature, the founding stories of such institutions can sometimes be rather fantastical, and since they typically aren’t written down until much later, it is hard to tell what part of the story is original and what part has been influenced by later stories, like those in the Nihon Shoki or the Kojiki.
Another interesting example of a somewhat unclear history is that of the Buddhist temple, Kokubun-ji. Kokubunji are provincial temples, originally set up inthe decree of 741 that had them erected across the archipelago, one in each province at the time, in an attempt to protect the country from harm, Knowing the location of a Kokubunji can therefore often tell you something about where the Nara era provincial administration sat, as it would likely have been nearby. In many cases, these were probably connected to the local elite, as well.
This is not quite as simple with Tsushima Kokubun-ji. While it was originally designated in the decree of 741, a later decree in 745 stated that the expenses for these temples would come directly out of tax revenues in the provinces, and at that time Tsushima was excluded. Moreover, the Kokubunji on nearby Iki island was funded by taxes from Hizen province. So it isn’t until 855 that we have clear evidence of an early provincial temple for Tsushima, in this case known as a Tobunji, or Island Temple, rather than a Kokubunji.
The location of that early temple is unknown, and it burned down only two years later when Tsushima was attacked by forces from Kyushu. It is unclear what happened to it in the following centures, but by the 14th or 15th century it was apparently situated in Izuhara town, near the site of what would become Kaneishi Castle. It was later rebuilt in its current location, on the other side of Izuhara town. It burned down in the Edo period—all except the gate, which was built in 1807. This gate is at least locally famous for its age and history. It was also the site of the guesthouses for the 1811 diplomatic mission from Joseon—the dynasty that followed Koryeo.
Those missions are another rather famous part of the history of Tsushima, which, as we’ve seen, has long been a gateway between the archipelago and the peninsula. In the Edo period, there were numerous diplomatic missions from the Joseon dynasty to the Tokugawa shogunate, and these grand affairs are often touted in the history of Tsushima, with many locations specifically calling out the island’s deep involvement in cross-strait relations. Relations which, to really understand, we need to probably start with a look at the famous (or perhaps even infamous) Sou clan.
The Sou clan became particularly influential in Tsushima in the 13th century. The local officials, the Abiru clan, who had long been in charge of the island, were declared to be in rebellion against the Dazaifu, and so Koremune Shigehisa was sent to quell them. In return, he was made Jito, or land steward, under the Shoni clan, who were the Shugo of Chikuzen and Hizen, including the island of Tsushima. The Sou clan, descendents of the Koremune, ruled Tsushima ever since, first as vassals of the Shoni , but eventually they ran things outright.
Thus, Sou Sukekuni was in charge when the Mongols invaded in 1274. Despite having only 80 or so mounted warriors under his charge, he attempted to defend the island, dying in battle. Nonetheless, when the Mongols retreated, the Sou family retained their position. Later, they supported the Ashikaga in their bid to become shogun, and were eventually named the Shugo of Tsushima, a title they kept until the Meiji period.
As we’ve mentioned, despite its size, Tsushima is not the most hospitable of locations. It is mountainous, with many bays and inlets, making both cross-land travel and agriculture relatively difficult. And thus the Sou clan came to rely on trade with the continent for their wealth and support. Although, “trade” might be a bit negotiable.
Remember how the early Japanese regularly raided the coast of the peninsula? It was frequent enough that a term arose—the Wakou, the Japanese invaders, or Japanese pirates. In fact, the term “wakou” became so synonymous with piracy that almost any pirate group could be labeled as “wakou”, whether Japanese or not. Some of them that we know about were downright cosmopolitan, with very diverse crews from a variety of different cultures.
Given its position, the rough terrain, and myriad bays that could easily hide ships and other such things, Tsushima made a great base for fishermen-slash-pirates to launch from. Particularly in harsh times, desperate individuals from Tsushima and other islands might take their chances to go and raid the mainland.
In the early 15th century, the new Joseon dynasty had had enough. They sent an expeditionary force to Tsushima to put an end to the wakou. The expedition came in 1419. The year before, the head of the Sou clan, Sou Sadashige, had died. His son, Sou Sadamori, took his place, but had not yet come of age, leaving actual power in the hands of Souda Saemontarou, leader of the Wakou pirates.
Eventually the Joseon forces were defeated by the forces of Tsushima, including the wakou. The Joseon court considered sending another punitive expedition, but it never materialized. What did eventually happen, though, was, oddly, closer ties between the peninsula and Tsushima. Sou Sadamori, who grew up in that tumultuous time, worked to repair relationships with the Joseon court, concluding a treaty that that allowed the Sou clan to basically monopolize trade with the Korean peninsula. Treaty ports on the peninsula began to attract permanent settlements of Japanese merchants, and these “wakan”, or Japanese districts, came nominally under the jurisdiction of the Sou of Tsushima.
The Sou clan maintained their place as the intermediaries with the Joseon state through the 16th century. Messages sent from the Japanese court to Joseon would be sent to the Sou, who would deliver them to the Joseon court, and in turn handle all replies from the peninsula back to the Japanese mainland. And this over time led them to develop some, shall we say, special techniques to make sure these exchanges were as fruitful as possible.
You see, the treaties with the Joseon court only allowed fifty ships a year from Tsushima to trade with the peninsula. But since all of the documents flowed through the Sou, they had plenty of time to study the seals of both courts—those of the Joseon kingdom and those of Japan – and have fake seals created for their own ends. In part through the use of these fake seals, the Sou clan were able to pretend their ships were coming from other people—real or fake—and thus get around the 50 ship per year limit. They also used them in other ways to try and maintain their position between the two countries.
All of this came to a head when the Taikou, Toyotomi Hideyoshi, began to dream of continental conquest. Hideyoshi, at this point the undeniable ruler of all of Japan, had a bit of an ego—not exactly undeserved, mind you. His letter to the Joseon king Seongjo, demanding submission, was quite inflammatory, and the Sou clan realized immediately that it would be taken as an insult. Not only could it jeopardize relations with the continent, it could also jeopardize their own unique status. Which is why they decided to modify it using what in modern computer hacker terms might be called a man-in-the-middle attack – which, with their fake seal game, they had plenty of experience with. The Sou were able to modify the language in each missive to make the language more acceptable to either side. They also dragged their feet in the whole matter, delaying things for at least two years

But Hideyoshi’s mind was set on conquest. Specifically, he had ambitions of displacing the Ming dynasty itself, and he demanded that the Joseon court submit and allow the Japanese forces through to face the Ming dynasty. The Joseon refused to grant his request, and eventually Hideyoshi had enough. He threatened an invasion of Korea if the Joseon dynasty didn’t capitulate to his requests.
Throughout this process, the Sou attempted to smooth things over as best they could. However, even they couldn’t forge the words presented by a face-to-face envoy, nor could they put off Hideyoshi’s anger forever. And thus Tsushima became one of the launching off points for the Japanese invasions of Korea in 1592 and again in 1597. Tsushima, along with nearby Iki, would have various castles built to help supply the invading forces. One such castle was the Shimizuyama-jo, overlooking the town of Izuhara. Some of the walls and earthworks can still be seen up on the mountain overlooking the town, and there are trails up from the site of Kaneishi castle, down below.
Both of these invasions ultimately failed, though not without a huge loss of life and destruction on the peninsula—a loss that is still felt, even today.
The second and final invasion ended in 1598. Both sides were exhausted and the Japanese were losing ground, but the true catalyst, unbeknownst to those on the continent, was the death of Hideyoshi. The Council of Regents, a group of five daimyo appointed to rule until Hideyoshi’s son, Hideyori, came of age kept Hideyoshi’s death a secret to maintain morale until they could withdraw from the continent.
With the war over, the Sou clan took the lead in peace negotiations with the Joseon court, partly in an attempt to reestablish their position and their trade. In 1607, after Tokugawa had established himself and his family as the new shogunal line, the Sou continued to fake documents to the Joseon court, and then to fake documents right back to the newly established bakufu so that their previous forgeries wouldn’t be uncovered. This got them in a tight spot.
In the early 1600s, one Yanagawa Shigeoki had a grudge to settle with Sou Yoshinari, and so he went and told the Bakufu about the diplomatic forgeries that the Sou had committed, going back years. Yoshinari was summoned to Edo, where he was made to answer the allegations by Shigeoki. Sure enough, it was proven that the Sou had, indeed, been forging seals and letters, but after examination, Tokugawa Iemitsu, the third Tokugawa Shogun, decided that they had not caused any great harm—in fact, some of their meddling had actually helped, since they knew the diplomatic situation with the Joseon court better than just about anyone else, and they clearly were incentivized to see positive relations between Japan and Korea. As such, despite the fact that he was right, Yanagawa Shigeoki was exiled, while the Sou clan was given a slap on the wrist and allowed to continue operating as the intermediaries with the Joseon court.
There was one caveat, however: The Sou clan would no longer be unsupervised. Educated monks from the most prestigious Zen temples in Kyoto, accredited as experts in diplomacy, would be dispatched to Tsushima to oversee the creation of diplomatic documents and other such matters, bringing the Sou clan’s forgeries to a halt.
Despite that, the Sou clan continued to facilitate relations with the peninsula, including some twelve diplomatic missions from Korea: the Joseon Tsuushinshi. The first was in 1607, to Tokugawa Hidetada, and these were lavish affairs, even more elaborate than the annual daimyo pilgrimages for the sankin-kotai, or alternate attendance at Edo. The embassies brought almost 500 people, including acrobats and other forms of entertainment. Combined with their foreign dress and styles, it was a real event for people whenever they went.
Today, these Tsuushinshi are a big draw for Korean tourists, and just about anywhere you go—though especially around Izuhara town—you will find signs in Japanese, Korean, and English about locations specifically associated with these missions. And in years past, they’ve even reenacted some of the processions and ceremonies.
Speaking of Izuhara, this was the castle town from which the Sou administered Tsushima. Banshoin temple was the Sou family temple, and contains the graves of many members of the Sou family. In 1528, the Sou built a fortified residence in front of Banshoin, and eventually that grew into the castle from which they ruled Tsushima. Today, only the garden and some of the stone walls remain. The yagura atop the main gate has been rebuilt, but mostly it is in ruins. The Tsushima Museum sits on the site as well. Nearby there is also a special museum specifically dedicated to the Tsuushinshi missions.
Izuhara town itself is an interesting place. Much of what you see harkens back to the Edo period. Much like Edo itself, the densely packed wood and paper houses were a constant fire hazard, and there were several times where the entire town burned to the ground. As such they began to institute firebreaks in the form of stone walls which were placed around the town to help prevent fire from too quickly spreading from one house to the next. This is something that was instituted elsewhere, including Edo, but I’ve never seen so many extant firewalls before, and pretty soon after you start looking for them, you will see them everywhere.
The area closest to the harbor was an area mostly for merchants and similar working class people, and even today this can be seen in some of the older buildings and property layouts. There are also a fair number of izakaya and various other establishments in the area. Further inland you can find the old samurai district, across from the Hachiman shrine. The houses and the gates in that area are just a little bit nicer. While many modern buildings have gone up in the town, you can still find traces of the older buildings back from the days of the Sou clan and the Korean envoys.
Today, Izuhara is perhaps the largest town on Tsushima, but that isn’t saying much—the population of the entire island is around 31,000 people, only slightly larger than that of nearby Iki, which is only about one fifth the size of Tsushuma in land area. From Izuhara, you can catch a ferry to Iki or all the way to Hakata, in Fukuoka. You can also always take a plane as well.
Before leaving Tsushima, I’d like to mention one more thing—the leopard cat of Tsushima, the Yamaneko. This has become something of a symbol in Tsushima, but unfortunately it is critically endangered, at least on the island itself. It is all but gone from the southern part of Tsushima—human encroachment on its habitat has been part of the issue, but so has the introduction of domesticated cats. The yamaneko itself is about the size of a typical housecat, and might be mistaken for one, though it has a very distinctive spotted appearance. Domesticated cats have been shown to outcompete their wild cousins, while also passing on harmful diseases, which also affect the population. Just about everywhere you go you’ll see signs and evidence of this special cat. There is also a breeding program in the north if you want to see them for yourself. Even the small Tsushima Airport is named Yamaneko Airport, and the single baggage claim features a whole diorama of little plush leopard cats wearing traditional clothing and waving hello to new arrivals.
If you like rugged coastlines, fascinating scenery, and the odd bit of history thrown in, might I suggest taking a look at Tsushima, the border island between Japan and Korea.
We only had a few days, but it was a truly wonderful experience. Next up we caught the ferry to Iki island, the site of the ancient Iki-koku, possibly represented by the Yayoi era Harunotsuji site. Of all the places I’ve been so far, this is second only to Yoshinogari in the work and reconstruction they’ve done. They’ve even discovered what they believe to be an ancient dock or boat launch. But we’ll cover that next week, as we continue on our self-guided Gishiwajinden tour.
Until then, thank you for listening and for all of your support.
If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts. If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode.
Also, feel free to reach out to us at our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page. You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.
Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast.
And that’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

Conlan, Thomas. (2001). In little need of divine intervention : Takezaki Suenaga's scrolls of the Mongol invasions of Japan. Ithaca, N.Y. :East Asia Program, Cornell University,
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4

Gishiwajinden Tour: Tsushima

June 1, 2024 Joshua Badgley

A view looking out into Sobuaso Bay from Mt. Eboshi. It emphasizes the mountainous terrain and the main bays, islands, and inlets that both made this a poor island for farming and yet a tremendous home for pirates, smugglers, and others who made their living from the sea. Photo by author.

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Continuing on our journey along the path mentioned in the Gishiwajinden - the Wa section of the Weizhi. We are now in Tsushima. A border island between the archipelago and the peninsula.

This is the first island attacked by the Mongol invasion, and the last one passed by Japanese raiders headed to the Korean peninsula. It was visited by missions from Tang China, the Joseon Kingdom, and others. It is a rocky, mountainous place, wholly unsuited to the style of agriculture brought over in the Yayoi period, and yet it continued to support a population based on the sea—whether fishing or trading or… other activities.

In the flora and fauna you can see bits of the peninsula, from the wild leopard cat to species of birds and more. Ancient assemblages of artifacts similarly show a duality about them, demonstrating its position in between various cultural spheres.

Today it is perhaps not on everyone’s bucket list, but it is certainly a short stop from Korea, or just a short flight from Kyushu, and it has its own local charms.

Yamaneko Welcome Committee

Plush yamaneko, and other Tsushima critters, welcome visitors at the single luggage carousel in the Tsushima airport.

Torii

Red torii at a small shrine near the trailhead for the Niso Kofungun walk.

Niso Kofun #4

Kofun #4 is one of the first you find following along the shore. It isn't as obvious as some of the others, but its location would have been prominent and visible to those at sea.

Niso Kofun #5

This one has a very distinctive "round-keyhole" shape, though it is much less regular and smaller than the ones in Nara, almost as though it was a copy of the idea. Halfway up, there is a secondary burial of some kind. I have to wonder how much contact they had with Yamato or if they were simply mimicking what they understood to be Yamato fashion.

Stone coffin

The stone coffins on Tsushima are largely created from slabs of local stone.

Niso Kofun #3

Of the five kofun in the group, this was the only one with an obvious "chamber". It is perhaps a round, mounded kofun. The others, even larger, don't seem to show this same kind of structure, from what we could tell.

Bronze mirror

Bronze mirror, indicative of the trade in high end elite goods that have long passed through the island. From the Tsushima Museum.

Kofunakoshi

The inlet on the western side of Kofunakoshi, the small boat portage. Here there was a short enough distance between one side of Tsushima and the other that boats would stop and unload people and cargo and have it carried over to another boat on the other side. This is believed to be where the 9th century Tang dynasty missions did that very thing.

Bairinji Temple

Claiming to be the oldest temple (or at least oldest Buddhist worship site) in Japan, the buildings are relatively new but it claims a history back to 538 CE

Watazumi Shrine

Watazumi Shrine, in Tsushima. This is a shrine to the god of the ocean and to Toyotama hime.

Three Pillar Torii

At Watazumi Shrine there is a three pillared torii. An unusual, but not unique, shape found at some shrines.

Torii of Watazumi Shrine

Fitting, for a shrine to a sea god, the torii of the shrine extend out into the bay. It was these torii that were repaired with help from fans of "Ghosts of Tsushima".

Wako Pirates

Illustration of wako ("Japanese" pirates) from a Ming dynasty scroll. "Wa" pirates became such a trope that just about any pirate group that wasn't clearly known to groups on the mainland became "wako" (or wokou).

Aso Bay

A look at one of the many inlets around Aso Bay. This large bay, roughly in the middle of Tsushima, has numerous inlets where people still make their living off the sea.

Chinese coins

Coins from the continent, from the 12th to 14th centuries. Acquiring goods from the continent--however they were procured--has long been a part of Tsushima's history.

Kaneishi Castle

The reconstructed yagura of the main gate of Kaneishi castle, built up from the fortified manor of the Sou clan. Today, only the castle gardens and stone walls remain.

Banshoin

The gates to Banshoin temple. This temple is specifically mentioned in accounts of the Joseon dynasty missions.

Faked Joseon Seal (Replica)

A replica of the faked Joseon seal made by the Sou clan. Photo by author at the Tsushima museum. Original in the Kyushu National Museum.

Fake Missive from King Seongjo

A replica of the fake document from King Seongjo. The Sou clan would rewrite or outright fake documents in their attempt to control the narrative between Korea and Japan. Photo by author. Original in the Kyushu National Museum.

Court Layout

Document demonstrating the layout of the Ohiroma, the great audience room, at Edo Castle during the Yanagawa incident, when charges were levied against the Sou for faking documents.

Kokubunji Gate

The gates of Kokubunji, built in 1807. The 1811 Joseon mission would have passed here as they were put up in quarters built on the site of the temple.

Izuhara river

The river running through Izuhara seems to have not changed much since the Edo period. Since Izuhara is on the shore, the flow of the river closer to the bay seems to be affected by the tides.

Izuhara stone walls

Some of the old stone walls are still there in Izuhara. Larger stones are often indicative of a wealthier estate that could afford them.

Edo Period Firebreak

Stone walls like this remain across the town, originally erected to stop fires from easily spreading from building to building. Today you can still see them, despite the modern buildings that have sprung up.

Izuhara Stone Walls

In some places the walls are not just intact, but included into the modern construction.

Izuhara Nakamura

Many of the old walls and structures, including the old gates, can still be found in the Nakamura district, which is where many of the samurai lived during the Edo period.

Sunrise

Early morning glow as the sun begins to rise over the bay at Izuhara. Across the water is the ferry terminal, where boats regularly take people to Hakata or Iki.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is Gishiwajinden Tour Stop 2: Tsushima.
As I mentioned last episode, we are taking a break right now from the workings of the Chronicles while I prep a bit more research on the Taika reform. As we do so, I’m taking you through a recent trip we took trying to follow the ancient sea routes from Gaya, on the Korean peninsula, across the islands to Na, in modern Fukuoka. This may have been first described in the Wei Chronicles, the Weizhi, but it was the pathway that many visitors to the archipelago took up through the famous Mongol invasion, and even later missions from the Joseon kingdom on the Korean peninsula.
Last episode, we talked about our start at Gimhae and Pusan. Gimhae is the old Geumgwan Gaya, as far as we can tell, and had close connections with the archipelago as evidenced by the common items of material culture found on both sides of the strait. From the coast of the Korean peninsula, ships would then sail for the island of Tsushima, the nearest of the islands between the mainland and the Japanese archipelago. Today, ships still sail from Korea to Japan, but most leave out of the port of Pusan. This includes regular cruise ships as well as specialty cruises and ferries. For those who want, there are some popular trips between Pusan and Fukuoka or Pusan all the way to Osaka, through the Seto Inland Sea. For us, however, we were looking at the shortest ferries, those to Tsushima.
Tsushima is a large island situated in the strait between Korea and Japan. Technically it is actually three islands, as channels were dug in the 20th century to allow ships stationed around the island to quickly pass through rather than going all the way around. Tsushima is the closest Japanese island to Korea, actually closer to Korea than to the rest of Japan, which makes it a fun day trip from Pusan, so they get a lot of Korean tourists.
There are two ports that the ferries run to, generally speaking. In the north is Hitakatsu, which is mainly a port for people coming from Korea. Further south is Izuhara, which is the old castle town, where the So family once administered the island and relations with the continent, and where you can get a ferry to Iki from.
Unfortunately for us, as I mentioned last episode, it turned out that the kami of the waves thwarted us in our plans to sail from Busan to Tsushima. And so we ended up flying into Tsushima Airport, instead, which actually required us to take an international flight over to Fukuoka and then a short domestic flight back to Tsushima. On the one hand, this was a lot of time out of our way, but on the other they were nice short flights with a break in the Fukuoka airport, which has great restaurants in the domestic terminal. Furthermore, since we came into the centrally-located Tsushima airport, this route also gave us relatively easy access to local rental car agencies, which was helpful because although there is a bus service that runs up and down the islands, if you really want to explore Tsushima it is best to have a car. Note that also means having an International Driver’s Permit, at least in most cases, unless you have a valid Japanese drivers’ license.
As for why you need a car: There is a bus route from north to south, but for many of the places you will likely want to go will take a bit more to get to. If you speak Japanese and have a phone there are several taxi companies you can call, and you can try a taxi app, though make sure it works on the island. In the end, having a car is extremely convenient.
Tsushima is also quite mountainous, without a lot of flat land, and there are numerous bays and inlets in which ships can hide and shelter from bad weather—or worse.
Tsushima is renowned for its natural beauty. Flora and fauna are shared with continent and the archipelago. There are local subspecies of otter and deer found on the islands, but also the Yamaneko, or Mountain Cat, a subspecies of the Eurasian leopard cat that is only found in Japan on Tsushima and on Iriomote, in the southern Okinawan island chain. They also have their own breed of horse, as well, related to the ancient horses bred there since at least the 8th century.
Tsushima is clearly an important part of Japan, and the early stories of the creation of the archipelago often include Tsushima as one of the original eight islands mentioned in the creation story. That suggests it has been considered an ancient part of the archipelago since at least the 8th century, and likely much earlier.
Humans likely first came to Tsushima on their crossing from what is now the Korean peninsula over to the archipelago at the end of the Pleistocene era, when sea levels were much lower. However, we don’t have clear evidence of humans until later, and this is likely because the terrain made it difficult to cultivate the land, and most of the activity was focused on making a livelihood out of the ocean.
Currently we have clear evidence of humans on the island from at least the Jomon period, including remnants such as shellmounds, though we don’t have any clear sign of habitation. It is possible that fishermen and others came to the islands during certain seasons, setting up fish camps and the like, and then departed, but it could be that there were more permanent settlements and we just haven’t found them yet. Most of the Jomon sites appear to be on the northern part of Tsushima, what is now the “upper island”, though, again, lack of evidence should not be taken as evidence of lack, and there could be more we just haven’t found yet. After all, sites like Izuhara, which was quite populated in later periods, may have disturbed any underlying layers that we could otherwise hope to find there, and perhaps we will one day stumble on something more that will change our understanding.
Things change a bit in the Yayoi period, and we see clear evidence of settlements, pit buildings, graves, and grave goods at various sites up through the Kofun period. Unsurprisingly, the assembly of goods found include both archipelagic and continental material, which fits with its position in between the various cultures.
Understandably, most of these archeological sites were investigated and then either covered back up for preservation or replaced by construction – so in many cases there isn’t anything to see now, besides the artifacts in the museum. But some of the earliest clear evidence that you can still go see today are the several kofun, ancient tumuli, scattered around the island at different points.
Most of the kofun on the island appear to be similar, and overall fairly small. These are not the most impressive kofun—not the giant mounds found in places like Nara, Osaka, Kibi, or even up in Izumo. However, to students of the era they are still very cool to see as monuments of that ancient time. One example of this that we visited was the Niso-kofungun, or the Niso Kofun group. The Niso Kofungun is not like what you might expect in the Nara basin or the Osaka area. First, you drive out to the end of the road in a small fishing community, and from there go on a small hike to see the kofun themselves. Today the mounds are mostly hidden from view by trees, though there are signs put up to mark each one. Some of them have a more well defined shape than others, too, with at least one demonstrating what appears to be a long, thin keyhole shape, taking advantage of the local terrain. Most of these were pit style burials, where slabs of local sedimentary rock were used to form rectangular coffins in the ground, in which the individuals were presumably buried. On one of the keyhole shaped mounds there was also what appears to be a secondary burial at the neck of the keyhole, where the round and trapezoidal sections meet. However, we don’t know who or even what was buried there in some instances, as most of the bones are no longer extant.
Besides the distinctively keyhole shaped tomb, two more kofun in the Niso group caught my attention. One, which is thought to have been a round tomb, had what appeared to be a small stone chamber, perhaps the last of the kofun in this group to be built, as that is generally a feature of later period kofun. There was also one that was higher up on the hill, which may also have been a keyhole shaped tomb. That one struck me, as it would likely have been particularly visible from sea before the current overgrown forest appeared.
There are also plenty of other kofun to go searching for, though some might be a little more impressive than others. In the next episode, when we talk about the island of Iki, we’ll explore that ancient kingdom’s much larger collection of kofun.
After the mention of Tsushima in the Weizhi in the third century, there is a later story, from about the 6th century, involving Tsushima in the transmission of Buddhism. This story isn’t in the Nihon Shoki and was actually written down much later, so take that as you will. According to this account, the Baekje envoys who transmitted the first Buddha image to Japan stopped for a while on Tsushima before proceeding on to the Yamato court. While they were there, the monks who were looking after the image built a small building in which to conduct their daily rituals, effectively building the first Buddhist place of worship in the archipelago. A temple was later said to have been built on that spot, and in the mid-15th century it was named Bairinji. While the narrative is highly suspect, there is some evidence that the area around Bairinji was indeed an important point on the island. Prior to the digging of the two channels to connect the east and west coasts, the area near Bairinji, known as Kofunakoshi, or the small boat portage, was the narrowest part of Tsushima, right near the middle, where Aso Bay and Mitsuura Bay almost meet. We know that at least in the 9th century this is where envoys would disembark from one ship which had brought them from the archipelago, and embark onto another which would take them to the continent, and vice versa. Likewise, their goods would be carried across the narrow strip of land. This was like a natural barrier and an ideal location for an official checkpoint, and in later years Bairinji temple served as this administrative point, providing the necessary paperwork for crews coming to and from Japan, including the various Joseon dynasty missions in the Edo period.
Why this system of portage and changing ships, instead of just sailing around? Such a system was practical for several reasons. For one, it was relatively easy to find Tsushima from the mainland. Experienced ships could sail there, transfer cargo to ships experienced with the archipelago and the Seto Inland Sea, and then return swiftly to Korea. Furthermore, this system gave Yamato and Japan forewarning, particularly of incoming diplomatic missions. No chance mistaking ships for an invasion or pirates of some kind, as word could be sent ahead and everything could be arranged in preparation for the incoming mission. These are details that are often frustratingly left out of many of the early accounts, but there must have been some logistics to take care of things like this.
Whether or not Bairinji’s history actually goes back to 538, it does have claim to some rather ancient artifacts, including a 9th century Buddha image from the Unified, or Later, Silla period as well as 579 chapters of the Dai Hannya Haramitta Kyo, or the Greater Perfection of Wisdom Sutra, from a 14th century copy. These were actually stolen from the temple in 2014, but later recovered. Other statues were stolen two years previously from other temples on Tsushima, which speaks to some of the tensions that still exist between Korea and Japan. Claims were made that the statues had originally been stolen by Japanese pirates, or wakou, from Korea and brought to Japan, so the modern-day thieves were simply righting an old wrong. However, Korean courts eventually found that the items should be returned to Japan, though there were those who disagreed with the ruling. This is an example of the ongoing tensions that can sometimes make study of inter-strait history a bit complex.
More concrete than the possible location of a theoretical early worship structure are the earthworks of Kaneda fortress. This is a mid-7th century fort, created by Yamato to defend itself from a presumed continental invasion. We even have mention of it in the Nihon Shoki. It appears to have been repaired in the late 7th century, and then continued to be used until some time in the 8th century, when it was abandoned, seeing as how the invasion had never materialized, and no doubt maintaining the defenses on top of a mountain all the way out on Tsushima would have been a costly endeavor.
Over time the name “Kaneda” was forgotten, though the stone and earthworks on the mountain gave the site the name “Shiroyama”, or Castle Mountain, at least by the 15th century. In the Edo period, scholars set out trying to find the Kaneda fortress mentioned in the Nihon Shoki, and at one point identified this with an area known as Kanedahara, or Kaneda Fields, in the modern Sasu district, on the southwest coast of Tsushima. However, a scholar named Suyama Don’ou identified the current mountaintop site, which has generally been accepted as accurate. The earthworks do appear to show the kind of Baekje-style fortifications that Yamato built at this time, which took advantage of the natural features of the terrain. These fortresses, or castles, were more like fortified positions—long walls that could give troops a secure place to entrench themselves. They would not have had the impressive donjon, or tenshukaku, that is the most notable feature of of later Japanese and even European castles.
Most of the Baekje style castles in Japan are primarily earthworks—for example the Demon’s castle in modern Okayama. Kaneda is unique, though, with about 2.8 kilometers of stone walls, most of which are reportedly in quite good condition. There were three main gates and remains of various buildings have been determined from post-holes uncovered on the site. There is a name for the top of the mountain, Houtateguma, suggesting that there may have once been some kind of beacon tower placed there with a light that could presumably be used to signal to others, but no remains have been found.
The defensive nature of the position is also attested to in modern times. During the early 20th century, the Japanese military placed batteries on the fortress, and an auxiliary fort nearby. These constructions damaged some of the ancient walls, but this still demonstrates Tsushima’s place at the edge of Japan and the continent, even into modern times.
For all that it is impressive, I have to say that we regrettably did not make it to the fortress, as it is a hike to see everything, and our time was limited. If you do go, be prepared for some trekking, as this really is a fortress on a mountain, and you need to park and take the Kaneda fortress trail up.

Moving on from the 8th century, we have evidence of Tsushima in written records throughout the next several centuries, but there isn’t a lot clearly remaining on the island from that period—at least not extant buildings. In the records we can see that there were clearly things going on, and quite often it wasn’t great for the island. For instance, there was the Toi Invasion in the 11th century, when pirates—possibly Tungusic speaking Jurchen from the area of Manchuria—invaded without warning, killing and taking people away as slaves. It was horrific, but relatively short-lived, as it seems that the invaders weren’t intent on staying.
Perhaps a more lasting impression was made by the invasions of the Mongols in the 13th century. This is an event that has been hugely impactful on Japan and Japanese history. The first invasion in 1274, the Mongols used their vassal state of Goryeo to build a fleet of ships and attempted to cross the strait to invade Japan. The typical narrative talks about how they came ashore at Hakata Bay, in modern Fukuoka, and the Kamakura government called up soldiers from across the country to their defense. Not only that, but monks and priests prayed for divine intervention to protect Japan. According to the most common narrative, a kamikaze, or divine wind, arose in the form of a typhoon that blew into Hakata Bay and sank much of the Mongol fleet.
That event would have ripple effects throughout Japanese society. On the one hand, the Mongols brought new weapons in the form of explosives, and we see changes in the arms of the samurai as their swords got noticeably beefier, presumably to do better against similarly armored foes. The government also fortified Hakata Bay, which saw another attack in 1281, which similarly failed.
Though neither attempted invasion succeeded, both were extremely costly. Samurai who fought for their country expected to get rewarded afterwards, and not just with high praise. Typically when samurai fought they would be richly rewarded by their lord with gifts taken from the losing side, to include land and property. In the case of the Mongols, however, there was no land or property to give out. This left the Kamakura government in a bit of a pickle, and the discontent fomented by lack of payment is often cited as one of the key contributors to bringing down the Kamakura government and leading to the start of the Muromachi period in the 14th century.
The invasions didn’t just appear at Hakata though. In 1274, after the Mongol fleet first left Goryeo on the Korean Peninsula, they landed first at Tsushima and then Iki, following the traditional trade routes and killing and pillaging as they went. In Tsushima, the Mongol armies arrived in the south, landing at Komoda beach near Sasuura. Lookouts saw them coming and the So clan hastily gathered up a defense, but it was no use. The Mongol army established a beachhead and proceeded to spend the next week securing the island. From there they moved on to Iki, the next island in the chain, and on our journey. Countless men and women were killed or taken prisoner, and when the Mongols retreated after the storm, they brought numerous prisoners back with them.
Although the Mongols had been defeated, they were not finished with their plans to annex Japan into their growing empire. They launched another invasion in 1281, this time with reinforcements drawn from the area of the Yangtze river, where they had defeated the ethnic Han Song dynasty two years prior. Again, they landed at Tsushima, but met fierce resistance—the government had been preparing for this fight ever since the last one. Unfortunately, Tsushima again fell under Mongol control, but not without putting up a fight. When the Mongols were again defeated, they left the island once again, this time never to return.
If you want to read up more on the events of the Mongol Invasion, I would recommend Dr. Thomas Conlan’s book, “No Need for Divine Intervention”. It goes into much more detail than I can here.
These traumatic events have been seared into the memories of Tsushima and the nearby island of Iki. Even though both islands have long since rebuilt, memories of the invasion are embedded in the landscape of both islands, and it is easy to find associated historical sites or even take a dedicated tour. In 2020, the events of the invasion of Tsushima were fictionalized into a game that you may have heard of called Ghost of Tsushima. I won’t get into a review of the game—I haven’t played it myself—but many of the locations in the game were drawn on actual locations in Tsushima. Most, like Kaneda Castle, are fictionalized to a large extent, but it did bring awareness to the island, and attracted a large fan base. Indeed, when we picked up our rental car, the helpful staff offered us a map with Ghost of Tsushima game locations in case we wanted to see them for ourselves.
As I noted, many of the places mentioned in the game are highly fictionalized, as are many of the individuals and groups—after all, the goal is to play through and actually defeat the enemies, and just getting slaughtered by Mongols and waiting for them to leave wouldn’t exactly make for great gameplay. Shrines offer “charms” to the user and so finding and visiting all of the shrines in the in-game world becomes a player goal. And so when fans of the game learned that the torii gate of Watatsumi Shrine, one of the real-life iconic shrines in Tsushima, was destroyed by a typhoon in September of 2020, about a month after the game was released, they came to its aid and raised over 27 million yen to help restore the torii gates. A tremendous outpouring from the community.
And while you cannot visit all of the locations in the game, you can visit Watazumi Shrine, with its restored torii gates that extend into the water.
Watatsumi Shrine itself has some interesting, if somewhat confusing, history. It is one of two shrines on Tsushima that claim to be the shrine listed in the 10th-century Engi Shiki as “Watatsumi Shrine”. This is believed to have been the shrine to the God of the Sea, whose palace Hiko Hoho-demi traveled down to in order to find his brother’s fishhook—a story noted in the Nihon Shoki and which we covered in episode 23. Notwithstanding that most of that story claims it was happening on the eastern side of Kyushu, there is a local belief that Tsushima is actually the place where that story originated.
The popular shrine that had its torii repaired is popularly known as Watatsumi Shrine, today. The other one is known as Kaijin Shrine, literally translating to the Shrine of the Sea God, and it is also known as Tsushima no kuni no Ichinomiya; That is to say the first, or primary, shrine of Tsushima. Some of the confusion may come as it appears that Kaijin shrine was, indeed, the more important of the two for some time. It was known as the main Hachiman shrine in Tsushima, and may have been connected with a local temple as well. It carries important historical records that help to chart some of the powerful families of Tsushima, and also claims ownership of an ancient Buddhist image from Silla that was later stolen. In the 19th century it was identified as the Watatsumi Shrine mentioned in the Engi Shiki, and made Toyotama Hime and Hikohohodemi the primary deities worshipped at the shrine, replacing the previous worship of Hachiman.
Shrines and temples can be fascinating to study, but can also be somewhat tricky to understand, historically. Given their religious nature, the founding stories of such institutions can sometimes be rather fantastical, and since they typically aren’t written down until much later, it is hard to tell what part of the story is original and what part has been influenced by later stories, like those in the Nihon Shoki or the Kojiki.
Another interesting example of a somewhat unclear history is that of the Buddhist temple, Kokubun-ji. Kokubunji are provincial temples, originally set up inthe decree of 741 that had them erected across the archipelago, one in each province at the time, in an attempt to protect the country from harm, Knowing the location of a Kokubunji can therefore often tell you something about where the Nara era provincial administration sat, as it would likely have been nearby. In many cases, these were probably connected to the local elite, as well.
This is not quite as simple with Tsushima Kokubun-ji. While it was originally designated in the decree of 741, a later decree in 745 stated that the expenses for these temples would come directly out of tax revenues in the provinces, and at that time Tsushima was excluded. Moreover, the Kokubunji on nearby Iki island was funded by taxes from Hizen province. So it isn’t until 855 that we have clear evidence of an early provincial temple for Tsushima, in this case known as a Tobunji, or Island Temple, rather than a Kokubunji.
The location of that early temple is unknown, and it burned down only two years later when Tsushima was attacked by forces from Kyushu. It is unclear what happened to it in the following centures, but by the 14th or 15th century it was apparently situated in Izuhara town, near the site of what would become Kaneishi Castle. It was later rebuilt in its current location, on the other side of Izuhara town. It burned down in the Edo period—all except the gate, which was built in 1807. This gate is at least locally famous for its age and history. It was also the site of the guesthouses for the 1811 diplomatic mission from Joseon—the dynasty that followed Koryeo.
Those missions are another rather famous part of the history of Tsushima, which, as we’ve seen, has long been a gateway between the archipelago and the peninsula. In the Edo period, there were numerous diplomatic missions from the Joseon dynasty to the Tokugawa shogunate, and these grand affairs are often touted in the history of Tsushima, with many locations specifically calling out the island’s deep involvement in cross-strait relations. Relations which, to really understand, we need to probably start with a look at the famous (or perhaps even infamous) Sou clan.
The Sou clan became particularly influential in Tsushima in the 13th century. The local officials, the Abiru clan, who had long been in charge of the island, were declared to be in rebellion against the Dazaifu, and so Koremune Shigehisa was sent to quell them. In return, he was made Jito, or land steward, under the Shoni clan, who were the Shugo of Chikuzen and Hizen, including the island of Tsushima. The Sou clan, descendents of the Koremune, ruled Tsushima ever since, first as vassals of the Shoni , but eventually they ran things outright.
Thus, Sou Sukekuni was in charge when the Mongols invaded in 1274. Despite having only 80 or so mounted warriors under his charge, he attempted to defend the island, dying in battle. Nonetheless, when the Mongols retreated, the Sou family retained their position. Later, they supported the Ashikaga in their bid to become shogun, and were eventually named the Shugo of Tsushima, a title they kept until the Meiji period.
As we’ve mentioned, despite its size, Tsushima is not the most hospitable of locations. It is mountainous, with many bays and inlets, making both cross-land travel and agriculture relatively difficult. And thus the Sou clan came to rely on trade with the continent for their wealth and support. Although, “trade” might be a bit negotiable.
Remember how the early Japanese regularly raided the coast of the peninsula? It was frequent enough that a term arose—the Wakou, the Japanese invaders, or Japanese pirates. In fact, the term “wakou” became so synonymous with piracy that almost any pirate group could be labeled as “wakou”, whether Japanese or not. Some of them that we know about were downright cosmopolitan, with very diverse crews from a variety of different cultures.
Given its position, the rough terrain, and myriad bays that could easily hide ships and other such things, Tsushima made a great base for fishermen-slash-pirates to launch from. Particularly in harsh times, desperate individuals from Tsushima and other islands might take their chances to go and raid the mainland.
In the early 15th century, the new Joseon dynasty had had enough. They sent an expeditionary force to Tsushima to put an end to the wakou. The expedition came in 1419. The year before, the head of the Sou clan, Sou Sadashige, had died. His son, Sou Sadamori, took his place, but had not yet come of age, leaving actual power in the hands of Souda Saemontarou, leader of the Wakou pirates.
Eventually the Joseon forces were defeated by the forces of Tsushima, including the wakou. The Joseon court considered sending another punitive expedition, but it never materialized. What did eventually happen, though, was, oddly, closer ties between the peninsula and Tsushima. Sou Sadamori, who grew up in that tumultuous time, worked to repair relationships with the Joseon court, concluding a treaty that that allowed the Sou clan to basically monopolize trade with the Korean peninsula. Treaty ports on the peninsula began to attract permanent settlements of Japanese merchants, and these “wakan”, or Japanese districts, came nominally under the jurisdiction of the Sou of Tsushima.
The Sou clan maintained their place as the intermediaries with the Joseon state through the 16th century. Messages sent from the Japanese court to Joseon would be sent to the Sou, who would deliver them to the Joseon court, and in turn handle all replies from the peninsula back to the Japanese mainland. And this over time led them to develop some, shall we say, special techniques to make sure these exchanges were as fruitful as possible.
You see, the treaties with the Joseon court only allowed fifty ships a year from Tsushima to trade with the peninsula. But since all of the documents flowed through the Sou, they had plenty of time to study the seals of both courts—those of the Joseon kingdom and those of Japan – and have fake seals created for their own ends. In part through the use of these fake seals, the Sou clan were able to pretend their ships were coming from other people—real or fake—and thus get around the 50 ship per year limit. They also used them in other ways to try and maintain their position between the two countries.
All of this came to a head when the Taikou, Toyotomi Hideyoshi, began to dream of continental conquest. Hideyoshi, at this point the undeniable ruler of all of Japan, had a bit of an ego—not exactly undeserved, mind you. His letter to the Joseon king Seongjo, demanding submission, was quite inflammatory, and the Sou clan realized immediately that it would be taken as an insult. Not only could it jeopardize relations with the continent, it could also jeopardize their own unique status. Which is why they decided to modify it using what in modern computer hacker terms might be called a man-in-the-middle attack – which, with their fake seal game, they had plenty of experience with. The Sou were able to modify the language in each missive to make the language more acceptable to either side. They also dragged their feet in the whole matter, delaying things for at least two years

But Hideyoshi’s mind was set on conquest. Specifically, he had ambitions of displacing the Ming dynasty itself, and he demanded that the Joseon court submit and allow the Japanese forces through to face the Ming dynasty. The Joseon refused to grant his request, and eventually Hideyoshi had enough. He threatened an invasion of Korea if the Joseon dynasty didn’t capitulate to his requests.
Throughout this process, the Sou attempted to smooth things over as best they could. However, even they couldn’t forge the words presented by a face-to-face envoy, nor could they put off Hideyoshi’s anger forever. And thus Tsushima became one of the launching off points for the Japanese invasions of Korea in 1592 and again in 1597. Tsushima, along with nearby Iki, would have various castles built to help supply the invading forces. One such castle was the Shimizuyama-jo, overlooking the town of Izuhara. Some of the walls and earthworks can still be seen up on the mountain overlooking the town, and there are trails up from the site of Kaneishi castle, down below.
Both of these invasions ultimately failed, though not without a huge loss of life and destruction on the peninsula—a loss that is still felt, even today.
The second and final invasion ended in 1598. Both sides were exhausted and the Japanese were losing ground, but the true catalyst, unbeknownst to those on the continent, was the death of Hideyoshi. The Council of Regents, a group of five daimyo appointed to rule until Hideyoshi’s son, Hideyori, came of age kept Hideyoshi’s death a secret to maintain morale until they could withdraw from the continent.
With the war over, the Sou clan took the lead in peace negotiations with the Joseon court, partly in an attempt to reestablish their position and their trade. In 1607, after Tokugawa had established himself and his family as the new shogunal line, the Sou continued to fake documents to the Joseon court, and then to fake documents right back to the newly established bakufu so that their previous forgeries wouldn’t be uncovered. This got them in a tight spot.
In the early 1600s, one Yanagawa Shigeoki had a grudge to settle with Sou Yoshinari, and so he went and told the Bakufu about the diplomatic forgeries that the Sou had committed, going back years. Yoshinari was summoned to Edo, where he was made to answer the allegations by Shigeoki. Sure enough, it was proven that the Sou had, indeed, been forging seals and letters, but after examination, Tokugawa Iemitsu, the third Tokugawa Shogun, decided that they had not caused any great harm—in fact, some of their meddling had actually helped, since they knew the diplomatic situation with the Joseon court better than just about anyone else, and they clearly were incentivized to see positive relations between Japan and Korea. As such, despite the fact that he was right, Yanagawa Shigeoki was exiled, while the Sou clan was given a slap on the wrist and allowed to continue operating as the intermediaries with the Joseon court.
There was one caveat, however: The Sou clan would no longer be unsupervised. Educated monks from the most prestigious Zen temples in Kyoto, accredited as experts in diplomacy, would be dispatched to Tsushima to oversee the creation of diplomatic documents and other such matters, bringing the Sou clan’s forgeries to a halt.
Despite that, the Sou clan continued to facilitate relations with the peninsula, including some twelve diplomatic missions from Korea: the Joseon Tsuushinshi. The first was in 1607, to Tokugawa Hidetada, and these were lavish affairs, even more elaborate than the annual daimyo pilgrimages for the sankin-kotai, or alternate attendance at Edo. The embassies brought almost 500 people, including acrobats and other forms of entertainment. Combined with their foreign dress and styles, it was a real event for people whenever they went.
Today, these Tsuushinshi are a big draw for Korean tourists, and just about anywhere you go—though especially around Izuhara town—you will find signs in Japanese, Korean, and English about locations specifically associated with these missions. And in years past, they’ve even reenacted some of the processions and ceremonies.
Speaking of Izuhara, this was the castle town from which the Sou administered Tsushima. Banshoin temple was the Sou family temple, and contains the graves of many members of the Sou family. In 1528, the Sou built a fortified residence in front of Banshoin, and eventually that grew into the castle from which they ruled Tsushima. Today, only the garden and some of the stone walls remain. The yagura atop the main gate has been rebuilt, but mostly it is in ruins. The Tsushima Museum sits on the site as well. Nearby there is also a special museum specifically dedicated to the Tsuushinshi missions.
Izuhara town itself is an interesting place. Much of what you see harkens back to the Edo period. Much like Edo itself, the densely packed wood and paper houses were a constant fire hazard, and there were several times where the entire town burned to the ground. As such they began to institute firebreaks in the form of stone walls which were placed around the town to help prevent fire from too quickly spreading from one house to the next. This is something that was instituted elsewhere, including Edo, but I’ve never seen so many extant firewalls before, and pretty soon after you start looking for them, you will see them everywhere.
The area closest to the harbor was an area mostly for merchants and similar working class people, and even today this can be seen in some of the older buildings and property layouts. There are also a fair number of izakaya and various other establishments in the area. Further inland you can find the old samurai district, across from the Hachiman shrine. The houses and the gates in that area are just a little bit nicer. While many modern buildings have gone up in the town, you can still find traces of the older buildings back from the days of the Sou clan and the Korean envoys.
Today, Izuhara is perhaps the largest town on Tsushima, but that isn’t saying much—the population of the entire island is around 31,000 people, only slightly larger than that of nearby Iki, which is only about one fifth the size of Tsushuma in land area. From Izuhara, you can catch a ferry to Iki or all the way to Hakata, in Fukuoka. You can also always take a plane as well.
Before leaving Tsushima, I’d like to mention one more thing—the leopard cat of Tsushima, the Yamaneko. This has become something of a symbol in Tsushima, but unfortunately it is critically endangered, at least on the island itself. It is all but gone from the southern part of Tsushima—human encroachment on its habitat has been part of the issue, but so has the introduction of domesticated cats. The yamaneko itself is about the size of a typical housecat, and might be mistaken for one, though it has a very distinctive spotted appearance. Domesticated cats have been shown to outcompete their wild cousins, while also passing on harmful diseases, which also affect the population. Just about everywhere you go you’ll see signs and evidence of this special cat. There is also a breeding program in the north if you want to see them for yourself. Even the small Tsushima Airport is named Yamaneko Airport, and the single baggage claim features a whole diorama of little plush leopard cats wearing traditional clothing and waving hello to new arrivals.
If you like rugged coastlines, fascinating scenery, and the odd bit of history thrown in, might I suggest taking a look at Tsushima, the border island between Japan and Korea.
We only had a few days, but it was a truly wonderful experience. Next up we caught the ferry to Iki island, the site of the ancient Iki-koku, possibly represented by the Yayoi era Harunotsuji site. Of all the places I’ve been so far, this is second only to Yoshinogari in the work and reconstruction they’ve done. They’ve even discovered what they believe to be an ancient dock or boat launch. But we’ll cover that next week, as we continue on our self-guided Gishiwajinden tour.
Until then, thank you for listening and for all of your support.
If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts. If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode.
Also, feel free to reach out to us at our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page. You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.
Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast.
And that’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

Conlan, Thomas. (2001). In little need of divine intervention : Takezaki Suenaga's scrolls of the Mongol invasions of Japan. Ithaca, N.Y. :East Asia Program, Cornell University,
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4

Gishiwajinden Tour: Geumgwan Gaya

May 19, 2024 Joshua Badgley

The tomb attributed to King Suro of Gaya. The tomb itself has been rebuilt at least once over the centuries. It is unclear how close it was to the original—many of the tomb mounds have since eroded and subsided and are barely or no longer visible as they once were. Photo by author.

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Taking a break from the Chronicles while I pull together some more research, as we are starting to enter much more impactful period with a lot of change. So instead, I’m presenting you a glimpse at a recent tour we did following the old route to Japan mentioned in the “Gishiwajinden”, or the Wa records from the Weizhi. This described the 3rd century journey from the Korean peninsula down to “Yamatai” (probably “Yamateg/Yamato” at the time), and includes relatively clear directions from “Guyahan” to “Tuma” to “Iki”, then “Maturo”, “Ito”, and “Na”. These have all been largely agreed upon as being part of the western edge of Kyushu.

Gimhae National Museum

The national museum here is clearly focused on the history of Gaya.

Ceramic Building

A ceramic example of a building, helping us to know what they may have looked like based on more than just the empty post-holes in the ground. This is considered a particular treasure of the museum.

Barding and Horse Equipment

Example of the barding and horse equipment found in the tombs.

Reconstructed Armor

Reproduction of solid iron armor, known in Japan as "tanko", made up of various iron plates bound together by leather or rivets, found on both sides of the straits.

Iron armor

Solid iron armor from the Gaya tombs.

Iron armor, detail

Decorative iron guards around the neck on the solid iron armor from the Gaya tombs.

Iron armor (rear)

Rear view of solid iron armor from the Gaya tombs.

Sword pommel

Pommel of an iron sword, similar to some of those found on the archipelago.

Wooden boat piece

Wooden remnant of an ancient boat that appears to be similar to ceramic examples.

Ceramic Boat

Ceramic boat found in the Gaya graves, similar to haniwa examples on the archipelago.

Tomb of King Suro

Supposedly the tomb of the legendary King Suro, from the first century. However, it is unlikely that a tomb from that period would remain as prominent and the reconstruction of the tomb mound may have been based on others, like the royal tombs in Silla. The location was based on a passage in the Samguk Yusa.

Gimhae Shell Mound

This hill is actually a shellmound, made up of centuries worth of shells, bones, and broken ceramic piled up in a giant mound.

Shellmound, interior

A look at the interior of the Gimhae shellmound. This is what a cross-section of it would have looked like during excavation.

Raised Wooden Building

Conjectural example of what a raised wooden structure at the village might have looked like.

Gaya Pit Building

Conjectural example of the kind of pit building at a Gaya village.

Ground-level Building

A conjectural example of a ground-level building, neither dug into the ground, nor raised up on posts.

Watchtower

Conjectural reconstruction of an ancient watchtower. Sometimes the post-holes are so large that it is assumed that they must have been much larger, and probably for something more like a tower than a regular building.

Daesong-dong Tomb Ridge

A diorama of the Daeseong-dong ridge where many of the Gaya royal tombs have been found.

Ancient burial

Example of the workers prepping an ancient grave.

Lamellar armor

Reconstruction of a lamellar armor, known as "keiko" on the archipelago, found in the Gaya tombs. It is often associated with mounted cavalry.

Bunsanseong Fortress

Bunsanseong fortress, seen from the city. It is not uncommon for fortresses on the peninsula to utilize the natural contours and features of a mountain, hill, or ridge.

Daeseong-dong tomb

The site of tombs on Daeseong-dong ridge no longer have mounds, but the rectangular burial chambers are marked off with low shrubs to see where they are.

Stone burial

Stone detritus from a stone chamber burial at Daeseong-dong.

Double Burial

Example of a burial chamber that intersects another, older burial. You can see how there are multiple layers. It is unclear why this happened. Did they not know about the previous tomb?

Confucian school

Part of the Confucian school (or hanggyo) in Gimhae.

North Gate of Gimhae

The restored northern city gate of Gimhae.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is Gishiwajinden Self-Guided Tour: Geumgwan Gaya.
For the next several episodes we are taking a bit of a detour from the narrative of the Chronicles. After all, with the coup of 645 that we covered a couple of episodes ago, we are about to dive into the period known as “Taika” or “Great Change”. Prince Naka no Oe and Nakatomi no Kamako were not just assassins—they had plans that went beyond just cutting the head off the powerful Soga house. It’s an eventful time, with a lot of changes, though some of those would take time to really come to fruition and before I get into all of that there is a bit more research that I want to do to figure out the best way to lay that out for you.
And so I figured we would take a little detour for a few episodes, to share with you a special trip that Ellen and I recently took, reproducing – in a modern way – some of the earliest accounts we have about crossing over to the archipelago: the Gishiwajinden, the Japanese section of the Weizhi. We talked about this chronicle back in episode 11: it describes all the places one would stop when leaving the continent, from kingdoms on the peninsula and across the smaller islands of the archipelago before landing in what we currently call Kyushu.
And Ellen and I did just that: we sailed across the Korean straits, from the site of the ancient kingdom of Gaya in modern Gimhae, to the islands of Tsushima and Iki, then on to modern Karatsu and Fukuoka, passing through what is thought to be the ancient lands of Matsuro, Ito, and Na. It was an incredibly rewarding journey, and includes plenty of archaeological sites spanning the Yayoi to Kofun periods—as well as other sites of historical interest. It also gets you out to some areas of Japan and Korea that aren’t always on people’s list, but probably should be.
So for this first episode about our “Gishiwajinden Jido Toua” – our Gishiwajinden Self-Guided Tour – we’ll talk about the historical sites in Gimhae, the site of ancient Geumgwan Gaya, but also some of the more modern considerations for visiting, especially on your own.
By the way, a big thank you to one of our listeners, Chad, who helped inspire this trip. He was living on Iki for a time and it really made me think about what’s out there.
This episode I’ll be focusing on the first place our journey took us, Gimhae, South Korea. Gimhae is a city on the outskirts of modern Pusan, and home to Pusan’s international airport, which was quite convenient.
This is thought to be the seat of the ancient kingdom of Gaya, also known as “Kara” in the old records. In the Weizhi we are told of a “Guyahan”, often assumed to be “Gaya Han”, which is to say the Han—one of the countries of the peninsula—known as Guya or Gaya. This is assumed to mean Gaya, aka Kara or Garak, and at that time it wasn’t so much a kingdom as it was a confederation of multiple polities that shared a similar material culture and locations around the Nakdong river. This is the area that we believe was also referenced as “Byeonhan” in some of the earliest discussions of the Korean peninsula.
By the way, while I generally believe this area was referred to as “Kara”, “Gara”, or even “Garak”, originally, the modern Korean reading of the characters used is “Gaya”, and since that is what someone will be looking for, that’s what I’ll go with.
History of the Korean peninsula often talks about the “Three Kingdoms” period, referencing the kingdoms of Baekje, Silla, and Goguryeo. However, that is a very simplistic view of the ancient history of the archipelago. Numerous small polities existed without a clear, persistent overlord outside of those three larger polities, and even they were not always quite as grand as the later histories would like to make them out to be.
Gaya is often referred to as the “Gaya Confederacy” by modern historians, at least for most of its existence, and refers to a number of polities including Daegaya, Ara, etc., and may also include “Nimna”, though where exactly that was is a topic of great debate, with some claiming that it was just another name for what later was known as Geumgwan Gaya, and other suggestions that it was its own polity, elsewhere on the coast. This isn’t helped by the nationalist Japanese view that “Nimna” was also the “Mimana Nihonfu”, or the Mimana controlled by Japan, noted in the Nihon Shoki, and used as the pretext for so many of the aggressions perpetrated on the continent by Japan.
These all appear to have been individual polities, like small city-states, which were otherwise joined by a common culture. Although the Samguk Yusa mentions “King Suro” coming in 42 CE, for most of its history there wasn’t really a single Gaya state as far as we can tell. It is possible that towards the 5th and early 6th centuries, Geumgwan Gaya had reached a certain level of social complexity and stratification that it would classify as a “kingdom”, but these definitions are the kinds of things that social scientists would argue about endlessly.
Evidence for a “Kingdom” comes in part from the way that Geumgwan Gaya is referenced in the Samguk Sagi and other histories, particularly in how its ruling elite is referred to as the royal ancestors of the Gimhae Kim clan. Proponents also point to the elaborate graves, a large palace site (currently under excavation and renovation), the rich grave goods found in the tombs thought to be those of the royal elites, etc. Other scholars are not so sure, however, and even if there was a nominal kingdom, it likely did not last very long before coming under the rule of Silla in the 6th century.
Unlike the other kingdoms—Baekje, Silla, and Goguryeo; the “Samguk”, or three countries, of the “Samguk Sagi”—Gaya does not have its own record in the histories. The Samguk Yusa, which is of interest but also problematic in that it was clearly more about telling the miraculous tales of Buddhism than a strictly factual history, does have a bit about Gaya. The author of the Samguk Yusa, the monk Ilyeon, claimed that the information there was pulled from a no longer extant record called the Gayakgukki, or Record of the Gaya Kingdom, but the actual stories are not enough to tell us everything that happened. Most of what we know comes from members of the Gaya Confederacy popping up in the records of other nations, including Baekje, Silla, Goguryeo, and Yamato. For example, there are references in the Gwangaetto Stele from the 5th century, as well as plenty of references in the Nihon Shoki and the records in the Samguk Sagi. This is a little bit better than some of the other groups mentioned as being on the Korean peninsula that are often referred to only one time before being completely forgotten.
For us, the importance of Gaya is its links with Yamato. Although it would seem that Nimna, in particular, had close ties with Yamato it is noteworthy that the Japanese word for the continent and things that would come from there—including the later Tang dynasty—is “Kara”. “Kara-fu” generally refers to something that comes from China, but only because those things originally came through the peninsula and through Kara, or Gaya. The port on Kyushu where the goods likely arrived before continuing up to modern Fukuoka is even today known as “Karatsu”, or “Kara Port”. This lends credence to the idea that Nimna was likely at least a member of the Gaya confederacy.
There are also deep similarities in many material items found in the peninsula and in the area of the Nakdong peninsula, including pottery, armor, horse gear, etc. At the very least this indicates a close trading relationship, and combined with the account in the Weizhi, emphasizes the idea that this was likely the jumping off point for missions to the archipelago and vice versa.
Perhaps more controversial is the idea that at least some members of the Gaya Confederacy, or the Byeonhan cultural group before it, may have been speakers of some kind of proto-Japonic. There are also some that suggest there may have been ethnic Wa on the peninsula at an early point as well. However, I would note that the Weizhi refers to this area specifically as being part of the “Han”, and that it was the jumping off point to find the lands of the Wa and eventually the lands of Yamato (or Yamatai), so make of that what you will. All of this is well after the introduction of rice cultivation in Japan, focusing on the 3rd century onward, roughly corresponding to what we think of as the Kofun Period in Japan, and which was also a period of ancient mound-building on the Korean peninsula as well.
All that aside, it is clear that Gaya was an important part of the makeup of the early Korean peninsula, and that much of that history is on display in modern Gimhae.
Gimhae is one of plenty of places on the Korean peninsula for anyone with an interest in ancient history. Besides the various museums, like thate National Museum in Seoul, there are sites like Gyeongju, the home of the tombs of the Silla kings and the ancient Silla capital, and much more. Gimhae itself is home to the Royal Gaya Tombs, as well as archaeological remnants of an ancient settlement that was probably at least one of the early Gaya polities.
As I noted, Gimhae is more accurately the site of what is known in later historical entries as Geumgwan Gaya. The earliest record of the Weizhi just says something like “Gü-lja-han” which likely means “Gaya Han”, or Gaya of Korea, referring at the time to the three Han of Mahan, Jinhan, and Byeonhan. That may or may not have referred to this particular place, as there are other Gaya sites along the coast and in the upper reaches of the Nakdong river. However, given its placement on the shore, the site at Gimhae seems to have a good claim to be the point mentioned in the Wei Chronicles, which is why we also chose it as the first site on our journey.
The characters for “Gimhae” translate into something like “Gold Sea”, but it seems to go back to the old name: Geumgwan, as in Geumgwan Gaya. It is part of the old Silla capital region. “Geum” uses the same character as “Kim”, meaning “Gold” or “Metal”. This is also used in the popular name “Kim”, which is used by several different lineage groups even today. The “Sea” or “Ocean” character may refer to Gimhae’s position near the ocean, though I don’t know how relevant that was when the name “Gimhae” came into common usage.
The museums and attractions around Gimhae largely focuses on the royal tombs of the Geumgwan Gaya kingdom, which in 2023 were placed, along with seven other Gaya tomb sites, on the UNESCO list of world heritage sites. Since they’re so newly added, we did not see the kind of omnipresent UNESCO branding that we are used to seeing elsewhere, such as Nikko Toshogu or Angkor Wat, but taxi drivers certainly knew the UNESCO site and museum.
For anyone interested in these tombs and in Gaya’s early history, there are two museums you likely want to visit. First off is the National Museum, which covers a wide swath of history, with tons of artifacts, well laid out to take you through the history of the Gaya Confederacy, from early pre-history times through at least the 7th century. There is also a separate museum that specifically covers the Daeseong-dong tombs, which lay upon a prominent ridge on the western side of the city, north of a Gaya era settlement with a huge shell midden found at Bonghwang-dong, to the south, nearby an ongoing excavation of a potential palace site.
These museums have some excellent displays, including pottery, metalwork, horse gear, armor, and even parts of an ancient boat. As I noted earlier, these show a lot of similarity to items across the strait in the archipelago, though it is clear that Gaya had a lot more iron than their neighbors —in fact, they had so much that they would often line the bottom of tombs with iron ingots. The displays emphasize that Gaya was really seen as a kind of ironworking center for the region, both the peninsula and the archipelago.
The tombs, likewise, have some similarity to those in the archipelago—though not in the distinctive, keyhole shape. Early tombs, from the 1st to 2nd century, were simply wooden coffins dug in a pit with a mound on top. This became a wooden lined pit, where bodies and grave goods could be laid out, and then, in the 3rd century, they added subordinate pits just for the various grave goods. In the 5th century this transitioned to stone-lined pit burial, and in the 6th century they changed to the horizontal entry style stone chamber tomb, before they finally stopped building them. These seem to be similar to what we see in Silla, with wooden chamber tombs giving way to the horizontal entry style around the 5th and 6th centuries. Meanwhile, Baekje and Goguryeo appear to have had horizontal style tombs for some time, and that may have been linked to Han dynasty style tombs in the area of the old Han commanderies—which I suspect might have spread with the old families of Han scribes and officials that were absorbed into various polities.
It is interesting to see both the similarities and differences between Gaya and Wa tombs in this period, particularly the transition to the horizontal entry style tombs, which I suspect indicates an outside cultural influence, like that of Silla—something that would also influence the burials in the archipelago. At first, in the 4th to 5th centuries, we just see these style tombs starting to show up in Kyushu, particularly in the area of modern Fukuoka—one of the areas that we will hit at the end of this journey from the peninsula to the archipelago. That may be from contact with Baekje or Goguryeo, or even from some other point, it is hard to tell. By the 6th century, though, just as Silla and Gaya were doing, it seems that all of the archipelago was on board with this style of internal tomb structure.
Another tomb style you can find in Gimhae is the dolmen. These are megatlithic—or giant rock—structures where typically a roof stone is held up by two or more other large stones. In some cases these may have been meant as an above-ground monument, much like a structure such as Stonehenge. On the other hand, in some cases they are the remains of a mound, where the mound itself has worn away. Unfortunately, there was not as much information on them—it seems that dolmens were originally used before the mounded tomb period, but just what was a free-standing dolmen and what was an internal mound structure exposed by the elements I’m not sure I could say.
If you visit the Daeseong-dong tombs, one of the things you may notice is the apparent lack of a tomb mound. The attached museum explains much of this, though, in that over time the wooden pit-style tombs would often collapse in on themselves. That, plus erosion and continued human activity in an area would often mean that, without upkeep, there would eventually be no mound left, especially if it wasn’t particularly tall to start with.
In an example where something like this might have happened, there is at least one tomb in the group that was clearly dug down into a previous burial chamber. The excavators must have realized they were digging into another tomb, given that they would have pulled up numerous artifacts based on what was later found at the site, but they still carried on with the new tomb, apparently not having any concern for the previous one. After all, there was only so much room up on the ridge for burials, at least towards the later periods. This pair of “interlocking” tombs is housed inside a building with a viewing gallery, so you can see their layout and how the grave goods would have been arranged in period.
One tomb that apparently kept a mound of some kind would appear to be that attributed to King Suro. King Suro is the legendary founder of Geumgwan Gaya, mentioned in the 13th century Samguk Yusa, which was using an older record of the Gaya Kingdom as their source. The area where the tomb is found is said to match up with the description in the Samguk Yusa, but I could find no definitive evidence of a previous tomb or what style it was—let alone the question of whether or not it was the tomb of King Suro of Geumgwan Gaya. It was still a very impressive compound, though it seems most of the buildings are likely from a much more recent era.
I suspect that King Suro remained an important story for the Gimhae Kim clan. That clan, as mentioned earlier, claimed descent from the Kings of Geumgwan Gaya, of whom King Suro was supposedly the first. It is noteworthy that the Kim family of Geumgwan Gaya, known as the Gimhae Kim clan, was granted a high rank in Silla because they claimed descent from the “Kings” of Geumgwan Gaya. As such Munmyeong, the sister of Kim Yusin, the general who helped Silla take over the peninsula, was apparently considered an appropriate consort to King Muyeol, and her son would become King Munmu. This brought the Gimhae Kim clan into the Gyeongju Kim clan of Silla.
Kim Busik, who put together the Samguk Sagi, was a member of the Gyeongju Kim clan, which claimed descent from those same kings. He had plenty of reason to make sure that the Silla Kings looked good, and may have also had reason to prop up the leaders of Geumgwan Gaya as well, given the familial connections. That said, there do seem to be some impressive tombs with rich grave goods, so there is that.
In 1580 we are told that Governor Kim Heo-su, who counted himself a descendant of the Gimhae Kim clan, found the tomb of King Suro and repaired it, building a stone altar, a stone platform, and a tomb mound. It is unclear from what I can find, though, just what he “found” and how it was identified with what was in the Samguk Yusa. Even if there was something there, how had *that* been identified? There seems to be plenty of speculation that this is not the actual resting place of the legendary king, Kim Suro, but it is certainly the place where he is worshipped. The tomb was apparently expanded upon in later centuries, and today it is quite the facility, though much of it seems relatively recent, and hard to connect with the actual past.
More important for that is probably what they was found at Bonghwang-dong. On this ridge, south of the tomb ridge, were found traces of buildings including . These included pit style dwellings along with post-holes, indicating raised structuresdwellings of some sort. Today you can go and see interpreted reconstructions, based in part on some pottery models that had also been found from around that period. Reconstructed buildings sit on either side of a hill, which is the main feature of a modern park. It is a good place to get a sense of what was around that area, and you can hike to the top of the hill, which isn’t that difficult a journey. The trees do obstruct the view, somewhat, but you get a great sense for what a community there might have been like. As I mentioned before, there is also a large excavation being carried out on what is believed to be some kind of royal palace structure, but unfortunately we likely won’t know much more until later.
Also next to the settlement is a giant shell mound. We are talking over a football field long and several stories high of shells and bone, along with discarded pottery and other such things. Unfortunately, for whatever reason, the contents of the shell mound appear to have been mixed at various stages, but it is still impressive, and they have an excellent display where you can see the mound cut away to demonstrate what a shell mound might look like.
The shell mound apparently existed from the 1st to the 4th centuries. This feels odd to me, given that I normally think of shell mounds as more connected to Jomon and similar sites, but it also makes sense that a community—particularly one with easy access to the sea—would have a lot of shells and it isn’t like they had trash collectors coming to take away their garbage.
Which brings me to another point: Back in its heyday, Geumgwan Gaya was clearly on or very near the sea. In modern times you can certainly see islands off the coast from the tops of some of these hills—and from the top of a mountain one might even make out Tsushima on a clear day. However, today that ocean is several miles out.
Back in the time of the Geumgwan Gaya, however, things were likely different. The Nakdong river would have emptied out to the east into a large bay, with Geumgwan Gaya sitting comfortably at its head, with mountains on three sides and the ocean on the fourth. This would have made it a great as a port town, as it not only had access to the Korean straits and the Pacific Ocean, but it also sat at the head of the river that connected many of the sites believed to be related to the ancient Gaya confederacy.
Over time, however, the bay silted up, and/or sea levels dropped, and the area that would become the heart of modern Gimhae would find itself farther and farther away from the ocean, through no fault of their own. That must have put a damper on their trade relationships, and I can’t help but wonder if that was one of the reasons they eventually gave in to Silla and joined them.
With its place at the head of the Nakdong river, Silla’s control of Geumgwan Gaya likely made the rest of the Gaya polities’ absorption much more likely, as most of the Gaya polities appear to have been laid out around the Nakdong river. That would have been their lifeline to the ocean and maritime trade routes. Without a cohesive state, they may not have been able to resist the more organized and coordinated armies of groups like Silla and Baekje, eventually falling under Silla’s domain.
Unfortunately, there doesn’t seem to be much online in English about Gimhae beyond the ancient connection to Geumgwan Gaya. Specifically, I didn’t find a lot of clear historical information about the city after coming under Silla rule. It was apparently one of the “capitals” of the Silla region under Later or Unified Silla. Though Silla tried to form the people of the three Han of Baekje, Goguryeo, and Silla into a unified state, its central authority would eventually break down. Baekje and Goguryeo would be briefly reconstituted before the Later Goguryeo throne was usurped by a man who would be known as Taejo, from Gaesong. He would lead the first fully successful unification effort, and from the 10th century until the 14th the state was known as “Goryeo”, from which we get the modern name of “Korea”. Goryeo started in Gaesong, but also rebuilt the ancient Goguryeo capital at Pyongyang, both up in what is today North Korea. It eventually came under the thumb of the Mongol Yuan dynasty, and when that dynasty was overthrown by the Ming, Goryeo experienced its own instability, resulting in the Joseon dynasty, which moved the capital to the area of modern Seoul. Given modern tensions between North and South Korea, I suspect that there is a fair bit of politics still wrapped up in the historiography of these periods, especially with each modern state having as their capitals one of the ancient capital city sites.
As for Gimhae, I have very little information about the city during the Goryeo period. Towards the end of the 14th century, we do see signs of possible conflict, though: There was a fortress built on the nearby hill, called Bunsanseong, in about 1377, though some claim that an older structure was there since the time of the old Gaya kingdom, which would make sense, strategically. This fortress was severely damaged during Hideyoshi’s invasion of Korea in the late 16th century—a not uncommon theme for many historical sites on the peninsula, unfortunately—and repaired in 1871. The walls can still be seen from the city below.
Stone walls were placed around the city in 1434 and improved in 1451. Excavations on the wall were carried out in 2006 and the north gate, which was first renovated in 1666, was restored in 2008. You can still visit it, north of the international markets, which includes a wet market along with various restaurants offering specialties from around Northeast Asia, including places like Harbin, in China.
Near the north gate there is also a Confucian school, or hyanggyo. The first iteration was probably built during the Goryeo dynasty, but whatever was there in the 16th century was also destroyed during Hideyoshi’s invasion. It would later be rebuilt in 1688 and relocated to the east until it burned down in 1769. The following year it was rebuilt in its current location, north of the city gate. The school contains examples of the classrooms along with a central Confucian shrine, and there are some similarities with similar Edo period institutions in Japan, which also based themselves off of a Confucian model.
For those interested in more recent history, you may want to check out the Gimhae Folk Life Museum. This covers some of the more recent folk traditions, clothing, and tools and home goods used up until quite recent times. It may not be as focused on the ancient history of the area, but it certainly provides some insight into the recent history of the people of Gimhae.
Today, Gimhae is a bustling city. Not quite as big and bustling as Pusan or Seoul, but still quite modern. You can easily get there by train from Busan or Gimhae International Airport, and there are plenty of options to stay around the city such that you can walk to many of the historical sites.
For those used to traveling in Japan, there are both similarities and differences. Alongside the ubiquitous Seven Eleven chains are the CU chain, formerly known as FamilyMart, and GS25, along with a few others. Trains are fairly easy to navigate if you know where you want to go, as well – there’s a convenient metro line that connects the airport to Gimhae city proper, and has stops right by the museums. , and you can mostly get around by train—you can even take thThe KTX, the Korean Train eXpress, the high-speed rail, which includes a line from Seoul to Busan. And don’t worry, from our experience there are no zombies on the train to- or from- Busan.
Of course, in Korea they use Hangul, the phonetic Korean alphabet. It may look like kanji to those not familiar with the language but it is entirely phonetic. Modern Korean rarely uses kanji—or hanja, as they call it—though you may see some signs in Japanese or Chinese that will use it here and there. In general, though, expect things to be in Korean, and there may or may not be English signs. —tHowever, hough most of the historical sites we visited had decent enough signage that we only occasionally had to pull out the phone for translation assistance, and the museums are quite modern and have translation apps readily available with QR codes you can scan to get an English interpretation..
Speaking of phones, make sure that you have one that will work in Korea or consider getting a SIM card when you get in, as you will likely want it for multiple reasons. That said, a lot of things that travelers rely on won’t work in Korea unless you have the Korean version. For instance, Google Maps will show you where things are but it can’t typically navigate beyond walking and public transit directions. For something more you’ll want the Korean app, Naver. We did okay, for the most part, on Google Maps, but Naver is specifically designed for South Korea.
Likewise, hailing a cab can be a bit of a chore. Don’t expect your Uber or Lyft apps to work—you’ll need to get a Korean taxi app if you want to call a taxi or you’ll need to do it the old fashioned way—call someone up on the telephone or hail one on the streets, which can be a tricky business depending on where you are.
On the topic of streets: In Gimhae, many of the streets we were walking on did not have sidewalks, so be prepared to walk along the side of the road. We didn’t have much trouble, but we were very conscious of the traffic.
Another note in Gimhae is the food. Korea is host to a wide variety of foods, and Gimhae can have many options, depending on what you are looking for. Near our hotel there were traditional Korean restaurants as well as places advertising pizza, Thai, and burgers. Up in the main market area, you can find a wide variety of food from around Asia. Vietnam, Sri Lanka, Uzbekistan, Nepal, and many more were represented, as well as Russian and Chinese cuisines.
That said, our breakfast options were not so bountiful. Our hotel, which gave us our own private hot tub, like a private onsen, did not serve breakfast, but . Tthere were a few cafes around where you could get a drink and a light meal in the morning, and there were some pork Gukbab places, where you would put cooked rice in a pork bone broth for a hearty and delicious morning meal. That said, if you waited a little later, there is a Krispy Kreme for those craving donuts, and a few French-inspired Korean bakeries, such as the chain, Tours les Jours, which is always a tasty became one of our go-to spots.
If you prefer a wider variety of food you can choose to stay in Busan proper, instead. It isn’t that far, and you can take the train over to Gimhae in the morning. However, Busan has more options than Gimhae, but it does mean taking a train over to see the sites. I would recommend at least two days to see most of the Gaya related sites, and maybe a third or fourth if you want to chase down everything in the city.
There is also an interesting amusement park that we did not get the chance to experience but may be of interest: the Gimhae Gaya Theme Park. This appears to be a series of interpretations of different Gaya buildings along with a theme park for kids and adults, including rope bridges, light shows, and some cultural performances. It looked like it might be fun, but since we had limited time we decided to give it a pass this time around.
In Busan, there are many other things to do, including museums, folk villages, and an aquarium along the beach. Busan station is also conveniently located next to the cruise port, where ships depart daily for Japan. This includes typical cruise ships, as well as various ferries. For instance, there is a ferry to Hakata, in Fukuoka city, as well as an overnight ferry that takes you through the Seto Inland sea all the way to Osaka. For us, however, we had booked the jetfoil to Hitakatsu, on the northern tip of Tsushima island – a very modern version of the Gishiwajinden account of setting sail in a rickety ship.
Unfortunately, as we were preparing for our journey, disaster struck—the kind of thing that no doubt befell many who would dare the crossing across the waters. Strong winds out in the strait were making the water choppy, and it was so bad that they decided to cancel all of the ferries for that day and the next. It made me think of the old days, when ships would wait at dock as experienced seamen kept their eye on the weather, trying to predict when it would be fair enough to safely make the crossing. This was not always an accurate prediction, though, since on the open ocean, squalls can blow up suddenly. In some cases people might wait months to make the crossing.
Since Wwe didn’t have months, however, and had a lot to see in Tsushuma, so we opted for another, very modern route: . Wwe booked airplane tickets and left from Gimhae airport to Fukuoka, where we transitioned to a local prop plane for Tsushima. You might say: why not just fly to Tsushima? But Tsushima doesn’t have an international airport, and only serves Japanese domestic destinations. Hence the detour to Fukuoka, where we went through Japanese immigration and had a very nice lunch while we waited for our second, short flight.
Even that was almost cancelled due to the winds at Tsushima, with a disclaimer that the plane might have to turn around if the weather was too bad. Fortunately, we were able to make it, though coming into Tsushima airport was more than a little hair-raising as the small plane came in over the water and cliffs and dodged some pretty substantial updrafts before touching down on a tiny airstrip.
And with that, we made our crossing to Tsushima island. Or perhaps it is better to call them “islands” now, since several channels have been dug separating the north and south parts of Tsushima. It wasn’t quite how we had planned to get there, but we made it – and that kind of adaptability is very much in keeping with how you had to travel in the old days!.
One more comment here about the Korean Peninsula and Tsushima: while we never had a day clear enough, it seems obvious that from a high enough vantage point in Gimhae or Gaya, one could see Tsushima on a clear day. This is something I had speculated, but as we traveled it became clear. Tsushima is actually closer to the Korean Peninsula than to Kyushu, a fact that they point out. And so it was likely visible enough to people who knew what they were looking for.
And yet, I imagine being on a small boat, trying to make the journey, it must have been something. You hopefully had a good navigator, because if you went off in the wrong direction you could end up in the East Sea—known in Japan as the Japan Sea—or worse. If you kept going you would probably eventually reach the Japanese archipelago, but who knows what might have happened in the meantime. It is little wonder that ships for the longest time decided to use Tsushima and Iki as stepping stones between the archipelago and the continent.
And with that, I think we’ll leave it. From Gimhae and Pusan, we traveled across to Tsushima, which has long been the first point of entry into the archipelago from the continent, often living a kind of dual life on the border. Tsushima has gotten famous recently for the “Ghost of Tsushima” video game, set on the island during the Mongol Invasion – we haven’t played it, but we understand a lot of the landscape was reproduced pretty faithfully.
From there we (and the ancient chroniclers) sailed to Iki. While smaller than Tsushuma, Iki was likely much more hospitable to the Yayoi style of rice farming, and the Harunotsuji site is pretty remarkable.
Modern Karatsu, the next stop, is literally the Kara Port, indicating that the area has deep connections to the continent. It is also the site of some of the oldest rice paddies found on the archipelago, as well as its own fascinating place in later history.
Continuing north along the coast of Kyushu is another area with evidence of ancient Yayoi and Kofun communities in Itoshima, thought to be the ancient country of Ito. Here you can find some burial mounds, as well as the site where archaeologists found one of the largest bronze mirrors of the ancient archipelago. Finally, we ended up in Fukuoka, where the seal of the King of Na of Wa was found.
We ended our trip in Fukuoka, but the historical trail from Na, or Fukuoka, to quote-unquote “Yamatai” then goes a bit hazy. As we discussed in an earlier episode, there are different theories about where Yamatai actually was. There is the Kyushu theory, which suggests that Yamatai is somewhere on Kyushu, with many trying to point to the Yayoi period site of Yoshinogari, though there are plenty of reasons why that particular site is not exactly a good candidate. Then there are various paths taking you to Honshu, and on to Yamato. Those are much more controversial, but the path to at least Na seems mostly agreed on, especially since that was largely the path that individuals would follow for centuries onwards, including missions to and from the Tang dynasty, the Mongols during their attempted invasion, and even the various missions from the Joseon dynasty during the Edo period.
Today, modern transportation, such as the airplane, means that most people just go directly to their destination, but there are still plenty of reasons to visit these locations. It was a lot of fun to sail from place to place and see the next island – or kingdom – emerging on the horizon.
Next episode we will talk about Tsushima and give you an idea of what that island has in store for visitors; especially those with an interest in Japanese history.
Until then, thank you for listening and for all of your support.
If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts. If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode.
Also, feel free to Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page. You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.
Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast.
And that’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

Kim, P., & Shultz, E. J. (2013). The 'Silla annals' of the 'Samguk Sagi'. Gyeonggi-do: Academy of Korean Studies Press.
Kim, P., Shultz, E. J., Kang, H. H. W., & Han'guk Chŏngsin Munhwa Yŏn'guwŏn. (2012). The Koguryo annals of the Samguk sagi. Seongnam-si, Korea: Academy of Korean Studies Press.
Jeon, H.-T. (2008). Goguryeo: In search of its culture and history. Seoul: Hollym.
Best, J. (2006). A History of the Early Korean Kingdom of Paekche, together with an annotated translation of The Paekche Annals of the Samguk sagi. Cambridge (Massachusetts); London: Harvard University Asia Center. doi:10.2307/j.ctt1tg5q8p
Shultz, E. (2004). An Introduction to the "Samguk Sagi". Korean Studies, 28, 1-13. Retrieved April 11, 2021, from http://www.jstor.org/stable/23720180
Iryŏn, ., Ha, T. H., & Mintz, G. K. (2004). Samguk yusa: Legends and history of the three kingdoms of ancient Korea. Seoul: Yonsei University Press.
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4

Episode 107: Winds Across the Straits

May 1, 2024 Joshua Badgley

Photo of Madara Island, south of Iki, one of the many islands that ships might have seen following the route from the Korean Peninsula to Yamato and vice versa.

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This episode we fill in the rest of Takara’s reign as Kōgyoku Tennō, from 642 to 645, and examine those things other than the Isshi Incident. We’ll especially look at what influences were coming in from the peninsula.

Timelines and the Baekje Royal Family

One of the biggest issues in the Nihon Shoki at this point is the way that the Baekje related history seems muddled. Jonathan Best suggests this is because the Chronicles were pulling records and trying to accurately place them, but somehow misread the dates. They were likely pulling from multiple sources trying to put things in order, and those sources may have been using slightly different dating systems, if they had any at all. So the Chroniclers massaged things the best they could, but we still end up with some odd data.

King Uija (Wicha) (b. 599?, r. 641-660)

Uija came to the throne just a year before Takara did, and we are told that Baekje was “greatly disturbed”. That likely means there were some tensions over who would rule the kingdom. Uija came out on top, but may not have been the favorite. It has been speculated that Princes Saeseong or Prince Gyoki may have been accused of trying to usurp the throne, and hence why they were banished, though I’m not entirely sure of that.

Prince Pung or Pungjang, aka Buyeo Pung (623-668)

A prince of Baekje and son of King Uija. The Nihon Shoki says he came over as a hostage in 630, but his father wasn’t even king until 641, and he would have been about 7 years old, assuming he was born in 623. More likely he came over in 643 around the 3rd or 4th month. There is a prince who is said to arrive around that time.

Prince Saeseong (??)

This prince is more difficult. He seems to have been in Japan around the same time as Gyoki. The envoys of 642 (which may not be an accurate date) wanted to bring him back with them, but Yamato refused. The envoys apparently suggested he had done something wrong, and Yamato may have even kept him to protect him from whatever punishment he would receive in Baekje. Unfortunately, we just don’t know a lot.

Prince Gyoki (??)

Similarly, what we know comes from the Chronicles. He arrives in 642 and then departs later that same year. He is active in the court and close friends, it would seem, with Soga no Emishi. He is mentioned alongside Sr. Counselor Chijeok. Since the entry of 2/2 in 642 suggests that Chijeok died a year previous, that may put that entry sometime around or after 654. Unfortunately, it just isn’t very clear.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is episode 107: Winds Across the Straits
Villagers gathered near the center of their community. In contrast to the clean, walled up compounds of the local elites, with their raised floor buildings, the buildings here were much simpler, often sitting directly on the ground, or dug down into the earth in the pit dwelling style that had been used for centuries. Mostly what anyone would notice were the thatched roofs, which had been used for centuries to keep out the rain and snow. A tall watchtower was currently unmanned as everyone had gathered around, curious at the news coming from the east.
A wandering mystic had come to town, and she was spreading words of hope across the country of Yamashiro. Over the past few years there had been droughts, famine, earthquakes, and more. People had tried everything in conjunction with the advice of their local hafuri, or priests. They had petitioned the local kami of the rivers and lakes, they had tried imported practices like sacrificing horses, and at a nearby village they had changed the location of the marketplace to see if that would work.
Even when the rains had come, the damage had been done. Food was scarce, and many of those who had survived were hardly in the best of situations. Life in the village, working the land, was quite different from the life of the elites. The wealthy had servants and slaves to tend to their needs, and they had access to stores of grain and other food in times of trouble. They also had charge of the mononofu—the warriors who worked for them and were often an implicit—if not explicit—threat of violence for anyone who didn’t pay their expected taxes.
This is perhaps what made the mystic’s message so alluring. She told them about the teachings of a man from the River Fuji, in the East, named Ohofu Be no Ohoshi: he claimed to have discovered a new kami, the god of Tokoyo, the Everlasting world. It was said that those who worshipped this god, who appeared in the land in the form of a caterpillar that thrived on orange tree leaves, would earn great things in this new world, when it came. The poor would become rich and the old would become young again, when the promises of Tokoyo came to fruition.
But it wasn’t as easy as just saying some words. True devotees would need to prove themselves, casting out the valuables of their house and setting out any food on the side of the road. They would then yell out: “The new riches have come!”
Then they were to worship these insects that were the kami’s incarnation. They would put them in a pure place and worship them with song and dance. Many had already started doing this, the mystic said. Indeed, the people of Yamashiro had heard rumors of some of these new practices, but only now were learning about why they had arisen. It was a lot to ask, to give up their valuables and the little food they had — but then again, in this dew drop world, what was there to lose, for those already working themselves to the bone? Was this any more incredible than asking the hafuri to pray to the kami, or even relying on that new religion in Yamato, where they prayed to giant bronze and gold statues to bring about prosperity and happiness. Besides, if so many others had joined up already, perhaps there was something to these fantastic stories.
And thus, village by village, a new religion began to take hold of the countryside, eventually making its way to the capital of Yamato, itself.

Greetings, listeners! While the thing we covered last episode -- the Isshi Incident of 645, which is to say the assassination of Soga no Iruka in front of Her Majesty Takara, aka Kougyoku Tenno -- certainly dominates the narrative in the popular imagination for this particular point in Japanese history, there was a lot more going on over these last few years, both over on the continent in the archipelago. And so this episode we are going to cover some of that: From the missions from Baekje, Goguryeo, and Silla, which were likely driven by conflict on the peninsula, to the Baekje Princes who resided in the Yamato court as political hostages as well as esteemed guests. And to finish it off we’ll talk about the popular 7th century millennial cult that sprang up in Yamashiro around the worship of the God of Tokoyo, the Everlasting World. All in the reign of the Empress known to history as Kougyoku Tennou…. At least for now.
Michael Como, in his book on Shoutoku Taishi, makes particular note of some of the overarching themes across the straits and how that affected what was happening—or at least what gets remembered—in Yamato. As we discussed back in episode 98, Como makes the point that the early, opposing Buddhist factions that placed Shotoku Taishi on a pedestal were largely connected with one or more continental factions. While the Soga were heavily connected with Baekje, other family groups, like the Hata, were more closely tied with Silla, at least according to later accounts.
And on top of that, the area around Koshi and Tsunaga had ties with Goguryeo. As the Tang dynasty and Goguryeo were in contention on their own borders, no doubt both of them and their allies were looking to nearby nations for either support or at least neutrality. One can also see how peninsular enmities might also make their way across the strait to the archipelago with families of various ethnic backgrounds no doubt carrying on some of the continental prejudices with them even into a new land.
A lot of the accounts for this reign that aren’t dealing with the weather and natural disasters—topics of particular concern from the 642 to 643—are dealing with the continent.
It started out in 642, with Baekje envoys arriving in the first month of that year, apparently to deliver their condolences on the death of the sovereign. They were accompanied by Yamato’s envoy to Baekje, Azumi no Yamashiro no Muraji no Hirafu, who left them at Tsukushi to rush back to Yamato via post-horse, while the Baekje envoys took their time via the normal, ship-borne route.
And right off the bat we have a few things of note. The first is this idea of post-horses. The various circuits around the archipelago had reportedly been set up some time back, even before horses were a thing. While a single horse would have been rather fast overland, the mention of post-horse system implies a method of travel more akin to the short-lived pony express in the American west, where various post stations were set up across the major highways so that officials could quickly traverse them, riding horseback from one station to the next, where a fresh horse would be waiting for them. This way the horses themselves could be properly fed and rested, since no single horse could cover all of the ground in a straight up gallop, just as no person could. Instead, this is something like a relay race, where the envoy Hirafu became the baton passed from horse to horse.
The Pony Express used stations set up at intervals of approximately 5 to 20 miles, so that the horses could be changed out frequently. Of course, changing horses would also take some time—I’ve found some sources citing average speeds of only about 10 miles per hour for the Pony Express, but that beats by far the four miles per hour for a fast walker, not to mention the ability to keep going for much longer than just 8 hours a day.
Of course, he would have had to take a boat for at least some of the journey, likely crossing from Kyuushuu over to Honshuu near Shimonoseki or something similar, at which point he could have caught another horse from there. The resonates with something that goes back to pre-Qin Dynasty times, when kingdoms on the continent would set up not just courier stations with horses, but systems of canal boats, and inns for people to stay overnight on long journeys. Still, it must have been a grueling experience.
That such a means of conveyance could take Hirafu from Kyushu to Yamato, though, implies that Yamato’s reach was fairly solid all the way out to the Dazai near modern Fukuoka, at least. It is unclear how these post stations were set up in regards to the local Miyake, or royal granaries, another government project we’ve talked about, but either way it demonstrates a certain degree of control over the region.
And so Hirafu was able to make it back to the court in time for the ceremonies associated with the mourning of Tamura, aka Jomei Tennou, and the ascension of Her Majesty, Takara no Ohokimi. He likewise was able to inform the court of Baekje’s condolence envoys’ imminent arrival and give the court a head’s up on the situation in Baekje, where he said that the country was “greatly disturbed”. When the Baekje envoys themselves arrived, Azumi no Hirafu, Kusakabe no Iwakane, and Yamato no Aya no Agata were sent to ask them about their news.
From what we know in the Samguk Sagi, King Wicha of Baekje had just come to the throne. The previous king, King Mu, died in the third month of 641, so it hadn’t even been a year since his death. Furthermore, we are told that his wife, the mother of King Wicha, had also passed away. The Baekje envoys asked for the return of prince Saeseong, possibly the younger brother of Prince P’ung, saying he had behaved badly and they wanted to convey him back to the King, but Takara refused. Presumably, based on context, this was one of the hostages that Yamato held from Baekje, but why they wouldn’t turn them over to the Baekje envoys isn’t explained. I suspect it had something to do with the politics of King Wicha coming to the throne, which seems like it may have not been accepted by everyone, as evidenced by his tour of the realm, mentioned in the Samguk Sagi, which was likely a political move to demonstrate his authority over the realm.
This colors a lot of what we are going to talk about, so let’s try to get some of it straight off the bat. Unfortunately, as we talked about in Episode 105, some of the Baekje related dates are questionable, and that means that there is a lot here that I’m going to give you where we may have to back track a bit and see if we can put it in the right order. I’m going to try to give you the information in largely chronological order according to the Nihon Shoki, but then I’ll also try and place it where we think it might actually go, so apologies if this feels disjointed.
Also, let me take a moment to talk a little bit more about the Baekje royal family, which will become rather important to our narrative. For one, there is King Wicha, son of King Mu. Mu passed away in 640 and Wicha came to the throne. Wicha already had several children of his own, one of whom, Prince Pung, or Prince Pungjang, will feature heavily in both the Japanese and Korean sources, though as we mentioned in episode 105, the dates around Prince Pung’s arrival, which the Nihon Shoki has about 630, doesn’t match up with what we know. We are fairly confident that Prince Pung returned to Baekje in 661, which accords with the Nihon Shoki, Samguk Sagi, and Tang records. However, Best makes a good case that he didn’t actually come over to the archipelago until much later—probably 643.
He wasn’t the only royal prince of Baekje in Yamato, however. We are told of two others: Saeseong and Gyoki. Saeseong is mentioned as being a bit of a troublemaker, and requested to come home, but Yamato refuses to let him go. Gyoki is said to have caused trouble and been banished with some 40 others out to sea. I have a suspicion that much of this is misplaced in the Chronicle. Saesong may have been there first or perhaps came over with Prince Pung—I’ve seen him mentioned as the younger brother to Prince Pung, but I also wonder if he wasn’t the younger brother to King Wicha. Gyoki, meanwhile, despite what we initially hear about him, is invited to Yamato shortly after that entry and treated like a real celebrity. It is unclear to me if he is a younger brother to Wicha or an elder brother to Prince Pungjang, but either way, he seems to have been a royal prince that wasn’t quite in line for the throne.
I suspect that in reality the mission that is listed as coming in 641 was actually much later—possibly in the 650s. That would explain some of it, including the gossip that the Senior Counselor, Chijeok, died in the 11th month of the previous year,
Aston writes off most of this as an unreliable narrative by servants. Jonathan Best, in his translation of the Samguk Sagi, is a bit more generous and suggests that, much as with Prince Pung-jang, whom the Nihon Shoki records arriving in the 630s but who couldn’t reasonably have arrived until the 640s, there was probably a dating issue. The scribes were using records with the branch and stem system of dates, and so it could easily have been off by a factor of ten or twelve years, at least. We know, for instance, that there is a record of Senior Counselor Chijeok in the Nihon Shoki in the 7th month of 642, though it says he died in 641. Furthermore, we have his name on a fragmentary inscription, likely dating to 654, noting him as a patron of a Buddhist monastery. So it would seem that word of his death was exaggerated or parts of this are coming from later accounts, and the scribes simply made a mistake. Hence my suggestion that this entire entry might be misplaced. If so, it would make more sense for Yamato to be asking about the fates of people that they knew, and hence hearing the fates of Chijeok and Gyoki, who had both visited Yamato and would have been known to the court.

Regardless, it likely was the case, as recorded in the Nihon Shoki, that the envoys’ ship was anchored in Naniwa harbor and the envoys were put up at the official government residence there, in modern Ohosaka. This may indicate that the mission mentioning Chijeok and Gyoki got conflated with other entries about the actual envoys of condolence and congratulations.
Then, 19 days later, on the 22nd day of the 2nd month, another group of envoys showed up. This time it was Goguryeo. As mentioned, Goguryeo had a few things going on, but they still knew how to make an entrance. For example, the Chronicles mention that high ministers were sent to the district office in Naniwa to inspect the gold and silver that Goguryeo had sent with their envoys, along with other things from their country. This may have been them trying to get Yamato on their side.
That said, Goguryeo had been going through a lot themselves, we are told. First off, based on the Samguk Sagi accounts, Goguryeo had sent envoys to the Tang in 640. In 641, the Tang court returned the favor, and in so doing their envoy, the Director of the Bureau of Operations in their Ministry of War, Chen Dade, used it as a chance to spy out the border region. At every walled town he would offer the local officials gifts of silk, and ask to be allowed to see the scenic spots. They let him roam freely, so by the time he went back he had an intimate account and understanding of Goguryeo’s defenses along the Tang-Goguryeo border. Goguryeo seems to have been completely unaware of this touristic espionage, but then again, they may have been distracted dealing with their own internal problems.
And so the Nihon Shoki reports that the envoys delivered news of this to the court: How the younger prince of Goguryeo died in the 6th month of 641. Then, in the 9th month, the Prime Minister murdered the king, along with some 180 people. He then put the son of the younger prince on the throne as king.
In the Samguk Sagi, these events appear to happen a year later. Yon Gaesomun killed King Keonmu in the 10th month of 642 and put Prince Chang, aka Pojang, on the throne. The Samguk Sagi says he was the younger brother of King Keonmu, the son of King Taeyang—who was the younger brother of King Yeongnyu, so that may be where the Nihon Shoki gets that he was the “son of the younger prince”. Still, the gist is correct, even if it seems to be off by a year or so.
From here, Goguryeo would be at war with the Tang dynasty for much of the next thirty years, all under the reign of King Pojang. They were able to fend the Tang off for a while, but the Tang would eventually ally with Silla, and though Baekje seems to have supported Goguryeo in general, Baekje itself was also caught between the Tang and Silla. They no doubt hoped for Yamato’s aid, but while the archipelago may have had warriors, they were still a good ways from the continent, and would likely need to avoid confrontation with Silla, who now controlled all the way to the Nakdong river basin. Not that they wouldn’t try. Insert dramatic sound effects alluding to a later episode.
All that prognosticating aside, at this point, at least from the envoys’ point of view, all of the future was unwritten. Both Goguryeo and Baekje guests were entertained at the Naniwa district office, and envoys were named to Goguryeo, Baekje, Silla, and to the no longer extant Nimna—the latter seems to have been, at this point, a not-so-polite fiction between Silla and Yamato that Nimna was still at least semi-independent.
It was at this time that Gyoki was also brought to Yamato and lodged in the house of Azumi no Hirafu, the previous envoy to Baekje. Gyoki likely knew Hirafu from his time at the Baekje court. This was probably the actual arrival of Gyoki, I suspect.
A week or so later, the Silla envoys of congratulations and condolence arrived: congratulations on Takara’s ascension and then a group of envoys expressing condolence for her husband’s death. They left after less than two weeks—apparently they simply delivered their message and left, unless there was some other reason having to do with the Baekje and Goguryeo envoys being there at the same time. No mention is made in the Nihon Shoki of exactly why they turned around so quickly.
Meanwhile, Gyoki was living it up. He’s referenced as the Chief Envoy from Baekje at this point—probably the highest ranking individual from the court present. On the 8th day of the fourth month he attended an audience with Her Majesty, Takara, and then two days later he was partying with Soga no Emishi out at his mansion in Unebi. Soga no Emishi had good conversations and presented a good horse and twenty bars of iron, but curiously the hostage crown prince, Sesaeng, was not invited to any of this.
Given that we know what the Chroniclers think of Soga no Emishi, I’m wondering if there isn’t a little bit of that same feeling towards Gyoki. After all, we were previously told he and some 40 others were exiled, so perhaps this is just leading up to that?
Gyoki and his companions were later invited to witness an “archery hunt” in front of the Yosami Miyake in Kawachi. This is glossed as “Uma-yumi” or “Horse-Bow”, leading one to wonder if this was similar to yabusame, the traditional horsed archery, performed at various shrines each year. Or perhaps it was one of the other archery games from horseback, many of them much less savory, often using a live animal as the target, usually staked or confined to an area, and the archers circle around and shoot at them.
By the 5th month of 642 – a little over three months after Baekje had first arrived with envoys of condolences, we are told that a shipp of Baekje envoys anchored together along with the ship of the Kishi family. This is likely Naniwa no Kishi, as Naniwa no Kishi no Kuhina had been assigned as envoy to Baekje. The envoys delivered their goods and Kuhina reported on their mission.
Once again, the dates look to be slightly off. Had Kuhina really traveled to Baekje and back in just three months? It is possible, but not typically how things were done at the time. Ships often had to take their time, navigating the Seto Inland Sea and then checking in at modern Fukuoka before following the island chains out to Tsushima. At that point they could sail around Tsushima, or cross at a narrow part of the island, known today as Kofunakoshi. We know that this was used from at least the 9th century as a place where ships coming to and from the islands would stop, often transmitting their goods to a local ship on the other side, with a crew that presumably better knew the waters and was under the command of the appropriate government. In addition, as the ships reached various checkpoints they would stop for a while, and often another ship would be sent ahead to prepare the way for an official delegation. Since they didn’t have phones, something like this would have been required to inform the next post to be ready to receive the visitors.
More likely, this would have been Kuhina finally ready to depart to take on his mission with Baekje.
Shortly after this, we are told that one of Gyoki’s companions died, and then his own child died—we aren’t told if it was from disease or something else. It did provide an opportunity to see some of the cultural differences between Baekje and Yamato at the time, as Gyoki and his wife refused to attend the ceremonies for their late son. The Chroniclers explained that, in Baekje and Silla, when someone dies, the parents, siblings, and spouse were not supposed to look on them again.
For what it’s worth, I could find no relationship between this and any contemporary Korean practice. This may have been something in Baekje and Silla that eventually went away. Then again, it is possible there was something else going on, and it was misinterpreted by the Wa. Given that the Chroniclers are dismissive of the practice, it is entirely possible that this was just slanderous rumor, too. The Chroniclers make a point of saying that the people of Baekje and Silla who practice these kinds of death rites are without feeling, and thus no better than animals. So, yeah, clearly the Chroniclers were presenting just the facts, right?
Gyoki’s child was buried in Ishikawa in Kawachi, and Gyoki moved his family to a house in Ohowi, in Kudara—which is to say the area of Kawachi named for Baekje.
Two months after he lost his son, on the 22nd day of the 7th month, Senior Counsellor Chicheok and colleagues were entertained at the Yamato court. This is that same Senior Counsellor previously thought to be dead. Again, Aston simply treats it as gossip, while I tend to wonder if the records aren’t out of order—unless Chijeok was some kind of Baekje Benjamin Button.
Entertainment at the Yamato court apparently included havingvarious people wrestle for their entertainment. Even Prince Gyoki himself entered the contest. When the banquet was finished they went to pay their respect’s at Gyoki’s compound, likely stopping by and having a bit of a nightcap.
Two weeks later the Baekje envoys tried to leave, but the storms kicked up. One of the ships was wrecked on the shore. Fortunately, it seems like those on the boat survived and they were placed on another boat a couple weeks later. A day after that, the Goguryeo envoys left for their own country.
The Baekje envoys finally made it back, we are told, 11 days later, on the 26th day of the 8th month. Not bad given the journey they had to undertake, and actually a bit hard to believe. In contrast, the Silla envoys, who left in the 3rd month, apparently only made it as far as the island of Iki, between Kyushu and Tsushima, by the 10th month of 642. Perhaps they were just going at a more leisurely pace, but it does make it hard to trust that all the records were rearranged in precisely the correct order.
As for this period, outside of the Silla envoys, the entire episode, starting on the 2nd day of the 2nd month of 642, finally concluded—mostly—over six months later. It occupies most of that part of Chronicle, with the exception of the accounts of the weather, drought, and famine.
After all of these people had returned to the peninsula, the Nihon Shoki focuses on a few local things from the archipelago. Soga no Emishi was ordered to raise a levy in Afumi and Koshi to build a temple, the court levied various provinces to make ships—we aren’t told why but previously this was often something done in preparation for war—and then Takara ordered Soga no Emishi to build a new palace with levies on various provinces and workmen from Toutoumi and Aki. That was all in the 9th month, at the end of which, we are told that several thousand Emishi from the Koshi region, where Soga no Emishi had been ordered to levy workers for a temple earlier in the month, submitted to Yamato and were entertained at court. Soga no Emishi himself entertained them at his house and asked them about their welfare.
This is all a bit confusing, but let’s try to understand some of what might be going on. First, you may recall in the previous reign there was a mention with General Katana who went to the east to subdue an uprising of Emishi there, so it is possible that this is a continuation of that. At the same time, these Emishi, we are told, are from the land of Koshi.
It is likely that this is evidence of Yamato’s increased presence in the northern region of the island of Honshi, which stretched along the northern edge of the Chubu, or middle Honshu, region, including the Noto peninsula and eastward to Tohoku, or the Northeast region. This had been an important area for various resources, including the source of jade magatama, since at least the early days of the Yayoi period, judging from artifacts discovered at various sites. It is also a region connected to the current dynasty, in that Wohodo no Ohokimi, aka Keitai Tennou, generally seen as the progenitor of the current line of sovereigns, is said to have come from that region.
Furthermore, this region is closely connected to various overseas trade routes. While the most common route we hear about, at least at this point in the chronicles, is the Seto Inland Sea route, there was also a route along the Japan Sea side of Honshu, which included the areas of Izumo and the port of Tsunuga—modern day Tsuruga—which includes the Kehi shrine, purportedly for a kami who came over from the peninsula. At least one Goguryeo mission explicitly used this route—whether intentionally or otherwise—to get to Yamato, crossing over to Afumi, aka Lake Biwa, and then taking the rivers south to Naniwa.
Michael Como suggests that there is enough evidence to suggest a fairly heavy Goguryeo influence in the region. He also suggests that the Soga had a good deal of interactions and influences themselves with Goguryeo, pointing out that Shotoku Taishi’s teacher had supposedly been a monk from Goguryeo, and that the plan for Asukadera, the Soga temple, with three golden halls around a central pagoda, is extremely similar to temple plans found in Goguryeo and not in Silla and Baekje.
I do feel it is worth pointing out that it is very possible that this was not Asukadera’s original layout, and it is hard to say how much of the stories surrounding Shotoku Taishi we can trust. Still, Koshi was an area that had a long history of trade with the continent, and the ease of the waterways from Yamato to the Japan Sea would have made it at least strategically useful to the growing state.
There is another aspect here, but it is a bit more tenuous. There are some that suggest that Soga no Emishi’s own name, or at least the name as it is handed down to us today, comes from his dealings with the Emishi people. Here we see him intimately involved in Koshi, in the Emishi coming to submit, and him then hosting them in his own house. So even if his name is coincidental, there does appear to be some connection there.
And we are still in the first year of Takara’s reign. It was in this twelfth month that Okinaga no Yamana no Kimi finally pronounced a eulogy for the entire royal line. As you may recall, Takara’s husband, Tamura, aka Jomei Tennou, had been a member of the Okinaga royal line, so this was likely part of the ceremonies around his death and burial.
There is more here about the placement of palaces, which we touched on a lot in the last episode. There is also a lot about storms, weather, and peach blossoms blooming.
Then on the thirteenth day of the third month of 643, the second year of Takara’s reign, there was a terrible fire in Naniwa. The official guest quarters for Baekje burned down, and the houses of the common people also caught fire.
This is also around the time that Best suggests that Prince Pungjang, son of King Wicha of Baekje, may have actually arrived, as we discussed earlier. That actually could be tied to events a month later, when the Dazai in Tsukushi—the government outpost on Kyushu—sent a mounted messenger to Her Majesty, Takara, to let her know that Gyoki’s younger brother, the son of the King of Baekje, had arrived.
The Baekje ships, which had arrived in the area of modern Fukuoka around the 21st day of the 4th month finally arrived in Naniwa two months later. Presumably the Baekje envoys’ official guest quarters had been repaired or rebuilt at this point, and several high ministers went to inspect the tribute. They couldn’t help but notice that the tribute this time was less—fewer items and of lower quality that previously. The Envoys promised that they would make up the shortfall.
Around all of this, the drama between the Soga, Prince Naka no Oe, and others was playing out, with Iruka attacking and eventually killing Yamashiro no Oe, all of which was discussed in the last episode. Meanwhile we get a small line about Prince Pung keeping four hives of bees on Mt. Miwa, but apparently they didn’t grow large enough to multiply, so that doesn’t seem to have taken off.
We’ll return to Prince Pungjang later. For now, we have seen much of the disturbances that were caused and eventually led up to the Isshi Incident in 645, and 644 is full of many long entries about everything that happened, but I don’t want to worry about that—we covered most of that last episode. What I do want to concern ourselves with is the story I started the episode with – the curious tale of a man named Ohofube no Ohoshi, who started up his own millennial cult.
Now there has been quite a bit of speculation around this episode, especially given that all we really have is a single entry, dated to the 7th month of 644, and here I’ll quote Aston’s translation:
“A man of the neighbourhood of the River Fuji in the East Country named Ohofu Be no Oho urged his fellow-villagers to worship an insect, saying: "This is the God of the Everlasting World. Those who worship this God will have long life and riches." At length the wizards and witches, pretending an inspiration of the Gods, said:--"Those who worship the God of the Everlasting World will, if poor, become rich, and, if old, will become young again." So they more and more persuaded the people to cast out the valuables of their houses, and to set out by the roadside sake, vegetables, and the six domestic animals. They also made them cry out: "The new riches have come!" Both in the country and in the metropolis people took the insect of the Everlasting World and, placing it in a pure place, with song and dance invoked happiness. They threw away their treasures, but to no purpose whatever. The loss and waste was extreme. Hereupon Kahakatsu, Kadono no Hada no Miyakko, was wroth that the people should be so much deluded, and slew Ohofu Be no Oho. The wizards and witches were intimidated, and ceased to persuade people to this worship. The men of that time made a song, saying:
Udzumasa
Has executed
The God of the Everlasting World
Who we were told
Was the very God of Gods.
This insect is usually bred on orange trees, and sometimes on the Hosoki. It is over four inches in length, and about as thick as a thumb. It is of a grass-green colour with black spots, and in appearance entirely resembles the silkworm.”
This is remarkable in several ways. For one, we get a glimpse of how a popular cult might get started. Since it is at this same time the cult of Shotoku Taishi is taking hold in some temples, it is interesting to draw parallels between the two. Como points this out in his book on Shotoku Taishi, and notes several other things. For one is the discussion of this “ever-lasting world”, or Tokoyo. We’ve heard of Tokoyo before – the term is found in the Chronicles in the section around the Age of the Gods. Sukuna Bikona himself leaps off to Tokoyo from a blade of grass in one story, much like an insect himself.
Tokoyo is a bit mysterious. It isn’t the land of the dead, where Izanami goes to live when she dies in childbirth. Neither is it the Great Plain of Heaven, Takama no hara, where Amaterasu dwells. We have the gods of the Heavens and gods of the Earth, but no gods of Tokoyo. Indeed, Tokoyo is mentioned, but not well described. By all accounts it would appear to be a place that spirits go after death to an unchanging world, rather than coming back to this one.
This fits in with various other continental ideas starting to come over at the time, especially as part of the Mahayana Buddhist tradition, which included a search for effective ways to reach enlightenment. There had been feelings for some time that humans were already in the latter days of the law, or Mappo: the concept that the further we get from the time of the Buddha, the more morality would decline and the harder it would be for people to break the chains of materialism and desire that hold them to this plane of existence. As such, some sects and teachers taught simpler and more expedient methods, in an effort to save all of the sentient beings. Things like an abbreviated mantra that would help you get into a paradise where you could eventually attain enlightenment certainly had its adherents, especially amongst those who might not have the time or inclination to join the monastery themselves.
The idea of a Pure Land, or Joudo, took off early, This Pure Land, is most commonly connected with Amida Butsu, the Amithaba Buddha. Sutras referencing Amida and the Pure Land were translated by Kumarajiva as early as the 5th century, and may have been part of the larger corpus of scrolls brought over to the archipelago. According to the sutra, they say that if you honestly chant Amida Butsu’s name just once—often through the phrase “Namu Amida Butsu”—then rather than being reborn again into the world on your death, you would instead be reincarnated in a Pure Land, where you could focus entirely on your own enlightenment for however long it would take, removing yourself from the pain and suffering of this world. This practice was taught by the Sanron school as well as by the Hossou school in the 7th and 8th centuries, along with other practices. It would continue to be taught, especially developing in the Tendai sect.
Of course chanting “Namu Amida Butsu” was something you could do while working the fields, or doing any other number of profane, yet necessary tasks. So you can see why this was an attractive idea to many people, even if they didn’t have the ability to start a temple or study the scriptures or become monks or nuns themselves, at least in this life.
Pure Land belief and practices continued to grow and develop in various Buddhists sects, but really took off as an independent practice in Japan in the Kamakura Period, appealing to warriors and commoners alike with its seemingly simple mantra.
Shotoku Taishi himself is closely connected to the Pure Land concept, as Como points out. He and his teacher, Eija, are both said to have attained the Pure Land upon their deaths. The famous embroidery, commissioned after Shotoku Taishi’s death, known as the Tenjukoku Mandala, presumably also describes a country of Heavenly Long Life. “Tenjukoku” does not have an immediate connection to any particular continental sect or philosophy, but it does seem to be at least a cognate for some of these other ideas such as the Joudo Pure Land OR the Tokoyo of Ohofube no Ohoshi.
Whether Ohoshi was, in fact, influenced by other continental ideas is unclear. We’re not even sure if his was the first use of the concept of “Tokoyo” or if that was an idea already planted in the public consciousness by that time—though if so, I would think it would be a bit more widespread. One could understand, however, how people who had been through famines, floods, earthquakes, disease, and more might find the idea of an eternal ever-after where they could be rich and young again quite inviting. Enough people found it so that they apparently were willing to give up everything they owned and place it out on the streets. Even if this wasn’t just a scheme to go and scoop up all the goods and skip town, one can see how this may have been viewed as disruptive and unhealthy for the community, at least by those comfortably seated in power, whose workforce was being pulled away from their labors to this new belief system.
The ones who were spreading this good news, while called wizards and witches by Aston, use characters that one could just as easily ascribe to Shinto priests and sacred Miko. Since Shinto wasn’t fully formed as we know it today, I think it might be better to say various ritualists and diviners. Whether they were true believers or simply “pretending” to be inspired, as the Nihon Shoki says, who can say for certain. What makes one vision more objectively “true” than another, beyond your own belief and faith?
And it should be remembered that bringing in new spiritual ideas wasn’t, well, new. That’s how Buddhism got started, and likely was one of the ways that Yamato itself expanded its own influence. How many other quote-unquote “cults” like this existed, and how many were absorbed into the establishment and how many were cast aside?
In this case, it would seem that Ohoshi’s main problem was likely that he was attracting the wrong sorts of people, which is to say he was appealing to commoners. In the Warring States period, we would see a not dissimilar dynamic with the independent Joudo Shinshu, a sect of Pure Land Buddhism, supporting commoners in what became known as the ikkou ikki. They formed communities that helped each other, but at the same time bucked the yoke of the local daimyo and others. This would bring about violent retribution from warlords like Oda Nobunaga, who wasn’t having any of it.
Similarly, as the Tokoyo sect spread into Yamashiro and down into the capital region, Kadono no Hata no Miyatsuko no Kawakatsu decided to take matters into his own hands. Ostensibly, he was upset that people would be so deluded, and under that pretext, he had Ohoshi killed and his followers intimidated. Cutting the head off the snake, as it were, caused the body to wither, and apparently the Tokoyo cult was not so everlasting after all.
And here’s where we bring things back around. You may recall Hata no Kawakatsu, or at least his family. The progenitor of the Hata family was called Uzumasa, and even today their name is affixed to an area of Kyoto, which was built in the old Hata territory. Hence the poem about Uzumasa executing the God of the Everlasting World.
That area, from Lake Biwa down to Naniwa, is on that corridor from Yamato to Koshi. The Hata themselves are connected with the continent—especially with Silla. The Hata temple of Kouryuuji even has a Silla image said to have been obtained by Shotoku Taishi and given to them. Along with Shitennoji, it is one of several Silla-influenced temples that helped promote the cult of Shotoku Taishi.
It is, of course, possible that we are reading way too much into this. Some of these things could just be coincidence, but then again, why was it written down and why did the Chroniclers feel that it was important to spend ink on the process? That’s the real question here.
And what more was going on that never got written down, or at least not clearly? It is likely that we will never truly know the answer to all of these questions. Unless some ancient documents are found from the period that miraculously survived, with significantly different stories, it would be hard to say much more, but that doesn’t mean we can’t wonder.
But that’s all we’ll do for now. At this point, I think we’ve covered these years from 642 to 645 as best we could, and it is probably time to move on. I’m not going to prognosticate on next episode just yet, other than to say that we will eventually need to talk about the Taika Reforms—the Great Change. But that may take a little more time to research so that we can do it properly, but we’ll see.
Until then, thank you for listening and for all of your support.
If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts. If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode.
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Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast.
And that’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

Kim, P., & Shultz, E. J. (2011). The 'Koguryo annals' of the 'Samguk Sagi'. Gyeonggi-do: Academy of Korean Studies Press.
Como, Michael (2008). Shōtoku: Ethnicity, Ritual, and Violence in the Japanese Buddhist Tradition. ISBN 978-0-19-518861-5
Matsuo, K. (13 Dec. 2007). A History of Japanese Buddhism. Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill. doi: https://doi.org/10.1163/ej.9781905246410.i-280
Best, J. (2006). A History of the Early Korean Kingdom of Paekche, together with an annotated translation of The Paekche Annals of the Samguk sagi. Cambridge (Massachusetts); London: Harvard University Asia Center. doi:10.2307/j.ctt1tg5q8p
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4

Episode 106: Game of Thrones - Asuka Style

April 15, 2024 Joshua Badgley

An Edo era depiction of the Isshi Incident of 645. The participants are anachronistically painted in the court robes of the late Heian era rather than an earlier age. From the “Tōnomine Engi Emaki”. A copy of the first scroll can be found at the Nara Women’s University website: https://www.nara-wu.ac.jp/aic/gdb/mahoroba/y06/shahon/TounomineEngiEmaki.html, with depictions of various parts of this story. Image in the public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

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This episode we look at the Isshi Incident of 645. This is perhaps one of the most famous events of ancient Japanese history. It is also one of the most well documented of the Chronicles, including a complete blow by blow of everything that went down.

And yet it should be noted we only have one side of the story, with obvious bias. Unlike later incidents that we can check against multiple contemporary diaries and get different takes from people in different sides of the conflict, in this case we only have the official record.

On the other hand, we are only about 75-80 years from the publication of the Nihon Shoki. The participants would have passed away, but it wasn't exactly ancient history for them.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is episode 106: Game of Thrones – Asuka Style
Envoys from the Korean peninsula stood in the rock strewn courtyard of the Itabuki palace, looking north towards the raised wooden palace building. Courtiers were in attendance for the ceremony, the reading of memorials from the kingdoms of Silla, Baekje, and Goguryeo. Many stood along the ground, but those of rank and status were granted leave to sit on the veranda or even under the eaves of the building. In the center, screened from view, but still present, was the Queen of Yamato, Ame Toyo Takara Ikashi-hi Tarashi Hime. Her husband had passed away not four years ago, and ever since she had carried the burden of the state upon her shoulders. Nearby sat Kuratsukuri, the Oho-omi, who had taken on the mantle of his ill father to help guide and lead the court. He was undoubtedly the most powerful man in Yamato, and as such held one of the most prestigious positions.
Below, in the courtyard, Maro read out the memorials. His hands and voice shook and sweat poured down from his brow. When asked why he was so nervous, Maro would reply that it was no small feat to stand in the august presence of the Queen and to read out a memorial for the three Han, the three Kingdoms of the Korean peninsula. He was on the spot, as it were, in front of the most powerful people in the land. Anyone would be nervous under those circumstances.
That wasn’t quite true, however. Maro had other reasons to be nervous, as he knew what was about to happen—and what the consequences would be if he and the others failed. Some time back, you see, Maro had been approached by his son-in-law, Prince Katsuraki, with an audacious plan hatched by Katsuraki with his close friend, Kamako, along with a few others. Now that plan was finally coming to fruition.
While attention was focused on Maro, Prince Katsuraki had had the guards lock the gates, while Kamako readied archers in the galleries. Kamako had also secretly sent a pair of swords over to two other conspirators, Komaro and Amida, but those two balked at the magnitude of what they were about to do. They were so intimidated they almost threw up, but Prince Katsuraki chided them and tried to spur them into action – but when that failed, Prince Katsuraki himself leapt into motion.
With a mighty yell he leapt forward, weapon drawn. Komaro and Amida followed along behind, as the crowd went silent. Everyone else froze as the three descended on Kuratsukuri, the Oho-omi. With one blow Prince Katsuraki caught a part of his head and shoulder. As Kuratsukuri started to get up, another blow caught him in the leg. Kuratsukuri rolled on the ground away from his attackers and in front of the august presence of the Queen. Bleeding profusely, he pleaded with her to do something about this unprovoked attack.
In shock, Her Majesty asked what the meaning of this was, to which Prince Katsuraki prostrated himself. Kuratsukuri, he said, was guilty of plotting to bring down the royal family and place himself on the throne.
The Queen, seeing there was little she could do, retreated to the safety of her inner palace, while the attackers dealt Kuratsukuri his death blows, and then covered his body with screens and mats as rain began to fall and puddles formed in the courtyard.
Thus kicked off the Isshi Incident of 645, which was, in its way, Japan’s own Red Wedding, and the people involved might be known to you by other names. Prince Katsuraki is, of course, better known as Prince Naka no Ohoye, later known as Tenji Tennou, and Kuratsukuri is more popularly known as Soga no Iruka, the scion of the famous Soga family that had featured so heavily in the Yamato court. Katsuraki’s co-conspirator, Kamako, would later known as Nakatomi—or even Fujiwara—no Kamatari. This incident, worthy of an episode of Game of Thrones, would dramatically change the balance of power in the court, and greatly impact the future state of Yamato.
How did this dramatic event come about? To better understand everything going on, we’ll take a closer look at what was going on during Takara’s reign, and even draw a bit on what had come before.
First off, you may recall that last episode we talked about the reign of Takara’s husband, Tamura, aka Jomei Tennou, and how sparse the Chronicles were during his thirteen years on the throne. Even the previous reign, that of Kashikiya Hime, had a lot to say—perhaps because it was also the reign where we got Shotoku Taishi, the enlightened Buddhist Prince who could do no wrong. It is also her reign when the ambassadors to the mainland really started up again, and though it was to the Sui court, the Chroniclers referred to it as the “Great Tang”, so that without context, Tamura’s embassy almost seems like it is just a standard thing.
This reign, though, Takara’s reign? The Chroniclers are being meticulous about everything. Some years they are even giving us day by day accounts of the weather, whether it was too hot or too cold. For an unseasonably cold summer they say that the “Ordinances of Winter” are still in effect. This goes back to a passage in a continental story, which claims that if the ruler continues to practice the Winter rites in the summer months the weather would follow suit, since everything the court did was tied to the natural world. Disorder in the state would be reflected by disorder in nature.
Aston notes that the Chroniclers probably were not blaming Takara for the weather, and that this was probably just a common saying for unseasonable weather. And yet, I can’t help but notice that a search of the text of the Nihon Shoki shows that formulation only used during this reign. It is always possible that it was a fad term used by Chroniclers of a few records, and not by others. But it also could refer to a general disorder in the government, a theme that would sit well with anti-Soga sentiments amongst the Chroniclers.
Soga no Emishi, aka Toyoura no Oho-omi, had been the most powerful noble in court since his father, Soga no Umako, had passed away, leaving him as the head of the Soga house. He had been largely responsible for seeing that Prince Yamashiro, son of the popular Crown Prince Umayado, aka Shotoku Taishi, was set aside in favor of Prince Tamura. Sure, Prince Yamashiro was Emishi’s nephew, through his sister, Tojiko no Iratsume, but Tamura was Emishi’s brother-in-law through his other sister Hohote no Iratsume, which also made Tamura’s eldest son, Prince Furubito no Ohoye, another nephew of Soga no Emishi.
I wonder, then, what Emishi felt when, assuming the Chronicles are correct, Tamura made Takara his queen and not Hohote. It was a perfectly reasonable decision by the logic of the time: Takara was of clear royal lineage, while Hohote is simply noted as the daughter of Soga no Umako. Sure, we’ve seen queens appointed without royal lineage, but typically after the chief consort had passed away, and the offspring typically had to contend with the stronger claims of those for whom both parents had been of royal descent. And yet, ever since the Soga had started getting involved in the royal lineage, those lines had been a bit blurred. Had Tamura decided to make Hohote no Iratsume his chief consort and Queen, I don’t know that anyone would have said anything.
Later, we see Tamura building Kudara temple and Kudara palace and moving away from the Soga controlled area of Asuka. Unfortunately, he would also unexpectedly die a couple years later.
We are left by the Chroniclers with the impression that Naka no Ohoe was the Crown Prince, and that Takara herself took up the throne because the heir was still 16 and not yet old enough to take the throne, himself. However, it isn’t entirely clear this was the case—not about him being 16, but about Naka no Ohoye being designated as the heir. As far as I can tell, the Chroniclers don’t mention Naka no Ohoye being made Crown Prince, and so their use of the term “heir apparent” could just be a case of using his later position anachronistically in the Chronicle, and possibly trying to strengthen his claim to the throne. Furthermore, there was an older son of Tamura, Furubito no Ohoye. His mother was of Soga descent, and he was the nephew of Soga no Emishi. He appears to have had the support of the Soga, which of course the Chronicles depict as being the Soga attempting to take the throne for themselves, but we should probably leave room for the idea that he may have had a legitimate claim.
It wasn’t just support of the wrong candidate that Soga no Iruka and his father were accused of—they were accused of trying to usurp the power of the sovereigns. For example, Soga no Emishi decided that, rather than leaving his tomb to be built by his descendants, he would build two tombs himself: one for him and one for his son. He said he did this so that he wouldn’t imposition later generations, and yet he used his power at court to raise levies of workers from across the land, and from the 180 Be, or occupational families. On top of that, he drew on the Mibu-be for the Kamitsumiya household. These were the workers specifically granted to work lands for Prince Umayado and his descendants, collectively referred to as the Kamitsumiya princes after Prince Umayado’s own title as the Kamitsumiya Prince, or Prince of the Upper Palace. He is also said to have referred to these new tombs as “misasagi”, a term reserved for tombs of royal sovereigns.
This all brought the wrath of Princess Kamitsumiya no Iratsume, daughter of Prince Umayado. After all, Soga no Emishi had already kept her brother Prince Yamashiro from his place on the throne, and now he was taking their family’s workers as if those laborers hadn’t been assigned to their household by royal decree. This is on top of other things Emishi did that year, including erecting his own ancestral temple Takamiya in Katsuraki, the lands that Kashikiya Hime, when she was on the throne, had refused to give to Soga no Umako, despite his claims to them as his ancestral lands. Emishi is also said to have performed an eight-fold dance, also normally reserved for members of the royal line. And so Kamitsumiya no Iratsume complained that “In Heaven there are not two suns: in a state there cannot be two sovereigns. Why should he”—by which she means Soga no Emishi—“at his own pleasure, employ, in forced labor, all the people of the fief?”
And there is a lot here that seems damning, but since Soga no Emishi didn’t get a chance to really tell his side of the story, I think we should at least examine some of the inconsistencies or oddities about the account. Perhaps most importantly, all of this is one giant entry that is just said to have happened “in the year 642”, but no specific months and days are given, despite the fact that that other entries are extremely precise. So whatever source this was being taken from apparently it wasn’t necessarily a contemporary account of everything.
Furthermore, a lot of these things wouldn’t actually have been that big of an issue. Building a temple, well, it was all the rage, and not limited to sovereigns. And it isn’t clear if Emishi really did perform some kind of forbidden dance, that could be slander or it may be that the dance wasn’t that forbidden. And building tombs ahead of his demise was hardly something that was improper, and we can’t be certain he really called them “misasagi” and not just a normal word for “tombs”. As for taking the Kamitsumiya laborers, he may have used his authority to do that, but was that really usurping royal prerogative? It may have been more of a political move against the Kamitsumiya house, and it may have been nothing at all—every levy had to pull people from somewhere, and the Kamitsumiya princes were royal princes, but also connected to the Soga house, so this may have not been such a big thing.
Finally, the whole speech about there not being two suns in the sky—that sounds suspiciously like something from the continent. Up until relatively recently in the narrative we actually do see evidence of co-rulership in the archipelago, so I’m not even sure we are so far from that as to make it unthinkable.
But there is a more specific entry that appears to show what may have been some more actual tensions with the Soga family.
On the 23rd day of the seventh month of 642, the pages of Soga no Iruka caught a white sparrow, and at the same time another man put a white sparrow in a cage and gave it to him. These were seen as auspicious signs.
Two days later, a council of state convened. On their minds was the most recent drought. Reports were coming in that it was getting serious: village hafuri, the predecessors to Shinto priests, were, in some locations, recommending sacrificing horses or cattle to the gods at various shrines, asking them to bring rain. In other places people engaged in continental practices, including things like moving the locations of markets, which apparently was something they would do, and of course making prayers to the river-god.
Soga no Emishi suggested that various sutras—or perhaps it was the Great Cloud sutra—be read in bits and pieces, or "tendoku”, to repent sins and pray for rain. The council seems to have agreed with this, and two days later the Great Temple, probably Asukadera, had the images of Buddhas, Boddhisatvas, and the Four Heavenly Kings decked out while a multitude of priests held a formal tendoku reading of the Great Cloud sutra. Soga no Emishi himself participated by holding a censer, burning offerings, and offering up the prayer on behalf of the nation.
This tendoku ceremony, by the way, appears to have been a way to basically speed-read through a sutra. Since reading sutras was supposed to bring about fortune, or at least deter misfortune, the more you read the better. More monks meant you can read more of them, but you could also read more quickly by just reading a brief excerpt and declaring the whole thing read -- this was thought to be just as effective. This is still performed today, but rather than scrolls, it’s usually done with the accordion folded orihon, often using specifically the Daihannya-kyo, or Sutra of Perfect Wisdom, which is comprised of some 600 or so chapters. Priests will read a bit and then recite the chapter titles as they flip through the pages in what is almost like something you would do with a Slinky toy. The paper rustles in the air and creates its own kind of divine wind. Of course, Soga no Emishi’s ceremony would have been a little different, as that form of book was still several centuries away, and the Daihannya-kyo may not have even been translated into Sinitic characters yet, let alone traveled to Yamato. Still, this idea of reading only a part to mean the whole, does seem to have been a common tradition, especially when you were trying to create a lot of merit quickly.
Unfortunately, this ceremony wasn’t enough. We are told a slight rain fell the next day, but not enough to break the drought. So after two days the prayers were discontinued.
Two days later, Takara, as sovereign, went to the headwaters of Minabuchi, where she knelt down and prayed, worshipping the four directions and then looking up to Heaven. Straightaway there was thunder and a great rain, which fell for five days and brought plenty of water for everyone. The people of Yamato—the 100 names under heaven, cried out “Banzai!”, wishing Takara 10,000 years of long life.
In these entries, it would seem that we see the Soga and Buddhism pitted against the traditions of intercession by the royal house. Since time immemorial, the Nihon Shoki tells us how the sovereigns interceded with heaven and with the gods of Yamato and the Japanese archipelago. In this case it looks like that royal tradition won out, and I can’t help but wonder if it spoke to some other conflicts between the royal house and the Soga clan.
Continuing on from the political angle, there is also a short but interesting entry on the 16th day of the 11th month of 642, when Takara celebrated the Niiname sai, or festival of new rice, and apparently the Crown Prince—by which I assume Naka no Ohoye, but possibly Furubito no Ohoye—and Soga no Emishi were also given what I assume was the honor of tasting the new rice. Aston suggests that this would have been done in their own mansions, so I assume that rice was sent to them or they mimic the ceremony in some way, it isn’t clear. But it is interesting that Soga and the Crown Prince are on relatively equal footing.
Almost a year later, and Soga no Emishi was not feeling well. He had become unable to attend court, and was probably getting on in years. We are told that he gave his son, Iruka, a purple cap and that he raised him to his own rank, making him the Soga no Oho-omi, the Oho-omi of the Soga family. Furthermore he also brought in his other son, the younger brother to Soga no Iruka, and made him the head of the Mononobe family, Mononobe no Oho-omi, using the excuse that his grandmother was the younger sister of Mononobe no Yugehi no Ohomuraji.
Again this seems like it might be out of place if Emishi was giving out court rank and appointing two of his sons to the most powerful positions possible. On the other hand, if we consider that Oho-omi was simply the title for the person in charge of an Omi level family, this may have been as much a familial decision, more so than a courtly one. Granted, making his son the head of the Mononobe family seems like a bit of a reach, but there was a connection and since the Mononobe met their downfall at the hands of the Soga, that may have actually been something that Emishi was empowered to do. Finally, the position of Oho-omi appears to have been largely inherited, so none of this may have been that much out of the ordinary, beyond the purple cap, IF that actually meant he was giving out cap rank. Then again, we don’t know what the caps really were or the colors, though purple is definitely considered a royal color in later periods. Even if he was, he may have been going off of traditions that made his son effectively the same or similar rank to himself.
We are told, though, that Soga no Iruka was quite ambitious, and he apparently had it in for the Kamitsumiya family – the ones his father had apparently “stolen” the workers from to build their tombs. On the 12th day of the 10th month of 643, just six days after Soga no Emishi had passed on authority to his son, Soga no Iruka began plotting how to get rid of his rivals. Chief amongst them were the Kamitsumiya princes, including Prince Yamashiro no Ohoye, who still held a tenuous claim to the throne. On top of that, their father, Prince Umayado, was likely already being canonized by those who would eventually set up the Shotoku cult, a cult that would have been based around the temples Prince Umayado had founded at Ikaruga, where his children still resided.
We are told that Prince Iruka was hoping to put his cousin, Prince Furubito no Ohoye, on the throne, though another source says that he simply hated the prestige and fame of the Kamitsumiya princes and wanted to see them brought down. Either way, several weeks later, on the first day of the 11th month, Iruka sent Kose no Tokudai no Omi and Hashi no Saba no Muraji to seize Prince Yamashiro and the others at Ikaruga. As their forces arrived at the Princes’ residence, however, an enslaved man named Minari and several of the attending toneri came out to fight with the Soga aligned forces. Minari himself was apparently quite the shot, and Hashi no Saba was hit by an arrow and died, causing his troops to pull back. The troops said that Minari was literally that one man who was as good as a thousand, and didn’t want to face him.
This temporary respite gave Yamashiro and his family time to plan. They threw some bones of a horse into his bedchamber and then he, his consort, and the younger members of his family escaped to Mt. Ikoma, followed by Miwa no Fumuya, Tame no Muraji, as well as Tame’s daughter, Uda no Morowoshi, and Ise no Abe no Katafu. Unwitting of their escape, Kose no Tokudai and the others burned down the palace at Ikaruga, and when they finally went through the wreckage, they found the charred bones and just assumed they belonged to Prince Yamashiro—after all, there was no CSI: Asuka to tell them otherwise. And so, their job apparently done, they withdrew.
Prince Yamashiro and crew, realizing they couldn’t just come back, stayed up on Mt. Ikoma without food and water for four to five days. Miwa no Fumuya suggested that they make their way to the official granary at Fukakusa and obtain horses to head out towards the Eastern countries to raise an army and come back, but Prince Yamashiro was hesitant. He realized that they might win, but that it would not be without a large loss of life. Yamato life. “Why should I distress 10,000 subjects?” he supposedly asked, “Isn’t it better if one person were to give up their life for the stability of the country?”
Meanwhile, a man noticed the Kamitsumiya princes were up on the mountain, so he let Iruka know. Iruka was more than a bit worried about this development: he thought Prince Yamashiro was dead. If they escaped and raised an army, Iruka wasn’t sure he could oppose them. Iruka ordered one of his men, Takumuku no Omi no Kunioshi, to go and arrest the prince, but Kunioshi had a job guarding the palace, and used that as an excuse to get out of hunting down and possibly killing the popular royal prince. Iruka was mad enough that he was going to go and find Prince Yamashiro himself and settle this, but then Prince Furubito showed up. The Prince was out of breath—he had apparently run over to Iruka just then, and he warned Iruka not to go himself. And so he sent commanders to search Mt. Ikoma, but they couldn’t find anything, because Prince Yamashiro had already left.
In fact, Prince Yamashiro and his attendants made their way to the Temple of Ikaruga—which would mean Houryuuji temple, the temple commissioned by his father, Prince Umayado. When the Soga forces heard about this, they rushed over and surrounded the temple. Prince Yamashiro sent Miwa no Fumuya out to parlay. Prince Yamashiro’s method was simple: While he could have raised an army, he was unwilling to have more people die for just one person, and so he gave himself to Iruka.
In so doing, the younger members of the Kamitsumiya family all strangled themselves, presumably to avoid being captured and tortured, or worse. Prince Yamashiro himself gave himself up and was killed. We are told that when he did so, there were five-colored banners and umbrellas shining in the sky over the temple, but when someone pointed this out to Iruka, he looked up just as a dark cloud passed by and covered it.
And thus Prince Yamashiro and the descendants of Prince Umayado came to an end. When Soga no Emishi heard about what his son had done, he was pissed. He chided him severely, claiming that he had only provoked outrage and put himself in danger.
And it seems that Soga no Emishi wasn’t the only one who was upset. If Soga no Iruka took out Prince Yamashiro to put Furubito on the throne, what about the other Princes, including Naka no Ohoye?
Here is where someone else joins our tale. His name, we are told, is Nakatomi no Kamako, though some may know him better as Nakatomi no Kamatari. In the first month of 644, Kamako was to be appointed the Kamutsukasa no Kami, or Chief of the Ministry of Religion—literally the ministry of the gods. The Nakatomi were already known as Court Ritualists, so this may have been an inherited position. That said, he tried to decline the position several times, and even left on a plea of ill-health for Mishima.
Around this same time, Prince Karu, Takara’s brother, had a problem with his leg and he couldn’t attend court. Kamako was friends with Prince Karu, and he went to attend on him during his convalescence. When he did so, Prince Karu had his favorite consort, a lady from the Abe family, go sweep out a separate room and spread out a new sleeping mat just for Kamako, and he provided him with everything he could hope for. Kamako couldn’t believe his friend’s generosity, and wondered aloud who wouldn’t want to see Prince Karu as the ruler of the realm, something that pleased Prince Karu to no end.
Now Kamako, we are told, was a man of upright and loyal character—meaning that at least the Chroniclers thought he was really something. He apparently despised what the Soga were attempting to do to manipulate the royal succession, especially given the recent bloodshed and extirpation of the Kamitsumiya princes. Kamako himself, realizing that something could happen to Takara at any moment, was trying to figure out who amongst the various royal princes would be worth supporting if it came to that. Of the various candidates he was very interested in Prince Naka no Ohoye, but as of yet their paths had not crossed, and he only knew him as a public figure, and not personally.
His chance came during a ball game—traditionally we are told that it was a game of kemari, played out by a keyaki, or Japanese zelkova tree. Imagine you are playing hacky-sack with a soccer ball, trying to keep it in the air as a group. You gather in a circle and you see how long you can keep it going. This is still played as a traditional game in Japan, and various versions of it appear throughout Asia, in both competitive and cooperative variations. During one of the kicks, Naka no Ohoye’s leather shoe flew off along with the ball, and Kamako picked it up and came over, kneeling before the prince as he offered the shoe with outstretched hand. Naka no Ohoye in turn knelt down and respectfully received it. It was bromance at first sight, and pretty soon they were telling each other everything, talking politics, government, and everything else.
Of course, if a royal prince was seen constantly talking with someone like Kamako, people might start to get suspicious about what they were doing together, so they came up with a scheme so that it wouldn’t be so obvious. They would both go study the classics of Zhou and Confucius with a teacher out in Minabuchi—probably one of the monks who had come back from the Tang court. On the way too and from their studies they could talk, and nobody would think anything of it.
Realizing that Naka no Ohoye had ambitions, Kamako counselled him to make a political marriage. Specifically he suggested the daughter of Soga no Kurayamada no Maro, also known as Ishikawa no Maro. He was a member of the Soga family descended from a brother to Soga no Emishi. With a marriage alliance to him, Naka no Ohoye could likely count on his support as they worked to thwart Soga no Iruka and his father.
However, the marriage almost fell through. Kamako was the go between, and Kurayamada agreed to the marriage, but on the night that Naka no Ohoye was to consummate his marriage with Maro’s eldest daughter, she was stolen away by a relation named Musa no Omi. Apparently they had their own plans.
Maro was devastated and knew this would be an extreme loss of face, plus he would miss out on the chance to ally himself with a member of the royal family. He looked everywhere trying to find his eldest, such that his youngest daughter asked him what was wrong. He told her what had happened and she told him she would go in her sister’s stead. She met with Naka no Ohoye and they consummated the marriage, after which we are told that she served him with all of her heart.
With Maro now bound by marriage, Kamako suggested a few more co-conspirators, including Saheki no Muraji no Komaro and Katsuraki no Wakainukahi no Muraji no Amida, whom they also brought on board.
Quick side note here: I love the name Wakainukahi. As far as I can parse it this is either the Young Dogkeeper family or, my preferred reading: The Puppy Keeper family. I just love the idea that some family’s job was just looking after the puppies. Once they grow up, then they go to the Inukahi. What a name.
Much of 644 following the accounts of Kamako and Naka no Ohoye, which likely all happened well before the date in the record given everything they talk about, concerns various reports. An owl had owlets in the Miyake of Ohotsu, which belonged to Soga no Emishi. I suspect that this was a less than auspicious omen. There was a report about a man who tried to capture a sleeping monkey, grabbing it by the arm, but the monkey sang a song which is said to have related to the siege of the Kamitsumiya princes on Mt. Ikoma. Unfortunately, the event had happened years prior and only now was being reported, much too late.
There was a lotus at Tsurugi pond that had two flowers on one stem. Soga no Emishi inferred that this meant prosperity for the Soga clan, and so he made a picture—or possibly a scroll—with golden ink and presented it to the 16 foot tall Buddha at Houkouji, aka Asukadera. I’m not sure that he interpreted that correctly, however.
We are told that Soga no Iruka built two houses on Amagashi hill: one for himself and one for his father. These were called the Upper Mikado and the Valley Mikado, which again sounds like they are taking on royal pretentions. Their sons and daughters were styled princes and princesses—though the terms Hiko and Hime at one point were used for just about anyone, so maybe they were just old fashioned and it got mistranslated? It is questionable how much of this was written down at the time and how much of it was being remembered. After all, this is only about 60 years or so before the Chronicles would be written, so not so far outside the realm of possibility that while it was being recorded there were people who could still remember something, though that memory might have been biased.
The houses were surrounded by palisades, with armories by the gates. Basically, they were building their own fortified dwellings. Each gate also had a tank for water and several tens of wooden hooks in case fire broke out. They also employed their own guards to ensure their safety.
Again, I am not sure if these are actually special, or just standard for a complex at the time. We know that often people would have to defend themselves from their houses, so this kinda sounds like routine good planning.
Soga no Emishi also had Osa no Atahe build the temple of Hokonuki on Mt. Ohoniho, and then he had a house built on the east side of Mt. Unebi and dug a pond—or possibly a moat—to make it a fortress. He likewise had an armory and a store of arrows. He also employed about 50 bodyguards to follow him around, since he apparently knew that he was a target. They were called the Eastern Company, possibly indicating they were made up of Emishi from the East, or possibly just indicating that it was men from the eastern countries. Or maybe something else all together.
As the most powerful man at court, people from the various uji regularly came to Emishi’s gate and waited on him. He called himself their father and called them his boys. The family of the Aya no Atahe apparently attended to the needs of both Emishi and Iruka.
In the first month of 645, we are told of a terrible portent, noticed far and wide. There was a sound like 10 or 20 monkeys crying and screaming, but if you looked there was nothing there, just the sound. It was heard on mountain-peaks, by river-sides, and in temples and shrines, or so we are told. Some people said it was messengers from the Great Deity of Ise, by which the Chroniclers likely meant Amaterasu, but I can’t help but wonder, with the monkey, or saru, connection, if they didn’t mean Sarutahiko, the sun deity from Ise who is enshrined at Tsubaki shrine, the Ichinomiya of Ise, especially as Amaterasu’s position may not have been quite as prominent just yet.
On the 8th day of the 6th month of 645, Prince Naka no Ohoye addressed his father-in-law, Soga no Kurayamada no Maro no Omi, and told him that the time had come. Envoys from the Korean peninsula were going to present their tribute at the Sovereign’s palace, and Maro would read the memorial before the throne. It was at that time that Prince Naka no Ohoye and his team would strike.
Sure enough, four days later, on the 12th day of the sixth month, Takara held court at the Daigyokuden, or main audience hall. Prince Furubito no Ohoye and Soga no Iruka were in attendance, along with others. As things were getting started, Nakatomi no Kamako taught some tricks to some performers in order to get Soga no Iruka to lighten up. Sure enough, Iruka laughed, and eventually unbuckled his sword and laid it down before taking his place in attendance by the throne.
As Kurayamada no Maro no Omi advanced and began to read aloud the memorials of the kingdoms of the Korean peninsula, Prince Naka no Ohoye went to the guards at the gates and had them fasten all twelve so that nobody could get in or out, and he promised them great rewards if they did as he asked. He then took a spear and hid it at one end of the hall. For his part, Kamako had loyal archers ready to go in case they were necessary. They then sent Ama no Inukai no Muraji no Katsumaro with a case with two swords—one for Saheki no Komaro and the other for Wakainukai no Amida, with a message: “Up! Up! Slay him quickly”
However, the two of them, realizing what they were about to do, felt their rice coming back up. And balked, so Naka no Ohoye had to go over and encourage them himself. At this point, Maro no Omi was starting to worry that the reading of the memorials would come to an end before things had been set in motion. He was sweating profusely and his hands shook, which drew questions from Soga no Iruka about why he was so nervous. Maro no Omi assured his cousin that it was just because he was there, in the Daigyokuden, in front of her majesty, and that seemed to satisfy him.
Naka no Ohoye, meanwhile, was realizing that Komaro and Amida were too intimidated by Soga no Iruka’s status, so he cried out and charged forward, at which point Komaro and Amida sprung to action. They reached Iruka and struck a blow before he even realized what was happening. It cut open his head and shoulder, but apparently only glancing, and not fatal, as Iruka immediately stood up. As he did so, Komaro turned the sword in his hand and wounded Iruka in the leg. Unable to stand, Iruka rolled over in front of Her majesty, bowed his head to the ground, and pleaded with her to stop this: “She who occupies the Hereditary Dignity is the Child of Heaven. I, Her servant, am conscious of no crime and I beseech Her to deign to make examination into this.”
Queen Takara was taken aback. She demanded an explanation from the attackers, “I know not what has been done. What is the meaning of this?” She had, of course, been kept out of the loop.
Her son, Naka no Ohoye, prostrated himself on the ground and spoke up for the group, saying, “Kuratsukuri”—by which he meant Soga no Iruka, using another name—“wished to destroy utterly the Celestial House and to subvert the Solar Dignity. Is Kuratsukuri to be substituted for the Celestial descendants?”
Hearing this and apparently quite taken aback, Takara retreated to the inner palace while Komaro and Amida slew Soga no Iruka. We can only imagine what must have been going through her head at that time. It wasn’t like 7th century Yamato was unaccustomed to violence, but this was something altogether different than anything seen before.
We are told that rain fell and that puddle-water overflowed the court. Soga no Iruka’s lifeless body was covered with mats and screens. One imagines that the onlookers who weren’t frozen in horror had tried to escape, and there was confusion over just what had happened. When Furubito no Ohoye saw Iruka’s body, he ran into his private quarters in the palace and told his people that he had been killed by the envoys. Furubito no Ohoye shut himself in his bedroom and refused to come out, afraid he might be next.
Meanwhile, Naka no Ohoye and his allies left the Itabuki palace and went to nearby Houkouji, Asukadera temple, and fortified it, in case Soga no Emishi heard about what had happened and was able to mount a counter attack. Prince Naka no Ohoye was joined not only by his co-conspirators, but by the royal princes, ministers, high officials and more: The Omi, Muraji, the Tomo no Miyatsuko and Kuni no Miyatsuko. The Chroniclers make sure to let us know that there was no love lost for the sake of Soga no Iruka, or at least the people had some idea of where this would all land.
Men were also sent to deliver the body of Soga no Iruka to his father.
As for the Aya no Atahe, their entire clan showed up, clad in armour and with weapons in hand, to aid Soga no Emishi. They formed an army, ready to do whatever was necessary. And so Naka no Ohoye sent general Kose no Tokudai to explain to the rebel band that they were on the wrong side of this one. As you may recall from earlier in this episode, Kose no Omi no Tokudai had been one of the men sent by Soga no Iruka to arrest Prince Yamashiro, so he wasn’t exactly a sworn enemy of the Soga. After listening to his words, Takamuku no Omi no Kunioshi, who had refused to go after Prince Yamashiro because of his work guarding the palace, addressed the Aya clan. “We are bound to receive capital punishment on account of our lord, Soga no Emishi’s, eldest son, and then he will face execution today or tomorrow. So whom should we fight for if we are all going to be put to death?” And with that, he took off his sword, threw it away, and deserted the cause. Once he did that, pretty soon the rest of the troops disbanded as well. Nobody was willing to die for a lost cause.
Soga no Emishi knew that he had no hope left. And so the next day he gathered his people and, before they were to be arrested and executed, they gathered up their treasures and objects of value, including the History of the Sovereigns and the History of the Country and set them on fire. The History of the Country, said to be the history written by Prince Umayado, was grabbed by Funa no Fubito no Yesaka out of the flames and delivered to Naka no Ohoye. Permission was given for the interment of Emishi and Iruka in tombs—likely the ones they had commissioned for themselves—and their friends and family were allowed to publicly grieve and lament.
The following day, on the 15th of the 6th month, Takara, known as Kougyouku Tennou, stepped down. She tried to make Naka no Ohoye the sovereign, but Kamako counselled against it. It really wouldn’t look good to go on a killing spree and then make yourself king. After all, Furubito no Ohoye was his older brother, and still alive, even if it was by another mother. And then there was his maternal uncle, Prince Karu. If Naka no Ohoye put himself before either of them, how would that look in the increasingly Confucian-influenced court circles? And so they pushed for Prince Karu to take the throne.
Prince Karu tried to decline and suggested that really it should be Prince Furubito no Ohoye, since Karu was a son of Tamura, the previous sovereign. Furubito no Ohoye, though, wanted nothing of this. He not only declined and refused to take the crown, but he made clear his desire to renounce the world and become a monk. Perhaps it had all been a bit too much—or he just didn’t want to be made into a target when he had seen what Naka no Ohoye could do with all of his support. No doubt he did the math in his head and his time on the throne would not be long, especially with his two major political allies dead and accused of trying to usurp the throne for themselves. He went right to Houkouji and had them shave his hair and beard and put on a kesa, a monk’s garment.
And so Prince Karu was left with no more excuses and took the throne, he would be known as Prince Koutoku, and it is here at the start of his reign where we see another continental tradition take hold in the islands, as it would not be known as much as the first year of Koutoku, but rather as the first year of Taika, the Great Change—and change was coming, indeed.
But we’ll save that for later. I think this is probably a good place to stop for now. We’ll probably revisit some other details of this period from 641 to 645, but I wanted to make sure we covered this incident, the “Isshi Incident” or “Isshi no Hen”, so called because it took place in the “Ki no to Mi” or “Isshi” year, which is to say the year of the wood snake, according to the Japanese sexagesimal calendar. There is still a lot going on with Baekje and the continent, not to mention a religious cult that sprang up during this period. All for a later episode.
Until then, thank you for listening and for all of your support.
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Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast.
And that’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

McCallum, Donald F. (2009). The Four Great Temples: Buddhist Archaeology, Architecture, and Icons of Seventh-Century Japan. ISBN 978-0-8248-3114-1
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4

Episode 105: Onsen and Uprisings

April 1, 2024 Joshua Badgley

An anachronistic image of Kamitsukenu no Kimi no Katana by Kobayashi Kiyochika, published in 1886. Image in public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

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This episode we take a quick look at the reign of Tamura, aka Jomei Tenno.

A few notes here: First off, it is still unclear how far Yamato’s reach actually was, and I should mention that it is also unclear just what the relationship was between Yamato and the Emishi. Obviously the Chronicles refer to it in particular manner, but that was just that.

Second, in case anyone’s curious, “Katana” as a name is not the same as “katana” the sword. It is just a bit of linguistic irony that they wind up together.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is episode 105: Onsen and Uprisings
The general paced back and forth behind the walls of the fortress. Glancing around, he couldn’t help but notice how empty it now seemed. The palisades were holding, but most of the soldiers had gone, disappearing in the night. Outside the walls of the fortress, he could hear the Emishi laughing and singing. They were in good spirits—and why wouldn’t they be? The great army of Yamato sent to chastise them had been routed, and they had besieged them in their fortress, built in these still wild lands of northeastern Honshu, on the edge of an area known to many as Michi no Oku, roughly: the end of the road.
And for the general, it looked like this might be the end of the road for him. His options were limited, and he was clearly outnumbered. It was beginning to look like his troops had the right idea. Of course, it meant leaving his wife and other women to fend for themselves, but fear can do a lot to motivate someone. The general eyed the walls and the trees beyond. If he could slip past the besieging forces in the darkness, perhaps he could escape. It wouldn’t be the most honorable way out of this situation, but it would at least leave him with his head. And so, as night fell, he decided to make his move…
Greetings everyone, and welcome back!
Before I get into it, a quick shout out an thank you to YamiRaven for supporting us on Patreon, and thanks to Johnny for a supporting us on Ko-Fi.com. If you’d like to join them, and help us keep this thing going, we’ll have more info at the end of the episode.
Speaking of: This episode we are going to be talking about events during the reign of Prince Tamura, also known as Okinaga Tarashi-hi Hiro-nuka, or by the name given to him by the 8th century chroniclers: Jomei Tennou. As we discussed back in episode 103, Prince Tamura came to power in an interesting turn of fate. The grandson of Nunakura Futodamashiki, aka Bidatsu Tenno, his father, Prince Hikobito no Ohoye was killed during the tumultuous period following Nunakura’s death. After several short-lived reigns, it was Kashikiya Hime, wife to Nunakura, who took the throne, known to us as Suiko Tennou.
Kashikiya Hime had named an heir, Crown Prince Umayado, aka Shotoku Taishi, but he died before she did and by the time that Kashikiya Hime passed away, there was nobody clearly set up to take the throne, though two candidates did stand out. There was Prince Yamashiro no Ohoye, the son of Crown Prince Umayado, whom a strict lineal succession might seem to indicate was next up to inherit, but Yamato inheritance tradition was not so cut and dried. Soga no Emishi, the son of Soga no Umako, the powerful Oho-omi who helped run the government during Kashikiya Hime’s reign, campaigned to put Prince Tamura on the throne, rather than Yamashiro no Ohoye, despite—or perhaps because of—the fact that Yamashiro no Ohoye was actually a close relative to Emishi.
Now Prince Tamura was on the throne and Soga no Emishi was the Oho-omi, taking his father’s place.
And yet, despite the chaotic start to the reign in 629, the majority of it was almost tame and nondescript. Don’t get me wrong, Tamura, as I’ll keep referring to him, was on the throne for a respectable thirteen years, and during that time there were certainly events that move our narrative forward in many ways. However, much of the years of his reign are filled with discussions of things like rain storms and celestial phenomena. In fact, the only thing that apparently happened in all of 634 was that they saw a comet in the sky. The year before that, in 633, the only entry was the return of envoys from the Tang. For two years, then, there is hardly a mention of politics and anything else going on. And yet, this is a period that would set the stage for what was coming next.
Shortly after Tamura was appointed sovereign, he appointed his consort, Princess Takara, as his queen. Takara was, herself, a great-great grand-daughter of Nunakura Futodamashiki, a granddaughter of Prince Hikobito and daughter of Prince Chinu—presumably niece to Tamura, then, which is basically par for the course. She was also a royal descendant on her mother’s side, tracing back to Nunakura’s father, Ame Kuniyoshi, aka Kinmei Tennou. In fact, her mother, Kibitsu Hime, is said to have been buried in her own kofun at the head of Ame Kuniyoshi’s kofun—and today it is the site of the 7th century saruishi figures that I mentioned in the talk about traveling around Asuka.
Takara would give birth to three children of note. The first was her eldest son, Prince Katsuraki, who would, spoiler alert, later be known as Crown Prince Naka no Ohoye. He was around three years old when his father took the throne. He had a sister by Takara, named Hashibito, and a brother, whose name you may have heard me mention previously: Oho-ama.
Yes, Naka no Ohoye and Oho-ama are the future sovereigns Tenji and Temmu, but for now they are still relatively young. In fact, Oho-ama wouldn’t be born until several years into his father’s reign, in 631.
Some of the early events of the reign were carryover from Kashikiya Hime’s time on the throne. In 629, for instance, Tanabe no Muraji went to Yakushima, returning the following year, and with people coming to Yamato from Yakushima the year after that.
There were also a fair number of foreign embassies, including an Embassy from Goguryeo and Baekje. These may have been missions of condolences and congratulations—typical international diplomacy at the time when a neighboring ruler passed away and a new one ascended the throne, it would seem. They arrived in the third month of 630 and departed in the 9th month of that same year—a 6 month visit, all told.
We also have the first actual account of ambassadors sent off to the Tang dynasty: Inugami no Mitasuki and Yakushi no E’nichi, each of Dainin rank. These are some of the first true kentoushi, or Ambassadors to the Tang court, that were sent, but over time their influence would be felt across Yamato and the archipelago.
These ambassadors—or at least Mitasuki—would return in 632 with a Tang ambassador, Gao Biaoren, along with student-priests Ryou’un and Soumin, as well as Suguri no Torikahi. Perhaps most tellingly, they would arrive with Silla escort envoys, which would seem to indicate that passage to the Tang court was not done without Silla’s assistance. As you may recall, Silla had entered into a nominal alliance with the Tang against Goguryeo. The Tang Ambassadors eventually reached Naniwa, where they were met with boats decked out with drums, flutes, and flags, and where they exchanged formal greetings before being escorted into the official residence. The Nihon Shoki takes pains to note the different individuals involved in the duties, from the initial greeting, guiding them to the residence, and then preparing them in the residence, along with a welcome drink of sake brewed on temple rice land.
And then, three months later, they depart once more. Nothing else is said of their visit.
Meanwhile, in the time between when Mitasuki went to the Tang court and when he returned with Gao Biaoren and company, a few things had happened. For one we get a note about Tamura moving to a new palace complex known as Okamoto no miya, supposedly at the foot of Asuka hill, hence the name, which means “foot of the hill”. This would not have been much of a change from Kashikiya Hime’s palace, still within the sacred area defined by the Soga temple of Asukadera as well as various other temples being stood up in that area as well. A move was to be expected, though in this case it is interesting that he didn’t go very far.
There is also mention, still in 630, of the repairing the official residences in Naniwa where ambassadors from the continent would be quartered during their trips to Yamato
631 opens with something of a treat – so it would seem, anyway. We are told that in the third month of Tamura’s third year on the throne, Prince Pung—named Pungjang in the Chronicles—was sent to the Yamato court by his father, King Wicha of Baekje. On the one hand, the Korean sources do agree that Prince Pung was, indeed, sent to Yamato, where he would live as a guest and diplomatic hostage. We’ve talked about this practice in the past, which seems to have strengthened bonds between nations, although we rarely hear of Yamato returning the favor by sending hostages to the continent. It may have also helped keep a potential heir out of harm’s way in case of a coup or other such politics. Several times, heirs returned to Baekje to be enthroned with Yamato assistance, if the Chronicles are to be believed.
Except that this entry is probably not quite right. You see, Wicha wouldn’t even come to the throne until 641—he wasn’t even made Crown Prince until 632—so why would he send his son as a diplomatic hostage in 631? Johnathan Best, translating the Baekje records of the Samguk Sagi, suggests that perhaps the Chroniclers were off by a factor of 10 or 12 years. You see, as we mentioned earlier, the East Asian calendrical system was based on a series of ten stems and twelve branches. The stems represented the elemental forces, and the branches were identified with the twelve signs of the zodiac. Incrementing each one each year led to a series of 60 years before it started repeating, and based on the way that the records for this reign are dated, it looks like the records the Chroniclers were drawing from used this system for their dates. However, if you misread—or even miswrite—one of these characters it can change your date by ten or even twelve years. It would make much more sense for Prince Pung to have arrived twelve years later, in 643. Similarly, we find other records, particularly having to do with Baekje, which may be a bit jumbled, possibly indicating they came from a similar source that either had things in the wrong chronological order or was simply vague or poorly scribed so that the Chroniclers had to figure out exactly what was happening when—which they may have made mistakes with, from time to time.
So Prince Pung arriving as a hostage is probably misplaced, and likely didn’t happen during Tamura’s reign. Which means that other than people from Yakushima showing up in 631 the only other major event of the year was Tamura going to the hot springs of Arima, in Settsu, where he stayed for about three months.
Now I know I’ve mentioned hot springs, or onsen, before in the narrative. After all, the volcanic islands that make up the Japanese archipelago are full of them, and it isn’t like they were suddenly discovered during this reign, but it does look like this might be the first formal mention of them in the Nihon Shoki—which gives Arima, in the mountains north of Kobe, some serious bona fides to be considered the oldest known hot spring town in Japan.
And that would be a cool side note in most reigns, but for Tamura it seems to have been a habit. He apparently went for a dip at least three times in his reign—the second time, in 638, he apparently went to the “Arima no Miya”, or the Arima Palace, which suggests that he had something built specifically for his visits. And then, in 639, he headed to the hot springs in Iyo.
The country of Iyo is better known today as Ehime prefecture, on the western edge of the island of Shikoku. The largest city in Ehime is Matsuyama, home to the famous Dougou Onsen, which also lays a claim to being the oldest operating hot springs in the archipelago. Dougou Onsen is not only the traditional place in Iyo where Tamura, aka Jomei Tennou, took the waters, as they might say in the west, but in the Iyo Fudoki it is said that its fame goes back even further. As we mentioned back in Chapter 18, it is said that the legendary figures Ohonamuchi and Sukuna Bikona met there, back in ancient times. In more recent times, relatively speaking, Dougou Onsen was the inspiration behind the fantastical bathhouse created by Hayao Miyazaki in the Studio Ghibli film, Spirited Away.
For all that these visits to the hot springs are somewhat interesting, they don’t exactly tell us a lot about what was happening with government, and in fact tend to make it seem almost as though Tamura was skipping out, at least in the fall to early winter. And to be honest, can you blame him? Winter is one of the best times to go take advantage of the volcanic springs.
Many of the other records appear to be natural phenomena, mostly having to do with the heavens: rain, storms, lightning, and more. Some of the more intriguing are comets—stars with “long tails” that appeared in the skies. There are also mentions of eclipse and what may have been a meteor—a star in 636 “floated east to west, with a noise like thunder.” The Priest Soumin, from the Tang, said it was the sound of the Celestial Dog, a creature from the ancient Han or possibly pre-Qin text, the Classic of Mountains and Seas, a fantastical account of mythical geography and various animals, including the nine tailed fox and the celestial dog, whose bark was said to be like Thunder. This book was considered to be a true account up through the Tang dynasty.
One could probably track the celestial phenomena and see if there is any correlation with known sightings, but it is also just as likely that some of it was taken from continental records and inserted into the Chronicles as appropriate.
Besides such phenomena, there were accounts of more missions, especially from Baekje. Yamato was still using the cap rank system attributed to Prince Umayado during Kashikiya Hime’s reign, and some of the envoys were given cap rank, or granted a promotion—a gesture that was likely pure diplomacy, as the rank wouldn’t necessarily convey any special rights back in their home country.
There are a few more things of note. First, in 636, we are told that all those who had affairs with the uneme at court were put on trial and punished—which likely means they were put to death. The uneme, as you may recall, were women sent to serve at the court, and as such they were apparently off-limits, at least while they were serving. That clearly didn’t stop people from having some late night escapades, though.
The main reason it likely comes up, though, is that we are told that one of the accused was a man named Miwa no Kimi no Osazaki, and that he took his own life by stabbing himself in the throat because the examination—by which I’m sure they meant torture—was too much to bear. And here I have to wonder how similar Yamato’s sense of justice was to that of their neighbor, the Tang dynasty. In the case of the latter, there was often a suspicion that any person accused of a crime must be guilty of at least something—after all, why would they have been accused if they didn’t do something to upset the peace, even if it was just that they didn’t get along with their neighbors. It was considered de rigeur to submit suspected criminals to torturous ordeals with the idea that this would elicit a confession. Unfortunately, this idea that harsh and torturous examinations can be used to uncover the truth often still persists, despite evidence that, under enough duress, most people will say anything. In this case, it drove Osazaki to take his own life.
Later in that same year, the Okamoto palace caught fire and burned down, and so Tamura moved to a new palace, called the Tanaka palace, or the Palace in the Middle of the Rice Fields. We also have a little more court action, as Prince Ohomata, a son of Nunakura Futodamashiki by one of his consorts, reached out to Soga no Emishi—called in this record the Toyoura no Oho-omi, likely because his mansion was in or near Toyoura, in Asuka.
Prince Ohomata suggested to Soga no Emishi that the ministers had not been attending court properly. He suggested that they should be there by roughly 5 or 6 AM—an hour before daybreak—and they should stay until 10 or 11 AM. Specifically he mentioned the hour of the hare and the hour of the serpent, as each ancient hour was actually two, with twelve hours making up the day, each named for one of the twelve signs of the Asian zodiac.
To enforce all of this, Ohomata also recommended having a bell rung that would let people know that it was time to start or end work. This was all common practice in the continental courts of the day, and it wasn’t like they were asking for a modern 40 hour work week, even: the court ministers would literally be serving for maybe 5 to 6 hours at court, with the rest of the time to handle their own affairs. Still, Soga no Emishi apparently didn’t think much of the idea and so was not inclined to support it.
All of this is kind of an odd mention. First, Ohomata is an obscure Prince—he’s only mentioned three times in the Chronicles, and once just in a list of Nunakura’s children. Second, the idea doesn’t go anywhere. Third, they don’t call Soga no Emishi by the name they used in both the previous or the next reign, but use Toyora no Ohoomi, for whatever reason. It just sticks out as odd, and I wonder if it was added to show that Soga no Emishi was resistant to change and new ideas.
At the same time, it does give us a clue that Soga no Emishi was still running things. His name may not have been on a lot, but then again, neither was Tamura’s, so we can only infer what was actually going on during this period. It’s almost a lacuna in the history.
There were a few other events worth noting, however, one of which took more than a bit of the Chroniclers’ ink, and this was a rebellion by the Emishi people.
First off, because it can be confusing: There is no apparent link between Soga no Emishi and the Emishi people that I’m aware of. Emishi, of course, is the name given to the people living outside of the Yamato cultural sphere in the northeast, from modern Ibaraki prefecture north. They were apparently expected to pay tribute at court, and are clearly treated differently from other outside groups, like Baekje and Silla. Some of them were likely members of the groups that had lived in the region since the Jomon period, who never fully adopted the Yayoi and later Kofun lifeways, and they may be related to the Ainu people who still live in modern Hokkaido, though there is also evidence that some of the Emishi may have been ethnic Wa people who had gone to live outside the Yamato court’s reach—though that is more evident in later centuries than in the current narrative.
I would also note that “Emishi” is an exonym—that is a name given by outsiders, in this case, by the Wa people of Yamato. In fact, other than what we can see in the archaeological record, what we know of the Emishi comes from Yamato sources, which are almost entirely biased. We don’t really have any good telling of their story from their own perspective. For instance,did they feel oppressed by Yamato in general, and not think they should have to keep bringing tribute? Or was there a more specific event that occurred, much like the conflicts we see later between the Wajin, the ethnic Japanese, and the Ainu up in Hokkaido? It is unclear.
To subdue the Emishi, and bring them back under Yamato hegemony, the court appointed Kamitsukeno no Kimi no Katana, a courtier of Dainin cap rank, as general. Spoiler alert: he’s the general in the story at the beginning of this episode. Based on his name, it would seem he was from the family in charge of Kamitsukenu, later shortened to Kozuke Province in modern Gunma prefecture, north of Tokyo. As such, he would have been well positioned to know something of the Emishi on his border. That said, he apparently didn’t know them so well that it gave him an advantage. His forces were routed and they retreated back to their fortress, where they were besieged by the Emishi.
Now when I say “fortress” please don’t picture some grand castle, like Himeji, Azuchi, or Matsumoto. In fact, don’t really picture a castle at all. More likely than not, this was simply an area enclosed by a wall—possibly some earthworks and maybe a moat, but perhaps just a quickly erected palisade structure. True castle structures wouldn’t come until later. For those familiar with American history, this may have been something like the fort at Jamestown or even the quickly assembled and ill-fated Fort Necessity—though perhaps a little larger if it was capable of housing the forces and the noncombatants that had accompanied them.
And so, when some of Katana’s soldiers decided they didn’t really want to be there any longer they apparently just up and left. Presumably they found a time when nobody was looking and just yeeted themselves over the walls and did their best to hide from the surrounding Emishi forces. Pretty soon just about all of the able-bodied soldiers had taken this approach, and Katana was thinking about joining them. In fact, he was getting ready to when his own wife noticed what he was doing.
That’s right, his wife was there with him. Whether she was a combatant or simply part of the train it isn’t entirely clear, but she wasn’t going to have her husband run off and abandon his post. She poured out sake for him to drink and as he did so, she took his sword and girded it to herself. She then went and found all of the bows and handed them out to all of the other women and people who had been left behind when the soldiers deserted, and they started pulling the bowstrings back and making a sound like they were being shot.
Upon seeing this, Katana roused himself, grabbed a weapon himself, and advanced out of the fortress.
The besieging Emishi were not sure what to make of this. They could hear the twang of bows, and it sounded as though there was quite a force, so as general Katana stepped out of the fortress they pulled back, thinking that there was a much bigger force than he actually had. As they did that, some of Katana’s own forces, who had escaped, but not too far, started to gain hope. They regrouped and attacked the Emishi with fresh energy, eventually defeating them.
Of course, Katana’s wife remains nameless throughout this whole episode, even though she was the one who helped turn the tide—first by turning her husband, but then by organizing the others to make it seem like they had a lot more people than they did.
After this fascinating story, the Chronicles getback to the normal records of storms, of fruit trees blossoming, of hot springs, and tribute. It wasn’t until two years later, in 639, that we get something interesting that we might easily overlook. This was the start of a new temple on the banks of the Kudara River, known to us as Kudara dera, or Kudara Temple.
Kudara Temple is definitely a bit of an enigma. It is mentioned quite heavily in later records, and yet it would eventually disappear without a trace, or so it seemed. It wasn’t until modern times that archaeologists identified a temple that we believe is Kudara dera. We are told that it had a nine-story pagoda, which may reflect ideas from Tang or Silla practice—somewhat ironic given that “Kudara” is a name used to refer to Baekje. In this case, the name seems to have come from the Kudara River, on whose banks the temple was built.
From the 80s through the 2000s there were a series of excavations at the site of Kibi Pond north of Asuka, closer to the center of Sakurai. Here a temple was found, which we believe to be the site of Kudara dera. The pond itself was dug at a later point in time, on the site of the temple, which was likely moved. Today, there is a small Kudara temple to the northwest of the old site, but it isn’t nearly as grand as it once was.
By all accounts, the construction of Kudara temple took years, in contrast to the building of royal palaces, which went up relatively quickly. This is because the palaces, for all of their size, were still being made using largely local construction methods. Posts were placed directly into the ground and the roofs were thatched. Being made of wood, these buildings went up relatively quickly, which was good seeing as how every reign the sovereign and court would move to a new palace. Of course, I also wonder if the tradition of moving didn’t come from the fact that the palace would likely have started rotting away on its own after a while. Then again, even in a single reign you might change palaces multiple times, as Tamura did.
In contrast, we have temple construction from the mainland. Here, rocks were set down, and the posts were placed on those, which gave a firm foundation and prevented water from easily getting in and ruining the base of the pillar. Packed earth and stone construction were used in places, along with heavy tile roofs, for which thousands of rooftiles had to be constructed. Centuries of architectural knowledge were used to design and create structures that were meant to outlast any patrons who helped to build them.
Add on to that the nine story pagoda. If you consider that the beautiful and imposing tenshukaku, or main keep, of Himeji castle, built in the early 17th century, is six stories and rises over 46 meters, or about 152 feet, this pagoda may have been about the same height or even a bit higher, assuming that relative proportions were similar to those in other pagodas from the time, such as that of Yakushiji. It must have been a towering beacon at the time, and the temple is considered one of the four great temples of the Asuka era, at least by some.
That this temple was commissioned by Tamura and not by Soga no Emishi is something that may indicate some unspoken tensions at the time. Tamura’s previous palaces were in Asuka, near Asuka temple, the chief temple of the Soga family, and situated in a Soga stronghold. Kudara temple was built significantly outside of this area, though still within walking distance, so not so far as to be a complete move—it isn’t like he moved it up to lake Biwa or anything, wink wink.
In 640, Tamura returned from his trip to the hot springs in Iyo—again, modern Ehime prefecture—and came back to a new palace at Umayazaka, but just six months later he moved into the Kudara palace, which was presumably nearby Kudara temple, effectively moving the court out of—or at least to the periphery of—Soga controlled territory.
Unfortunately, his stay at Kudara palace would only last about a year, as he passed away there in the 10th month of 641. He was roughly 48 years old. His son, and heir apparent, Prince Hirakasuwake, aka Naka no Oe, pronounced the funeral elegy.
And just like that, the throne was vacant again. There was an heir apparent, but Naka no Oe was only 16 years old, and so his mother, Takara, would take the throne, presumably until he was ready. She would be known as Ame Toyo Takara Ikashi-hi Tarashi Hime, aka Kougyoku Tennou, and her reign was anything but quiet. To give some context: if we had a little over 50 or so events recorded during the 13 years that Tamura was on the throne, while we have over 60 events recorded in just the first year of Takara’s reign. So, you know, there’s that.
But I’m going to have to ask you to wait a little bit for us to dig into that. For one thing, the politics are going to start getting hot and heavy, as anyone who may recognize the name “Naka no Oe” likely knows. As this young prince was coming into his own he was going to come face to face with the power of the Soga family. All that, starting next episode.
Until then, thank you for listening and for all of your support.
If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts. If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode.
Also, feel free to Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page. You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.
Thank you, also, to Ellen for her work editing the podcast.
And that’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

McCallum, Donald F. (2009). The Four Great Temples: Buddhist Archaeology, Architecture, and Icons of Seventh-Century Japan. ISBN 978-0-8248-3114-1
Best, J. (2006). A History of the Early Korean Kingdom of Paekche, together with an annotated translation of The Paekche Annals of the Samguk sagi. Cambridge (Massachusetts); London: Harvard University Asia Center. doi:10.2307/j.ctt1tg5q8p
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4

Episode 104: A Bloody Start to Golden Age

March 16, 2024 Joshua Badgley

A series of men on horseback, dressed in the round-necked collars typical of the Western regions with Chinese style hats, carrying flags with streamers. — Image of courtiers out on horseback dressed in the style of the Western Regions but with traditional ethnic Han headgear. From a Tang dynasty era tomb mural in modern Xian (ancient Chang’an). Photo by author.

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This episode we head over to the continent to kick off the Tang dynasty. The Tang dynasty was extremely influential on Yamato and later Japan, as well as the rest of East Asia. And so we'll take a look at how it got its start and how it expanded along the silk road, while at the same time talking about the literally cutthroat politics of the period. Especially in the royal house. Nobody fights like family.

Who’s Who

Li Yuan

Li Yuan (aka Emperor Tang Gaozu) is the founder of the Tang empire. Likely related to families from the Western Regions that intermarried with ethnic Han to become elites during the chaotic Sixteen Kingdoms period, they made claims to a royal ancestor in the Western Liang. In the Sui they were an elite family providing military service. The “Li” family surname is a common one, with many different branches of the Li family.

Li Er

Aka Laozi, or “Old Sage”, a likely apocryphal name for the supposed author of the Dao De Jing and thus founder of Daoism. In all likelihood he is a fictional character or an amalgamation of many different philosophers whose ideas came to form the core of Daoist philosophy and religion. By the Sui dynasty there were some Daoists who believed that a person with the surname of “Li” would come to power and usher in a Daoist millennia. This may have made the Sui Emperor suspicious of anyone surnamed “Li” and was certainly used by Li Yuan to help justify his new dynasty.

Li Shimin

Li Shimin (aka [spoiler alert] Tang Taizong) was a son of Li Yuan and given the historical narrative he is portrayed as one of the key figures pushing Li Yuan to dethrone the Sui and take over. Eventually he maneuvered to put himself on the throne, and is generally regarded as having one of the best reigns despite all of the political bloodshed that seems to have occurred.

Li Jiancheng

The eldest son of Li Yuan, and one of his generals in his fight to form the Tang dynasty. He was named Crown Prince until the Xuwanwu gate incident.

Li Yuanji

Another son of Li Yuan, he was close with his brother Jiancheng and opposed the rise of his brother, Li Shimin.

Princess Pingyang

Pingyang was one of the daughters of Li Yuan, and the only full-blooded sister to Li Shimin, Li Jiancheng, and Li Yuanji. She was married to Chai Shao, an ally of Li Yuan, and during Li Yuan’s effort to take the throne she commanded an army, the “Army of the Lady”, in support of him and her brothers. She became the first female Tang General, and even when she and her husband were united on the field, they kept separate headquarters for their different forces.

Li Chengqian

Son of Li Shimin, and the Crown Prince. He was brought down by infighting with his brother, Li Tai

Li Tai

Son of Li Shimin, who was quite popular and so threatened Li Chengqian’s position as Crown Prince. The politics of the day, however, led to him being removed from court.

Li Zhi

Youngest son of Li Shimin, he would eventually come to the throne as emperor Tang Gaozong. He would rule with his wife, Empress Wu Zetian.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is episode 104: A Bloody Start to a Golden Age
It was early in the morning on the fourth day of the sixth month of the ninth year of Wu De. Brothers Li Jiancheng, Crown Prince, and his younger brother, Li Yuanji, were more than a bit annoyed--Their brother had apparently slandered them to their father, the Emperor, claiming that they had had illicit relationships with his concubines. Although the accusations were false, they still had to come to the palace to clear their names. So they left the crown prince’s residence at the Eastern Palace and were traveling on horseback with a retinue of men through the private, forested royal park north of the city towards the Xuanwu Gate—the northern gate to the palace and to the great city of Chang’an.
As they approached Linhu Hall, they noticed something was afoot: there were soldiers in the park, headed their way. It was immediately apparent that the accusations had been a ruse, and their brother meant for more than just to tarnish their honor. As they fled eastward, back towards the Eastern palace, their brother, Li Shimin, came galloping towards them and called out to them. Li Yuanji tried to draw his bow, but couldn’t get to it in time, and Li Shimin shot and killed Li Jiancheng, their older brother and the crown prince.
Li Yuanji himself fell from his horse as he dodged arrows from the attacking troops, but Li Shimin also became entangled in the brush of the park and had to dismount. Li Yuanji ran up to his brother and tried to strangle him with his bow string, but soon he was chased off by reinforcements. Li Yuanji fled on foot to Wude Hall, where he was finally caught and struck down with arrows. Li Shimin’s forces struck off the heads of the two murdered princes, and took them to the Xuanwu gate, where opposing forces were still fighting. Seeing the heads of the two princes, it was clear that Li Shimin’s ambush was victorious, and the princes’ forces quickly dispersed.
Three days later, the victorious Li Shimin was instated as the new crown prince. Two months later, his father, Li Yuan, known to history as emperor Tang Gaozu, abdicated in favor of his son, who came to power as Emperor Taizong. This was the start of the Zhenguan era, which would come to be seen as a golden age in the history of the various Chinese empires.
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Alright, so as may be apparent, we are deviating a bit from our discussion of Yamato to look at some of the events on the continent. This is because the rise of the Tang dynasty would have an incredible impact on the Japanese archipelago. For one, it was the alliance between the Tang and Silla that would eventually mean the removal of Yamato and its allies from the Korean peninsula. In addition, however, the Tang dynasty’s access to the silk road and its grandiose government would become an exemplar for Yamato and many other polities who wished to demonstrate their political and cultural sophistication. Many of the laws and even court dress would mimic that of the Tang court—with a local flare, of course. In addition, the Tang dynasty brought a relative stability to the continent that would last for over two hundred years. Of course, none of that was known at the outset, and like many previous kingdoms, the Tang dynasty was born out of bloodshed.
We’ve mentioned several times how the Sui Dynasty was growing increasingly unpopular in the late 6th and early 7th centuries. Wars continued to cost money and lives, as did the giant public works projects of the periods - though the Grand Canal would be one of the greatest constructions of any age, uniting the Yangzi and Yellow River basins in myriad ways, powering the regions’ economies for centuries to come.
Into this Sui period came a man of the Li family named Yuan. We mentioned him back in episode 102, but I figured he could do with a little more backstory. Li Yuan’s family originated in the frontier regions. Official biographies had connected him to the founder of the Western Liang dynasty, and his family had served in various roles as the different northern kingdoms rose and fell. The Li family had been providing military service since the time of Yuan’s great-grandfather, and Li Yuan himself had been serving since the early 600s. He was made a general and placed in charge of the Dongguang pass in the Taihang mountains. There, he largely stayed out of the limelight.
At one point, he was summoned to the palace and rather than going he feigned illness, instead. You see, around this time there was a prophecy flying around that someone with the surname of Li would try to take the throne from Sui Emperor, Emperor Yang, so it may have been in Li Yuan’s best interest to avoid the court and anything that could draw Emperor Yang’s suspicions. He continued to do everything in his power to make himself seem unthreatening, even as rebellions were breaking out across the Empire.
In 614, the Sui army was defeated by Goguryeo, and the Sui court was plagued by numerous uprisings. Li Yuan may have sat it out if it weren’t for his son, Li Shimin. Like many youthful individuals, Li Shimin was less than invested in the current administration. He and several of his close acquaintances began to scheme behind his father’s back, with plans to join the other uprisings and hope to take a piece of the pie. Eventually, they blackmailed Li Yuan into marching on the capital of Daxingcheng in 617, threatening to expose several illicit relationships from his time at the court—relationships that would have surely put him at odds with the Emperor. At the same time, Emperor Yang had fled to the southern capital along the banks of the Yangzi River, but his son and heir, Yang You, was still in the capital. Li Yuan marched on imperial city of Daxingcheng, near the ancient capital of Chang’an, claiming that he was coming to protect the young heir.
Taking control of the capital city put Li Yuan at odds with imperial forces, who did not necessarily accept Li Yuan’s altruistic claims. Li Yuan and his sons, including Li Shimin and Li Jiangcheng, were drawn into fighting. Even Li Yuan’s daughter, Pingyang, the wife of general Chai Shao, contributed to the war effort. She personally raised an army and led it into battle, becoming the first female general of what would be known as the Tang dynasty.
In 618, Emperor Yang of Sui was assassinated by another general, Yuwen Huaji, and the throne passed to his son, Yang You, known as Emperor Gong of Sui. However, Li Yuan pressured the newly made Emperor Gong to yield the throne to him. Since Li Yuan had inherited the title “Duke of Tang” from his paternal line, he used that as the name of his new dynasty, and became known as Tang Gaozu—the High Founder of Tang.
It wasn’t enough to simply take the throne, though. There were still many other warlords looking to take his place. After all, unification had only come about some thirty or forty years prior. Up to that point, there had been numerous, often competing kingdoms, especially in the north. It was quite possible that the Sui dynasty was just a fluke, and most people no doubt expected the empire to fall once more into chaos.
Still, although he definitely had to back it up with military might, often led by his sons and close confidants, Li Yuan went about the process of enacting his sovereignty. This included various state rituals, as well as a reform of the administration. For one thing, they renamed the capital. Daxingcheng had been built nearby the ancient capital of Chang’an, and so they renamed Daxingcheng to the ancient name of Chang’an.
In addition, he sought out various supernatural portents. He also enjoyed the support of various Daoists, who believed that the founder of Daoism, Laozi, was from the Li family. There was a belief at the time that a messianic ruler from the Li family would bring about the Daoist millennium. And to better understand that, it may be useful to understand a little bit about Daoism.
Daoism, first and foremost, is one of the more well known religions to come out of China, and often is found side by side what would seem to be its polar opposite, Confucianism. However, the two have more in common than one might at first assume.
The believed founder of Daoism is known as Laozi, though some later sources, including the Qin dynasty “Records of the Grand Historian”, by Sima Chen, would claim for him the name Li Er. Laozi was said to have been a scholar who abandoned the world, and as he was leaving the empire for parts unknown, an astute guard recognized him and requested that before he left that he write down his accumulated wisdom before he would let the old sage leave. That became the work known as the Dao De Jing, or the Classic of the Way and Virtue.
The opening of the Dao De Jing is rather famous:
Dao ke Dao, feichang Dao.
Or, according to one translation: The Dao that can be known is not the eternal Dao.
However, no English translation truly does the original justice.
Traditionally, Laozi is said to have been a contemporary of Confucius, and some of the earliest writings on him, in the Warring States period writings of Zhuangzi, often show Confucius in awe of Laozi. That said, most tend to agree that Laozi himself likely never existed, and that the Dao De Jing was assembled over the years from various poems and sayings that fit with the general theme of formlessness and a general concept of following the Way, a rather ill defined concept of natural order, one which humans are constantly pushing against, often to our detriment.
Truth is that both Confucius and Laozi—or whomever compiled the Dao De Jing—wrote about a thing called the “Dao” or “Way”. Confucius was often talking about the “Way of Heaven”, describing an ordered universe where balance was kept by everyone remaining in their proper place, creating a series of rules around strict, hierarchical relationships, such as those between a father and son, or the ruler and subject. According to Confucian thought, as long as things on Earth were properly ordered, that order would be reflected in the Heavens, and all of creation would be ordered as well.
In Daoism, it is much less about attempting to order the universe, but rather about giving in to your natural place in the universe. This is a much simplified version of both religions, but in general, where Confucianism tended to see serving at court as a virtue, Daoism tended to reject official life. For many court officials, they would embrace Confucian ideals in their official lives, but often seek out Daoist pleasures in their free time.
Religious Daoism, where it became more than simply a philosophical ideal, appears to have coalesced around the Han dynasty. There are Daoist temples, though in this instance it is often intertwined with many other Sinitic philosophies and beliefs. Thus things like the Queen Mother of the West and the Peaches of Immortality could be included in Daoist practice. Things like the Yijing, the Book of Changes, and various divination methods could also be included.
In many cases, “Daoist” seems to be used less to refer to a strict adherent to the philosophy of the supposed Laozi, and more as a general catchall for various folk beliefs. Thus many people see the images of the Queen Mother of the West on Han Dynasty mirrors imported to Japan as evidence of a Daoist influence on the archipelago, while others note the lack of the further panoply of religious accoutrements that we would expect if it was truly a “Daoist” influence, and not just a few folk beliefs that made their way across the straits.
However, by the time that Li Yuan was coming to the throne there was a thriving Daoist community in the Sui and burgeoning Tang dynasties, and if they believed that Li Yuan was an incarnation of Laozi—or at least a messianic descendant—who was he to dissuade them of such a notion?
Li Yuan reached back into the past in other ways as well. For one, he would reinstitute the Northern Wei “equal-field” system of state granted land, along with a system of prefectures and districts to help administer it. This was largely an effort to help fill up the coffers, which had been emptied by the Sui and constant warfare, while also emphasizing state ownership of land, with individuals being mere tenants. It also helped bring back into cultivation lands that had long lain fallow, often due to the constant fighting of the previous centuries.
In 621, Li Yuan ordered the minting of new copper coins to help stabilize the currency. Later Sui currency had been devalued by numerous forgeries as well as official debasement—mixing in less valuable metals to make the coins, while attempting to maintain the same denominations as before. These new coins were meant to restore faith in the currency, but shortages would continue to plague the dynasty throughout its history, leading to the use of cloth as a common medium of exchange and tax payment, something that was also common on the archipelago, along with other goods, in lieu of rice or money.
By 624, Li Yuan also announced a new legal code based on the old Han era code, although this was quickly expanded, since the needs of the code from the 3rd century
Now initially, for all of their claims to the entire geographic area of the Sui dynasty, the newly established Tang dynasty really only had effective control over a small are of Guanzhou—the area around Chang’an itself. Li Yuan hadn’t been the only one to rise up, and just because he had declared himself the new emperor didn’t mean that the other warlords were just giving up. It wasn’t like they had reached the end of a football match and everyone was now just going to go home.
And so he and his sons found themselves campaigning for at least the next five years, and that was against the active threats. Plenty of local elites, especially along the Yellow River basin, simply opted to hole up in their fortified settlements. After all, they had no guarantees that this new Tang dynasty would last longer than any of the others in the past several centuries. Often these local elites came under nominal vassalage of the Tang—and probably any other warlord that showed up—but in reality, based on how we see the Tang administration at work, it seems they were primarily left to their own devices, at least early on. After all, Li Yuan and his sons had plenty of active threats to worry about.
And it was definitely his sons who bore the brunt of the work. Li Jiancheng, the eldest son, who would eventually be named Crown Prince, and Li Shimin each took charge of various troops against the threats to the new Tang empire. And they were, for the most part, successful. They eventually brought a majority of the former Sui territory under their control, such that by 623 internal resistance had begun to wane, and by 624 the situation was largely under control.
At least internally. To the north and west there was another threat: The khaganate of the Göktürks.
Now for many people, if you hear “Turks” you might immediately think of the Ottomans in the region of modern Turkiye. However, that is not where the Turkish people originated from. In fact, the first mention of Turkic people appears to be out of the Altai mountains, in modern Mongolia, from around 545. They appear to have been a nomadic group, as were many of the people of the steppes of central Eurasia. By 551, only a short time after they were first documented by outside groups, they had established the Göktürk, or Celestial Turk, Khaganate, based in the Mongolian plateau. From there they expanded in the 6th century, at one point spanning from the Byzantine and Sassanid Persian empires in the west all the way to the kingdoms and empires of the Yellow River basin in the east.
Many of the ethnic Han kingdoms that clashed with the Göktürks instituted practices of basically paying them off to prevent raids and invasions of their territory. Shortly after the founding of the Sui dynasty, the Turkic Khaganate split in two, after the death of the khagan, and so the Sui and Tang were actually dealing with what we know as the Eastern Turkic Khaganate. They were known to the ethnic Han people as the Thuk-kyat people, a term that today is often transcribed as Tujue, due to the shift in Sinic pronunciation over time. “Tujue” is often how you’ll see it rendered in sources referencing Chinese documents.
The Eastern Turkic Khaganate remained an issue for the Sui and Tang dynasties. Initially, when the uprisings against the Sui began, the Göktürks actually pulled back for a bit, hoping to allow the internal conflicts to weaken their eastern neighbors, but as they saw the direction things were taking, with the Tang dynasty solidifying their power, they began to launch invasions and harass the border, forcing the Tang dynasty to send troops. Initially Li Yuan attempted to by off the Eastern Turks, as previous dynasties had done, but while they were happy to take his money, the invasions did not stop.
Eventually, things got so bad—and the internal conflicts were in a stable enough state—that Li Yuan, decided to send a force against them. A fairly straightforward decision, supposedly, except, well…
Throughout all of this conflict, Li Jiancheng and Li Shimin had been building up their own influence. Li Jiancheng, as the eldest son of Li Yuan, was the Crown Prince, but Li Shimin had built up his own power and influence, to the point that Li Jiancheng and his other brother, Li Yuanji, were starting to look at how they could take care of him before he got so powerful and popular that Li Yuan was tempted to make him Crown Prince instead of Jiancheng. At one point, Li Yuanji proposed inviting Li Shimin over and just having him killed, but Li Jiancheng balked at such direct and obvious fratricide.
Instead, Li Jiancheng reportedly pushed his younger brother into positions that would possibly get him killed, but Li Shimin continued to succeed, thwarting his brother’s plans and growing his own fame and power in the process.
Finally, Li Jiancheng decided to take a different approach, and he suggested to his father that the army to defend the empire against the Turks should be led by none other than Li Yuanji. This would mean moving a large portion of the army out from under Li Shimin’s command to his brother, Li Yuanji, who would also accrue much of the fame and respect if he proved successful. This was a huge blow to Li Shimin, who had heard rumors that his brothers were out to get him.
Before setting out on such a campaign, it would have been expected that Li Shimin and his other brothers turn out to wish Li Yuanji success in his campaign. That would have put Li Shimin in an extremely vulnerable position, where he could be arrested or even killed, without the usual protection of his own forces. And so Li Shimin decided to be proactive.
Before the campaign could set out, Li Shimin submitted accusations against Li Jiancheng and Li Yuanji that they were having illicit relations with the concubines of their father, the emperor. This got Li Yuan’s attention, and he called both of his sons back to the palace to investigate what was going on. This is what led to that fateful incident known as the Xuanwu Gate Incident. Unbeknownst to Li Yuan or his other sons, Li Shimin had forces loyal to him take over the Xuanwu gate the night before Li Jiancheng and Li Yuanji were to have their audience. Ideally, at least from Li Shimin’s position, they would have both been assassinated at Xuanwu gate, but as I noted at the start of the episode, things did not go exactly to plan. There were several moments where a single stray arrow could have completely changed the course of things, but in the end, Li Shimin was triumphant.
As the fighting was going on, Li Yuan heard the commotion. Apparently he had been out in a boat on the lake in the palace enclosure—and yes, you heard that right, the palace included a lake, or at least a very large pond, such that the emperor could partake in a lazy morning upon the water. When he heard the commotion, he guessed that the tensions between his sons must be at the heart of it, and even surmised that Li Shimin was likely behind it. He got to shore and surrounded himself with courtiers, including known comrades and acquaintances of his son, Li Shimin.
Eventually, a representative of Li Shimin arrived, and he told the court that Li Jiancheng and Li Yuanji had risen up in rebellion, but that Li Shimin had had them both put to death. With Li Shimin’s troops literally at the gates of the palace, and Li Jiancheng and Li Yuanji not exactly able to defend themselves, the accusation stood. Several days later, no doubt under pressure from Li Shimin, Emperor Tang Gaozu, aka Li Yuan, officially made Li Shimin the Crown Prince. Two months later, he abdicated in favor of Li Shimin, who came to power as Tang Taizong in 626 CE. Li Yuan himself took on the title of Retired Emperor, and continued to live life in the palace, but with a much reduced impact on the political affairs of the empire.
Li Shimin himself took the reins of power immediately, and set about cementing his rule in several different ways. First off, to offset his particularly unfilial method of coming to the throne, Li Shimin engaged in performative Confucian virtue signaling. He played the part of the dutiful son, at least in public, providing for his retired father and attempting to act the part of the sage ruler. This was somewhat impeded by the cold relationship he and his father appear to have maintained after that point—apparently killing your siblings and forcing your father to abdicate are not exactly the kinds of bonding experiences that bring a father and son closer together. Still, that was mostly kept in the confines of the private areas of the palace. Publicly, he gathered accomplished military and civilian officials, and made sure to seek out their opinion.
The era of emperor Tang Taizong is known as the Zhenguan era, lasting from roughly 627 to 649, and it was considered to be synonymous with good governance by later historians and philosophers. Granted, most of the examples of good governance only lasted long enough for Li Shimin to establish himself in his position as emperor. Once he had solidified his power, and felt secure in his position, his rule changed to a more traditional and authoritarian model.
Regarding the threat of invasion from the Eastern Turkic Khaganate, Li Shimin met the Turks at the Wei River, where he accused them of invading Tang territory and demanded restitution. The Turks were impressed enough by his forces that they agreed to settle, offering thousands of horses and other goods, but Li Shimin declined their attempts to make it good. Eventually, Li Shimin supported some of the more disaffected members of the Turkic Khaganate in a coup, and by 630 the Eastern Turkic Khaganate and their gateway to the Silk Road was under Tang dynasty control. The Turks granted Li Shimin the title of Heavenly Khagan, placing him over both the Tang dynasty and the Eastern Turkic Khaganate.
He then went about resettling surrendered Eastern Turks while sending agents to foment rebellions and civil wars in the Western Turkic Khaganate, which controlled the area from Yumenguan, the Jade Gate, west of Dunhuang, all the way to Sassanid Persia. Dunhuang is an oasis city at the western end of the Gansu corridor, and the Jade Gate was considered to be the entry way to the Western Regions.
As Emperor Taizong, Li Shimin placed a puppet Khagan on the throne of the Western Turkic Khaganate in 642, and then sent numerous campaigns against the Western Turks in a series of wars against those who hadn’t simply given in to his will—first against the kingdom of Gaochang, a city cut from the rock of a giant plateau, and then on to the cities Karashr—known today by the Chinese name of Yanqi—and on to Kuqa. The campaigns would outlive Emperor Taizong himself, and the khaganate was completely annexed by 657, giving the Tang dynasty complete mastery over at least one part of the silk road out to Sassanid Persia and the west.
This would be huge, not only for the Tang dynasty, but for all of the cultures on the far eastern end of that silk road. There would be an increase in material and cultural items that traversed the routes. Chinese court dress even came to incorporate Turkic and Sogdian dress and clothing styles, which would eventually make their way to the Japanese archipelago, where they would take the tailored, round-necked collar designs for their own, eventually changing them, by the late Heian era, into their own distinctive garments.
It also opened a route to India for those Buddhist scholars who wished to go and study at the source, such as it was.
As for Emperor Taizong, by the 630s, with his title as Heavenly Khagan, Li Shimin seems to have stopped worrying about performative Confucian virtues. He took more direct control, and more often would quarrel with his ministers on various issues. In 637 he also reworked the Tang legal code, further refining the law.
At the same time, there were family matters he also had to attend to. It seems like father, like son—while Li Shimin’s eldest son, Li Chengqian was the Crown Prince, Shimin appeared to favor another son, Li Tai. As such, these two brothers became bitter rivals. Li Chengqian started to worry about his position as Crown Prince, and he consulted with some of his close advisors and confidants. Their solution was not to take his brother out of the picture, but rather to take his own father out of the picture. And so Li Chengqian reportedly entertained the idea of overthrowing his father, Emperor Taizong, at least as a thought experiment.
And really, at this point, I have some suspicions that Li Shimin might very well have been a bit of an absentee father, because does Chengqian even know whom he is talking about trying to coup?
Sure enough, Li Shimin learned about his sons extracurricular activities in 643 and he was less than happy with all of this. Li Chengqian’s defense, appears to have been that they only discussed it, they never went through with anything. As such, some of Chengqian’s conspirators were put to death, but Chengqian himself was simply reduced in rank to commoner status, stripped of his titles. When he died a few years later, though, Li Shimin had him buried as a Duke, and a later emperor would even posthumously restore his rank as an imperial prince.
Of course, the question came up as to just what to do about the Crown Prince. Li Tai seemed the obvious choice, as he had clearly impressed his father with his apparent talent and skill. However, it was pointed out that Li Tai’s competition with his brother is what had led to Chengqian’s fear and thoughts of rebellion in the first place. He hadn’t exactly been the model of filial virtue. In fact, if he hadn’t been scheming, none of this would have taken place. And so it was decided to pass him over and to create Li Zhi, a younger brother, as Crown Prince. Li Tai himself was demoted, though only down to a minor princely state, and exiled from Chang’an, making it extremely difficult for him to influence politics. Records of the time suggest this was an extremely difficult decision by his father, but one that he considered necessary for the responsible administration of government.
All of this was taking place in the early 640s, but it wasn’t the only thing that Li Shimin had on his mind. With the Turkic threat being handled in the west, the emperor let his ambitions get the better of him, and he turned his eyes towards Goguryeo, to his northeast. Previously, Emperor Yang of Sui had failed in his campaigns against Goguryeo, and that was one of the things that had led to the popular uprisings and rebellion that had taken down the dynasty. Now, Emperor Taizong seemed determined to succeed where the prior dynasty failed.
And so the Tang dynasty allied with the kingdom of Silla, hoping to force Goguryeo into a war on two fronts. Silla was already expanding on the Korean peninsula, and a natural ally for the Tang dynasty. Furthermore, they were far enough away that they weren’t an immediate threat if they decided to go back on their part of the deal.
Unfortunately for the Tang, these campaigns in 645 were not exactly a cake walk, and they handed Li Shimin his first defeat since the attempts to unify everyone under the Tang dynasty. Not exactly a great look. Relations with Goguryeo were normalized for a brief time, but then Emperor Taizong decided to give it another try. They started gathering ships and men for another invasion, no doubt having played out why they had lost the previous go round and hoping that it would be better in round two.
The invasions, however, would come to naught. As it was being prepared, Tang Taizong grew ill. He called off the invasion, and then, in 649, he passed away. His youngest son, the Crown Prince Li Zhi, came to the throne as Emperor Gaozong. The reign of him and his wife, Empress Wu Zetian, would have an enormous impact on the rest of the 7th century.
Through all of this fighting, bloodshed, and politics, this set the stage for the future of the Tang dynasty, which would once again place the area of modern China in the center of what many considered to be the civilized world. Besides being a center for Buddhist, Confucian, and Daoist religion, Chang’an became an extremely cosmopolitan city, with Sogdian and Turkic traders visiting the markets and establishing themselves in the city. Many foreign families would adapt over time, integrating into the culture of their new home.
These foreigners brought other ideas with them as well. Zoroastrianism, a Persian religion, may have come eastward much earlier, but in the 6th and 7th centuries, both Manichaeism and Christianity—at least an eastern version of Christianity—had made inroads into the capital of Chang’an. Manichaeism would have its ups and downs, especially in conflict with Buddhism. Christianity, on the other hand, was not necessarily the Christianity of Rome, but typically connected with the Syriac church that existed in the Persian empire, where it was a decidedly minority religion. Later proponents of Rome and the Latin rite would connect it with the supposed heresies of Nestorius, referring to the Church of the East as Nestorian Christianity, but this is not a term they would have used for themselves. These religions kept some of their traditions, but also incorporated some aspects of the culture of their new home, such as the use of rice in place of bread in some rituals.
This was an exciting time, and the court at Chang’an was fascinated with various customs of the Western Regions. Music, clothing, and even pasttimes were influenced by contact with the western lands. This would, in time, be passed on even to the archipelago. For instance, the pipa was an instrument that had origins in the Western regions. It is found in the area of modern China in at least the Northern Wei dynasty, but no doubt it grew more popular over time. A version of this same instrument traveled west to Persia, where it became the oud, and further on to Europe, where it became the famous lute. In the archipelago, the pipa became the Biwa, and while we can never be one hundred percent certain about early music, we have instructions from the Tang dynasty on music for the pipa, and Tang dynasty and early music, along with music from Goguryeo, came over to the Japanese courts in the form of gagaku, traditional Japanese court music, in the early 8th century.
Moving forward in our story about the Japanese archipelago, we are going to see more and more about the kentoushi, the Japanese embassies to the Tang dynasty, and just what they would bring back. At the same time, we will also see the reaction of the court to the alliance between the Tang and Yamato’s largest competitor on the Korean peninsula, Silla. That alliance, which outlived emperor Taizong and even the king of Silla, would dramatically shift the balance of power on the peninsula and in all of northeast Asia.
But we need to get there, first. For now, let’s move our gaze back across the waters to the archipelago, where Prince Tamura was about to take the throne, later becoming known as Jomei Tennou. Of course, he was dealing with his own politics, especially regarding the Soga house and the powerful hold they had over government. Next episode we will get back to just what was happening over there.
Until then, thank you for listening and for all of your support.
If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts. If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode.
Also, feel free to Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page. You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.
Thank you, also, to Ellen for her work editing the podcast.
And that’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

Lewis, Mark Edward (2009). China’s Cosmopolitan Empire: The Tang Dynasty. The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts / London, England. ISBN 978-0-674-03306-1
Benn, Charles (2002). China’s Golden Age: Everyday Life in the Tang Dynasty. Oxford University Press. ISBN 0-19-517665-0

Traveling Through the Ancient Nara Basin, Part 2

March 2, 2024 Joshua Badgley

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

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

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

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

Ikatsuchi Gion Castle Ruins

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

Asuka today

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

7th century Asuka

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

Entrance to Okayama Castle ruins

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

Old houses

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

Genbu (玄武)

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

Courtiers

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

Takamatsuzuka

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

Yamadadera Gallery Wall

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

Yamadaera depiction

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

Yamadera ruins

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

Asuka Exhibition Room of Archaeological Artifacts

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

Model octagonal kofun

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

Soga memorial

Memorial to the Soga family outside Asukadera.

Asuka Daibutsu

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

Asuka palace diagrams

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

Mizuochi site

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

Palace excavations

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

Palace postholes

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

Asuka palace sites

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

Ishibutai kofun

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

Kameishi (replica)

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

Kameishi

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

Kawaradera

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

Kawaradera ruins

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

Tachibanadera

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

Noguchi no Ō no Haka

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

Oni no Manaita

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

Oni no Setchin

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

Umeyama kofun

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

The grave of Kibi Hime

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

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

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Harunotsuji

Kofun of Iki

Other Sites of Interest

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Timelines and the Baekje Royal Family

King Uija (Wicha) (b. 599?, r. 641-660)

Prince Pung or Pungjang, aka Buyeo Pung (623-668)

Prince Saeseong (??)

Prince Gyoki (??)

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Who’s Who

Li Yuan

Li Er

Li Shimin

Li Jiancheng

Li Yuanji

Princess Pingyang

Li Chengqian

Li Tai

Li Zhi

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