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Following the death of Takara Hime, and the war on the Korean peninsula, Naka no Ōe was taking hold--or perhaps keeping hold--of the reins of government.  He wasn't finished with his changes to the government.  He also had a new threat--the Tang Empire.  They had destroyed Yamato's ally, Baekje, and defeated the Yamato forces on the peninsula.  While the Tang then turned their attention to Goguryeo, Yamato could easily be next.  The Tang had a foothold on the Korean peninsula, so they had a place to gather and launch a fleet, should they wish to bring Yamato into their empire. For more, especially to follow along with some of the names in this episode, check out our blogpost at https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-125     Rough Transcript Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua and this is episode 125: The Sovereign of Heavenly Wisdom The people of Baekje looked around at the strange and unfamiliar land.  They had fled a wartorn country, and they were happy to be alive, but refugee status was hardly a walk in the park.  Fortunately, they still knew how to farm the land, even if their homeland was hundreds of miles away, across the sea, and occupied by hostile forces.  Here, at least, was a land where they could make a home for themselves. Some of them had to wonder whether this was really permanent.  Was their situation just temporary until their kingdom was restored?  Or were they truly the last people of Baekje, and what would that mean? Either way, it would mean nothing if they didn't work the land and provide for their families.  And so, as with displaced people everywhere, they made the best of the situation.  They had been given land to work, and that was more than they could have asked for.  They might never return to Baekje, but perhaps they could keep a little of it alive for themselves and their descendants. Greetings, everyone, and welcome back.  Last episode we talked about the downfall of Baekje and the defeat of the Yamato forces at the battle of Hakusukinoe, also known as the Battle of Baekgang, in 663.  And yet, something else happened as well: the sovereign, Takara Hime, aka Saimei Tennou, died as the Yamato forces were setting out.  Immediately Prince Naka no Oe took the reins of government.  He would be known to later generations as Tenji Tennou, with Tenji meaning something like “Heavenly Wisdom”. Now Prince Naka no Oe has been in the forefront of many of our episodes so far, so I'd like to start this episode out with a recap of what we've heard about him so far, as all of this is important to remind ourselves of the complex political situation.  I'm going to be dropping – and recapping – a lot of names, but I'll have many of the key individuals listed on the podcast website for folks who want to follow along.  I would note that this episode is going to be a summary, with some extrapolation by me regarding what was actually happening.  Just remember that history, as we've seen time and again, is often more messy and chaotic than we like, and people are more complex than just being purely good or evil.  People rarely make their way to the top of any social hierarchy purely through their good deeds.  To start with, let's go back to before the year 645, when Naka no Oe instigated a coup against Soga no Iruka and Soga no Emishi.  In the Isshi Incident, covered in Episode 106, Naka no Oe had Soga no Iruka murdered in court, in front of his mother, Takara Hime, when she sat on the throne the first time.  And yet, though he could have taken the throne when she abdicated in apparent shock, he didn't.  Instead, he took the role of “Crown Prince”, but this wasn't him just sitting back.  In fact, evidence suggests that he used that position to keep a strong hand on the tiller of the ship of state. Prior to the Isshi Incident of 645, the rule of the Yamato sovereign had been eroded by noble court families.  These families, originally set up to serve the court and its administration, had come to dominate the political structures of the court.  The main branch of the Soga family, in particular, had found its way to power through a series of astute political marriages and the support of a new, foreign religion:  Buddhism.  Soga no Iname, Emishi's grandfather, had married his daughters to the sovereigns, and thus created closer ties between the Soga and the royal line.  He also helped ensure that the offspring of those marriages would be the ones to take over as future sovereigns.  Soga no Iname, himself took the position of Oho-omi, the Great Omi, or the Great Minister, the head of the other ministerial families.  As Prime Minister, he held great sway over the day-to-day running of the court, and execution of much of the administration.  Much of this was covered in previous episodes, but especially episodes 88, 90, 91, 92, 95, 98, 99, and 103. Soga no Umako, who succeeded his father as Oho-omi, was joined in his effort to administer the government by his grand-nephew, Prince Umayado, also known as Shotoku Taishi, son of Tachibana no Toyohi, aka Youmei Tennou, and thus grandson of Umako's sister, Kitashi-hime, and the sovereign known as Kimmei Tennou.  Umayado's aunt, sister to Tachibana no Toyohi, was Kashikiya Hime, or Suiko Tennou.  The three of them:  Soga no Umako, Prince Umayado, and Kashikiya Hime, together oversaw the development of Yamato and the spread of Buddhism.  Buddhism was also controversial at first, but they turned it into another source of ritual power for the state—ritual power that Soga no Umako, Prince Umayado, and even Kashikiya Hime were able to harvest for their own use. Unfortunately, the Crown Prince, Umayado, died before Kashikiya hime, suddenly leaving open the question of who would take the throne.  Soga no Umako himself, passed away two years before Kashikiya Hime.  When she in turn passed away, there was another struggle for the throne, this time between the descendants of Crown Prince Umayado and Soga no Umako.  Eventually, Soga no Umako's son and heir, Soga no Emishi, made sure that a more pliant sovereign, Prince Tamura, would take the throne, and Prince Umayado's own son, Prince Yamashiro no Oe, was cut out of the succession.  Soga no Emishi, serving as prime minister, effectively ran things much as his father had.  When Tamura diedhis queen, Takara Hime, took the throne, rather than passing it back to Umayado's line—no doubt with Emishi's blessing.  He was careful, however, not to provoke direct action against Yamashiro no Oe, possibly due to the reverence in which Yamashiro's father, Prince Umayado, aka the Buddhist Saint Shotoku Taishi, was held.  Meanwhile, Emishi appears to have been cultivating his grandson by way of Prince Tamura, Furubito no Oe, to eventually succeed to the throne, trying to duplicate what his own father Umako and even grandfather had been able to accomplish. Soga no Emishi's son, Soga no Iruka, was not quite so temperate, however.   Who would have thought that growing up at the top of the social hierarchy might make one feel a bit arrogant and entitled?   When Soga no Emishi was ill, Soga no Iruka took over as Prime Minister, and he didn't just stand back.  He decided that he needed to take out Furubito no Oe's competition, and so he went after Yamashiro no Oe and had him killed. Unfortunately for him, he apparently went too far.  There were already those who were not happy with the Soga family's close hold on power—or perhaps more appropriately, this particular line of the Soga family.  This kind of behavior allowed a group of discontented royals and nobility to gain support. According to the popular story recounted in the Nihon Shoki, the primary seed of resistance started with a game of kickball, or kemari.  Nakatomi no Kamako, aka Nakatomi no Kamatari, was the scion of his house, which was dedicated to the worship of the traditional kami of Yamato.  The Nakatomi were ritualists: in charge of chanting ritual prayers, or norito, during court ceremony.  This meant that their powerbase was directly challenged by the increasing role of Buddhism, one of the Soga patriarchs' key influences on the political system. Kamatari was feeling out the politics of the court, and seemed to be seeking the support of royal family members who could help challenge the powerful Soga ministers.  He found that support in two places.  First, in Prince Karu, brother to Takara Hime, the current sovereign, who had been on the throne ever since her husband, Tamura, had passed away.  And then there was the Prince Katsuraki, better known to us, today, as Prince Naka no Oe.  A game of kemari, where a group of players tried to keep a ball in the air as long as they could, using only their feet, was a chance to get close to the Prince.  When Naka no Oe's shoe flew off in the middle of the match, Kamatari ran over to retrieve it.  As he offered the shoe back to its owner, they got to talking, and one of the most impactful bromances in Yamato history was born. The two ended up studying together.  The unification of the Yellow River and Yangzi basin regions under the Sui and Tang, and the expansion of the Silk Road, had repercussions felt all the way across the straits in Yamato.  Naka no Oe and Kamatari were both avid students and were absorbing all that the continent had to throw at them about philosophy and good governance.  As is so often the case, it seems like idealistic students were the fertile ground for revolutionary new thoughts. There were problems implementing their vision, however.  Although the Nihon Shoki claims that Naka no Oe was the Crown Prince, that honor was probably given to Prince Furubito no Oe, who would have no doubt perpetuated the existing power structures at court.  This is something that the Chroniclers, or perhaps those before them, glossed over and may have even tried to retconned, to help bolster the case that Naka no Oe was actually working for the common good and not just involved in a naked power grab for himself.  There is also the question as to where Yamashiro no Oe had stood in the succession, as he likely had a fair number of supporters. With the destruction of Yamashiro no Oe's family, however, the balance of power shifted.  Although Soga no Emishi had long been an influential member of the court, and not solely because of his role as Prime Minister, Soga no Iruka was relatively new to power.  Yamashiro no Oe's family, in turn, likely had a fair number of supporters, and even neutral parties may have been turned off by Iruka's violent methods to suppress an opponent who had already been defeated politically.  Naka no Oe and Kamatari seem to have seized on this discontent againt the Soga, but they needed at least one other conspirator.  They achieved this by offering a marriage alliance with Soga no Kurayamada no Ishikawa no Maro, a lesser member of the Soga household, whose own immediate family had been supporters of Yamashiro no Oe, and so likely had plenty of grievances with his cousins.  Naka no Oe married Ishikawa no Maro's daughter, Wochi no Iratsume, also known as Chinu no Iratsume.  Together, these three—Naka no Oe, Kamatari, and Ishikawa no Maro—brought others into their plot, and finally, in 645, they struck.  Soga no Iruka was killed at court, in front of a shocked Takara Hime and Prince Furubito no Oe.  By the way, this is another thing that suggests to me that Furubito no Oe was the Crown Prince, because why was he front and center at the ceremony, while Naka no Oe was able to skulk around at the edges, tending to things like the guards?  After the assassination at the court – the Isshi Incident -- Naka no Oe gathered forces and went after Soga no Emishi, since they knew they couldn't leave him alive.  With both Soga no Emishi and Soga no Iruka dead, and Takara Hime having abdicated the throne in shock at what had just occurred, Naka no Oe could have taken the throne for himself.  However, in what was probably a rather astute move on his part, he chose not to.  He recognized that Furubito no Oe's claim to the throne was possibly stronger, and those who had supported the Soga would not doubt push for him to take the throne.  And so, instead, he pushed for his uncle, Prince Karu, to ascend as sovereign.  Karu was Takara Hime's brother, and they could use Confucian logic regarding deference to one's elders to support him.  Plus, Karu's hands weren't directly bloodied by the recent conflict. As for Prince Furubito, he saw the way that the winds were blowing.  To avoid being another casualty, he retired from the world, taking the vows of a Buddhist monk.  However, there were still supporters who were trying to put him on the throne and eventually he would be killed, to avoid being used as a rallying point. Prince Karu, known as Jomei Tennou, ruled for around a decade. During that time, Naka no Oe and his reformers helped to cultivate a new image of the state as a bureaucratic monarchy.  Naka no Oe was designated the Crown Prince, and Nakatomi no Kamatari was made the “Inner Prime Minister”, or Naidaijin.  Ishikawa no Maro was made the minister of the  Right, while Abe no Uchimaro was made Minister of the Left, and they ran much of the bureaucracy, but the Naidaijin was a role more directly attached to the royal household, and likely meant that Kamatari was outside of their jurisdiction, falling into a position directly supporting Naka no Oe.  They instituted Tang style rank systems, and set up divisions of the entire archipelago.  They appointed governors of the various countries, now seen as provinces, and made them report up to various ministers, and eventually the sovereign.  After all, if you were going to manage everything, you needed to first and foremost collect the data.  This period is known as the Taika, or Great Change, period, and the reforms are known as the Taika reforms, discussed in episode 108. They even built a large government complex in the form of the Toyosaki Palace, in Naniwa, though this may have been a bit much—for more, check out episodes 112 and 113. Years into the project, though, things seem to have soured, a bit.  Rumors and slander turned Kamatari against his ally, Ishikawa no Maro, resulting in the death of Ishikawa no Maro and much of his family.  Naka no Oe and other members of the royal family eventually abandoned the Naniwa palace complex, leaving now-Emperor Karu and the government officials there to run the day-to-day administration, while much of the court made its way back to the Asuka area.  Karu would later pass away, but the throne still did not pass to Crown Prince Naka no Oe, despite his title.  Instead, the throne went back to Takara Hime.  This was her second reign, and one of only two split reigns like this that we know of.  The Chroniclers, who were creating posthumous titles for the sovereigns, gave her two names—Kogyoku Tennou for her reign up to 645, and then Saimei Tennou for her second reign starting in 655.   During her latter reign, Naka no Oe continued to wield power as the Crown Prince, and the Chroniclers don't really get into why she came back into power.  It may be that Naka no Oe, in his role as Crown Prince, had more freedom: although the sovereign is purportedly the person in power, that position can also be limiting.  There are specific things which the sovereign is supposed to do, rituals in which they are expected to partake.  In addition, there were restrictions on who was allowed into the inner sanctum of the palace, and thus limits on who could interact with the sovereign, and how.  That meant that any sovereign was reliant on intermediaries to know what was going on in their state and to carry out their orders.  As Crown Prince, Naka no Oe may have had more flexibility to do the things he wanted to do, and he could always leverage the sovereign's authority. When Baekje was destroyed, and Yamato decided to go to their aid, Naka no Oe appears to have had a strong hand in raising forces and directing movements, at least within the archipelago.  When Takara Hime passed away rather suddenly, he accompanied her funerary procession much of the way back, and then returned to Tsukushi—Kyushu—to direct the war.   This is the same thing that Toyotomi Hideyoshi would do when he sent troops to Korea in the late 16th century.  Moving headquarters closer to the continent would reduce the time between messages.  Theoretically he could have moved out to the islands of Iki or Tsushima, but I suspect that there were more amenities at Tsukushi, where they even built a palace for Takara Hime—and later Naka no Oe—to reside in.  It was likely not quite as spectacular as the full-blown city that Hideyoshi developed in a matter of months, but the court could also leverage the facilities previously created for the Dazaifu. The war took time.  This wasn't like some “wars” that were more like specific military actions.  This was a war that dragged on for several years, with different waves of ships going over to transport people and supplies.  Things came to a head in the 9th month of 663, roughly October or November on the Western calendar.  The Baekje resistance was under siege, and their only hope was a fleet of Yamato soldiers coming to their aid.  The Yamato fleet met with a much smaller Tang fleet at the mouth of the Baek River—the Hakusukinoe.  They attempted to break through the Tang blockade, but the Tang had positional advantage and were eventually able to counterattack, destroying the Yamato fleet.  Without their relief, the Baekje resistance fell. The remnants of the Yamato army, along with those Baekje nobles that were with them, headed out, fleeing back to the archipelago.  One presumes that there may have been other Baekje nobles, and their families, who had already made the trip. After the entry describing this rout, on the 24th day of the 9th month of 663, we have a gap in the Chronicles of just a little more than 4 months.  We then pick up with Naka no Oe's government starting to look at internal affairs.  For one thing, we are told that he selected his younger brother, the Royal Prince Ohoama, as Crown Prince, and he made updates to the cap-rank system, changing it from 19 ranks to 26 ranks.  The first six ranks remained the same, but the name “kwa”, or “flower”, for the 7th through 10th ranks was changed to “Kin”, meaning “brocade”.  Furthermore, a “middle” rank was added between the Upper and Lower ranks, further distinguishing each group, and adding 6 extra ranks.  Finally, the initial rank, Risshin, was divided into two:  Daiken and Shouken.  We aren't told why, but it likely meant that they could have more granular distinctions in rank. At the same time that was going on, the court also awarded long swords to the senior members of the great families, and short swords to the senior members of lesser families.  Below that, senior members of the Tomo no Miyatsuko and others were given shields and bows and arrows.  Furthermore, the vassals, or kakibe, and the domestic retainers, or yakabe, were settled, to use Aston's translation.  The kanji used in the text appears to refer to settling a decision or standardizing something, rather than settling as in giving a place to live.  It seems to me to mean that the court was settling servants on families: determining what kind and how many servants that various houses could have based on their position in the hierarchy.  I can't help but notice that all of these gifts were very martial in nature.  That does not mean, of course, that they were necessarily because of the war over Baekje, nor that they were in response to the concern about a possible Tang invasion -- we've seen in the past where swords were gifted to people who had served the court --but it is hard not to connect these gifts with recent worries.  We also know that this year, Naka no Oe turned his focus on building defenses, setting up guards and beacon fires on the islands of Tsushima and Iki.   Should any unknown fleet be seen coming to the archipelago, the fires would alert the forces at Kyushu, so they could send word and prepare a defense. In addition, the court built an impressive defense for Tsukushi—for the Dazai itself, the seat of the Yamato government in Kyushu.  It is called the Mizuki, or Water Castle, though at the time “castle” was more about walls and fortifications than the standalone fortress we tend to think of, today.  Along those lines, the Mizuki was an earthen embankment, roughly 1.2 kilometers long, extending from a natural ridgeline to the west across the Mikasa river.  Archeological evidence shows it had a moat, and this line of fortifications would have been a line of defense for the Dazai, should anyone try to invade.  This construction was so large and impressive that you can still see it, even today.  It stands out on the terrain, and it is even visible from overhead photographs. In the third month of 664, we are told that Prince Syeongwang of Baekje and his people, were given a residence at Naniwa.  In fact, even though Baekje was no longer an independent kingdom, there appear to have been thousands of Baekje people now living in Yamato, unable to return home.  Many of these were former nobles of the Baekje court, which Yamato treated as a foreign extension of its own.  Resettling these people would be a major theme for the Chronicles, but we will also see, as we read further on, how their talents were leveraged for the state. Also in the third month, a star fell in the north—it says “in the north of the capital”, but I suspect that anywhere north, south, east, or west of the capital would have seen the same thing “in the north”.  There was also an earthquake, which isn't given any particular significance, beyond its mention as a natural phenomenon. On the 17th day of the 5th month of 664, so roughly 2 months later, we are told that Liu Jen'yuan, the Tang dynasty's general in Baekje, sent Guo Wucong  to Yamato with a letter and gifts.  We aren't told the contents of the letter, but one imagines that this may have been a rather tense exchange.  Yamato had just been involved in open warfare against Tang forces on the peninsula, and they still weren't sure if the Tang empire would come after them next.  Their only real hope on that front was Goguryeo, since the Tang and Silla were still trying to destroy the Goguryeo kingdom, and that may have kept the Tang forces tied up for a while.  No doubt Guo Wucong would have seen some of the defenses that Yamato was constructing during his visit. Guo Wucong would hang around for about seven and a half months.  He was given permission to take his leave on the 4th day of the 10th month.  Naka no Oe had his friend and Inner Prime Minister, Nakatomi no Kamatari send the Buddhist Priest, Chisho, with presents for Guo Wucong, and he and his officers were granted entertainments  before they left as well. Finally, Guo Wucong and his people returned to the Tang on the 12th day of the 12th month. While the delegation from the Tang was in Yamato, we are told of several tragedies.  First was that Soga no Murajiko no Oho-omi had passed away.  Soga no Murajiko appears to have been another son of Soga no Kuramaro, and thus brother to Soga no Ishikawa no Maro.  Unfortunately, we don't have much more on him in the record. Just a month later, we are told that the “Dowager Queen” Shima passed away.  Aston translates this as the Queen Grandmother, suggesting that she was Naka no Oe's grandmother. We are also told, that in the 10th month of 664, around the time that Guo Wucong was given leave to depart, that Yeon Gaesomun, the Prime Minister—though perhaps more correctly the despotic ruler—of Goguryeo, died.  It is said that he asked his children to remain united, but, well, even if we didn't know how it all turned out, I think we would look somewhat skeptically on any idea that they all did exactly as they were told.  Sure enough, in 667 we are told that Gaesomun's eldest son, Namseng, left the capital city of Pyongyang to tour the provinces, and while he was gone his younger brothers conspired with the nobility, and when he came back they refused to let him back in.  So Namseng ran off to the Tang court and apparently helped them destroy his own country. This is largely corroborated by other stories about Goguryeo, though the dates do seem to be off.  Tang records put Gaesomun's death around 666 CE, which the Samguk Sagi appears to follow, but on his tomb the date would appear to be 665.  Confusion like this was easy enough given the different dates and trying to cross-check across different regnal eras.  Sure, there were some commonalities, but it was very easy to miscount something. One last note from the twelfth month of 664—it seems that there were omens of apparent prosperity that came to the court from the island of Awaji.    First, there was rice that grew up in a farmer's pig trough.  The farmer's name is given as Shinuta no Fumibito no Mu, and Mu gathered this rice and stored it up, and thus, every day his wealth increased.  Then there was the bridal bed of Iwaki no Sukuri no Oho, of Kurimoto district.  They claimed that rice grew up at the head of his brides' mattress during her first night's stay with him.  And this wasn't just some brand new shoot, but overnight it formed an ear, and by the morning it bent down and ripened.  Then, the following night, another ear was formed.  When the bride went out into the courtyard, two keys fell down from heaven, and after she gave them to her husband, Oho, he went on to become a wealthy man. The exact purpose of these stories is unclear, but it seems to be that the Chroniclers are choosing to focus on stories of wealth and growth, which speak to how they wanted this reign as a whole, including the sovereign, to be remembered. However, more tragedy struck the following year, in 665,  when Hashibito, another Dowager Queen – this time the wife of Karu, aka Koutoku Tennou - passed away on the 25th day of the 2nd month.  On the first day of the 3rd month, 330 people took Buddhist vows for her sake. We are also told that in the second month the ranks of Baekje were cross-referenced with the ranks of Yamato, and then ranks were given out to some of the Baekje nobles that had come over to Yamato.  Kwisil Chipsa, who was originally ranked “Dalsol” in Baekje, was accorded “Lower Shoukin”.  That was rank 12 of the 26.  In comparison, “Dalsol” seems to have been the 2nd rank of 16 in Baekje.  Along with handing out rank, over 400 Baekje commoners, both men and women, were given residence in the Kanzaki district in Afumi.  This appears to be an area along the Aichi river, running from the Suzuka Mountains, west towards Lake Biwa. The court granted them rice-lands in the following month.  At the same time, several high ranking Baekje nobles were put in charge of building castles at strategic points around the archipelago.  These included one castle in Nagato, as well as the castles of Ohono and Woyogi, in Tsukushi.  Two years later, in 667, we also see the building of Takayasu castle, in Yamato and Yashima castle in Yamada, in Sanuki—modern Kagawa, on Shikoku, facing the Seto Inland Sea passageway.  Kaneda castle in Tsushima was also a Baekje-built one. We mentioned something about these castles last episode.  They were in the Baekje style, and as I said, the term “castle” here is more about the walls, which were largely made of rammed earth ramparts.  This means that you pile up earth and dirt in a layer and then the laborers use tools specifically to tamp it down until it is thick and hard.  Then another layer is piled on top and the process is repeated.  These walls were often placed on mountain tops, and they would follow the terrain, making them places that were easy to defend.  Beyond that, they didn't necessarily have a donjon keep or anything like that—maybe a tower so that one could see a little further, but being at the top of a mountain usually provided all the visual cues that one needed. We know there were other castles made as well.  For example, I mentioned last week about Kinojo, in Okayama, the ancient Kibi area.  Kinojo is not mentioned in the Nihon Shoki, but it clearly existed back then, and matches the general description of a 7th century mountain castle as built in Baekje.  The name means Demon Castle, and there is a story about it that is connected to the local Kibitsu Jinja—the Shrine to Prince Kibi.  According to legend, Kibitsu Hiko, aka Prince Kibitsu or, perhaps more appropriately, the Prince of Kibi, came to the area around the time of the Mimaki Iribiko, so probably about the 3rd century, at the head of a large force.  Kibitsu Hiko had come to defeat the demon, Ura, who lived in the nearby castle, hence Kinojo, and legend says that he freed the people from the demon's rule. As I also mentioned, last week, this particular castle may have ended up in the Momotaro story.  There are those who believe that the story of Momotarou is based on the story of Prince Kibitsu Hiko, and his defeat of the so-called demon, “Ura”.   Certainly the story has grown more fantastical, and less connected to the ancient history of the Kibi region, but it still may have its origin in a much more standard legend of a founding prince of the ancient Kibi kingdom that was later changed into a fairy tale.   More likely, the castle was built by a Baekje nobleman, often thought to be a prince, who settled in the area.  There is the possibility that the demon's name “Ura” came from a mistranslation of his name, or it is also possible that he was unrelated to the story at all.  The Kibitsu Hiko legend may have incorporated the castle, Kinojo, at a later date, once people had forgotten when and why the castle was actually built. It would make sense if Kinojo had been built as part of the defenses for Yamato, as that area overlooks a large part of the fertile plains of Okayama and out beyond Kojima to the Seto Inland Sea -- it is perched over a key overland route from the western edge of Honshu to Yamato, and there would have been several ways to signal boats to put to sea to intercept forces on the water.  . This all suggests to me that Kinojo was probably part of Naka no Oe's castle-building effort, even if it isn't specifically remembered in the Chronicle.  But building castles wasn't enough to bring peace of mind that Yamato would survive a Tang invasion, and it is possibly as a defensive measure that Naka no Oe would go on to do something truly incredible—he would eventually move the capital from Asuka and Naniwa all the way to the shores of Lake Biwa itself, establishing the Ohotsu palace.  This was a truly extreme step that didn't endear Naka no Oe to the court, but it had several advantages.  For one thing, this move pulled the capital further away from the sea routes, meaning that if they were attacked, they had a more defensible position.  Even more so than Yamato, the Afumi region around Lake Biwa is surrounded by mountains, with a few narrow passes that restricted movement in and out. One of these is the famous Sekigahara, which remained a choke point even up to modern times.  The name even means the Field of the Barrier, indicating the barrier and checkpoint that had been set up there in ancient times.  Moving the capital also pulled the court away from some of the previous political centers, which may have been another feature that made it attractive to Naka no Oe.  Many capital moves have been made, at least in part, to get farther away from strong Buddhist temples, and this certainly would have moved things out of the Asuka region, which by now was a hotbed of Buddhist temple activity. But we'll talk about that all more, next episode.  Until then, thank you once again for listening and for all of your support. 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This episode is a bit long--we are talking about the last elements of the reign of Takara Hime, the fall of Baekje, and the attempt to restore the kingdom, which culminated in the Battle of Hakusukinoe, aka the Battle of Baekgang.  For more, check out our blog at https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-124 Rough Transcript Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua and this is Episode 124:  The Battle of Haku-suki-no-e. Echi no Takutsu looked out from where he stood on the deck of his ship.  The horizon seemed to bob up and down, but he knew that was just an illusion caused by the waves.  And upon those waves, hundreds of Yamato ships floated, ready to do battle.  As a veteran of this and other wars, Takutsu was used to surveying flotillas of ships, and yet, none of his years of experience had quite had this kind of impact upon him.  Yamato's ally, Baekje, had fallen in battle to the combined might of the Tang and Silla forces, and now they were assisting a band of rebels who were trying to once again restore their kingdom.  Silla was, of course, an all too common adversary for the Yamato court, but the Tang: now that was another matter. The Tang dynasty had only grown in the four and a half decades since it was founded.  They had destroyed their enemies and continued to expand.  They had defeated the Gokturks and expanded into the heart of Eurasia. Even in cases like Goguryeo, who had so far managed to hold out against their attacks, it was clear that they had an effect.  The Tang dynasty was the superpower of its day, and for whatever airs Yamato may have put on, they were still a backwater in comparison. And yet, on this day, that backwater seemed, by all rights, to have the upper hand.  In response to the destruction of Baekje, Yamato had marshalled all of their forces.  Their boats greatly outnumbered those of their opponents, and if they could defeat the Tang navy, then they could make landfall and connect with the remaining Baekje forces attempting to restore their kingdom.  And so here they were, at the mouth of the Baengma River, also known as the Baekgang, or, in Japanese, the Haku-suki-no-e.  The Tang forces were bottled up, and the greater Yamato forces seemed poised to take them out.   The only problem was that the river mouth narrowed quickly, so that only a few ships could attack at any given time.  Still, with overwhelming numbers, Echi no Takutsu and his fellow soldiers expected that they would still be able to overcome their enemies and place their allies back in control of their territory. With confidence in their victory, the Yamato ships sailed forward, prepared to crush their enemies, and restore Baekje…   Greetings, everyone, and welcome back.  As you may have figured out we are still in the later half of the 7th century.  During the last episode we talked about the embassy to the Tang dynasty court that got delayed—placed under house arrest for a year—because the Tang dynasty was conducting their special military operations over on the Korean peninsula.  That was in the year 660.  Specifically, the Tang were working in conjunction with Silla to destroy the Kingdom of Baekje, and they even returned to the Tang capital with prisoners, including the royal family and many high-ranking nobles.  That they didn't want the ambassadors leaving, and presumably informing Baekje on their way back, would seem to speak to the strong ties between Baekje and Yamato.  After all, several times in the Nihon Shoki we have seen where the Baekje royal line was endangered and a prince that had been living at the Yamato court was brought across the strait with Yamato support to place them back on the throne. This episode, we are going to look a little closer at what happened on the peninsula and what happened when news of the event reached the Yamato court.  This would culminate in one of the most famous naval battles in east Asia—certainly one of the most famous in Japanese history.  It is recorded in records from various sides, so unlike many of the raids on Silla, and other conflicts on the peninsula, we have multiple accounts documenting it, and if the Japanese account is to be believed than it may have been among the largest naval conflicts in the world at that time. So let me take you through what the Chronicles have to say up until the battle and then we can talk about what happened and a little bit about what it would mean for Yamato in the years to come. We'll start a bit before the conflict, while Baekje was still going strong.  The Chronicles are filled with portents and omens, and of course, they already knew what had happened.  Still, let's talk about some of what they mentioned leading up to the battle, as well as some of the remaining accounts demonstrating the cross-strait exchanges. We'll start in 655, the year after Takara Hime had assumed the throne, being given the name Saimei Tennou by the Chroniclers.  On the first day of the 5th month we are told that a “man of Tang” was seen riding a dragon in the sky.  He is described as wearing a broad hat of blue—or green—oiled cloth.  He rode fast from the peak of Mt. Katsuraki and disappeared on Mt. Ikoma.  At noon he galloped over the pines of Sumiyoshi and disappeared into the west. This is obviously a fantastical story, but let's talk about what we can.  It is hard not to see in this some of the importance that the Tang dynasty would play in this reign, especially given the fact that this occurred in the first year after Takara hime had ascended the throne.  It would seem to have been meant here as an omen.  I have not seen specific comments about this, though I'm sure someone has looked into it.  But for me, I am struck by the fact this person was, first and foremost, identifiable as Tang, likely meaning because of his clothing.  And he was riding a dragon.  Dragons were known in Japan, but not quite as popular in folklore as they are shown to be on the mainland.  The Dragon was the imperial symbol of the Tang and other dynasties.  Japan had its own stories of dragon kings and other such things, but in this case I can't imagine that the connection with the imperial throne would be ignored. The hat is also interesting.  The color is listed as “blue” though Aston translates this as “green”.  The term “aoi” was used for any color on the spectrum from blue to green.  In fact, it is still the case that the “green” light on a Japanese traffic signal is still referred to as “blue”.  There were more specific colors, but the word “midori” would have been more like a specific word, like “teal”, “cerulean”, or “aquamarine”, rather than a core color like we would use blue, yellow, or, in this case, green.  The fact that it was made of oiled stuff suggests to me that it was waterproofed.  It is noted specifically with the character for “kasa”, which typically refers to a wide brimmed hat used to keep the rain off. I suspect that in this case it was the kind of hat that we often see on Tang dynasty figurines of riders.  They often have a tall, wide-brimmed hat, often with drape of sheer fabric around the edge.  This kind of hat would eventually be popular in Japan amongst traveling noblewomen, as it helped keep them out of the sun and away from the bugs and, well, it also acted as a barrier between the them and the rest of the world.  The versions seen on the Tang figurines are usually somewhat short, probably just enough to obscure the face, and may have helped to cut down on glare.  These often aren't obviously oiled, but that certainly could have been the case, and that may have been another method of protecting travelers from anything that nature could throw at them. It does seem a very particular image. The course of the rider is somewhat interesting.  From Katsuraki, on the southwestern edge of the Nara basin, north to Mt. Ikoma.  Then west to Sumiyoshi and off to the far west—in other words, back to the Tang dynasty.  Sumiyoshi is also of particular interest. The pines of Sumiyoshi are a particular poetic trope, or utamakura.  They help to conjure famous imagery of a place, and so it is hardly surprising that they would be found in this context.  In this case I suspect that is the main reason they are mentioned.  However, Sumiyoshi also has its own importance.  Sumiyoshi was once on the seashore, and Sumiyoshi was a common shrine for travelers to pray at for safe travels.  In fact, there are Sumiyoshi shrines across the archipelago that all are tied back to the Sumiyoshi in the modern Ohosaka area, and they often found near the shore as places where travelers could pray for safe passage before they headed off on the sea. And so it would make sense that the rider would head off over Sumiyoshi and to the west, much as the various ambassadors would travel off to the west. There may be more to it, but I suspect that this was either referencing the growing links between Yamato and the Tang, or perhaps simply referring to the various kentoushi—the ambassadors who crossed the seas to the Tang court and brought back so much to the archipelago. The next obvious omen seems to come in 657.  In this case it was a white fox seen in the land of Iwami.  It was mentioned in the same record as when ambassadors Adzumi no Tsuratari and Tsu no Kutsuma came back from the Western Seas via Baekje.  It isn't clear that the two are connected, though.  Perhaps there is something I'm missing.  It is notable that this seems to be the only mention of Iwami that I could find, at least doing a quick search for the characters in the electronic version of the text.  Iwami is the land to the west of Izumo, on the western end of modern Shimane prefecture, and the western end of the San'in-do, along the northern edge of western Honshu.  It is a mountainous region on the edge of the Japan Sea, the Nihonkai. We've talked about many of the other accounts after that, until the following year, 658.  We have a note about a south-pointing chariot, which we'll discuss in a later episode, but that was clearly another connection to continental technologies.  After that we have an account from Izumo.  Huge numbers of dead fish were washing ashore, up to three feet, or roughly a meter, deep.  The fish were apparently the size of a pufferfish, with beaks like a sparrow and thorny scales, several inches long.  I wonder if, by the description, they could be referring to triggerfish or parrotfish, which are found in the Japan Sea.  Fish kills, or mass die-offs, are unfortunate events that occasionally happen for a variety of reasons.  The most common is actually asphyxiation—algae blooms or other such events that eat up the oxygen, causing fish to die off in an area.  Fish kills might also happen because of disease, undersea quakes, and other factors.  Of course, to anyone in Izumo, this would have been a terribly random event.  I can't tell whether or not it was an omen, but it certainly could have been.  If so, I doubt it would have been a very good one. The strange fish that were brought up were called “sparrow fish” by the locals.  They believed they were sparrows that had gone to the ocean and turned into fish. Immediately after that, in the Chronicle, we get a somewhat odd entry in that it seems out of place.  We are told that Baekje had sent to Japan requesting aid.  Tang and Silla had teamed up and captured King Wicha, his queen, and the heir to the throne.  It is probably notable that this is written as “one book says”.  Also, recall that dates were still somewhat problematic at this time.  They were based on the regnal years of the monarch or the dates according to the sexagesimal cycle, either of which could have been off, particularly at this time, in different sources.  I suspect that the fact that they mention it as “one book says” indicates that even the compilers of the Nihon Shoki weren't quite sure that this was in the right spot, but it was an account of what did eventually happen—just not until two years later.  This position is bolstered by the fact that the next account talks about how Azumi no Muarji no Tsuratari had returned from what was apparently another trip to the Western Seas and Baekje, just a year after the previous.  Again, this could be the same expedition, with accounts misplacing the dates, or with dates according to when he left and others when he arrived back.  Still, it brings us yet another omen. Apparently, around this point, Baekje had been successful against Silla.  This is a good reminder that Baekje was not exactly an innocent bystander in everything that had happened.  King Wicha was rather famous in his own day, seen as a paragon of courage, largely because he was taking the fight to Silla, often allying with Goguryeo to block Silla from their access to the Tang and others.  Silla, who had been adopting Tang culture and style, and even claimed some distant descent from ethnic Han immigrants during the time of the Han commandries on the peninsula, were still able to forge close ties with the Tang, who seemed to preference them over Baekje and Goguryeo.  This may have been part of the general diplomatic game of the Middle Kingdom going back to the Han times, where they would often look to ally with those states beyond the immediate border states, so that those on their immediate border would have to defend themselves on two fronts.  This was likely more aimed at Goguryeo than Baekje, at least initially, but the alliance meant that Baekje, whom the Tang regularly chastised for their actions against Silla, was also in the crosshairs. However, up through 658, it seems Baekje's actions were largely successful.  Both the Baekje and Silla annals mention attacks by Baekje against the country of Silla in the following year, which otherwise correlate with the record in the Nihon Shoki.  Here we should remember that the author of the Samguk Sagi, which preserved these records, was writing centuries later, and had a clear pro-Silla bias.  There are several years missing from the Baekje annals at this time, but the idea that Baekje was attacking Silla is hardly controversial.  In the Silla Annals, in 659,  we also get word that Silla sent envoys to the Tang court protesting Baekje's aggression and asking the Tang court for aid.  Aid that would soon come, unbeknownst to others—even Silla wasn't quite sure until they showed up. And this is likely why the Nihon Shoki records a strange incident in Baekje, where a horse, of its own accord, started circling the Golden Hall of a Buddhist temple in the Baekje capital, continuing day and night, and stopping only to graze.  In some regions, walking around a sacred temple or stupa was considered a particular form of prayer, and perhaps the horse knew something and was trying to make merit.  In the text we are told explicitly what this meant:  the downfall of Baekje was nigh, and it would fall in the coming year, 660.  In a similar fashion, the Baekje annals, and the Samguk Yusa, likely pulling from the same sources, go through a series of omens, from birds to fish, to various ghosts, all saying that Baekje was about to fall.  The annals at this point paint Wicha as consumed with the material world and debauchery, likely a largely later indictment to add a moral explanation to the events that would soon occur. In Yamato, there were other omens as well.  Things were not entirely well in the Yamato capital.  Remember, this was Takara Hime's second reign, and her son was fully grown, himself, so she was no spring chicken.  On the 13th day of the 7th month of the year 659, she had the ministers expound the Urabon sutra in all the temples in Asuka and had a requital made to the ancestors for 7 generations.  We are also told that in that same year, the Miyatsuko of Izumo was made to repair the Itsuki god's shrine.  I have to wonder if these were to help make merit, or were just regular occurrences, but we are also told that fox bit at the head of a creeper that a man was carrying and ran off with it, and a dog found a dead man's hand and forearm and dropped them at Ifuya shrine.  The chroniclers claim these omens were not about Baekje, but rather about Takara Hime herself—claiming that she was not long for this world. It is good to remember that it is only now that we can look back and see where things were leading.  At the time, nobody really knew what the future held, and business went on as normal.  The omens and portents were all well and good, but they are being interpreted after the fact.  There is no indication that people were telling Takara Hime that her time was about to come.  This is illustrated by the fact that there are plenty of regular accounts in here as well.  We have a few episodes that actually reference the “shiguma”—the polar bear or the brown bear—and Gogureyo.  The first is of Goguryeo merchants—likely part of an embassy—trying to sell a shiguma fur in the local markets for 60 pounds of floss silk, a price that was apparently laughable, as the market commissioner turned them down.  And here I'll digress briefly because this is rather a remarkable entry, even though it seems like almost nothing, because it demonstrates something we rarely see but often suspect.  For all that the ambassadors to various courts were performing their diplomatic functions, they were also there to trade.  This is part of how they funded the journey.  They would bring some goods for the court and the sovereign, of course, and hopefully get as much or more in return.  But they would also trade in the local markets.  This is probably part of what the embassy to the Tang was doing when they made landfall and then stayed put for a month or so.  I suspect they were working with the local government to ship off the tribute, but also availing themselves of the local markets.  You didn't necessarily exchange currency, but you would sell your trade goods and that would likely help fund the embassy for the time they were in the country, at least for anything the host nation didn't provide. It is also interesting that we talk of a market commissioner.  We've mentioned markets before, and their existence is likely more than just a random assortment of shops with goods to sell.  They were overseen by local officials, and they would have been regulated to some extent by the larger state, probably with taxes and other goods making their way up to the government.  I don't know that we have a clear idea of what it looked like until later, and so an entry like this just gives us a little hint at what was going on in the day to day administration of the entire country. Continuing with the shiguma theme, apparently a painter named Komaro—a Japanese name, but he's described as a “Goguryeo” painter, which could mean that he trained in Goguryeo, or came from there and changed his name.  It is also possible, I supposed, that he was simply trained in the Goguryeo style.  Anyway, he was apparently quite successful because he entertained guests from his own uji—his own surname—and so borrowed 70 official shiguma skins for them to sit on.  Apparently this was a garish display that left the guests astonished and ashamed to even be part of the event, so they went away. So sitting on fur rugs was apparently not a thing to do—or perhaps just not that many.  But I would note that he apparently borrowed them from the government—they were “official” after all.  So what was the government doing with them?  They were probably tribute from the Emishi in the north, or perhaps just the result of regular trade.  And Komaro must have had some pull to be able to request them for his own private use.  Unfortunately, I don't have any further details, so we are left to guess at most of the rest. But we do continue on with the Goguryeo theme in the following year, the first month of 660, with envoys from Goguryeo arriving in Tsukushi.  They likely had no idea that while they were in Yamato, big changes were about to take place back on the peninsula.  It would take them four months to get to Naniwa, arriving on the 8th day of the 5th month.  They couldn't have known everything that was happening on the peninsula, behind them. And that's because it was in the third month of tha year that Tang Gaozong commanded Su Dingfang, along with Kim Inmun and Liu Boying, to take 130,000 land and see troops to subdue Baekje.  They landed at Teongmul islands, west of Baekje, and, word having reached their court, the King of Silla sent the renowned general Kim Yusin in charge of a force of 50,000 troops to lend their support.  Kim Yusin was a veteran of fighting between Baekje and Silla, and he had already face the enemy on the battlefield, but now he had the aid of the Tang troops. King Wicha had heard of their advance, and asked his court for advice.  One suggestion was to try to crush the Tang soldiers as soon as they came ashore—force them to stay on their boats and destroy them before they could get on land and organized.  Another suggested that the Tang army, for all its size, was built for speed and a decisive victory.  If Baekje could simply harry them long enough, it would wear them down, and they would have to return.  They could then turn their sights on Silla, an enemy they knew how to deal with. One noble, Heungsu, who had been out of favor in the court, and even exiled at one point, offered his advice—that they should fortify the Baek river and Tanhyeon Pass, so that they could not approach.  It would be a near suicidal task, but brave soldiers could defend those narrow points against larger forces, since they would be forced to engage with fewer forces at a time.  Heungsu was ridiculed, however, and his ideas were abandoned. Instead, they devised a scheme whereby they would let the Tang ships enter the river, until they could only go two abreast, and then they would attack them from the shore and destroy them.  Likewise, at the pass, rather than fortifying it, as suggested, they would wait in ambush until the Tang forces could not maneuver, and they would then destroy them as well.  This seemed like a plan, and it was given to the general Kyebaek to carry out. At first, it looked like it would work.  General Kyebaek took five thousand soldiers to Hwangsan as soon as the heard that the Silla soldiers were advancing through the pass.  They engaged the Silla forces four separate times, defeating Silla each time.  However, every assault took its toll.  The five thousand troops could not prevail against a force 10 times their size, and eventually they were wiped out, along with general Kyebaek.  Without opposition, the Silla forces met up with the Tang, and the two armies joined forces.  They actually were able to use the mountainous terrain, which otherwise would have been used to keep them out, to their own advantage.  Eventually they were able to advance on the capital.  The Baekje forces fought to exhaustion, but they were outmatched by the Tang-Silla alliance.  Eventually, they marched on the city, and King Wicha knew that they would be defeated. Four years before this, an official had spoken up against King Wicha, and had been thrown in prison, where he died, emaciated.  However, before he died he offered advice that if an enemy were ever to come, the army should be deployed to the passes and to the upstream banks of the rivers, and that no enemy should be allowed to pass those points.  Looking at the enemy at his gates, King Wicha regretted that he had not listened to that advice.  He grabbed his son and fled to the northern border of Baekje while Su Tingfang and the combined forces besieged the capital.  He sought refuge at Ungjin fortress, in modern Kongju.  This all happened in the 7th lunar month of the year 660. With King Wicha fled, along with the crown prince, his second son, T'ae, declared himself king and led the defense of the city.  However, several others of King Wicha's sons looked at this and were afraid that it now didn't matter what happened.  If T'ae defended the city, then they would be next on his hit list, as they were clearly his rivals to power, and if the Tang defeated them, well, it didn't look good, either.  So they and their retainers all fled the city as well.  This sparked a mass exodus as other citizens tried to do the same, and T'ae could not stop them.  Eventually, the forces weakened, Su Tingfang took the city and raised the Tang banners.  T'ae opened the gates and pleaded for his life.  When King Wicha heard all of this, he knew there was no escape.  He and his sons surrendered themselves and the fortresses to the Tang-Silla alliance.  He and his sons, and many of his people, were taken captive and taken back to the Tang court, where the Yamato ambassadors saw them being paraded around. Now the king may have been captured, but Baekje was not completely subdued.  A few of the remaining citizens held out hope that they could gather their forces and kick out the Tang and Silla and take back their country.  They knew that, although most of the royal family was captured there was still one more:  Prince Pung.  Prince Pung, as you may recall from previous episodes, was residing in Yamato, a royal hostage—or perhaps more of a restrained guest.  The rebels acknowledged him as their king and sent word to Yamato asking that he come back, along with reinforcements, and retake the kingdom.  In the meantime, they gathered and fought as they could, wearing down the Tang and Silla forces.  The rebels, after all, knew the land, and the invaders were still reliant on their supply lines.  This situation persisted for several years. Back in Yamato, in the 5th month of 660, they still were likely unaware of what had happened on the peninsula.  There was no social media to alert them to the dangers, and it would still be a few months before the Baekje capital actually fell.  They were busy entertaining the envoys from Goguryeo, or preparing 100 raised seats an one hundred kesa, or Buddhist vestments, for a Benevolent King ritual.  They were focused on their wars in the north, with the Mishihase, which they had been successful in Praising Abe no Hirafu for his successful campaign.  There is one record that says that in the 5th month people started carrying weapons around with them for no good reason, because they had heard of the destruction of Baekje, but that hadn't actually happened yet, so this is likely out of place—possibly by a couple of years. There is a note about the destruction of Baekje in the 7th month, but that is from the “Records of the reigns of Japan” or Nihon Seiki, a work that is no longer extant that was apparently written by a Goguryeo priest, who noted Baekje's destruction in his history, but this was probably not exactly information available to Yamato at the time.  And no, I don't want to gloss over the fact that we are given another source that was likely being used by the Chroniclers.  I want to delve into the fact that this was by a Goguryeo priest, known in Japanese as Doken.  I want to talk about how this work pops up throughout the reigns of Saimei, Tenchi, and apparently even in the Fujiwara Kaden.  It seems like he was close to Nakatomi no Kamatari and the Fujiwara house, which probably explains how he had access to the events mentioned and why his work was known.  However, I don't really have time for all of that because we are trying to focus on what was happening with Baekje and what was happening Yamato at the time. And in Yamato it wasn't until the 9th month that word finally arrived via a Buddhist novice named “Kakchyong”, according to Aston.  He carried word of the defeat, but also word that Kwisil Poksin had taken up arms and was leading a rebellion against Tang and Silla control.    The royal city, which some records say had fallen in mere days, was once more under Baekje control, according to the word that reached Yamato.  It does seem that Poksin held it for a time, but they weren't able to set in for any kind of prolonged fight in any one spot.  It seems that the fighting was going back and forth, and the rebels were remaining on the move while fighting actions against the invading forces.  Poksin had apparently captured some of the enemy troops, though, and sent them to Yamato, possibly as tribute and payment for future reinforcements, and possibly to demonstrate their victories. And if that was the case, it seemed to have worked.  Takara Hime agreed to help Baekje.  She agreed to send troops, commanding them to go from a hundred directions and meet up in Sateok—likely meaning that this was an emergency deployment and rather than everyone gathering in Kyushu and heading over together, they were getting there as fast as they could, however they could, to try and come to Baekje's aid.  She also released Prince Pung to return as well, and basically named him the King of Baekje herself.  As for Takara Hime and the main force, they moved first to Naniwa and gathered there.  She was considering going on to Tsukushi and then traveling with the bulk of the navy from there. Omens were also coming in, and it wasn't good.  In the province of Suruga, they built a boat, but apparently, overnight, the bow and stern switched places, which the Chroniclers saw as a bad omen.  And then there were a swarm of insects reported in Shinano as coming from a westerly direction.  Another bad sign, especially given that Tang and Silla were both west of Yamato. Although they started preparing in the 9th month of 660, it took them until the first month of 661 to have the royal ship ready to go.  It is likely that much of what was happening was not just a waiting navy putting to sea, but rather there were emergency build orders to build or repair ships and make them ready for the crossing and eventual attack.  The royal ship made its through the Seto Inland Sea, past Bizen, the nearer part of ancient Kibi, and on to Iyo, on Shikoku.  They seem to have had a few setbacks in their journey, and it wasn't until the 5th month that they reached the Asakura palace, though to be in Chikuzen, in Tsukushi, aka northern Kyushu.  The month before, Poksin had written and asked to wait upon the prince, which I suspect was a polite way of asking when the reinforcements would finally arrive. Unfortunately, at Asakura, disaster struck.  The Chroniclers claim this was because they had cleared sacred trees in order to make room for the palace and the kami were none to pleased.  The palace itself was demolished and several notable people, including the Grand Treasurer, took ill and died.  Not a great start to things.  It was here that they met up with the envoys coming back from Chang'an who no doubt told them about their house arrest and everything else.  On top of this, we are told that in the 6th month Prince Ise, of whom little more is given, died, and then, a little more than a month later, he was followed by the sovereign herself: Takara Hime. I suspect that Prince Ise may have been one of Takara Hime's sons, possibly in line for the throne, otherwise, why make mention of his death.  However, Takara's passing would have no doubt thrown the war plans into disarray.  It is quite likely that she wasn't actually the one doing most of the heavy lifting—in all likely that was her son, Prince Naka no Oe, who was handling a lot of that.  But still, the death of the sovereign just before you head off to war, was not great.  They had to send a funeral procession back to Naniwa and Asuka.  Prince Naka no Oe accompanied it as far as the Iwase Palace, but didn't go all the way back.  As the procession headed for Naniwa, he composed a poem: Longing as I do For a sight of thee Now that I have arrived here, Even thus do I long Desirous of a sight of thee! Prince Naka no Oe had just lost his sovereign and his mother, and he was now fully in charge of the armada headed to try and relieve Baekje.  He would have to continue the plans while Takara Hime's remains headed back to Asuka.  The funeral procession arrived in the 10th month, and her body was put in temporary interment for at Asuka-gahara as 9 days of mourning began.  Her son, however, would continue to mourn from afar.  He put on white clothing—a symbol of purity and associated with funerals and death, at least in Buddhist tradition. He had no time, though.  By the 8th month, Prince Naka no Oe was sending Adzumi no Hirafu no Omi and Kawabe no Momoye no Omi, as generals of the Front Division, while Abe no Hirafu no Omi and Mononobe no Muraji no Kuma took up the mantle of generals of the rear division.  They sent men, along with arms and grain to help relieve the Baekje forces. After sending the initial forces to make way, in the 9th month he conferred a cap of woven stuff on Prince Pung, indicating his high rank in the Yamato court, and gave to him as a wife, the sister of a high ranking court official.  He then sent him off, with the help of Sawi no Muraji no Ajimasa and Hada no Miyatsuko no Takutsu, along with 5,000 troops to escort him back.  They made it to Baekje and were able to meet up with Poksin and their forces. On the Korean peninsula, one of the strategic objectives of the Tang was to create a foothold on the peninsula so that they could finally take out the Kingdom of Goguryeo.  That year was particularly cold, and apparently Tang forces tried to invade Goguryeo again, attacking with siege weapons and other war machines.  The Goguryeo soldiers fought valiantly, but appear to have reached a stalemate. In 662, some of the Yamato material started appearing for Poksin.  It included 100,000 arrows, 500 kin of raw silk, 1000 kin of floss silk, 1000 tan of cloth, 1000 hides of leather, and 3000 koku, or over 15,000 bushels, of seed rice.  The next month, he sent another 300 tan of silk to the king.  The Silk may not make much sense, but it would have likely been a form of currency that they could use to purchase other goods, and it could be used for clothing.  The leather may have even been useful for armor and other accoutrements.   But mostly, this was probably economic aid, outside of the 100,000 arrows.  That same month, the 3rd month of 662, the Tang-Silla alliance was trying to body Goguryeo,  and Goguryeo reached out for aid.  Yamato troops were reportedly sent to help, and the attacks against Goguryeo were blunted.  This really was, now, the Goguryeo-Baekje-Yamato alliance against the Tang-Silla alliance. Poksin and the rebels had holed up in a place called Chuyu, which they were using as their base of operations.  King Pung had arrived, and Poksin was officially made his Minister, but they decided to move out from Chuyu.  It was fine for defense, but the land was not fertile, and they wanted to establish a base where they apparently had more resources, so they found Phisyeong, with rivers to the north and west, and large earthworks to the south and east.  It had fertile land for growing crops, which could then feed the army. However, one of the veterans pointed out the Phisyeong was less than a day's march from their enemies' encampment, and it would be a simple nights march and the army could be at their doorstep.  Chuyu, for all it was not the most appealing place, was much more defensible.  In the end, though, they decided that they would move the capital to Phisyeong. In the 2nd month of the following year, in 663, Silla troops were ravaging southern Baekje, setting fire to the land, possibly trying to starve out any resistance. Sure enough, they moved in close to Phisyeong, and King Pung and his troops realized they were in danger, and moved back to the defensive position of Chuyu.  In the following month, the Yamato and Baekje forces began to take the fight to Silla.  They advanced on Silla territory with 27,000 troops.  They took some cities and fortresses. As all of this was going on, King Pung was beginning to wonder about Poksin and his loyalties.  After all, Poksin had been running things before Pung showed up, and why wouldn't he think he could run things just fine without Pung once this was all over?  He had raised the soldiers, right?  So who would they be loyal to?  Would they be loyal to Pung, who barely knew Baekje, having lived for so long in Yamato.  Or would they be loyal to Poksin, who had rallied them together at the brink of defeat? And so in the 6th month he conferred with his other ministers.  Now it isn't stated in the text, but I suspect that his other ministers were Baekje nobles, and Poksin, well, there really isn't much indication that he had started this out as a man of high station.  They all agreed that Poksin should be dealt with, and so Pung had Poksin taken into custody and beheaded. Now I don't know if it needs to be said, but putting your own top general to death in the middle of a war is not exactly the best thing for morale.  Silla heard about it, and made plans to attack, hoping to catch Baekje offguard.  Baekje heard about it, and they also knew that about 10,000 reinforcements were supposed to be arriving soon from Yamato.  Those were reinforcements that could turn the tide of any fight.  They just needed to make it up the Baek river, known in Japanese as the Haku-suki-no-e. The Silla and Tang troops surrounded the fortress of Chuyu, and Baekje desperately needed the reinforcements from Yamato.  The Tang navy had 170 ships sitting at the mouth of the Baek River, ready to prevent any reinforcements from getting in.  On the 17th day of the 8th month, according to the Nihon Shoki, the first ships of the Yamato fleet arrived, but they could make no headway against the Tang forces.  Based on other records, it appears that the Yamato fleet swelled to more than 400 ships, well over twice the size of the defending Tang navy.  They attacked at least four separate times, but despite their smaller size, the Tang ships had the advantage of the terrain, using the narrowing at the river, and they also had superior tactics.  Although the Yamato soldiers fought ferociously, they couldn't move the Tang fleet. Speaking of fighting, let's talk about what it meant.  There were no cannons or anything like that.  It is likely that the projectile weapons of the day were arrows, and based on the ship designs, it was likely that ships would need to get close and grapple with each other so that soldiers could actually do the fighting.  In this way, ships were like floating battlefields.  If you could burn the ships, then that was something, but fire would also be a danger to your own wooden vessel.  And so it is likely that ships would have to engage with each other and effectively let the other side grapple if you wanted to fight, unless you just wanted to exchange arrows. After being repulsed four times, ten days after they had first engaged, the Tang vessels finally counterattacked.  They were able to swarm out and envelope the right and left flanks or the Yamato ships.  Four hundred ships were burned and sent to the bottom of the sea.  The Yamato forces were unable to break through the blockade and had to turn around.  The Battle of Haku-suki-no-e was a total defeat, and only ten days later, Chuyu fell.  King Pung was able to escape, fleeing to Goguryeo, but the writing was on the wall: The Kingdom of Baekje would never be reconstituted.  The Yamato forces departed the continent and headed back to the archipelago.  They met up at Honye on the 24th day of the 9th month and started out for the archipelago on the following day, eventually returning to Yamato, along with some of the Baekje nobles and ministers who had fled with them. The results of this defeat were resounding.  The battle of Haku-suki-no-e, known in Korean as the Battle of Baekgang, or the Battle of the Baek River, would change the political landscape.  The Tang-Silla alliance would eventually continue to pressure Goguryeo, and the dictator, Yeong Gaesomun, would die three years later, in 666.  He had held out against Tang and Silla, but with his death, there was a moment of chaos as an internal struggle broke out in the Goguryeo court.  The divisions this caused weakened the country, which fell to the Tang-Silla alliance in 667. With both Goguryeo and Baekje gone, suddenly Silla was now the country on the Tang empire's borders.  Without their shared enemies, there was not longer an alliance between the two, and Silla would push back against the Tang.  The Tang held out on the peninsula for another decade, but without Silla support, it became too costly to continually ship supplies to the troops.  Silla was eventually able to force the Tang forces off of the peninsula, and thus began the period on the Korean peninsula known as Unified Silla, where Silla ruled all of the what is now north and south Korea. In the archipelago, in the aftermath of their ally's defeat, there was worry in the Yamato court.  They were afraid that the Tang empire would come after them, next, and they began building fortresses from Tsukushi all the way along Kyushu and the Seto Inland sea area.  These are peninsular style fortresses, often using earthworks and walls that were built up around the tops of mountains, using the terrain.  A large earthwork was put up between the coast and the Dazaifu, in case Tang troops landed in Hakata bay.  Today, many of these earthworks still exist.  Some were even repurposed for gun emplacements in the lead up to what would become World War II, as they were still highly defensible positions. The feared invasion never came, and the fortresses would eventually be abandoned, but they are still a testament to just how seriously Yamato took this threat. Next up, we'll take a look at Naka no Oe's reign.  Naka no Oe is known in the Chronicles as Tenchi Tennou, the sovereign of Heavenly Wisdom.  We'll talk about that some more as we get into his time on the throne.  Since 645 he had been a force in the Yamato court, but he had not taken the throne at a younger age.  Now, however, his power seemed secure.  He took the throne upon his mother's death, and we'll talk about that and more in future episodes. Until then, thank you once again for listening and for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, please tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website,  SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast. And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan

This episode we will discuss various embassies to and from Yamato during the reign of Takara Hime, with a particular focus on the embassy of 659, which occured at a particularly eventful time and happened to be extremely well-recorded fro the period by Iki no Hakatoko, who was apparently on the mission to the Tang court itself. For more, check out our blog post at: https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-123 Rough Transcript Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua, and this is episode 123: Embassy Interrupted.   Iki no Hakatoko sat in his room, gazing out at the city.   It was truly an amazing place, filled with all kinds of people from around the world.  And yet, still, after 9 months of confinement, the place felt small.  Sure, there he hadwere visits from ranking nobles and dignitaries, but even the most lenient of house arrests was still house arrest. But that didn't mean that he had nothing to do.  There were books and more that he had access to—many that had not yet made it to the archipelago, and some of which he no doubt hoped he could bring back with him.  And of course, there was paper, brush, and ink. And then there were the experiences he and others had acquired on this mission to the Great Tang.  From the very beginning the missionit washad been plagued with disaster when they lost half of their ships and company mission to rogue winds on the open seas.  Now they were trapped because the Emperor himself wouldn't let them return home.  They had experienced and seen so much, and that provided ample material for one to catalogue. As the seasons changed, and rumors arrived that perhaps his situation would also something would change soon, Iki no Hakatoko spread out the paper on the desk in front of him, dipped his brush in the ink, and began to write.  He wrote down notes about his experiences, and what had befallen him and the others.  He had no idea who It is unclear whom he thought might read it, and if he was intending this to be an official or personal record, but he wrote it down anyway. Hakatoko He couldn't have known then that his words would eventually be captured in a much larger work, chronicling the entire history of Yamato from its very creation, nor that his would be one of the oldest such personal accounts records to be handed down.  His Itwords  wwould only survive in fragments—or perhaps his writing was simply that terse—but his words they would be preserved, in a format that was still being read over a thousand years later.     Last episode we finished up the story of Xuanzang and his Journey to the West—which is to say the Western Regions -- , and thence on to India, or Tianzhu, where he walked in the footsteps of the historical Buddha, studied the scriptures at the feet of venerable teachers, such as Silabadhra at the Great Monastery of Nalanda, and eventually wound up bringingbrought back hundreds of manuscripts to Chang'an to , which he and others be translated and disseminated, impacting Buddhist thought across East Asia.  HisXuanzang's travels lasted from around 629 to 645, and he was still teaching in Chang'an in the 650s when various student-monks from Yamato  arrived to study and learn from him, eventually bringing back his teachings to the archipelago as part of the Faxiang, or Hossou, school of Buddhism. Before that we talked about the visitors from “Tukhara” and “Sha'e” recorded in the Chronicles.  As we noted, these peopley were morest likely from the Ryukyuan islands, and the names may have been conflated with distant lands overseas – but regardless, .  Whether or not it was a mistake, this it does seem to indicated that Yamato had at least an inkling of the wider world, introduced through the continental literature that they had been importing, if not the direct interactions with individuals from the Korean peninsula and the Tang court. This episode, we're going to talk about some of the relations between Yamato and the continent, including the various embassies sent back and forth, as well as one especially detailed embassy from Yamato to the Tang Court that found itself in a bit of a pickle.  After all, what did you do, back in those days, when you were and ambassador, and your country suddenly went to war?  We'll talk about that and what happened. To reorient ourselves in time, we're in the reign of Takara Hime, called aka Kyogoku Tennou during her first reign, who had reascended to the throne in 655, following the death of her brother, Prince Karu.  The Chroniclers would dub her Saimei Tennou in her second run on the throne. From the very beginning of her second reign, Takara Hime was entertaining foreign envoys.  In 654, the Three Han of the Korean Peninsula—Goguryeo, Baekje, and Silla—all sent ambassadors to express their condolence on the death of her brother, and presumably to witness her ascension.  And in the 8th month of her reign, Kawabe no Maro no Omi, along with others, returned from Chang'an.  He Kawabe no Maro no Omi had been the Chief Ambassador to the Tang on an embassy sent , traveling there in the 2nd month of the previous year.  Originally he had been He was under the command of the controlling envoy, Takamuku no Obito no Kuromaro, but Kuromaro who unfortunately died in Chang'an and so Kawabe no Mari no Omi took over his role. That same year, 655, we know that there were about 100 persons recorded in Yamato from Baekje, along with envoys of Goguryeo and Silla.  These are likely the same ones we mentioned back in episode 117 when 150 Baekje envoys were present at court along with multiple members of the Emishi. Silla, for their part, had sent to Yamato a special hostage , whom we know as something like “Mimu”, along with skilled workmen.  Unfortunately, we are told that Mimu fell ill and died.  The Chronicles are pretty sparse on what this meant, but I can't imagine it was great.  After all, the whole idea of sending a hostage to another nation was as a pledge of good behavior – the idea being that the hostage was the idea that they werewas valuable enough that the sending nation wouldn't do anything too rash.  The flip side of that is if the hostage died, Of course, if they perished, the hosting country lost any leverage—and presumably the sending nation would be none too pleased.  That said, people getting sick and passing away was hardly a hostile action, and likely just considered an unfortunate situation. The following year, in 656, we see that Goguryeo, Baekje, and Silla again all sent ambassadords were all sent to offer “tribute”.  The Chronicles mention that dark purple curtains were drawn around the palace site to entertain the ambassadors—likely referring to the new palace site at Asuka no Wokamoto, which probably was not yet fully built out, yet.   We are given the name of the Goguryeo ambassador, Talsa, and associate ambassador, Ilchi,  in the 8th month, Talsa and Ilichi, with 81 total members in the Goguryeo retinueof the embassy.  In seeming response, Yamato sent an embassy was sent to Goguryeo with the likes of Kashiwade no Omi no Hatsumi as the Chief Ambassador and Sakahibe no Muraji no Iwasuki as the Associate Ambassador.  Other names mentioned include We also see the likes of Inugami no Shiromaro, Kawachi no Fumi no Obito—no personal name is given—and Ohokura no Maro.  We also see thea note in the Chronicles that Yamato ambassadors to the quote-unquote “Western Sea”—which seems to refer to the Tang court, but could possibly refer to anything from the Korean Peninsula west—returned in that same year.  The two are named as Saheki no Muraji no Takunaha and Oyamashita no Naniha no Kishi no Kunikatsu.  These are both families that were clearly involved in cross-strait relations , based on how they are frequently referenced in the Chronicles as being associated with various overseas missions.  but  However, we don't seem to have clear evidence of them when these particular individualsy leavingft on this mission.  “Kunikatsu” mightay refer to an earlier ambassador to Baekje, but the names are different, so that is largely just speculation.  In any case, Uupon their return, they are said to have brought with them a parrot.  This wasn't the first parrot the court had seen—that feathery traveler had arrived in 647, or at least that is the first parrotinstance  we have in the written record -- .  Aand that one came from Silla as part of that embassy's gifts. Continuing on, in 657, The following year there was another group of ambassadors returned coming  from the “Western Seas”, in this case coming back from—or through—Baekje.  Thisese wasere Adzumi no Muraji no Tsuratari and Tsu no Omi no Kutsuma.  The presents they brought back were, of all things:  one camel and two donkeys.  And can you imagine bringing a camel back across the sea at this point?  Even if they were using the larger ships based on continental designs, it still must have been something else to put up with a camel and donkeys onboard, animals that are not exactly known for their easy-going and compliant nature. Speaking of boats, we should probably touch on what we *think* they were usinghas been going on here.  I say *think* because we only get glimpses  of the various boats being used in the archipelago, whether from mentions in or around Yamato, archaeology, or artistic depictions, many of which came from later periods., and wSo while it is generally assumed that they the Yamato were using Tang style vessels by the 8th and 9th century, there does not appear to be clear evidence of exactly what kind of boats were being used during the early earlier periods of contact. A quick note on boat technology and navigation: while travel between the Japanese archipelago and the Korean Peninsula, and up the Yellow Sea, wasn't safe, it would have been possible with the vessels of the time.  Japan sits on the continental shelf, meaning that to the east where the shelf gives way to the Pacific Ocean with the Phillippine Sea to the south, the waters are much, much deeper than they are to the west.  In deep waters, waves are not necessarily affected by the ocean floor, meaning they can build up much more energy and require different kinds of technology to sail.  In shallower areas, such as the Sea of Japan, the Yellow Sea, the East China Sea or the Korean Straits to the west of the archipelago, there's more drag that dampens out the wave effect – it's not that these areas are uniformly shallow and calm, but they are calmer and easier to navigate in general.  Our oldest example of boats in the archipelago of any kind are dugout canoes, .  These are logs that are hollowed out  and shaped. , and tThese appear to be what Jomon era populations used to cross to the archipelago and travel between the various islands.  Though they may be considered primitive, without many of the later innovations that would increase stability and seaworthiness—something I'll touch on more a bit later—, they were clearly effective enough to populate the islands of the Ryukyuan chain and even get people and livestock, in the form of pigs, down to the Hachijo islands south of modern Tokyo.    So they weren't ineffective. Deep waters mean that the waves are not necessarily affected by the ocean floor.  Once it hits shallower water, there is more drag that affects larger waves.  This means that there can be more energy in these ocean waves.  That usually means that shallower areas tend to be more calm and easier to navigate—though there are other things that can affect that as well. We probably should note, however, that Japan sits on the edge of the continental shelf.  To the west, the seas are deep, but not nearly as deep as they are to the east, where continental shelf gives way to the Pacific ocean, with the Philippine Sea to the south.  These are much deeper waters than those of the Yellow Sea, the East China Sea, or the Korean Straits.  The Sea of Japan does have some depth to it, but even then it doesn't compare in both size and depth. Deep waters mean that the waves are not necessarily affected by the ocean floor.  Once it hits shallower water, there is more drag that affects larger waves.  This means that there can be more energy in these ocean waves.  That usually means that shallower areas tend to be more calm and easier to navigate—though there are other things that can affect that as well. All this to say that travel between the Japanese archipelago and the Korean Peninsula, and up the Yellow Sea, were all things that were likely much easier to navigate with the vessels available at the time, but that doesn't mean that it was safe. Later, we see a different type of vessel appear: .  This is a built vessel, made of multiple hewn pieces of wood.  The examples that we see show a rather square front and back that rise up, sometimes dramatically, .  There are with various protrusions on either side. We see examples of this shape , and we've seen examples in haniwa from about the 6th century, and we have some corresponding wooden pieces found around the Korean peninsula that pretty closely match the haniwa boat shapesuggest similar boats were in use there as well, .  Nnot surprising given the cultural connections.  These boats do not show examples of sails, and were likely crewed by rowers.  Descriptions of some suggest that they might be adorned with branches, jewels, mirrors, and other such things for formal occasions to identify some boats as special -- , and we even have one record of the rowers in ceremonial garb with deer antlers.  But none of this suggests more than one basic boat typevery different types of boats. In the areas of the Yellow and Yangzi rivers, area of modern China, particularly in the modern PRC, the boats we see are a little different.  They tend to be flat bottomed boats, possible evolved from  which appear to have been designed from rafts or similar .   These vessels would have evolved out of those used to transport goods and people up and down the Yellow and Yangzi rivers and their tributaries.  These boats y had developed sails, but still the boats wwere n'ot necessarily the most stable on the open ocean.  Larger boats could perhaps make their way through some of the waves, and were no doubt used throughout the Yellow Sea and similar regions.  However, for going farther abroad, we are told thatcourt chronicles note that there were other boats that were preferred: . These are sometimes called  the Kun'lun-po, or Boats of the Kunlun, or the Boats of the Dark-skinned people.  A quick dive here into how this name came to be. Originally, “Kunlun” appears to refer to a mythical mountain range, the Kunlun-shan, which may have originated in the Shan-hai-jing, the Classic of Mountains and Seas, and so may not have referred to anything specific terrestrial mountain range, ally.  Italthough the term would later attach be used to describe to the mountain chain that forms the northern edge of the Tibetan plateau, on the southern edge of the Tarim Basin. However, at some point, it seems that “Kunlun” came to refer to people -- .  Sspecifically, it came to refer to people of dark complexion, with curly hair.  There are Tang era depictions of such people, but their origin is not exactly known: it might .  It is thought that it may have have equally referred to dark-skinned individuals of African descent, or possibly referring to some of the dark-skinned people who lived in the southern seas—people like the Andamanese living on the islands west of modern Thailand or some of the people of the Malay peninsula, for example. It is these latter groups that likely were the origin, then, of the “Kun'lun-po”, referring to the ships of the south, such as those of Malay and AsutronesianAustronesian origin.  We know that from the period of at least the Northern and Southern Dynasties, and even into the early Tang, these foreign ships often , which were often plyingied the waters from trade port to trade port, and were the preferred sailing vessels for voyages to the south, where the waters could be more treacherous.  Indeed, the Malay language eventually gives us the term of their vessels as “Djong”, a term that eventually made its way into Portuguese as “Junco” and thus into English as “junk”, though this terms has since been rather broadly applied to different “Asian” style sailing vessels. So that leaves us with three ship types that the Yamato court could have been using to send these embassies back and forth to the continent: .  Were they still using their own style of native boat as seen on haniwa,, or were they adopting continental boats to their needs?   If so, were they using the flat-bottomed boats of the Tang dynasty, or the more seaworthy vessels of the foreign merchants?. Which were they using?  The general thinking is that IMost depictions I have seen of the kentoushi, the Japanese embassies to the Tang court, depict them as t is generally thought that they were probably using the more continental-style flat-bottomed, riverine vessels.  After all, they were copying so much of what the Sui and Tang courts were doing, why would they not consider these ships to likewise be superior to their own?  At least for diplomatic purposes.  I suspect that local fishermen did their own were keeping their own counsel as far as ships are concernedthing, and I also have to wonder about what got used they were using from a military standpoint for military purposes.  Certainly we see the Tang style boats used in later centuries, suggesting that these had been adopted at some earlier point, possibly by the 650s or earlier. Whatever they used, and while long-distance sailing vessels could Sailing vessels could be larger than short-distance riverine craft, this was not a luxury cruise.  , but conditions on board were not necessarily a luxury cruise.  From later accounts we know that they would really pack people into these shipspeople could be packed in.  It should be noted that individual beds and bedrooms were a luxury in much of the world, and many people probably had little more than a mat to sleep on.  Furthermore, people could be packed in tight.   Think of the size of some of these embassies, which are said to be 80 to 150 people in size.  A long, overseas journey likely meant getting quite cozy with your neighbors on the voyage.  So how much more so with a camel and two donkeys on board a vessel that was likely never meant to carry them?  Not exactly the most pleasant experience, I imagine – and this is not really any different than European sailing vessels during the later age of exploration.. So, from the records for just the first few years of Takara-hime's second reign, we see that there are lots of people going back and forth, and we have a sense of how they might be getting to and from the continent and peninsula.  Let's dive into Next, we are going to talk about one of the most heavily documented embassies to the Tang court, which set out in the 7th month of the year 659.  Not only do we get a pretty detailed account of this embassy, but we even know who wrote the account: as in our imagined intro, , as this is one of the accounts by the famous Iki no Muraji no Hakatoko, transcribed by Aston as “Yuki” no Muraji. Iki no Hakatoko's name first appears in an entry for 654, where he is quoted as giving information about the status of some of the previous embassies to the Tang court.  Thereafter, various entries are labeled as “Iki no Muraji no Hakatoko says:”, which   This would seem to indicate that these particular entries came are taken directly from another work written by Iki no Hakatoko and referred to as the “Iki Hakatoko Sho”.  Based on the quoted fragments found in the Nihon Shoki, itthis appears to be one of ourthis oldest Japanese travelogues.  It , and spends considerable time on the mission of 659, of which it would appear that Iki no Hakatoko was himself a member, though not a ranking one.  Later, Iki no Hakatoko would find himself mentioned in the Nihon Shoki directly, and he would even be an ambassador, himself. The embassy of 659 itself, as we shall see, was rather momentous.  Although it started easily enough, the embassy would be caught up in some of the most impactful events that would take place between the Tang, Yamato, and the states of the Korean peninsula. This embassy was formally under the command of Sakahibe no Muraji no Iwashiki and Tsumori no Muraji no Kiza.  It's possible In the first instance it is not clear to me if this isthat he is the same person as the previously mentioned associate envoy, Sakahibe no Iwasuki—but the kanji are different enough, and there is another Sakahibe no Kusuri who shows up between the two in the record.  However, they are both listed as envoys during the reign of Takara Hime, aka Saimei Tennou, and as we've abundantly seen, and it wouldn't be the first time that scribal error crept in. has taken place, especially if the Chroniclers were pulling from different sources. The ambassadors took a retinue with them, including members of the northern Emishi, whom they were bringing along with them to show to the Tang court.  TheThey also  embassy ttook two ships—perhaps because of the size of the retinue, but I suspect that this was also because if anything happened to the one, you still had the other.  A kind of backup plan due to the likelihood something went wrong.  And wouldn't you know it, something did go wrong.  You see, things started out fine, departing Mitsu Bay, in Naniwa, on the 3rd day of the 7th month.  They sailed through the Seto Inland Sea and stopped at Tsukushi, likely for one last resupply and to check in with the Dazai, located near modern Fukuoka, who would have been in charge of overseeing ships coming and going to the archipelago.  They departed from Ohotsu bay in Tsukushi on the 11th day of the 8th month. A quick note: Sspeedboats these were not.  Today, one can cross from Fukuoka to Busan, on the southeast corner of the Korean peninsula, in less than a day.  The envoys, however, were taking their time.  They may have even stopped at the islands of Iki and Tsushima on their way.  By the 13th day of the 9th month—over a month from leaving Kyushu behind -- , the  ships finally came to an island along the southern border of Yamato's ally, Baekje.  Hakatoko does not recall the name of the island, but o On the following morning, around 4 AM, so just before sunrise, the two ships put out to sea together to cross the ocean, heading south, towards the mouth of the Yangzi river.  Unfortunately, the following day, the ship Iwashiki was on met with a contrary wind, and was driven away from the other ship – with nothing known of its fate until some time afterwards.  Meanwhile, the other ship, under the command of Tsumori no Muraji no Kiza, continued on and by midnight on the 16th day, it arrived at Mt. Xuan near Kuaiji Commandary in the Yue district, in modern Zhejiang.  Suddenly a violent northeast wind blew up, and p.  Tthey were saileding another 7 days before they finally arrived at Yuyao.  Today, this is part of the city of Ningbo, at the mouth of the Qiantang river, south of Shanghai and considered a part of the Yangzi Delta Region.  This area has been inhabited since at least 6300 years ago, and it has long been a trade port, especially with the creation of the Grand Canal connecting between the Yangzi and the Yellow River, which would have allowed transshipment of goods to both regions. The now half-size Yamato contingenty  left their ship at Yuyao and disembarked, and made their way to Yuezhou, the capital of the Kuaiji Commandary.  This took them a bit of time—a little over a month.  Presumably this was because of paperwork and logistics: they probably because they had to send word ahead, and I suspect they had to inventory everything they brought and negotiate carts and transportationfigure out transportation., since   Tthey didn't exactly have bags of holding to stuff it all in, so they probably needed to negotiate carts and transportation.  The finally made it to Yuezhou on the first day of the 11th intercalary month.  An “intercalary” month refers to an extra month in a year.  It was determined by various calculations and was added to keep the lunar and solar years in relative synch. From Yuezhou, things went a bit more quickly, as they were placed on post-horses up to the Eastern Capital, or Luoyang, where the Emperor Tang Gaozong was in residence.   The Tang kept a capital at Luoyang and another to the west, in Chang'an.  The trip to Luoyang was long—over 1,000 kilometers, or 1 megameter, as it were.  The trip first took them through the Southern Capital, meaning the area of modern Nanjing, which they entered on the 15th day of the month.  They then continued onwards, reaching Luoyang on the 29th day of the 11th month.  The following day, on the 30th day of the 11th intercalary month of the year 659, the Yamato envoys were granted an audience with Emperor Tang Gaozong.  As was proper, he inquired about the health of their sovereign, Takara Hime, and the envoys reported that she was doing well.  He asked other questions about how the officials were doing and whether there was peace in Yamato.  The envoys all responded affirmatively, assuring him that Yamato was at peace. Tang Gaozong also asked about the Emishi they had brought with them.  We mentioned this event previously, back in Episode XXX117 , how the Emishi had been shown to the Tang Emperor, and how they had described them for him.  This is actually one of the earliest accounts that we have describing the Emishi from the Yamato point of view, rather than just naming them—presumably because everyone in Yamato already knew who they were.  From a diplomatic perspective, of course, this was no doubt Yamato demonstrating how they were, in many ways, an Empire, similar to the Tang, with their own subordinate ethnicities and “barbarians”. After answering all of the emperor's questions, the audience was concluded.  The following day, however, was something of its own. This was the first day of the regular 11th lunar month, and it also was the celebration of the Winter Solstice—so though it was the 11th month, it may have been about 22 December according to our modern western calendars.  The envoys once again met with the emperor, and they were treated as distinguished guests—at least according to their own records of it.  Unfortunately, during the festivities, it seems that a fire broke out, creating some confusion, and .  Tthe matters of the diplomatic mission were put on hold while all of that went on. We don't know exactly what happened in the ensuing month.  Presumably the envoys took in the sites of the city, may have visited various monasteries, and likely got to know the movers and shakers in the court, who likely would have wined and dined them, inviting them to various gatherings, as since they brought their own exotic culture and experiences to the Tang court. Unfortunately, things apparently turned sour.  First off, it seems clear that the members of this embassyy weren't the only Japanese in the court.  There may have been various merchants, of course, but and we definitely know that there were students who had come on other missions and were still there likely still studying, such as those who had been learning from studying with Master Xuanzang, whose journeys we mentioned in the last several episodes.  But Wwe are given a very specific name of a troublemaker, however:  Kawachi no Aya no Ohomaro, and we are told that he was aa servant of Han Chihung, who .  Han Chihung, himself, is thought to have possiblymay have been of mixed ethnicity—both Japanese and ethnic Han, and may .  Hhe may have traveled to the Tang court on or around 653. , based on some of the records, but it isn't entirely clear. For whatever reason, on the 3rd day of the 12th month of the year 659, Kawachi no Aya no Ohomaro slandered the envoys, and although .  Wwe don't know exactly what he said, but the Tang court caught wind of the accusations and found the envoys guilty.  They were condemned to banishment, until the author of our tale, none other than Iki no Hakatoko himself, stepped up, .  He made representation to the Emperor, pleading against the slander.  , and tThe punishment was remitted, .  Sso they were no longer banished.  However, they were also then told that they could no't return home.  You see, the Tang court was in the middle of some sensitive military operations in the lands east of the sea—in other words they were working with Silla to and invadeing the Kingdom of Baekje.  Since Yamato was an ally of Baekje, it would be inconvenient if the envoys were to return home and rally Yamato to Baekje's defense. And so the entire Yamato embassy was moved to the Western Capital, Chang'an, where they were placed under individual house arrest.  They no doubt were treated well, but they were not allowed to leave, and .  Tthey ended up spending the next year in this state. of house arrest. Unfortunately, we don't have a record of just how they passed their time in Chang'an.  They likely studied, and were probably visited by nobles and others.  They weren't allowed to leave, but they weren't exactly thrown in jail, either.  After all, they were foreign emissaries, and though the Tang might be at war with their ally, there was no formal declaration of war with Yamato, as far as I can make out.  And so the embassy just sat there, for about 9 months. Finally, in the 7th month of 660, the records tell us we are told thatthat tThe Tang and Silla forces had been successful: .  Baekje was destroyed..  The Tang and Silla forces had been successful.   News must have reached Chang'an a month later, as Iki Hakatoko writes that this occurred in the 8th month of the year 660.  With the Tang special military operation on the Korean peninsula concluded, they released the envoys and allowed them to return to their own countries.  They envoys began their preparations as of the 12th day of the 9th month, no doubt eager to return home, and left were leaving Chang'an a week later, on the 19th day of the 9th month.  From there, it took them almost a month to reach Luoyang, arriving on the 16th day of the 10th month, and here they were greeted with more good news, for here it was that they met up once again with those members of their delegation who had been blown off course. As you may remember, the ship carrying Iwashiki was blown off-course on the 15th day of the 9th month in the year 659, shortly after setting out from the Korean peninsula.  The two ships had lost contact and Tsumori no Muraji no Kiza and his ship had been the one that had continued on.   Iwashiki and those with him, however, found themselves at the mercy of the contrary winds and eventually came ashore at an island in the Southern Sea, which Aston translates as “Erh-kia-wei”.   There appears to be at least some suggestion that this was an island in the Ryukyuan chain, possibly the island of Kikai.  There, local islanders, none too happy about these foreigners crashing into their beach, destroyed the ship, and presumably attacked the embassy.  Several members, including Yamato no Aya no Wosa no Atahe no Arima (yeah, that *is* a mouthful), Sakahibe no Muraji no Inadzumi (perhaps a relative of Iwashiki) and others all stole a local ship and made their way off the island.  They eventually made landfall at a Kuazhou, southeast of Lishui City in modern Zhejiang province, where they met with local officials of the Tang government, who then sent them under escort to the capital at Luoyang.  Once there, they were probably held in a similar state of house arrest, due to the invasion of Baekje, but they met back up with Kiza and Hakatoko's party. The envoys, now reunited, hung out in Luoyang for a bit longer, and thus .  Thus it was on the first day of the 11th month of 660 that they witnessed war captives being brought to the capital.  This included 13 royal persons of Baekje, from the King on down to the Crown Prince and various nobles, including the PRimiePrime Minister, as well as 37 other persons of lower rank—50 people all told.  TheThese captives y were delivered up to the Tang government and led before the emperor.  Of course, with the war concluded, and Baekje no longer a functioning state, while he could have had them executed, Tang Gaozong instead released them, demonstrating a certain amount of magnanimity.  The Yamato envoys remained in Luoyang for most of the month.  On the 19th, they had another audience with the emperor, who bestowed on them various gifts and presents, and then five days later they departed the Luoyang, and began the trek back to the archipelago in earnest. By the 25th day of the first month of 661, the envoys arrived back at Yuezhou, head of the Kuaiji Commandery.  They stayed there for another couple of months, possibly waiting for the right time, as crossing the sea at in the wrong season could be disastrous.  They finally departed east from Yuezhou on the first day of the fourth month, coming to .  They came to Mt. Cheng-an 6 days later, on the 7th, and set out to sea first thing in the morning on the 8th.  They had a southwest wind initially in their favor, but they lost their way in the open ocean, an all too commonall-too-common problem without modern navigational aids.  Fortunately, the favorable winds had carried them far enough that only a day later they made landfall on the island of Tamna, aka Jeju island. Jeju island was, at this point, its own independent kingdom, situated off the southern coast of the Korean peninsula.  Dr. Alexander Vovin suggested that the name “Tamna” may have been a corruption of a Japonic or proto-Japonic name: Tanimura.  The island was apparently quite strange to the Yamato embassy, and they met with various residents natives of Jeju island.  They, even convincinged Prince Aphaki and eight other men of the island to come with them to be presented at the Yamato court. The rest of their journey took a little over a month.  They finally arrived back in Yamato on the 23rd day of the fifth month of 661.  They had been gone for approximately two years, and a lot had changed, especially with the destruction of Baekje.  The Yamato court had already learned of what had happened and was in the process of drawing up plans for an expedition back to the Korean peninsula to restore the Baekje kingdom, and pPrince Naka no Oe himself was set to lead the troops. The icing on the cake was: Tthe reception that the envoys received upon their return was rather cold.  Apparently they were had been slandered to the Yamato court by another follower of Han Chihung—Yamato no Aya no Atahe no Tarushima—and so they weren't met with any fanfare.  We still don't know what it was that Tarsuhima was saying—possibly he had gotten letters from Chihung or Ohomaro and was simply repeating what they had said. Either way, the envoys were sick of it.  They had traveled all the way to the Tang capitals, they had been placed under house arrest for a year, and now they had returned.  They not only had gifts from the Tang emperor, but they were also bringing the first ever embassy from the Kingdom of Tamna along with them.  The slander would not stand.  And so they did what anyone would do at the time:  They apparently appealed to the Kami.  We are told that their anger reached to the Gods of the High Heaven, which is to say the kami of Takamanohara, who killed Tarushima with a thunderbolt.  Which I guess was one way to shut him up. From what we can tell, the embassy was eventually considered a success.  Iki no Hakatoko's star would rise—and fall—and rise again in the court circles.  As I noted, his account of this embassy is really one of the best and most in depth that we have from this time.  It lets us see the relative route that the envoys were taking—the Chronicles in particular note that they traveled to the Great Tang of Wu, and, sure enough, they had set out along the southern route to the old Wu capital, rather than trying to cross the Bohai Sea and make landfall by the Shandong peninsula or at the mouth of the Yellow River.  From there they traveled through Nanjing—the southern “capital” likely referring, in this instance, to the old Wu capital—and then to Luoyang.  Though they stayed there much longer than they had anticipated, they ended up living there through some of the most impactful events that occurred during this point in Northeast Asia.  they And that is something we will touch on next episode.  Until then, thank you once again for listening and for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, please tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website,  SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast. And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan

This episode we kick off a series of episodes following the famous monk Xuanzang, aka the Tripitaka Master of the Law, Sanzang Fashi.  Known in Japanese as Genjo, and founder of the Faxiang school of Yogacara Buddhism, also known as the Hosso school, it was brought back to the archipelago by students who studied with the master at his temple north of the Tang capital of Chang'an.  He was particularly famous for his travels across the Silk Road to India and back--a trip that would last 16 years and result in him bringing back numerous copies of sutras from the land of the Buddha, kicking off a massive translation work.  It also would see his recollections recorded as the Record of the Western Regions, which, along with his biography based on the stories he told those working with him, give us some of the best contemporary information of the various places along the Silk Road in the 7th century. Part 1 focuses on Xuanzang's journey out of the Tang empire, braving the desert, and somehow, against the odds, making it to the country of Gaochang. For more, check out the blogpost page:  https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-120 Rough Transcript: Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua, and this is Episode 120:  Journey to the West, Part 1 The monks from far off Yamato were enthralled.  They had journeyed across the waves on a foreign vessel, traversed a greater distance than they probably thought possible growing up in the archipelago, and had finally arrived at the capital of the Great Tang Empire, Chang'an.  They had then been sent north, to a temple where they met others from Yamato. They had come to study the Law, the Dharma, with some of the most famous teachers of the Tang dynasty, and there were few more famous than the Tripitaka Master Genjou himself.   Everyone in the monastery knew his story—he had traveled all the way to India, the birthplace of the Buddha, and returned with copies of the sutras in Sanskrit, which he and the other monks were translating. In between sessions of meditation, sutra readings, and various lectures, the students would gather round the feet of the master as he recounted his journeys.  The stories themselves were fantastic stories, telling of far off cities and people.  There were stories of bandits, and meetings with kings.  The students must have thought about how it mirrored what they, themselves, had gone through—their own Journey to the West. Last episode we talked about Tukara and what that mysterious placename might mean—and where it could be referring to.  For that we traveled all the way to the end of the Silk Road.  In this episode and continuing into the next, we are going to travel that same road with a different perspective, as we take a look at one of the most famous travelers of the Silk Road:  the monk Xuanzang, or Genjou in Japanese.  And as I hinted at in the introduction, if you're at all familiar with the famous Journey to the West, well, this and the following episodes will explore the actual history behind that story, and how intertwined it is with the history of the archipelago. For those who don't know, Xuanzang was a monk, born Chen Hui near present-day Luoyang in Henan.  He is known by many names, but one of his most famous comes from the title “Sanzang Fashi”, aka “Tripitaka Master of the Law”, from which we get the simplified name in some English sources of just “Tripitaka”.  Sanzang, or “Tripitaka”, literally translates to “Three baskets” or “Three storehouses”, referring to the Buddhist canon.  It is quite fitting, given Xuanzang's incredibly famous Journey to the Western Regions and, eventually, to India, where he journeyed to obtain the most accurate version of the Buddhist scriptures to ensure that they had the most accurate versions.  On his journey, Xuanzang apparently took detailed records of the trip, and his   “Records of the Western Regions”  provides a lot of what we know of the towns and cultures that existed there back in the 7th century – even if not all of it was experienced firsthand and  may have come through translators and second or third-hand sources. In addition, Xuanzang's biography and travelogue add a lot more information to his journey, even if they weren't necessarily written by him, but instead by his fellow monks based on his recitations to them  combined with various records that they had access to at the time.  As such, it isn't always the most reliable, but it is still highly detailed and informative.  Xuanzang would return to China and teach for many years, translating the works that he had brought back, and founding a new school of Yogachara Buddhism, known as Faxiang in Chinese, but “Hossou” in Japan.  The Hossou school was particularly popular in the 8th and 9th centuries, having been transmitted by Yamato students who had actually studied at the feet of the venerable teacher.  These included the monk Doushou, who travelled over to the continent in 653.  In 658, there are two others who came over, named Chitatsu and Chiitsu. They had travelled to the Tang court in the 7th month of that year, where they are said to have received instruction from none other than Xuanzang himself.  If this indeed was in 658, it would have been only 6 years before Xuanzang's death. Their journey had almost not happened.  The year previous, in 657, envoys were sent to Silla to ask that state to escort Chitatsu to the Tang court, along with Hashibito no Muraji no Mimumaya and Yozami no Muraji no Wakugo, but Silla refused.  They must have relented, however, as they apparently were escorting at least the monks a year or so later. Chitatsu and Chiitsu would eventually return to Yamato, as would Doushou.  Doushou is also said to have been introduced to a student of the second patriarch of the Chan, or Zen school as well.  He would return to teach at Gango-ji, the later incarnation of Asukadera, spreading the Hossou teachings from master Xuanzang. In fact, Xuanzang's impact would be felt across Asia, and much of the Buddhist world.  He would continue to be known in Japan and in the area of China, Korea, and beyond.  Japanese translations of his journeys were made between the 8th and 10th centuries from texts that had come from Xuanzang's own monastery. Nine centuries after his death, during the Ming Dynasty, Xuanzang would be further immortalized in a wildly popular novel:  Journey to the West.  The “Journey to the West” is an incredibly fantastical retelling of Xuanzang's story.  In it, Xuanzang is sent on his task by none other than the Buddha himself, who also provides three flawed traveling companions.  There is  Zhu Bajie, aka “Piggy”—a half human half pig who is known for his gluttony and lust.  Then there is Sha Wujing, aka “Sandy”—a man with a red beard and blue skin who lived in a river of quicksand.  Despite a rather frightful backstory, he was often the straight man in the story.  And then there is the famous Sun Wukong, aka “Monkey”, the most famous of the three and often more famous than Xuanzang himself.  In fact, one of the most famous English versions of the story is just called “Monkey”, an abridged telling of the story in English by Arthur Waley in 1942. “Journey to the West” is perhaps the most popular novel in all of Asia.  It has spawned countless retellings, including numerous movies and tv series.  The character of “Monkey” has further spun off into all sorts of media.  Of course, his addition was all part of the novel, but nonetheless, that novel had an historical basis, which is where we really want to explore.  Because for all of the magic and fantasy of the Ming novel, the real story is almost as fascinating without it. We are told that Xuanzang was born as Chen Hui—or possibly Chen Yi—on the 6th of April in 602 CE in Chenliu, near present-day Luoyang.  Growing up, he was fascinated by religious books.  He joined the Jingtu monastery and at the age of thirteen he was ordained as a novice monk.  However, he lived in rather “interesting times”, and as the Sui dynasty fell, he fled the chaos to Chengdu, in Sichuan, where he was fully ordained by the age of 20. Xuanzang was inspired reading about the 4th century monk Faxian, whom we mentioned back in Episode 84.  Faxian had visited India and brought back many of the earliest scriptures to be widely translated into Chinese.    However, Xuanzang was concerned, as Faxian had been, that the knowledge of the Chinese Buddhist establishment was still incomplete.  There were still works that they knew about but didn't have, and there were competing Buddhist theories in different translations of the texts.  He thought that if he could go find untranslated versions of the texts then he could resolve some of the issues and further build out the corpus of Buddhist knowledge. Around the age 25 or 27, he began his journey.  The exact date is either 627 or 629, based on the version that one reads.  That has some importance for the events that his story tells, as some of the individuals whom he is said to have met are said to have died by 627 CE, meaning that either the dates of the journey are wrong or the dates we have in other sources are wrong.  As you can imagine, that's rather important for an accurate history, but not so much for our purposes, as I think that we can still trust the broad brush strokes which paint an image of what the Silk Road was like at the time. For context, back in Yamato, this was around the time that Kashikiya Hime—aka Suiko Tenno—passed away, and Prince Tamura was placed on the throne, passing over Prince Yamashiro no Oe, the son of the late Crown Prince, Umayado, aka Shotoku Taishi.  Whoever was on the throne, Soga no Emishi was actually running things, and the Soga family were heavily involved in the establishment of Buddhism in the archipelago.  This is relatively around the time of Episode 103. When Xuanzang took off to the West, his intentions may have been pure, but truth be told, he was breaking the law.  Tang Taizong had come to power in 626, and the routes along the Tarim Basin were under the control of the Gokturks, whom the Tang were fighting with.  As such, travel to the Western Regions was strictly controlled.  Xuanzang and several companions had all petitioned Emperor Taizong for permission to leave, but the Emperor never replied. So Xuanzang did not have permission to leave—but he decided to head out, anyway.  His companions, however, lost their nerve, and so he set out alone. Of course, he didn't simply set off for the West.  At first he went city to city, staying at local Buddhist monasteries and sharing his teachings.  To all intents and purposes, this probably seemed like normal behavior for a monk, traveling from monastery to monastery, but it was actually taking him towards the western border. And it was going well until he reached Liangzhou—known today as Wuwei.  Li Daliang, governor of Liangzhou, enforced the prohibition that "common" people were not permitted to go to the regions of the western tribes.  Word had spread about Xuanzang, and when the governor caught wind of what was going on, he called Xuanzang into an audience to find out what he was planning to do.  Xuanzang was honest and told him he was going to the West to search for the Dharma, but the governor ordered him to return to Chang'an instead. Fortunately, there was a Buddhist teacher, Huiwei, who heard about all of this this and decided to help Xuanzang.  He had two of his own disciples escort Xuanzang to the west.  Since the governor had told him not to go, this was illegal, and so they traveled by night and hid during the day until they reached Guazhou. In Guazhou, the governor, Dugu Da, was quite pleased to meet with Xuanzang, and either hadn't heard about the order for him to return to Chang'an or didn't care.  From there, Xuanzang's path was largely obstructed by the deep and fast-flowing Hulu river.  They would have to travel to its upper reaches, where they could go through Yumenguan--Yumen Pass--which was the only safe way to cross, making it a key to the Western regions. Beyond Yumenguan there were five watchtowers, roughly 30 miles apart.  These watchtowers likely had means to signal back and forth, thus keeping an eye on the people coming and going from Yumen Pass.  Beyond that was the desert of Yiwu, also known as Hami. Xuanzang was not only worried about what this meant, his horse died, leaving him on foot.  He contemplated this in silence for a month.  Before he continued, though, a warrant arrived for his arrest.  They inquired with a local prefect, who happened to be a pious Buddhist.  He showed it to Xuanzang, and then ended up tearing up the document, and urged Xuanzang to leave as quickly as possible. Yumenguan lies roughly 80-90 kilometers—roughly 50 miles or so—from the town of Dunhuang, the last major outpost before leaving for the Western Regions.  Dunhuang had a thriving Buddhist community, and the paintings in the Mogao caves are absolutely stunning, even today—one of the most well-preserved of such collections, spanning the 4th to the 14th century.  However, at this point, Xuanzang was a wanted man, and stopping in at Dunhuang might very well have curtailed his journey before it had even begun.  Instead, he would likely need to find a way to sneak across the border without alerting anyone and then, somehow, sneak past five watchtowers, each 30 miles or so apart, with no water except what he could carry or steal at each point. At this point, one of Xuanzang's escorts had traveled on to Dunhuang, and only one remained, but Xuanzang wasn't sure his remaining companion was up to the strain of the journey, and he dismissed him, deciding to travel on alone.  He bought a horse, and he fortunately found a guide--a "Hu" person named "Shi Pantuo".  "Hu" is a generic term often translated simply as "foreigner" or "barbarian" from the western lands, and the name "Shi" referred to Sogdians from Tashkent.  The Sogdians were a people of Persian descent living in central Eurasia, between the Syr Darya and Amu Darya rivers.  That latter was also known as the Oxus river, hence another name for the region: Transoxiana.  Sogdiana appears as early as the 6th century BCE as a member of the Achaemenid Empire, and the region was annexed by Alexander the Great in 328 BCE.  It continued to change hands under a succession of empires. The Sogdian city-states themselves were centered around the city of Samarkand, and while they did not build an empire themselves, the Sogdians nonetheless had a huge impact on cultures in both the east and the west.  Sogdians became famous as traders along the silk roads, and they built tight knit communities in multiple cities along the route.  Families kept in touch over long distances, setting up vast trading networks.  In fact, there were even Sogdian communities living in Chang'an and elsewhere in the Tang Empire.  The Sogdian An Lushan would eventually rise through the ranks of the Tang dynasty court—but that was almost a century after Xuanzang's travels. There are many material items that the Sogdians helped move across the silk road, but perhaps one of the most striking things were a style of patterned textiles.  Sassanid Persia was known for its silk textiles, often woven in images surrounded by a border of pearl-shapes:  Small circles in a circular pattern around a central figure, often duplicated due to the way the fabrics were woven.  This pearl-roundel pattern was especially taken up by the Sogdians, and their fashion sense made it popular across Eurasia.  Large pearl roundel designs were used on caftans, popular throughout the Gokturk qaghanate, and the Tang court would eventually pick up the fashion of these foreigners—generally classified as “hu” by those in Chang'an.  With a round neck, closing at the side, this western-style caftan-like garment eventually found its way into Japan as the people of the Japanese archipelago adopted Tang dynasty clothing and fashion.  In fact, Japan boasts one of the most impressive collections of silk road artifacts at the Shosoin repository of Todaiji temple in Nara, and it includes clothing and fabric that show the influence of Sogdian and Turkic merchants.  The Shosoin collection contains multiple examples of those pearl roundel patterns, for example, and you can even buy reproductions of the design today in Nara and elsewhere.  The garments themselves would continue to influence the fashion of the court, indeed giving rise to some of the most popular court garments of the Nara period, and the design continued to evolve through the Heian period until it was almost unrecognizable from its origins. Sogdians were so influential that their language—an Eastern Iranian language known simply as “Sogdian”—was the lingua franca, or the common tongue, through most of the Silk Road.  If you knew Sogdian, you could probably find a way to communicate with most of the people along way.  Today, Sogdian is extinct, with the possible exception of a single language that evolved from a Sogdian dialect. Sogdians are often known in Sinitic sources by their names—by the time of the Tang dynasty, it was common practice to give foreigners, whose names didn't always translate well into Chinese dialects, a family name based on their origin.  For the Sogdians, who were quite well known and numerous, they weren't just classified with a single name, but rather they were divided up by seven names based on where they were from.  So the name “Shi”, for instance, indicated that someone was from the area of Tashkent, while the name “An” referred to a Sogdian who was descended from people from the Bukhara, and so on.  This was a practice that went at least as far back as the Han dynasty. So, returning to the story, Xuanzang's new Sogdian guide's name is given as “Shi Pantuo”.  The name "Pantuo", which would have likely been pronounced more like "b'uan d'a" at the time, is likely a version of the name "Vandak", which was indeed a very common Sogdian name meaning something like “servant” and was often used to indicate things like religious devotion, which could be related to his status as a devout Buddhist, though it also might just be coincidental.  Xuanzang was so happy with his guide's offer to help, that he bought him clothes and a horse for his troubles. And so they headed out towards Yumenguan, the Jade Pass or Jade Gate, so called because of the caravans of jade that would head out from the Middle Country ever since the Han dynasty.  In fact, the Jade Gate was originally established as part of the western end of the Han dynasty “Great Wall”.  This was not necessarily the famous Ming Dynasty wall that most people are familiar with, but the Han Dynasty wall would have been impressively high enough, with regular patrols and beacon towers.  So if you tried going over the wall, someone was likely to see you and give chase.  There is also the issue that if you had any amount of supplies you have to bring those as well—this isn't just hopping a fence.  The wall was augmented by natural features—mountains and deep and fast-flowing rivers, for example, which made walls unnecessary.  And then there was also the fact that in many places, it was just open wilderness, which was its own kind of barrier.  Trying to go off the beaten path meant wandering through uncharted territory, which someone like Xuanzang was probably not prepared to do.  It isn't like he had GPS and Google Maps to help him find his way, and if you got lost in the desert, then who knows what might happen to you. By the way, this was true even in relatively settled places, like the Japanese archipelago, up until modern times.  While there were some areas where it was relatively flat, and you could navigate by certain landmarks, if you left the roads and trails you might easily find yourself lost without access to food or shelter.  Maps were not exactly accurate.  The safest way to travel was to stick to the more well-traveled routes. Unfortunately, that meant going through the Yumen Gate itself.  There was a garrison where the road left the territory of the Tang Empire , and that garrison would be responsible for checking the papers of anyone coming into or leaving the empire.  Xuanzang, of course, didn't have the proper papers, since he didn't have permission to be there.  Fortunately, he had a guide, who seemed to know the area, and that would allow him to bypass the official checkpoint, which Xuanzang recalls seeing off in the distance.  Together, Xuanzang and Vandak snuck past the Yumen gate, and traveled several miles up the river.  There, they found a spot where the river was only about 10 feet across, near a grove of trees, and so they chopped down a few of them and made an impromptu bridge for them and their horses to cross. From that point on, until they reached Yiwu, they would have to get past the watchtowers.  Not only were these watchtowers garrisoned with men of the Tang army, but they were also the only place to get fresh water.  The travelers would need to sneak in at night to steal water from the watchtowers without getting caught. The farther they traveled, the more Vandak seemed to be getting cold feet.  Normally, this wouldn't have been an issue had they been normal travelers, but in trying to avoid the watchtowers they were making themselves into fugitives.  If they were caught they could both be killed.  He protested several times that they should just go back, and at one point Xuanzang seemed worried that Vandak was contemplating how much easier this would be for him if he just killed the old monk.  Finally, Xuanzang told Vandak that he should leave, and solemnly swore that if he was caught he wouldn't rat out Vandak for his help.  Vandak, who had been worried about just such a scenario, nonetheless took Xuanzang's word and the two parted ways. From that point on, Xuanzang recounted that the trail through the desert was marked by nothing but skeletons and horse droppings.  He thought at one point he saw an army in the desert, but it turned out to be a mirage.  Finally, he saw one of the watchtowers he had been warned about.  Not wanting to get caught, he lay down in a ditch and hid there until the sun went down. Under cover of darkness, he approached the tower, where he saw water.  He went to have a drink, and maybe wash his hands, but as he was getting out his water bag to refill it and arrow whizzed through the air and he almost took an arrow to the knee.  Knowing the jig was up, he shouted out: "I'm a monk from the capital!  Don't shoot!" He led his horse to the tower, where they opened the door and saw he really was a monk.  They woke up the captain, who had a lamp lit so he could see whom it was they had apprehended.  Right away it was clear that this traveler wasn't from around those parts—not that anyone really was, it seems. The Captain had heard of Xuanzang, but the report that had been sent said Xuanzang had gone back to Chang'an.  Xuanzang, for his part, showed a copy of the petition he had sent to the Emperor--one that he hadn't actually heard back from.  He then told the captain what he planned to do.  The captain was moved, and decided to look the other way.  He gave him a place to stay for the night and then showed him the way to the fourth watchtower, where the captain's brother was in charge, and would give him shelter. Sure enough, Xuanzang made it to the fourth watchtower, but he wasn't sure if he could entirely trust the captain, so again he tried to just secretly steal the water, but again he was caught.  Fortunately, the captain there was also sympathetic.  He let Xuanzang stay and then actually told him how to get around the fifth watchtower, since the captain there might not be as lenient.  He also told Xuanzang about an inconspicuous oasis where he could get water for himself and his horse. Reinvigorated, Xuanzang had another challenge to face.  Beyond the watchtowers was a long stretch of desert.  It was a journey of several hundred miles, and it started poorly.  First off, he missed the oasis that the captain of the fourth watchtower had indicated he could use without anyone firing arrows at him.  Then, he dropped his water bag, such that he was left with nothing.  He thought of turning back, but he continued, chanting mantras to himself.   He was dehydrated and exhausted, but he continued onward.  Some days into his journey, his horse suddenly changed course of its own accord.  Despite his efforts, it kept going, eventually coming to a pasture of grass around a pond of clean, sweet water.  That ended up saving him, and he rested there for a day, before traveling on.  Two days later, he arrived at Yiwu, aka Hami.  He had made it.  He was free. Or at least, he was until he returned to the Tang empire.  After all, Xuanzang did plan to come back, and when he did, he would have to face the music.  That was a problem for future Xuanzang.  Of course, he was also a lone traveler.  He might be free, but he was far from safe.  He was now entering the Western regions, and he would need to be on the lookout. The people of Hami, also known as Yiwu, were known to the Han dynasty as members of the Xiao Yuezhi—the kingdom or coalition that once controlled much of the northern edge of the Tarim basin.  They had been displaced by the Xiongnu, and the area would go back and forth between different hegemons, so that by the time of the Sui and early Tang dynasties they were under the sway of the Gokturks.  Still, as close as it was to the Tang borders, they no doubt had contact, and indeed, Xuanzang was given lodging at a monastery with three other monks who were “Chinese”, for whatever that meant at the time. If you've heard of Hami today you may know it for something that it was famous for even back in the 7th century:  their famous melons.  You can sometimes find Hami melons in stores to this day. Regarding the melons and other such fruits and vegetables—the area of Hami is a fairly arid land.  Hami does get some water from the Tianshan mountains, but in order to have enough for agriculture they instituted a system that is still found today in Hami, Turpan, and other parts of the world, including arid parts of northwest India and Pakistan through the middle east to north Africa.  It is called a Karez, or in Persian it is called a Qanat, and it is thought to have originated in ancient Persia around the first millennium BCE and spread out through the various trade routes. The idea is to basically create underground aqueducts to take water from one place to another.  This would keep them out of the heat and dry air above ground to allow them to continue to flow without losing too much to evaporation.  To do that, however, required manually digging tunnels for the water.  This would be done by sinking wells at regular intervals and connecting the wells to each other with tunnels.  But it wasn't enough for the tunnels to be connected, they had to also slope slightly downwards, but not too much.  You want enough flow to keep the water clear, but if it flows too quickly or creates waves, the water might erode the underground channels in ways that could cause problems, such as a collapse.  All in all, they are pretty amazing feats of engineering and they can carry water a great distance.  Many are under 5 km, but some are around 70 km long. These karez would have been the lifelines of many towns, creating a reliable oasis in the desert.  Rivers were great, but the flow could vary from floods to a mere trickle, and the karez system provided relatively constant flow.  This allowed for agriculture even in the dry areas of the Western Regions, which helped facilitate the various kingdoms that grew up in this otherwise inhospitable region. While eating his melons in Hami and chatting it up with his fellow eastern priests, Yiwu was visited by an envoy from the neighboring kingdom of Gaochang.  Now Hami, or Yiwu, sits at the eastern edge of the Turpan-Hami basin, aka the Turfan depression, a large desert, much of which is actually so low that it is below sea level.  In fact, the basin includes the lowest exposed point in the area of modern China at Ayding Lake, which is 158 meters below sea level.  From Yiwu to Gaochang, you would follow the edge of the mountains west, to an area near a small break in the mountain range.  Follow that break northwest, and you would find yourself at the city of Urumqi, the current capital of the Xinjiang Autonomous Region in modern China. Xinjiang covers much of the area known in ancient times as the “Western Regions” that remains within the modern political boundaries of the PRC. The envoy from Gaochang heard about Xuanzang, and reported back to his lord, King Qu Wentai, who immediately sent a retinue out to escort the Buddhist monk across the desert to his city.  They included multiple horses for Xuanzang, so he could change at regular intervals.  His own horse was left behind, to be brought along later.   After six days on the road, they came to the city of Paili, and since the sun had already set, Xuanzang asked to stop for the night, but the escorts urged him on to the Royal City, which was not much farther on. And so he arrived around midnight, which means he likely couldn't immediately take in the size of the city.  Gaochang was an immense walled city, and even today, ruined as it is, the site of it is quite formidable, and it is so well preserved it is considered a UNESCO world heritage site.  Perhaps since wood was relatively scarce, this is why so much of the construction was made of brick and earthworks.  Fortunately, this means that many of the walls remain, even today—eroded and crumbling, but still towering over those who come to see them.  In places they have also been rebuilt or reinforced.  And in a few, very rare instances, you can still see some of the traces of paint that would have once been so prevalent throughout a city like this.  At this time in history, Gaochang, also known as Karakhoja, was under the command of the Qu family.  The population was largely Han Chinese, and it had often been overseen or at least influenced by kingdoms in the Yellow River basin.  But it was also the home of Turks, Sogdian merchants, local Turfanians, and more.  It was even called “Chinatown” by the Sogdians, and yet attempts to further sinicize the region had provoked a coup only a couple of decades earlier.  Even though he showed up in the middle of the night, Xuanzang is said to have been welcomed by the ruler of Gaochang, Qu Wentai, as he entered the city.  Perhaps this is why the escorts had been pushing so hard—the King himself was awake and waiting for Xuanzang to make an appearance.  The King and his attendants came out with candles in their hands, and they were ushered behind curtains in a multi-storey pavilion.  The king apparently grilled him through the night, asking about his journey until it was almost daybreak, at which point Xuanzang requested rest.  He was finally shown to a bedroom that had been prepared for him and allowed to sleep. The next day king assembled the leading monks of his kingdom before his guest.  These included the monks Tuan Fashi and Wang Fashi.  Tuan Fashi had studied in Chang'an for many years, and he knew his Buddhist scholarship. And Wang Fashi was a superintendent, and it was his duty to look after Xuanzang and butter him up with the hope that he might stay and provide the king with the prestige of having such an esteemed monk.  They put him up at a monastery next to the royal palace—the “daochang”, aka “dojo” in Japanese, which would be a whole different diversion. Ding Wang suggested that this might be the same as the Chongfu Monastery mentioned in a colophon on a 7th century copy of the Sutra of Perfection of Wisdom for Benevolent Kings. It was found by a German expedition at a site in the Turfan basin in the early 20th century, and now sits in the possession of Shitenno-ji, in Osaka—rather appropriate given that Shitenno-ji was around at the same time all of this was happening.  The colophon is attributed to a “Xuanjue”, and a “Xuanjue” from Gaochang, in the Turpan basin, was associated with helping Xuanzang in his later years.  Perhaps this Xuanjue first met Xuanzang during this first trip to Gaochang. Qu Wentai tried his best to dissuade Xuanzang from continuing on.  This may be simple platitudes from his biographers, but it also may have been genuine.  Having a learned foreign monk from the Tang dynasty staying at the palace monastery would likely have added to Qu Wentai's prestige by association, and it would have potentially brought more individuals to the city of Gaochang. Speaking of which, all of this first part of the journey—up to Gaochang—comes primarily from Xuanzang's biography by the monk Huili.  Xuanzang's own “Records of the Western Regions” didn't include much on it, probably because by the time that he returned to the Tang empire, Tang Taizong had annexed Yiwu and Gaochang, so all those were now considered part of the empire, rather than foreign regions to the West. After staying a month at Gaochang, Xuanzang decided it was time to continue his journey.  Disappointed though Qu Wentai may have been that his guest would be leaving, he nonetheless outfitted him handsomely.  He provided goods, including coins, as well as 24 letters to the 24 countries that he would pass along the road, adding a roll of silk to each as a sign that they came from the King of Gaochang.  He also gave him food, a small retinue, and horses to help carry everything.  Letters of introduction would have been important across the Silk Road.  There was, after all, no way to contact someone ahead of time, unless you sent runners. Merchant communities, in particular, would often be connected across long distances through regular caravans, which carried letters to their relatives, facilitating communication across vast distances.  Merchants who were bringing in a caravan of goods would know that there was a friendly community waiting to help them when they arrived, and would likely even have an idea of what was happening and what to bring. For someone traveling alone, however, having a letter of introduction would have been important, as they didn't necessarily have access to those communities by themselves.  The letters would provide introduction and let people know who you were and may even ask for assistance on your behalf.  It may seem a small thing, but it was the kind of gesture that was likely a great help to a traveler like Xuanzang.  Remember, he was not on an official mission from the Tang court—almost expressly the opposite, as he had not been given permission to leave.  So he wouldn't have had anything identifying him, and after Gaochang he likely couldn't count on being able to communicate with his native tongue. And so he was sent on his way.  As he left the city of Gaochang, the king and others accompanied Xuanzang about 10 li, or about 3 or 4 miles, outside of the city.  As they watched him head off, who could have known if he would complete his quest?  Or would he just end up another ghost in the desert? Next episode, we'll pick up Xuanzang's story as he strikes out for Agni and beyond.  Until then thank you for listening and for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, please tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website,  SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast. And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.

Though it may not seem like it on first glance, across Asuka there are various remnants of a much grander period.  Postholes tell the story of palaces built over and over on the same spots.  In addition, there are the various temples and various carved stone statues and other features.  This episode we'll talk about some of the stonework and palace complexes built during Takara Hime's reign, as well as the deadly politics that were still the currency of the court. For more, check out our blogpost at:  https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-118 Rough Transcription Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua and this is episode 118: Stonework and Treason Before we dive into the episode, a quick shout out to thank Bodil for supporting us on Ko-Fi.com.  For information on how you can also help support the show, we'll have information at the end of the episode or go check out our podcast page at SengokuDaimyo.com. And now, on with the episode:   Soga no Akaye's mansion was busily quiet.  There was plenty of chatter, but it was mostly in hushed tones as servants busied themselves with their work, but wondered what was going on.  They couldn't help but notice the high ranking visitors that had come.  It was to be expected, though.  After all, their master was in charge while the rest of the court was away on a retreat, comforting the sovereign in her grief.  And so why wouldn't people be showing up to meet with him? But nobody was quite sure what all of these visitors were discussing.  They had all gone into an upper story of the building, but the crowd included some powerful figures, including, some said, a royal prince.  Who's who and where people stood in the court were always topics of discussion, but especially now.  After all, what they were dealing with was unprecedented:  who had heard of a sovereign stepping down in the first place, let alone stepping back up because they then outlived their successor?  But she was no spring chicken, either.  Surely it would be her son that would finally ascend the throne next, right?  But that was never guaranteed. Either way, some of the servants grumbled, a change would be nice.  Ever since the royal family had moved back to Asuka, formally making it the capital again, there had been a flurry of activity. Sure, it meant that a certain amount of prestige returned to that region, and houses that had been in disrepair were suddenly occupied again.  But there was so much more.  Just about all of the available labor pool that wasn't working the fields was working on this project or that—there was almost nothing left for anyone else.  How was anyone else supposed to get things done when all of the able-bodied people were already toiling on the sovereign's own vanity projects?  And after building that giant government complex in Naniwa, no less! Such was, I imagine, the hushed rumor-mongering going on in the house when suddenly there came a loud “crack” as of a piece of wood snapping in two.  Later they would learn that an old wooden rest had broken, but that wasn't immediately obvious.  The servants did notice that shortly thereafter, their visitors began to depart, heading back to their own mansions. As for Soga no Akaye, he said nothing, but he seemed drained.  He had a heavy look, as though he was bearing an incredible weight.  Soon thereafter, he requested a brush and some paper, and he began to write out a letter…   So we are talking about the second reign of Takara Hime, who came back to the throne in 655, following the death of her brother, Prince Karu, known as Koutoku Tennou.  For the first time she reigned, the Chroniclers gave her the name “Kougyoku Tennou”, but for her second reign she would be known in the Chronicles as “Saimei Tennou”. We already discussed some of what was recorded as happening in the north during Takara Hime's second reign, with the Emishi and the Mishihase and the expeditions by Abe no Omi no Hirafu.  This episode we are going to focus more on what was going on in the Home Provinces of Yamato—and most specifically the impact that Takara Hime's reign would have on Asuka. I've noted in the past how modern Asuka can seem like your typical rural Japanese town.  Roads weave between rice fields, flanked by densely packed neighborhoods at the foot of the green hills or lining the shores of the Asuka river.  To the north, the valley opens onto the vast Nara basin—a largely flat region that is much more heavily populated but still would be considered “inaka”, or rural country, by anyone from a metropolis like Tokyo or Ohosaka.  To the south, the land rises up into mountain peaks.  Beyond that ridge, the land drops into the Yoshino River Valley, but otherwise the rest of the Kii peninsula, to the south, is covered in a sparsely populated mountain range, where small villages carve out a life in the nooks and crannies between the numerous ridges, finding the rare spot of flat land to build houses and plant their fields.  Looking at it today, Asuka might seem idyllic, rural, and calm.  And yet, back in Takara Hime's day, it was anything but. When Takara Hime moved back to Asuka, she went on a building spree.  In fact, the Chronicles actually complain about all of the building that she was doing, and we'll get to that.  Much of this episode is going to revolve around her building projects, as well as her comings and goings.  While we'll talk about what the Chronicles say, I also want to talk about some of what still remains in Asuka.  Certainly the grand palaces are gone, for the most part leaving little more than post-holes, lying beneath the rice fields.  A bit more obvious are the various kofun, scattered across the landscape, but beyond that there we also see stone works, including numerous carved stones, which range from crude statues, which may have been minimally worked, to elaborate fountains, which would have used natural water pressure to create impressive waterworks.  These latter works demonstrate the sophistication of the masons of the time, and hint at the grandeur of the various palaces, gardens, and mansion complexes that once populated the landscape.  And if you want a little feeling of what it is like, I talked a bit about walking through Asuka in a bonus episode back in March of 2024—if you are interested, look up “Traveling Through the Ancient Nara Basin, Part 2.   So along with what we see in the Chronicles, I want to talk about some of these other features, even if we aren't entirely sure of when, exactly, they were built.  There are a few, though, that we do suspected were built in this period, by Takara Hime, or at least at her order.  So we'll talk about those as we get there. Her reign wasn't all about building things, though.  Politics in the Yamato court remained as cutthroat as ever.  Although Prince Naka no Oe, Takara Hime's son, had been designated as “Crown Prince” he had not taken the throne, despite being of age, and we aren't told why, though the fact that Takara Hime had previously abdicated because of the events of the Isshi Incident, back in 645 (see Episode XX) may have meant that she was still considered the senior eligible member of the royal line.  Then there was the case of Prince Arima.  Prince Arima was the son of Karu, aka Koutoku Tenno, which made him Naka no Oe's cousin.  This wouldn't have meant anything had his father not ascended to the throne.  And under the succession practices of the time, although Naka no Oe was designated as the Crown Prince, that wasn't a guarantee that he would be next in line, so Prince Arima may have been a potential candidate.  However, there is at least one source that says Prince Arima was not yet of age, but still a teenager.  Still, that was no doubt old enough for some in the court to support him—and as we'll see in later centuries, age limits could be negotiable.  So we'll also discuss that, as well. So let's get into it. When the royal family first moved back to Asuka, in 653,  they took up residence in the temporary palace of Kahabe no Miya.  Unfortunately, this name doesn't tell us much about where the palace was located.  There is one theory that the Kawabe no Miya might be at what is known as the Asuka Inabuchi Palace site, up in the Asuka river valley, in the modern Iwaido district, a little south of the famous Ishibutai kofun site.  This is believed to have been a palace—or at least the mansion of some very wealthy family—given its layout, including what appears to be a cobblestone courtyard, and the lack of any roof tiles, which would have been reserved for temples, at that time. The term “temporary” palace comes up a lot in the Chronicles.  In most of the cases where it is used, it suggests that there was already a building in place and the sovereign took up residence there, hence the term “temporary” palace.  Often times we see that a temporary palace is said to have been “built”, at which point I have to wonder if that is truly the case—did they actually build a brand new structure to temporarily house the sovereign and the royal family—or does it just refer to the fact that they may have taken an existing compound and perhaps made some slight changes to accommodate the royal dignity?  Unfortunately, the Chronicles don't really go into much detail. Wherever the Kawabe no Miya happened to be, it does seem to have been temporary, as we later see Takara Hime back at the Itabuki palace, and indeed she reascended the throne there in 655.  The Itabuki palace first shows up in Takara hime's first reign, and seems to be one of at least two royal palaces in Asuka at the time, the other one being the Woharida Palace.  The Woharida palace had been around for a while – it was noted as early as 603, in the reign of Kashikiya Hime, aka Suiko Tenno, and there is the suggestion that it was still around in the time that Karu, aka Kotoku Tenno, was reigning.  We know that Takara Hime took up residence there at some point during her own reign as well.  But in 643 she had the Itabuki palace built, though apparently that didn't mean that the Oharida palace was completely torn down and abandoned – it just was no longer the primary site of court ritual.  Of course, the Itabuki palace wouldn't be the seat of the government for long, either, as the Isshi Incident took place there in 645, and Karu would subsequently move the capital to Naniwa, building the Toyosaki palace. And so the Itabuki palace remained, but was not exactly kept up, so that when the royal family returned to Asuka, it wasn't ready for them to inhabit, and likely required extensive renovation.  Nonetheless, it was being inhabited two years later, when Takara hime again ascended the throne. A quick note here about the name “Itabuki”, because we think that this likely referred to a very specific style of construction that was used.  Up to this point, as far as we can tell, the primary roofing material for all major buildings was a kind of local thatching – we still see this today on some shrines and other buildings.  “Itabuki”, in contrast, refers to a roof made with wooden boards.  Today, we have buildings with rooves where the roof shingles are overlapping boards of wood or bark from the cypress tree: thin layers stacked one on top of the other.  Even today, the modern Imperial Palace in Kyoto uses wood shingles rather than the curved roof tiles that many people think of when they think of Asian architecture. So that's the Itabuki palace, all spruced up and ready for Takara hime to occupy again.  That said, remember the older Woharida palace, the other one in Asuka? Later in 655, a project was started to update that palace as well.  We are told that as of the 13th day of the 10th month there had been a plan to add roof tiles to one of the buildings at the Woharida palace, but unfortunately much of the timber from the mountains and valleys that was designated for the project was found to be too weak from rot, and so they decided to not go forward with that plan.  I would note here that tiled rooves, while they might seen somewhat easier to put together—after all, you only need a layer of interlocking and overlapping tiles—are extremely heavy.  They are known to deform the wooden structures underneath them, and can weigh hundreds of pounds per square foot.  Much of the classic shape of these tiled rooves developed over time to compensate for some of that weight, so this makes me wonder if the wood the palace craftspeople brought in was really that rotten, or if it was just not strong enough for the work that they were trying to do.  After all, were they applying the same techniques as for a temple, or were they simply trying to replace traditional thatching or shingles with clay tiles?  Either way, the project failed, even after all of the work that had gone into it.  This is a small entry in the Chronicles, but it would have meant levying corvee labor that had to go out to the designated regions to source the timber, not to mention setting up the kilns to make the tiles, as well as other preparations that would have been necessary.  In other words, a lot of work, for apparently no payoff. On top of that, we are told that around that time, in the winter of that year—which would have been the 10th, 11th, or 12th month, roughly corresponding from late November to February of the following year—the Itabuki palace caught fire and burned down, and so the sovereign and her retinue decamped to the temporary palace of Kawara – the River Plain or Field. “Kawara” could theoretically refer to just about any flat area by a river. Aston points out that “Kawara” can also mean “rooftile”, which is interesting given what we just talked about, the entry immediately before that deals with attempting to add new rooftiles to a part of the Oharida palace. However, there is some thought that this refers to the Kawara Temple, Kawaradera, and you can find claims that Kawaradera was built on the site of the temporary palace.  There is a reference to Kawaradera in the previous reign, in the year 653, though another source apparently says it was talking about Yamadadera, instead.  There isn't another mention of “Kawaradera” that I can find until 673, so it is entirely possible that the temple started its life off as a mansion or even a temporary royal palace of some kind, and was later turned into a temple. Kawaradera itself is rather interesting.  If you visit the site, today, you can see large stone bases that help to demonstrate the size of the ancient temple.  It was one of the four Great Temples of Asuka, along with Asukadera, Kudara Ohodera, and Yakushiji.  And yet, unlike the other three, we don't have clear indications about its founding in the Chronicles.  When the capital eventually moved to Heijo-kyo, in Nara city, many of the other temples were removed to the new capital, but not, as far as I can see, Kawaradera.  Donald McCallum suggests that this is because it was replaced, instead, by Koufukuji, a temple with deep ties to the descendants of Nakatomi no Kamatari, the Fujiwara clan.  He suggests that mention of the temple in the official records may have even been suppressed by individuals such as Fujiwara no Fubito.  Kawaradera remained in Asuka.  Eventually it fell to ruin, but there is still a small temple on the site, known as Gu-fuku-ji. As for the Kawara Palace, if Kawaradera really was in operation by 653, it is possible that the sovereign took over some of the buildings at Kawaradera, or perhaps the temporary palace was simply somewhere nearby. In any case, they don't seem to have stayed there for too long—they started work on a new palace the following year.  This was the later Okamoto Palace, and from what we can tell it was built on the same site as the Itabuki Palace, south of Asukadera.  This site would see multiple palaces over the years, and even today you can go and see some of the post-holes that they have found, indicating the size of the complex through the years. Based on the layout and size of the Asuka palaces, it seems that these early palaces focused on the “dairi”, the private quarters of the sovereign.  This seems to have ignored the reforms made with the Toyosaki palace design in Naniwa in the early 650s.  That palace, which was built on an incredibly grand scale, consisted of both the private quarters and the public government offices.  But in Asuka the royal family's “palace” appears to have only consisted of the private quarters, for the most part.  So where was the actual bureaucracy happening?  Were there other facilities we don't know about?  Or perhaps, the Toyosaki palace itself was overly ambitious, and there wasn't actually the staff for such a grand complex?  After all, they were just setting up the bureaucracy and perhaps their reach had exceeded their grasp.  Or was it the case that things werestill being run out of the palace complex in Naniwa while the sovereign lived in Asuka?  That seems to have been roughly 10 hours away, by foot, though perhaps only half that by horse. The northern end of the Asuka valley is not as well suited to a large palace complex.  Not only was it already full of temples and the like, but the ground itself rises to the south, and the hills on either side start to come together.  It certainly isn't the kind of place to layout a grand city.  But perhaps that was not the intent—at least not immediately.  It didn't matter much, though, because the Later Okamoto palace, as it came to be known, was not long for this world.  Scarcely had it been built and occupied but that it caught fire and burned down—another expenditure of funds and labor that were once more counted as nothing. In fact, Takara hime was apparently on a tear, and went ahead and initiated quite a few projects that happened in 656.  We are told that nearby Tamu Peak was crowned with a circular enclosure, close to where two “tsuki” trees grew.  A “lofty” building was erected and called both Futatsuki no Miya (the Palace of the Two Tsuki) and Amatsu Miya (the Palace of Heaven).  She also had a new palace erected in Yoshino, possibly as a seasonal retreat.  And with this she was just getting started. She also had laborers dig a canal all the way from the western end of Mt. Kaguyama all the way to Mt. Isonokami.  We are told that 200 barges were then loaded with stone from Mt. Isonokami and hauled to the mountain east of the palace, where the stones were piled up to form a wall.  This last one had people up in arms.  They called the canal the “mad canal” and said that it wasted the labor of over 30,000 people.  On top of that, she used 70,000 men to build the wall.  To top it all off, the timber for the palace rotted away and the top of the mountain where they were building collapsed.  We are told that people cursed it all, crying out: “May the mound built at Iso no Kami break down of itself as fast as it is built.” So, yeah, people weren't too happy.  We, however, just might be – because all of this building work? It leaves traces in the landscape. We aren't always sure about locations in the Chronicles, as it is very easy for names to shift over time or for things to be renamed at a later date. But what we do know is that there are quite a few examples of stone work in the Asuka region.  There is the kame-ishi stone that looks only vaguely carved—it appears to have two carved eyes, but otherwise appears to use the natural shape of the stone to evoke a tortoise—that sits near the site of Kawaradera and Tachibana-dera.  There are the various saruishi—carved figures that are purportedly based on saru, or monkeys, but are likely meant to represent people.  They may have once adorned an elite family's garden or similar, and they were since moved to the tomb of Kibitsu hime.  There are various fountains and waterworks.  And then there are the Sakafune-ishi ruins, sitting along a ridge east of the palace site.  This consists of a large stone up on the hill, with carved channels that appear to be made to channel water poured into the grooves.  At the bottom of the hill there is a turtle shaped stone basin, filled from a boat-shaped water tank.  Across the hill is example of stone work, including possible walls. Given the apparent age of everything, and its location, it is thought that this may all be part of the Futatsuki no Miya complex that Takara hime built.  Unfortunately, it is still not clear how it was meant to operate.  After Asuka was abandoned as the capital, knowledge of the site also disappeared.  There were some stories that arose about the stone that it was used for some kind of sake-brewing, hence the name, but nothing truly concrete has arisen.  There may have been other structures, perhaps made of wood, that are no longer present, and the stone itself appears to have broken and eroded away over the years.  It may have been meant as a ritual site, or perhaps it was just built as some kind of wonder for the people.  It doesn't fit into any clear model of any Buddhist or even ancient Shinto practice, nor is it clearly connected to other continental practices.  We certainly know that they did plenty with water, given the number of waterworks and other carved stones, including a model of Mt. Sumera, we are told was built to the west of Asukadera on the 15th day of the 7th month of the following year—657. Maybe these are remnants of that project Whatever its purpose, the Sakafune-ishi site does seem to compare favorably with what is described in the Nihon Shoki, and perhaps it was considered such a waste of resources just because it didn't fit in with the prevailing ritual culture.  Maybe Takara hime was too artistically avant-garde for her time. “Wasting resources” would, in fact, become a chief complaint against Takara Hime during her time on the throne.  And that takes us from seemingly harmless construction projects into the court politics of the day.  Now as you should recall, Prince Naka no Oe, Takara Hime's son, was the Crown Prince at this point, and quite influential.  He was supported by various courtiers, such as Nakatomi no Kamatari, the Naidaijin, but his eventual ascendancy to the throne was not entirely assured.  We've seen plenty of examples where someone would seem to be in line for the throne and they didn't ever make it.  We know that there were several other royal princes at this time.  One of the youngest was Prince Takeru, a grandson of Takara Hime, who was born around 651.  Then there was Prince Naka no Oe's brother, Prince Ohoama.  He was also one of Takara Hime's sons, and while we haven't heard much of him in the narrative, we will definitely see more of him in the future.  On top of the two of them, there is Prince Arima, whom I talked about at the beginning of the episode.  Prince Arima was mentioned as the son of Karu and Wotarashi Hime, but his mother was not Karu's Queen—that was Hashibito, daughter of Okinaga Tarashi-hi Hironuka, aka Jomei Tennou, and Takara Hime.  Yup, Karu basically married his own niece, though that may have been an attempt to keep the most direct connection possible to the royal line.  Arima's mom Wotarashi Hime, on the other hand, was the daughter of Abe no Kurahashi no Oho-omi—the Minister of the Left, or Sadaijin, during Karu's reign.  Strictly speaking, based on the way that the succession has been depicted so far, Prince Arima wouldn't technically meet the requirements.  That said, we've seen where that has been bypassed in the past, and no doubt people were aware just how easily it would be to rewrite the history, if they had to.  He was young—but not so young that he couldn't be involved in the politics of the court. Other than a note about his parentage at the start of Karu's reign, Prince Arima isn't mentioned again until the ninth month of 657, and right off the bat you can tell where the Chroniclers fall on his personality.  They describe him as deceitful, and claim that he pretended to be insane—a term that doesn't really show up elsewhere, so it is hard to know what exactly is meant.  Is he the Hamlet of his age?  Arima used this as an excuse to go to Muro Onsen—thought to be modern Shirahama Hot Springs, on the southwestern end of the Kii Peninsula.   When he came back he sang its praises, claiming that “scarce had I seen that region, when my complaint disappeared of itself.”  The Queen wanted to go and see for herself. Overall, this hardly seems to be very “deceitful”, though it is suspected that Arima may have feigned an illness to avoid some of the politics around the start of the new reign.  Given his father Karu's recent death, it would likely have been easy enough to claim that he was greatly depressed.  We aren't told how long he stayed at Muro Onsen, but presumably it was for some time. At the start of the following year, on the 13th day of the first month, Kose no Tokuda no Omi, the Sadaijin, or Minister of the Left, passed away.  This would have no doubt created some ripples, but little more is said—we don't even have the name of who succeeded him in the position, at least not in the Nihon Shoki.  Four months later, which is to say in the fifth month of that same year, 658, Prince Takeru passed away.  He was only 8 years old, but as the grandson of Takara Hime a temporary tomb was constructed in the Imaki valley.  Takara Hime lamented his death greatly, and in the 10th month, she took Arima's advice and went to visit the Ki Onsen.  She had several poems composed and handed them to Hata no Ohokura no Miyatsuko no Mari to record them for posterity. While she was away, Soga no Akaye no Omi was the acting official in charge.  And several weeks in, he addressed Prince Arima.  He noted that there were three problems with Takara Hime's government. First – She builds treasuries on a great scale, collecting the riches of the people. Second – She wastes the public grain revenue in digging long canals. Third – She loads barges with stones and transports them to be piled up into a hill. This may have been popular opinion, but it was also rather treasonous talk.  Prince Arima simply smiled and said: “I have only now come to an age where I am fit to bear arms.” So, yeah, he was basically saying that he was old enough to take up arms—and presumably lead others in a rebellion, if that was the case. Two days later, on the fifth day of the 11th month, Prince Arima met Akaye at his mansion.  They went into one of the upper stories, where they wouldn't be interrupted, and there they conspired together.  Others were also involved, it seems—Mori no Kimi no Oho-ishi, Sakahibe no Muraji no Kusuri, and Shihoya no Muraji no Konoshiro.  There are a few different books that claim to record what the plans were.  One says that Soga no Akaye, Shihoya no Konoshiro, Mori no Oho-ishi, and Sakahibe no Kusuri divined the future of their conspiracy by drawing slips of paper, to see how it would turn out.  Another book states that Arima claimed he would burn down the palace and take 500 men to march down south.  There he would waylay Takara Hime at the harbour of Muro.  They were going to exile her to Awaji island, setting up a fleet of ships to ensure she could never leave. As they were discussing what to do—no doubt talking about how the Prince could take the throne, a leg-rest that they were using broke.  Another book claims it was an arm-rest, instead, but otherwise the details are the same.  They both agreed that was a bad omen, and decided not to proceed any further with their plans.  Prince Arima returned home, but apparently Soga no Akaye had a change of heart.  He apparently figured that his only way out was to turn in the others and admit everything.  And so, that night, Akaye sent Mononobe no Enowi no Muraji no Shibi, who was in charge of the labourers working on the palace.  They surrounded the palace and then Akaye sent a mounted courier to inform Takara Hime. That letter must have laid everything out.  Takara hime had the conspirators arrested and brought to Ki Onsen.  Arima's servant, Nihitabe no Muraji no Yonemaro, followed them.  Prince Naka no Oe himself questioned Arima about why he plotted treason.  Arima's answer is a bit cryptic:  “Heaven and Akaye know.” He responded, “I do not understand at all.” In the end, all of the conspirators were found guilty, and executed.  Tajihi no Wosaha no Muraji no Kuniso was sent to do the task.  Prince Arima was strangled at the Fujishiro acclivity, along with Shihoya no Konoshiro and Nihitabe no Yonemaro.  Before being executed, Konoshiro made a rather macabre request, asking that—presumably after he was dead—they cut off his right hand and make it a national treasure.  The other two conspirators, Mori no Oho-ishi and Sakahibe no Kusuri, were merely banished, presumably having played less of a role. Once again, we must remember that we are only getting one side of the story.  It is definitely convenient for Naka no Oe to have a potential rival out of the way.  At the same time, it is certainly plausible that there was more than a little bit of consternation about how Takara Hime had been spending so much on all of these construction projects.  And yet… were these Takara Hime's projects, alone? Remember, Prince Naka no Oe seems to have had a fair bit of clout.  He orchestrated the original coup, where he killed Soga no Iruka and his father.  And then he declined the throne, but became a major part of the new government.  He was apparently powerful enough that he organized the move back to Asuka against the wishes of Karu no Ohokimi. So would all of these projects have been done without his involvement? This is an area where I have to admit that I probably need to check my bias.  On the one hand, it is rare enough in patriarchal accounts to see women with agency and in positions of power, and so it is easy enough to make an assumption that any agency they are given in the record, they likely had more than is mentioned.  At the same time, in this particular instance, at least, Takara Hime's role in this could just as easily be a cover to preserve the image of Naka no Oe, who is certainly portrayed as a hero figure, bringing much needed change and modernization—such as it was—to Yamato.  His enemies are always shown to be in the wrong, and even if he is accused of something horrible—such as the death of Soga no Ishikawa no Maro—it turns out that it was actually the fault of someone else, such as the person who slandered Maro to him in the first place.  So could it be that these unpopular construction projects were actually his doing, all along?  Was the conspiracy simply to overthrow Takara Hime, or was it focused on both her and Naka no Oe, together? To be honest, I couldn't say for certain.  All we have to go on is what the Chroniclers tell us, and they lay the blame fairly firmly at the feet of Takara Hime.  But do remember that Naka no Oe is not necessarily the Shining Prince that he is often made out to be, and that people rarely come to or stay in power in a society like Yamato's by being nice all the time.  We certainly know what he is capable of from the Isshi Incident, and we shouldn't forget that in the narrative. Now when Takara Hime returned from Ki Onsen after winter ended, in the new year.  We are told that she got back on the third day of the first month of 659.  A couple of months later, on the first day of the third month, she went to Yoshino and held a banquet there—no doubt at the palace she had had constructed.  This may have been at the site of Miyataki Ruins, where excavations have revealed numerous examples of roof tiles and other artifacts that may have come from a building from the Asuka or Nara era. The visit to Yoshino must have been quick, however, as we are told that two days later she visited Hira-ura in Afumi, on the shores of Lake Biwa.  Perhaps this only means she left two days later, since that must have been quite the journey back in the day.  Would she have traveled on horseback, or in a carriage or something similar?  No doubt a full procession would take time, and I doubt that the sovereign would push herself.  We also don't have a reason for her to go, that I can see.  It is an odd entry, to say the least. And I think it may be best to end it there.  I do encourage anyone who can to get down to Asuka and plan to spend a couple of days if you really want to get around.  You may want to rent a bike or even a car to get to everything, though you can walk to most things.  There are several museums and cultural centers set up to expound upon Asuka culture, with a focus on the history and archaeology specifically of that period. The palace site where Takara Hime ruled would continue to be the location of at least two more palaces, which we'll talk about in time.  Before that, though, we'll want to cover a few more things.  Most importantly, we'll want to talk about the relationship with lands outside of the archipelago.  We'll discuss the man from Tukhara—who may have simply been from the Ryukyu islands, or possible from as far aways the Dvaravati Kingdom, in modern day Thailand, or even from the western edge of India and Pakistan, having traveled the Silk Road.  Some have even suggested that he may be a Tocharian, and we'll talk about what that means.  And then, before we finish, we'll have to talk about everything else going on, including the conclusion of the Tang-Baekje war. Until then thank you for listening and for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, please tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website,  SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast. And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.    

Happy New Year!  This is our 2025 recap episode.  In this case, we actually are recapping a fair bit more than just the year, going over the previous evolution of the Yamato state up to the period of the Great Change, or Taika, which we covered this past year.  There's a lot more that we expect to get into this next year, and this will hopefully tee us up for what is to come. For more, including a full list of our previous references, check out: https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-newyear2025   Rough Transcript Shinnen Akemashite!  Happy New Year and Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua, and this is the New Year's Recap episode for 2025! It's that time again:  we are going to look back at what happened in the episodes this year.  That was only episodes 101 to 117—we'll skip the travelogue episodes for the time being.  This covered the years of the early to mid-7th century, from roughly 613 to 659.  That is easily within the lifetime of a single individual, and yet a lot was going on. At the start of this year, we were at the height of Soga power. In 2023, we covered how back in 587, Soga no Umako had wrested power away from the powerful Mononobe clan, defeating Mononobe no Moriya.  As you may recall, the sovereign known to posterity as Jimmu Tennou was the descendant of the Heavenly Grandchild known as Ninigi no Mikoto, at least according to the Nihon Shoki.  The Mononobe clan claimed descent from none other than Nigi Hayahi, the Other Heavenly Grandchild, whose offspring were said to have been defeated by Jimmu. You may recall that scholars generally consider the story of Jimmu, and the nine sovereigns that immediately followed him, as almost certainly a later addition to the story of the royal lineage. So when did the story of Nigi no Hayahi's defeat enter the picture? And was its inclusion perhaps related to the defeat of the Mononobe by the Soga family?  A family that successfully intermarried with the Royal House, themselves, such that all later sovereigns would trace their ancestry back to the Soga house? Of course, under Soga dominance we saw the rise of figures like the Soga descended Kashikiya Hime, aka Suiko Tenno.  During her reign, major reforms were carried out, Buddhism became fully established by the State, and ties with the continent were strengthened.  Politics would continue to be dominated by Soga, even after the death of Soga no Umako and Kashikiya Hime, with Soga no Emishi taking up the mantle of Prime Minister, working closely with his son, Soga no Iruka.  The Soga family was so entwined with the politics of rulership that the main rivals of the Soga were… the Soga.  That is to say different Soga-descended lineages, like that of the Prince Umayado, aka Prince Shotoku. Rather than supporting Umayado's son, Prince Yamashiro no Oe, Soga no Emishi backed another candidate to the throne, Prince Tamura.  , of the royal Okinaga lineage. Tamura came to power as Jomei Tenno, but there is little doubt that Soga no Emishi was the one in control. Later, when Tamura passed away in 641, Yamashiro no Oe continued to be passed over.  In fact, Soga no Emishi supported the ascension of Tamura's wife, Takara hime, over Yamashiro no Oe, and there is evidence that he supported a prince known as Furubito no Oe as the Crown Prince and eventual successor.  All of the evidence—which, to be honest, is rather biased—suggests that the Soga family were setting up a series of puppet rulers who would do their bidding, or at least be pliable to their suggestions. There must have been some pushback, though, especially when one considers how strong the cult of Prince Shotoku, aka Umayado, would eventually become.  One imagines that Prince Yamashiro was another pole around which those who opposed the Soga family could rally.  After all, he was the son of Crown Prince Umayado, and likely had just as much of a claim as Tamura and his children.  And so, to counter this threat, Soga no Emishi's son and successor, Soga no Iruka, took matters into his own hands. In a brazen display of the violence of court politics, Soga no Iruka had Yamashiro no Oe accused of plotting against the throne and took an army to arrest him—no doubt in the hope that the prince would resist.  Eventually they cornered Yamashiro and his family, who committed suicide rather than submit. This attack was likely targeted to take out the rival to the Soga family's preferred Crown Prince, Prince Furubito no Oe, but rather than quell any dissent, the move seems to have enflamed the passions of those who wanted to see an end to the Soga house.  Those passions took particular root in none other than Furubito no Oe's younger brother, Prince Naka no Oe.  Together with the support of his uncle, Prince Karu; the head of the Nakatomi house, Nakatomi no Kamatari; as well as another scion of the Soga house, Soga no Kuroyamada, Prince Naka no Oe staged a coup d'etat.  Using the death of Prince Yamashiro no Oe as an excuse, they engineered a plot to assassinate Soga no Iruka in court, in front of Naka no Oe's own mother, Takara Hime no Oho-kimi.  After Iruka's death, Naka no Oe and his supporters then took the fight to Soga no Emishi, who committed suicide and set his own house on fire in what came to be known as the Isshi Incident. This shocking assassination caused Takara hime to step down.  The Soga-backed Prince Furubito no Oe, rather than stepping up and taking the throne, retreated to a Buddhist temple and took holy orders, effectively retiring and theoretically taking himself out of court politics.  That left Prince Naka no Oe and his uncle, Prince Karu, as possible candidates. We are told that Prince Naka no Oe declined to take the throne himself, instead supporting his uncle, Prince Karu.  Prince Karu took the throne, and is known to us as Kotoku Tenno, today.  Prince Naka no Oe stepped up as the Crown Prince, and with the help of his co-conspirators, such as Nakatomi no Kamatari, Soga no Kurayamada, and others, they began a project to remake the Yamato government, using continental models—specifically the Sui and Tang courts, which were also influencing the governments of the Korean peninsula, such as those of Baekje and Silla. This is known as the Taika, or Great Change, era.    There had been previous movements to adopt some of the continental trends, but nothing to this extent, which culminated in a tremendous palace complex built in Naniwa—modern Ohosaka.  Governors were sent out to the east of the country. The old, decentralized system was being replaced by a centralized bureaucracy. And yet this wasn't entirely a smooth transition.  Early on there was a threat by supporters of the previous Crown Prince, Furubito no Oe.  He was killed to put down any possible revolt.  Later, Naka no Oe was hoodwinked into going after his own co-conspirator, Soga no Kurayamada, resulting in Kurayamada's death and the punishment of his entire family.  A few years later, Naka no Oe moved back to Asuka, taking most of the royal family and the court with him, abandoning the grand government complex that they had built in Naniwa for reasons that remain unclear. Shortly thereafter, Karu, aka Kotoku Tenno, passed away.  But rather than Naka no Oe taking the throne—or even Karu's son, Prince Arima—the throne went back to Naka no Oe's mother, Takara Hime.  This is the only case we have of a single sovereign reigning twice, and the Chroniclers gave her two separate regnal names—Kogyoku Tenno to refer to her first reign and Saimei Tenno to refer to her second. And this is the reign that we are going to start the new year with. Beyond what was going on on the archipelago, there was also plenty that we covered on the continent.  We started the year with the Sui dynasty having consolidated control and working to continue to expand their territory north, south, and west, while also connecting the economic areas of the Yangzi and Yellow rivers. Unfortunately, through their wars and public works projects they overextended themselves, and the dynasty fell, replaced, in 619, with the Tang dynasty.  The Tang continued to expand, taking control of important points on the Silk Road and becoming a hub of trade and commerce.  At the same time, they were contesting their borders with the Goguryeo, who, themselves, had come under the control of Yeon Gaesomun, an infamous noble and anti-Tang hard-liner, who had staged a coup, murdered the Goguryeo king and any who stood against him, and who had installed a puppet king on the throne.  It is little wonder that the Tang dynasty was courting Goguryeo's enemy, Silla, to pressure them from the other side.  This eventually kicked off the Tang-Goguryeo war, with the loosely allied Tang and Silla fighting on and off with Goguryeo and their ally, Baekje, who was also invested in stifling Silla's ambitions on the peninsula. So that's where we are:  The Korean peninsula is currently embroiled in conflict between the three kingdoms on the peninsula and the nearby superpower, the Tang Dynasty.  Meanwhile, Yamato, on the archipelago, is going through a whole… thing.  What that is, we'll try to get into over the next year. Given all of this, let's go over some of the themes from the past year.  To start with, let's talk about expanding Yamato influence. From what we can tell, Yamato's influence in the archipelago had peaked around the 5th century, between the creation of giant Daisen Ryo kofun and the reign of Wakatake no Ohokimi, aka Yuryaku Tenno.  Wakatake no Ohokimi had courtiers from as far away as Kyushu and the Kanto plain.  However, from what I can tell, Yamato's influence appears to have temporarily waned, possibly coinciding with the end of Wakatake's own dynasty, with a new dynasty coming to power in the 6th century. It is possible that Wakatake was simply never quite as powerful as the Chronicles make out, but there are a few other things that make me think that the end of the 5th and early half of the 6th century were a low point in Yamato's power.  For one thing, we see a drop off in interactions with the continent after 479—or at least anything beyond the tip of the Korean peninsula.  In addition, we see smaller rooms built in the region of the Nara Basin and the Kawachi plain, while more “royal” tombs continue to appear elsewhere in the archipelago.  It isn't that they stopped, but the size decreased, suggesting that Yamato didn't have the same labor pool it used to. On top of that, we have the dynastic change.  We are told that the line related to Wakatake died out and they had to bring in someone from Afumi and Koshi, who traced their lineage back to the legendary Homuda-wake, aka Ōjin tennō, some five generations back.  Many scholars suggest that this connection was a later merging of the lineages, suggesting that, in reality, an entirely new branch of sovereigns had come to power. Finally, we can see the Chronicles focusing more and more on the areas near to Yamato, the area known as the Home Provinces, possibly because Yamato only held direct control over these areas, while control beyond that was only nominal.  Local elites in those regions had a lot of autonomy, and if Yamato did not have anything in particular to offer them, they would not have a reason to necessarily go along with Yamato's requests. This may have even been part of the impetus for the so-called “rebellion” by Iwai, in Kyushu.  As you may recall, in the early 6th century Iwai attempted to ally with Silla against Yamato and Baekje, with the idea of cutting off Yamato's access to the continent.  This ultimately failed, and Yamato ended up creating what would become the Dazaifu near modern Fukuoka, but the fact that Iwai could contemplate it and gather such support would suggest that Yamato was at least perceived as vulnerable. Now up to this point, we see several different policies that were used for increasing the court's control.  Early on, this was done by doling out various elite goods.  We also see Yamato soft power in the form of spiritual authority and the expansion of local Yamato cultic practices out into the other lands of the archipelago.  There was also the tradition of monumental tombs, and especially the royal keyhole style tombs, which spread out from Yamato and was likely as much an indication that those regions saw Yamato practices as worthy of emulation, at the least, and perhaps saw Yamato as a cultural nexus on the archipelago. To all of this, they eventually added the “Be” system.  This appears to have been copied from systems being used on the Korean peninsula, and it focused on creating familial units to organize various industries, with family heads responsible for reporting and funneling necessary goods up to the court.  This eventually included the noble “uji” clans, with their power bases in various geographic regions. Yamato extended its influence through a variety of methods, including various public works projects.  These included things like the building of ponds, or reservoirs, which would have been critical to the wet-rice paddy agriculture that was the economic backbone of the Yamato government.  Another means of extending government control was the “miyake”, or Royal Granaries.  Originally we see these set up in the Nara basin, but during the current dynasty they had been extended all the way out to Kyushu. Ostensibly, they were there to collect rice for taxes, but they appear to have acted as government offices, providing a presence for Yamato even out in the hinterlands.  Eventually they would turn the area in Kyushu, the Dazai, into its own, semi-autonomous extension of the Yamato government, as well. In the past year of the podcast, we've seen many of those older forms of government control replaced with a new bureaucratic system.  This included an upgrade to the rank system, which was a way for the government to both organize the bureaucracy while also creating a means to award individuals.  Early rank systems had initially been granted at the family level, but following a continental model meant that the new system was based solely on the individual.  Thus they could hand out rank to various kings and chieftains across the archipelago and entice them into the Yamato orbit, a trick they had been doing previously as well with various types of recognition.  Those that took the titles and rank that Yamato handed out gained a certain amount of legitimacy, locally, but since that legitimacy was tied to the Yamato court, it also helped solidify Yamato's own influence on those areas. That doesn't mean that all expansion was peaceful.  Yamato contested on their eastern and northern border with the people referred to as the Emishi, which eventually included contests as far north as the island of Hokkaido with the Mishihase people. There was another form of soft power used by the court in the way that it supported Buddhism, which was still a new religion at this point, having arrived in the early part of the 6th century.  Patronage of Buddhism would lead to the building of temples and otherwise claiming some authority in the spiritual realm, beyond simply the court's control of the Mt. Miwa site.  Furthermore, the state itself took particular interest in Buddhist institutions, and cracked down heavily on the clergy, ensuring that they reported up to the court, formally solidifying the connection between temples and the State. But then they went a bit further and instituted actual governors.  They were appointed by the Yamato government, and they were particularly installed in the Eastern lands—referred to as provinces.  These governors reported to the court, and appear to have initially been separate from locally recognized elites, who were known as the Kuni no Miyatsuko.  The governors were to take stock of the areas under their authority and report up information such as a summary of the lands and local census information.  This meant that Yamato did not need to rely on local elites to administer an area, they would have greater insight into what was actually going on. This was all combined with the institution of new laws on taxes, corvee labor, and more, while eliminating traditional practices such as the Miyake and even royal tomb-building.  The latter was likely affected by the various public works projects, but also the fact that more work was going into the building of things like Buddhist temples. As we noted back in the previous year, Buddhist temple building appears to have had a hand in the end of the prolific kofun building, at least in Yamato proper.  Kofun were memorials—meant to carry on the memory of an individuals well after their death.  They were ritual sites, and families were set up to care for them. Temples, likewise, were erected with certain memorial qualities.  Donating to build a temple was thought to increase one's karma, and thus do wonders for your next life.  Temple patrons would be remembered, and services were carried out, but temples also had a certain public aspect to them, as well.  On top of that, they were new, and no doubt exotic, with their tiled rooves, intricate carvings, and colorful buildings.  Much of the labor that would have built tombs appears to have been co-opted, instead, to build temples. Some of the temples founded in this period include Asuka dera, aka Hokoji, built on or near the Soga family compound, as well as other Asuka temples, such as Yamadadera, Kawaradera, Toyouradera, and Kudaradera.  There was also Houryuji, erected by Prince Umayado near his house, and the ancient temple of Shitennouji, erected in Naniwa.  Of these, both Horyuji and Shitennoji continue, today, at or near their original with some of the oldest extant buildings in Japan.  Asukadera was moved to its modern site of Gangoji, in Nara city proper, but there is still a smaller Asukadera on the original site, with what may be one of the original images, though the buildings have been rebuilt after numerous fires and disasters over the years. Of course, a big part of all of these foreign ideas, such as Buddhism but also Confucian thought as well, was the growing influence of the continent, whether in the form of Baekje, Silla, Goguryeo, or beyond.  While there had been influence ever since the Yayoi period—and arguably even during the Jomon, in some instances—there seems to have been an acceleration once Yamato began to import Buddhism, which was likely connected with all of the learning and texts that were also being imported around that time.  Then, during the Sui and Tang dynasties—both of which the Chronicles simply label as the “Great Tang”—the court sent several embassies to the Sui and Tang emperors, bringing back individuals with actual experience in the way things were happening outside of the archipelago. And we should not discount the various embassies to and from the Korean peninsula.  Yamato was increasing its involvement in peninsular affairs.  They continued to be concerned with the state of Nimna, also known as Imna or Mimana, which had been assimilated by Silla, along with the rest of Gaya, or Kara, by the early to mid-6th century, with many accounts dealing with attempts to reinstate Nimna as a separate and sovereign entity. Along with this, Yamato continued their relationship with Baekje, who sent Prince Pung to reside at the Yamato court.  This continued a long-standing tradition that is portrayed as a type of diplomatic hostage, though there have been several times that princes at the Yamato court came back to Baekje to rule after the king died or was killed.  All of this to say that not only did ambassadors from Yamato go to these countries, but ambassadors also traveled to Yamato, while various immigrants from these areas of Baekje, Silla, and even Goguryeo occasionally settled in Yamato.  This further increased the number of individuals with knowledge and experience of continental concepts and technology, and we can see their influence in numerous different ways. This was all part of what led to the Yamato government's adoption of Tang style law codes, though it should be noted that the law codes were not taken wholecloth.  Rather, they were adapted specifically to the issues of the archipelago.  This was the beginning of what came to be known as the Ritsuryo system, literally the system of laws and punishments. Under this system, the government went from a single Oho-omi, or great minister, to two Great ministers, one of the left and one of the right.  These would come to be known as the Sadaijin and the Udaijin.  Nakatomi no Kamatari was afforded a special place as the third minister, the minister of the center, or Naidaijin, possibly referring to his responsibilities with the interior of the royal household, while the ministers of the left and right would have had particular ministries beneath them - eight ministries in total, with various departments underneath them.  They would be assigned to report either to the Minister of the Left or the Minister of the Right, each one overseeing, effectively, half of the government portfolio. This system, combined with the governors and the Tomo no Miyatsuko in the provinces, meant that Yamato had much more granular control over the workers and the means of production.  They organized households into villages, and villages into districts.  There were lower level officials who reported up the chain all the way to the great ministers, the Daijin, or Oho-omi.  This meant that they effectively abolished the Be and Uji system, at least as it had been set up.  These familial groups continued to operate as families, or perhaps more appropriately as “clans”, given how the groups had come to be. These officials were granted rank and, more importantly, stipends from the government.  A portion of taxes, which were paid in rice, went to various officials.  This meant that officials not only relied on the government for their status, but for their incomes as well. This went along with an attempt to implement something known as the “equal field system”, imported, again, from the continent.  This determined who would work what fields, and was another way that the government was involved down to the actual labor producing the rice that was the economic engine of the State. And that covers most of what we've been up to this past year.  There have been individual accomplishments that we didn't get into, but there is plenty there if you want to listen to it. So that covers the past year in the podcast—a little over half of the 7th century.  It really was a time of dramatic change—whether or not “Taika” was the name given to part of it, it certainly feels appropriate.  Even though the court eventually moved to Naniwa, this is the height of the Asuka period, and the start of the Ritsuryo state.  It would form the foundations for what was to come, and themes from this period will continue to show up again and again. In this next year, we are going to continue to look at Takara Hime's reign and beyond.  We'll see the resolution of the Tang-Goguryeo war, and the impact of all the continental fighting on the archipelago.  We'll also see continued developments within the archipelago itself, hopefully getting through to the end of the 7th century. We are actually reaching the end of the material in the Nihon Shoki.  This does not mean that we are running out of material, though.  The Chronicles end in 697—less than 40 years out from our current place in the Chronicles.  From there, we have the Shoku Nihongi, which covers 95 years, until 797 CE.  Translation of much of the Shoku Nihongi is available through the work of Dr. Ross Bender, and you can find his work online if you want to get a leg up on the reading, though that is a ways out.  For now, we can still comfortably continue with the Nihon Shoki, at least through the reign of Temmu Tennou. Until then, Happy New Year!  As usual, thank you for listening and for all of your support.  Thanks also to my lovely wife, Ellen, for her continued work at helping to edit these episodes! Remember, if you like what we are doing, please tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to 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.  And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  

This is the second of two episodes talking about the people in the north of the Japanese archipelago:  The Emishi and the Mishihase.  Last episode we covered things from an archaeological overview, looking at the traces of the Epi-Jomon, Satsumon, and Okhotsk Sea cultures.  This episode focuses more on what was actually written in the Nihon Shoki, including a journey to introduce Emishi to the Tang Emperor himself! For more information, check out our podcast blog at: https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-117   Rough Transcript Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua and this is episode 117: The People of the North, Part 2 Abe no Hirafu gazed out at the sea, waiting for his opponents to appear.  He had traveled with a fleet to the far north, into a land that was unlike anything that most of his men had ever seen.  They were far away from the rice fields of their home villages.  Up here, the people made their way by hunting and fishing, and the land was much more wild.  Besides the people, the land was also home to giant bears, much larger than anything back in the Home Provinces.  Giant beasts with paws the size of a man's head.  They were truly incredible, but they were not his target this time. As he watched the waves, he saw his prey emerge.  They rowed their ships around the cape, coming out from the defensive position they had previously established.  Where Hirafu's men flew banners made of silk, his opponents had created flags made of feathers, which they hoisted high in their boats.  They were small in number, but they knew this land and these waters.  They were comfortable traveling in the cold and unforgiving seas, and they no doubt had reinforcements.  Hirafu may have had the upper hand, but he knew he couldn't get too cocky. It was probably too much to hope for that the size of his fleet alone would cause them to submit.  If they could be bought off, then perhaps that was best, but Hirafu knew that was probably unlikely.  This was going to be a fight, and Hirafu and his men were ready for it. Before we jump into the episode proper, a quick thank you to Hakucho for donating to support Sengoku Daimyo.  We always appreciate any support, and there is information at the end of each episode on how to help out if you would like to join them. Last episode we introduced the Emishi and the Mishihase and talked about them and their connections to the Yamato and Japanese state, as well as to the modern Ainu people.  We went over a lot of the archaeological findings, and talked about how the Jomon period, uninterrupted in northern Honshu and Hokkaido, eventually gave way to the Epi-Jomon and Satsumon cultures, while the Ohokotsk Sea Culture is observed from around the 5th to 9th centuries, and we talked about how these existed in the lands we know as being connected to the Emishi and the Mishihase people mentioned in the Chronicles. This episode we are going to rely a lot more on the narrative found in the Nihon Shoki, but I wanted to make sure that we had that discussion about the archaeology, first, so that people would have a background.  If you haven't already done so, I highly recommend going back and giving Part 1 a listen. So let's back up a bit, and let's set the scene on the peninsula and the archipelago, and see what led up to this moment. In 654, the sovereign of Yamato, Karu, aka Kotoku Tennou, had passed away in his palace in Naniwa.  His sister, Takara Hime, and other members of the royal family had gathered once more in Naniwa when they caught word of his illness, but their visit was brief.  Karu passed away on the 1st day of the 10th month, and a little over two months later he was buried.  After that, rather than taking up residence again in Naniwa, the court moved back to the old capital of Asuka, where Takara Hime re-ascended the throne.  It was now the year 655, almost a decade since Crown Prince Naka no Oe had orchestrated the murderous coup that had seen the powerful scions of the Soga family cut down in front of Takara Hime and others, causing her to abdicate.  And now, well, perhaps Naka no Oe was comfortable controlling things from behind the scenes, because Takara Hime was once again the one in power—or at least the one sitting on the throne.  And there's a LOT that would go on during this reign according to the chronicles. On the peninsula at this point, the Tang-Goguryeo war was in full swing, with the Tang dynasty regularly harassing Goguryeo.  Goguryeo was at least nominally allied with Baekje, whose ruling family also claimed descent from a shared Buyeo ancestor, and Baekje was, of course, a long time ally of Yamato.  Meanwhile, Silla had thrown their lot in with the Tang dynasty, though as alliances went it was not exactly an alliance of equals – and most alliances came and went as the political winds changed throughout the peninsula. Over time, we'll see some resolution coming to the situation on the peninsula.  But overall, one of the biggest trends is that during Takara Hime's second reign, Yamato was reaching out to a much wider world than it had in the past.  This included connections to the south—to those on the Ryukyu islands, and possibly beyond.  And there were continued efforts to reach out to the Tang empire, with varying degrees of success.  Those that did go would sit and learn at the feet of some of the most famous scholars in the world, including the Buddhist priest, scholar, and traveler, Xuanzang, someone I cannot wait to get into in a future episode, as he really demonstrates just how connected the world had become at this time in a way that is often hard for us to comprehend, today. But there is also plenty happening in the archipelago, and even just in Asuka.  In fact, regardless of what the Chronicles say, there are a lot of ancient monuments and archaeological finds in the Asuka region that aren't directly mentioned in any historical record, but can be generally traced to this era - reminders of this period that are literally carved in stone.  We still have plenty of questions as to just what was going on, but we're starting to see more and more lasting physical traces. Our first relevant entry in the Nihon Shoki for the topic of this episode comes from the 7th month of 655, the year that Takara Hime had taken the throne.  We are told that 99 Northern Emishi and 99 Eastern Emishi were entertained at the court of Naniwa—presumably using the government facilities built during Karu's time.  At the same time, there were 150 envoys from Baekje who were likewise feted.  Caps of honor, of two grades in each case, were bestowed on nine Emishi of Kikafu and six Emishi of Tsugaru.  This is an interesting record, and let's explore what it means for Yamato's view of itself and its own authority.  First, the Baekje and the Emishi are being streated similarly—they both appear to be groups that are from *outside* Yamato conducting some kind of diplomacy with the court.  That said, it is quite clear from the way that the Chronicles deal with them that Yamato viewed each group as distinctly different.  Baekje was Yamato's continental ally, and their primary means through which they could access the continent and all that it had to offer.  They had helped bring Buddhism to the archipelago, and were clearly seen as a civilized country.  The Emishi, on the other hand, were Yamato's own “barbarians”.  They were outside and Yamato clearly saw them as less civilized.  In many ways Yamato viewed the Emishi similar to how the Tang court likely viewed Yamato.  After all, just as Tang literature talked about the differences between the quote-unquote “civilized” center of the empire and the so-called “barbaric” lands beyond their borders, Yamato could place itself in a similar position, simply by placing the Nara Basin at the “Center” and with the Emishi helping define that which was outside.  So in an odd way, this may have been uplifting for Yamato's own self-image. And just as the Tang court enticed border states into their sphere of influence with the promise of imperial titles, the Yamato court similarly was bestowing rank upon the Emishi, making themselves the granter of prestige and recognition.  By being a part of the system, you were rewarded with recognition of your status, something that likely appealed to many. As to the places referenced – Kikafu and Tsugaru – Aston isn't certain about Kikafu, but Tsugaru seems quite obvious as the northernmost tip of Honshu, in modern Aomori prefecture, where the islands of Honshu and Hokkaido are separated by none other than the Tsugaru strait. The fact that the Chroniclers differentiated between the Eastern and Northern Emishi likewise suggests that this was not a monolithic state.  Yamato saw a difference between the Emishi in one part of the archipelago versus the other. Three years later, in the 4th month of 658, Yamato sent one of the largest expeditions against the northeast.  Abe no Omi—other entries name him as Abe no Omi no Hirafu—took 180 ships up north on an expedition to the Emishi.  We are told that he met with the Emishi in the districts of Aita and Nushiro, believed to be in modern Akita prefecture.  Akita prefecture is on the western side of Tohoku, towards the very northern tip.  It is opposite Iwate prefecture on the east, and just below Aomori prefecture, which, at the time, was known as Tsugaru.  This was on the extreme end of Honshu. Both Aita and Nushiro quickly submitted to the Yamato mission.  Still, Abe drew up his ships in order of battle in the bay of Aita, where an envoy from the Emishi named Omuka came forward and made an oath.  He swore that they had no ill-intentions.  The fact that the Emishi were armed with bows and arrows was not because they were at war, but because up in that area of Tohoku, they were all hunters, and so it was their regular tool.  They swore to the gods of Aita bay that they had not raised arms against Yamato, but they were willing to submit to Yamato rule. For his part, Omuka was granted court rank, and local governors were established at Nushiro and Tsugaru—likely meaning they recognized local chieftains and made them responsible for representing the others.  Finally, they summoned the Emishi of Watari no Shima to the shores of Arima, and a great feast was provided.  After that, they all returned home. The  term “Watari no Shima” seems to almost undoubtedly refer to the island of Hokkaido.  “Watari” means to cross, so referring to the “Emishi of Watari no Shima” likely referred to the Emishi on Hokkaido vice those in the Tohoku region. The entire entry seems a bit suspect.  Abe no Hirafu takes an armed party up north and then they all… just sit down and have tea together?  There seems to be a lot of missing context.  Of course, from Yamato's perspective, they were the civilized center.  Does that mean that any violence they committed was simply swept under the rug of history?  Or did they truly meet with such quick submission that only a show of force was necessary? There is one other entry for 658, relative to all of this. It isn't given a specific date, so it is unclear when, exactly it occurred, but it may shed some light.  That entry states that Abe no Hikida no Omi no Hirafu, warden of the land of Koshi, went on an expedition not against the Emishi, but against the Mishihase, or Su-shen.  He is said to have brought back from this trip two live “white bears”, or “shiguma”. So was his expedition really against the Emishi, or was his actual goal to fight the Mishihase, which means he didn't just stop at the end of Honshu, but he continued on to Hokkaido—Watari no Shima—and up at least to Central Hokkaido, where he would have met with the people of the Okhotsk Sea culture—likely the Mishihase of the Chronicle?  Or was he sailing against both? This also leads to numerous other theories as to just what was going on.  While Yamato was pushing on the Emishi from the south, were these Mishihase likewise encroaching on the Emishi in the north?  Were they pushing them south or absorbing those in the farthest north?  There seems to have clearly been a difference and some conflict between them, as evidenced by later entries, which we'll cover in a bit. Quickly, though, I do want to touch on the idea that they brought back two “white bears”.  “Shiguma” appears to refer to a “white bear”, and at its most simplistic understanding, this would seem to refer to a polar bear, but that seems quite a stretch.  Today, polar bears largely live in the arctic regions, out on the permanent sea ice, where they are able to hunt.  They are considered an aquatic animal, living mainly in the ocean, though they will come ashore to hunt, on occasion.  Still, they are mostly adapted to life on the sea ice. While the climate of the 700s was different, I don't know that the sea ice extended that far south.  It is possible that polar bears had been captured much further north, and then sold to people further south, through the extensive trade networks that ran up through Kamchatka, Siberia, and even across the Aleutian chain, but as far as I can tell, polar bears would not have been living in Hokkaido or even in the Kuril or Sakhalin islands at that time. It is much more likely that the “Shiguma” was one of the Hokkaido brown bears.   They may have been albino, but more likely it was simply an easy designation to distinguish them from the bears of the rest of the archipelago—the Asian black bear.  These are clearly black bears, though their fur can appear lighter in some instances.  Meanwhile, although brown bears can be a very dark brown, their fur can vary to almost a blond, and if you look at many photos you can see how they might be considered “white”, especially compared to the black bear that was the norm in Yamato.  I suspect that this is actually the species that Hirafu brought back, and which would be referenced in later entries, where “shiguma” furs appear to be have been quite plentiful, suggesting it wasn't just a rare mutation. In addition, I can't help but note that the presence of bears, here, seems to also further connect with modern traditions of the Ainu of Hokkaido.  Most notably in their reverence for bears, including the traditional Iyomante ceremony.  There is also evidence of the importance of bears in what we see of the Okhotsk Sea Culture.  It is hard to tell if there is more from this interaction, but it still raises some questions. But I digress.  While there are still a lot of gaps, we can see that the Emishi were being brought into the fold, as it were, while the Mishihase were apparently the threat that Yamato would be fighting.  In fact, I can't help but wonder if the threat posed by the Mishihase didn't help encourage the Emishi to ally themselves with Yamato in an attempt to protect themselves. Whatever happened, the relationship with the Emishi, from that point, seems to place them as subjects of Yamato.  We are told that three months later, over 200 Emishi visited the Yamato court, bringing presents for the sovereign.  These were not just the Emishi of the far reaches of Tohoku, but seems to have included Emishi from several different regions.  We are also told that the entertainment and largess provided by the court was even greater than any time before, no doubt presenting the carrot in contrast to Abe no Hirafu's stick. One of the carrots handed out was court rank,  We are told that two Emishi of the enigmatic Kikafu region each received one grade of rank while Saniguma, the Senior governor of Nushiro, was granted two steps in rank, making him Lower Shou-otsu in the rank system of the time, and he was given the superintendence of the population register—likely meaning he had a charge similar to the other governors dispatched to take a census and let the court know just how many people there were in the region.  His junior governor, Ubasa, received the rank of Kembu, the lowest rank in the system. Meanwhile, Mamu, the Senior governor of Tsugaru was granted the rank of Upper Dai-otsu and Awohiru, the Junior governor of Tsugaru, was granted the rank of Lower Shou-out. At the same time, two ranks were granted on the Miyatsuko of the Tsukisara Barrier and one rank was granted to Inadzumi Ohotomo no Kimi, Miyatsuko of the Nutari Barrier.  These last two appear to have been members of Yamato rather than Emishi, but clearly all related to the issue of the borders and beyond. And so we are given three different locations.  We are not told the names of the Emishi from Kikafu, but we are given the names of the senior and junior governors—likely local chieftains co-opted into the Yamato polity—of Nushiro and Tsugaru.  Together with the name “Omuka” we have some of our earliest attestations to possible Emishi names—though whether these were names, titles, or something else I could not say.  We have Saniguma, Ubasa, Mamu, and Awohiru.  None of these are given with family names, which seems to track with the fact that formal “family” names appear to have been an innovation of the Kofun culture, rather than an indigenous phenomenon. I would also note that I am not sure if these ranks came with any kind of stipend: after all, much of that region wasn't exactly suited to rice-land, so where would the stipend come from?  That said, there were certainly more practical gifts that were laid out for them as well.  The governors of Nushiro and the governors of Tsugaru were each given 20 cuttle-fish flags—likely a banner similar to the koi nobori, or carp banners, in use today—as well as two drums, two sets of bows and arrows, and two suits of armor.  This seems to be one for the Senior and one for the Junior governor.  In addition, Saniguma was commanded to “investigate” the Emishi population as well as what Aston translates as the “captive” population—by which I suspect they mean those living in bondage within the Emishi communities.   It is interesting to me that even though the senior governor of Tsugaru was given a higher rank, this last duty was only given to the governor of Nushiro. And there you have it.  With all of that the Emishi were at least nominally subject to the Yamato court.  They were still, however, cultural outsiders.  It is quite likely that they spoke a different language, and given the number of placenames in Tohoku that seem to correspond with the modern Ainu language, it is quite likely that a language at least related to modern Ainu was spoken in the Emishi controlled areas. A similar pattern to the year 658 took place in the entries for the following year.  Once again, Abe no Hirafu went north with 180 ships on what we are told, at least in Aston's translation, was an expedition against the Emishi.  He assembled a selection of the Emishi of Akita and Nushiro, totaling 241 people, with 31 of their captives, as well as 112 Emishi of Tsugaru with 4 of their captives, and 20 Emishi of Ifurisahe.  Once he had them all at his mercy he then… feasted them and gave them presents.  Is this really what an expedition *against* the Emishi looked like?  It almost sounds more like a diplomatic mission. We are told that after feasting and giving the assembled Emishi presents, Abe no Hirafu made an offering to the local gods of a boat and silk of various colors. He then proceeded to a place called “Shishiriko”, where two Emishi from a place called Tohiu, named Ikashima and Uhona, came forward and told him that Yamato should create an outpost at Shiribeshi, on the west coast of Hokkaido, which would be the seat of local Yamato government.  This sounds not entirely dissimilar from the idea of the Dazai in Kyushu.  Abe no Hirafu agreed and established a district governor there. Relevant to this, between the 7th and 8th centuries, we see clusters of pit dwellings in Hokkaido largely in the areas corresponding to the modern sub-prefectures of Sorachi, Ishikari, and Iburi, with many of them clustered near modern Sapporo, and a very small number near Rumoi, further north along the western coast. Once more it is another account, not the main narrative of the Nihon Shoki, where we might see what was really going on.  That entry claims that Abe no Hirafu went north to fight with the Mishihase and, on his return, he brought back some 49 captives.  So was this what all of this was really about?  Was he going up there to fight the Emishi, or was he perhaps fighting with the Emishi against the Mishihase? When Abe no Hirafu finally returned, it seems that the provincial governors of Michinoku—pretty much the whole of Touhoku—and Koshi, which was also a land known for being home to Emishi, were granted two grades of rank.  Their subordinates, the district governors and administrators, each received one grade of rank. We are also told that on the 17th day of the 3rd month of 659, that a copy of Mt. Meru was constructed on the riverbank east of Amakashi no Oka and that Emishi of Michonoku and Koshi were both entertained there.  Little more is given, and, again, it isn't clear if this is before or after Hirafu's expedition of that year. Mt. Meru—read as Shumisen, today—is the mountain at the center of the world, according to some Buddhist traditions.  Building a copy would have been a statement, creating a copy of the mountain and bringing the center of the universe to you.  This was probably a feature in a garden—at least that is how it was conceived of during the reign of Kashikiya Hime.  This second one may have been made with a pile of stones, and there have even been found some features in Asuka that some think could be remnants of this ancient model of the universe, but they aren't without controversy. In any case, that same year that the Emishi were brought to Asuka to view this Buddhist monument, in 659, a mission was sent to the Tang court.  We'll talk about the mission at some other time, but for now I want to focus on the fact that they brought with them an Emishi man and a woman to show the Tang emperor.  Regrettably, we don't know their names, and we don't know their status in Emishi society.  Were these captives, possibly enslaved?  Or were these volunteers, who had gone willingly with the envoys to see the lands beyond their home.  They likely had heard of the Tang empire from Yamato, and so it wouldn't be so surprising if they decided to go see it for themselves. Where it is of particular interest to us right now is that we have an apparent eyewitness account of the description given to the Tang Emperor about the Emishi by the Yamato envoys.  Be aware that the envoys were not necessarily experts in Emishi culture, and may not have met any other than their travel companions, but the description, given by none other than Yuki no Hakatoko, who was apparently there, at the Tang court, when it happened, gives us invaluable insight into how Yamato viewed the Emishi. The entire thing is a bit of a question and answer session as the Tang Emperor, Tang Gaozong, inquired about the Emishi and who they were.  In response to his questions, the envoys assured him that Yamato and the Emishi were at peace with each other.  They further noted that there were three different groups of Emishi.  Those farthest from Yamato were the Tsugaru Emishi.  Next, slightly closer to Yamato, were the Ara-Emishi.  “Ara” in this case means “soft”, and was probably a reference to the fact that those Emishi closer to Yamato were seen as more compliant.  Finally ,there are the “Nigi-Emishi”, living right on the borders.  “Nigi” in this case seems to refer to them being the “Gentle” or even “Civilized” Emishi.  I suspect that those living closest to Yamato were also the ones doing things like farming, and possibly building burial mounds.  They may have even mixed with some of the border communities, and may have included Wa communities that were outside of Yamato's influence.  After all, it isn't entirely obvious that “Emishi” referred to a single ethnic identity. In providing further answers to the emperor's questioning, we are told that the Emishi, at least according to the Yamato envoys, didn't farm, but instead they sustained themselves through hunting and fishing.  Furthermore, we are told that they didn't live in houses, but instead they dwelt under trees and in the recesses of the mountains.  This one is a little more questionable, after all, we have evidence of pit houses and villages all the way up to Aomori and back to Jomon times.  However, it is quite possible that Yamato was often encountering hunting parties, which very likely may have been using makeshift shelters or utilizing natural features like caves when they were out traveling.  Some of this, though, may have been built around ideas and concepts of how quote-unquote “barbaric” people lived, focusing on the exceptional, exotic, and sensationalist instances rather than on the more mundane day-to-day details.  Finally, the emperor himself commented on the “unusual appearance” of the Emishi.  We know that the Japanese terms for the Emishi refer to them as hairy barbarians, and if they were anything like modern Ainu, they were likely a good deal more hirsute than their Yamato neighbors.  This was no doubt a stereotype, as, again, Emishi may have also included some members of the Wa in their numbers, but they also appear to have included groups of people that were quite physically distinct.  Some DNA evidence also bears this out, and even today many people with deep ancestral ties to the Tohoku region demonstrate closer ties to ancient Jomon populations than to the succeeding Yayoi population that came over from the continent with their rice farming techniques. And so that gives us mostly what we know about the Emishi, except that they seem to have left out the Emishi of Watari no Shima—the Emishi of Hokkaido.  They would have been beyond the Tsugaru Emishi, unless they were considered similar, and painted with the same brush. And speaking of Watari no Shima, we have one more entry before we bring things to a close, and that is from the third month of the year 660.  Once more, Abe no Omi, who must have been getting his frequent sailor miles in by this point—or at least one hopes he had been invited to the Captain's circle at least.  Anyway, Abe no Omi was sent on yet another expedition, this time with 200 ships, and this time quite specifically against the Mishihase.  He made a stop in Michinoku on the way up where he brought some of the Emishi on his own boat—possibly as translators and guides.  They then continued northern until they reached a large river—Aston suggests that it was possibly the Ishikari river, north of modern Sapporo.  There they found a thousand Emishi of Watari no Shima encamped. Upon seeing the Yamato forces, two men came out from the camp to let Hirafu and his men know that the Mishihase had arrived in their own fleet, threatening to kill all of them.  And so they asked permission to cross the river over to Hirafu and join him.  Specifically we are told they asked to “serve the government” suggesting that they were willing to suborn themselves if Hirafu would assist with driving off the Mishihase. Hirafu had the two spokespersons come aboard his ship and then show him where the enemy was concealed.  They showed him where, telling him that the Mishihase had some 20 ships. Hirafu sent for the Mishihase to come and face him, but they refused.  And so instead he tried a different tactic.  He piled up colored silk cloth, weapons, iron, etc., in sight of the Mishihase, hoping that their curiosity and greed would get the better of them.  Sure enough, they drew up in their boats, which were decorated with feathers tied on poles like a flag.  Their vessels were powered with oars, and they brought them to the shallows.  From there, they sent two older men out to inspect the pile.  The men came out, and when they saw what was there, they exchanged their clothes for some from the pile and took some of the silk cloth and then returned to their ship.  After some time, they came back out, took off the exchanged garments and laid them down with the silk.  With that, they then boarded their ship and departed. Aston suggests that this behavior mimics an aspect of something called an “unseen trade” which he claims had been common in the region of Hokkaido until recently.  I hadn't found anything specifically about that, but it does make a kind of sense, especially if groups are possibly hostile and perhaps don't speak the same language. So does that mean that, for all of his military might, Hirafu was basically just buying off the Mishihase? In any case, it seems they did not take it.  They left the garments and the silk, which seems to have indicated that they had no deal, and they departed.  Hirafu pursued the Mishihase, and tried to get them to come out again—presumably looking for a stand up fight between his 200 ships and the MIshihase's 20, but instead the Mishihase headed to the island of Herobe, in another part of Watari no Shima.  After a while of being holed up, the Mishihase did sue for peace, but by that point, Abe no Hirafu was having none of it.  So they took themselves to their palisades and there they tried to hold out against Abe no Hirafu's forces.  Noto no Omi no Mamukatsu was slain in the fighting, as we can only suspect that others were as well, but over time the Yamato forces began to wear them down. Finally, when it seemed there was no way they could win or escape, the MIshihase took the drastic step of killing their own women and children, perhaps fearing what the Yamato soldiers would do to them if they were caught. And with that, it was over.  There are only a few mentions of the Mishihase, or even the Emishi, in the rest of the Nihon Shoki.  Granted, as we will eventually see, the people of Yamato were no doubt pre-occupied with what was going on to the west, where the Baekje-Tang war would be soon coming to a close.  Abe no Hirafu would be called on, once more, in that famous conflict, but we are going to save that for another day. For now, I think we can end things here.  Or just about.  I would be remiss if I didn't mention that there is a theory that many of these expeditions were actually the same thing, but recorded slightly differently in different ways, with some confusion about the actual dates.  Even if that was the case, it doesn't necessarily discount the overall information provided, and that information seems to at least somewhat conform to what we know about the archaeological record, as far as I can tell.  Granted, this is still the story as told by outsiders.  Since the people labeled “Emishi” didn't leave us with any records of this time, themselves, we don't exactly have their side of things, which is something we should keep in mind. This isn't the last time the Emishi will pop up in Japanese history.  Even if they were being granted rank, the Emishi remained a group apart.  Succeeding generations of Japanese would settle in the Tohoku region, eventually absorbing or pushing out the Emishi, or Ezo, while on Hokkaido, the people we know as the Ainu, who were likely an amalgamation of both Okhotsk Sea people and Epi-Jomon and Satsumon cultures, would eventually become dominant across the island of Hokkaido—at least until the 19th century. But that is for much later episodes.  For now, we'll continue to stick with our small, but active corner of the 7th century.  There is still a lot more to explore in this reign.  Next episode will be our annual New Year's recap, and then we will continue on with more from this episode in the following year. Until then thank you for listening and for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, please tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website,  SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast. And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.

In today's episode, we're covering Hayao Miyazaki's masterpiece, Princess Mononoke. Set during Japan's late Muromachi period and incorporating fantastical elements, the tale centers on Ashitaka, a young prince of the Emishi people, as he becomes entangled in a conflict between the forest's spirits and the humans exploiting its resources. The film explores a recurring theme in Studio Ghibli's works: environmentalism, presented as a response to the effects of industrialization, framed within the traditions of Shintoism, animism, and folklore.

This is the first in a two part series on the people living to the Northeast of Yamato, in the areas of Tohoku and Hokkaido.  They are called in the Chronicles, the Emishi and the Mishihase, and these designations appear to refer to areas that include the Epi-Jomon and later Satsumon cultures as well as members of the Okhotsk Sea Culture, all archaeological designations for various people whom we know primarily through their archaeological remains.  We also discuss a bit about how all of this ties in (or doesn't) with the modern Ainu, and why we don't necessarily use that term until much later in the historical record. For more, check out our podcast blog at: https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-116   Rough Transcript   Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua and this is episode 116: The People of the North, Part 1   A soldier stood watch on the Nutari Barrier.  It was only a few years old—built to define and defend the boundaries between the lands under Yamato rule and the untamed wilds, beyond.  Looking behind him, the soldier could see the smoke from the nearby settlement, also newly constructed, which would supply him and his fellow guards with food and clothing while they took their turn at the border. Looking outwards, the soldier wondered what life beyond the barrier was like.  He had seen people crossing through, mostly with various trade goods.  For the most part, they didn't seem all that different, but he had heard stories: stories of wild men and women who lived in caves and slept under the trees.  They were hunters who knew the woods and could easily slip through areas that didn't even have roads. As one traveled further north, things grew only more wild and untamed—or so the stories said.   Giant bears with paws as large as a human head roamed the land—he'd seen a skin once and it was massive.  The people of the north fought with them and, or so he'd heard, even kept them as pets. Further, well beyond the pale, there were people who lived on the sea.  They traveled between islands in the frozen north, and hunted the beasts of the ocean.  They were few, but they were mighty people. A chill went through the soldier's spine.  He'd only ever heard stories of most of these outsiders, and even then it was hard to tell what was truth and what was merely exaggeration.  He had never actually gone out to see it himself, though he'd met some who claimed they had. It gave him some sense of worth that he was out here, defending the settled, civilized lands of his people from the wild, ungoverned tribes beyond the border.  That said, he hoped with all his heart that things remained peaceful.  Yes, it would certainly be better that way for all involved.   We are just starting out the second reign of Takara Hime, which started in the year 655.  For her first reign, the Chroniclers would give her the title of Kougyoku Tennou, but when she retook the throne they named her Saimei.  As we talked about in the last couple of episodes, there was a lot going on at this point, not just on the archipelago, but in the rest of Asia as well.   We'll summarize that briefly just to set the stage for the beginning of Takara Hime's reign, but this episode we're going to primarily focus on the expansion of Yamato authority throughout the rest of the archipelago, or at least the rest of Honshu.  In this context, we'll be talking extensively about the people that the Chronicles call the Emishi, since this section of the Chronicles contains numerous entries that give us our clearest look, to date, at who they were, at least from a Yamato perspective.  We'll also be looking at another group in the north, known to us as the Mishihase, for whom we have even less information. As this whole episode got a bit long, we are going to be doing this in two parts.  This episode, I'd like to introduce you to some of the terms, discuss some of the problems and considerations around these topics, and touch on what we know based largely on the archaeological record.  In the second episode we'll focus on the narrative as it appears in the Nihon Shoki, which hopefully will be something that makes more sense once we have that archaeological context.  While there are certainly some things that appear to coincide between the two narratives, there are a lot of differences.  Archaeology can help us understand the material culture, and give us some insights into the lifeways of a particular group of people, but it doesn't let us know what they said, and rarely gives us information about a particular event. Before we dive into this, I think it would be useful to touch on terms that we are going to be using this episode, and next.  I mention this because while we are dealing with the past, our story of the past is very much affecting the lives of people in the present.  Most specifically, the lives of the Ainu people of Hokkaido, and how their history and experience intertwines with the concept of the “Emishi” that we see in the Chronicles.  So let's explore these terms, and see where it takes us. First, I should probably make a note about the difference between “Wa” and “Yamato”, at least as I'm using it in this episode.  When I use “Wa” I'll be referring to the ethnic group, while “Yamato” refers to the state.  For the most part, as we are focused on the historical state forming in central Honshu, we'll talk about Yamato, or the State of Yamato. That is a political entity that is majority Wa in its make-up, but that doesn't mean that there weren't Wa people outside of the Yamato state, nor that Yamato was made up of only people who identified, ethnically as Wa.  As we've seen, the Yamato state also included immigrants who identified as people of Baekje, Silla, Goguryeo, and even Emishi. Next, the Emishi.  The term “Emishi” is an exonym used by Yamato to describe those who are outside of Yamato's borders and controls, especially up in Tohoku.  By “exonym”, I mean that it's a term imposed from outside – in this case, by Yamato – on the group of people known as the Emishi, because we really don't know what they called themselves. Moreover, the term “Emishi” is complex, and doesn't necessarily describe a single, monolithic ethnic group or culture – more a group of possible ethnicities, that occupied a particular “slot” relative to Yamato cultural identity, namely that of outsiders.  The Chronicles refer to several different geographic regions as “Emishi”, situated relative to the core of the Yamato polity -- but the archeological evidence is much more nuanced.  A prime example are the studies carried out on the “Emishi” mummies of the Oshu Fujiwara, a 12th century ruling elite who lived in Hiraizumi and who were considered “Emishi” by the court in Heian-kyo—modern Kyoto.  In studying the mummies, it was determined that they were closely related to the Wa people of Japan and the Kinki region.  This finding is important and I'll come back to it in a bit, but the takeaway is that “Emishi” doesn't automatically mean physical or cultural differences like we might assume.  There were likely ethnic Wa Emishi, along with Emishi who were more closely connected with the indigenous people—descendants of the Jomon and possible ancestors to the later Ainu people. Finally, the Ainu.  It's extremely likely that some of the people that the Chroniclers called “Emishi” may have been the ancestors of the Ainu people of today.  But the correspondence is definitely not one-to-one, as some historians used to think.  And since this is a sensitive topic with ongoing patterns of inequity and silenced voices, it's important to lay some groundwork before going further. For my part, I would like to do my best to introduce the people and the history as we know it with as little bias as I can manage, but please realize that there are certainly controversies around this area and open wounds that have not yet healed. The modern Ainu are the indigenous inhabitants of Hokkaido, Sakhalin, and Kuril islands.  They also once inhabited the very northern part of Tohoku.  In their own language, Ainu Itak, these islands are part of Ainu Mosir, the Lands of the Ainu, and “Ainu” itself is simply a word for “humans” or “people”.  While there are many cultural and linguistic ties to the Japanese—they have been neighbors for centuries—they are culturally distinct, and their language, Ainu Itak, is considered a linguistic isolate, with no known relatives outside of the Ainu homelands. The relationship between the Ainu and the Wa people—the general term for ethnic Japanese—has been one of tension and conflict born of colonization.  In the 19th century in particular, the nation of Japan claimed Hokkaido and began to settle it.  The wide open spaces were great for new industries, such as cattle ranching, which could supply dairy and beef, two things that had come into vogue with other aspects of Western culture.  I won't get into the entire history of it, but the Japanese government used tactics similar to those used in the United States against indigenous populations, often forcing people to speak Japanese instead of their native language in a paternalistic attempt to quote-unquote “civilize” the Ainu people.  Only relatively recently have the Ainu been accorded some protections in Japanese law. For our part, the study of Ainu history has long been one conducted by outsiders looking in, which of course has come with all sorts of baggage.  For instance, as I alluded to above, there has long been a tendency to equate the Ainu with the Emishi, which along with everything else cast the Ainu as somewhat less culturally evolved.  Much of this study was also taking place during a time when Marxist concepts of societal evolution were in vogue.  Add to that the generally patronizing and Colonialist concepts that were rampant in Western anthropology at the time—things like the stereotype of the “noble savage” and even the concept of “primitive” societies—and there were definitely some problematic concepts that continue to echo through into modern discussions.  Another complexity in understanding Ainu culture and history has been that the Ainu people do tend to be physically distinct from many other Japanese, which has been linked to outdated ideas about physical types and ethnicity.  Many Ainu people show more tendency towards body and facial hair than mainland Japanese, with bushy beards being common among men, and blue eyes aren't uncommon – which, combined with overall light skin, led to early identification of Ainu people as being of “Caucasian stock” according to outdated racial classifications.  The theory was that they traveled from the west across Asia in the distant past and somehow settled in the islands north of Japan.  This ties into how much of the archaeological fervor of the 19th and 20th centuries in Japan was wrapped around ethno-nationalist ideals and looking to find the origins of the Japanese people, often using concepts of eugenics to seek out physical and cultural differences between the Japanese and “other” people, such as the Ainu, to help better define who are—and who are not—Japanese.  For example, remember those Oshu Fujiwara mummies and how they were from a group described by the Chronicles as “Emishi” but ended up being more physically similar to modern Wa than modern Ainu?  Some scholars took this finding to mean that all of the Emishi were Wa people, effectively denying any ancestral claims or links that Ainu people may have had to Honshu, other than those historically attested to from about the 15th century onwards.  In similar ways, for each instance of some new “finding”, there have often been those who would use it as a further reason to discriminate against the Ainu. There is a lot of important archaeological work that has been done in Tohoku and elsewhere to help shed more light on the people living in areas that the Chronicles associate with the Emishi and beyond.  But while archaeological digs in places like Honshu and Kyushu were often done with great public support, archaeological work in places like Hokkaido often involved investigating burials of potential ancestors without consent, and even today there is some contention over how various artifacts were acquired.  As with too many places in the world, the data was not always gathered under what we may consider, today, the strictest of ethical standards.  So as important as the archeological perspective is – at least we are going off of physical items that we find rather than on the narrative imposed on the region by those in Yamato – it's important to keep that context in mind. Even recent attempts to better contextualize Ainu history at places like the Upopoy National Museum in Shiraoi, while apparently doing their best to provide that context, are still hampered by the weight of previous missteps in the relationship between the Ainu and the government.  Activists have noted that even Upopoy, the first such national museum devoted to the Ainu themselves, is still built on colonialist policies and artifacts and human remains acquired without all of the necessary consent and consultation with local Ainu.  Upopoy, for its part, appears to have reached out to those willing to work with them, and for all that there may be some controversy, it certainly has a lot of information for those interested in it. So, given these caveats, what does the archeological record tell us about the wide range of people and areas called “Emishi” by the Chronicles, including both those areas closer to the Yamato heartland, and the areas we know today as Ainu Mosir? To understand the patterns of settlement and cultural trends that we see up north – in Tohoku and Hokkaido --let's go back to the end of the Jomon period and the very start of the Yayoi.  As wet rice paddy cultivation (and accompanying pottery styles and other material goods) began to make its way into the archipelago, up through about the Kinki region—the original land of Yamato, or Yamateg—it was brought by a people that seem quite strongly connected to other people in east Asia, and these people largely replaced the indigenous Jomon era populations in western Japan.  However, the new material culture traveled faster and farther than the new people themselves, and it appears that in eastern Honshu, at least, much of the new farming technology, pottery, and other lifeways of the Yayoi culture were adopted by people that appear to share a great deal in common, physically, with the previous Jomon populations, suggesting that local populations were, themselves, adopting the new technology and being absorbed into the Yayoi culture.  This expansion of Yayoi culture and rice farming initially exploded all the way up to the very northern edge of Tohoku, but over time it started to decline in the northernmost regions.  Whether due to a change in the climate or simply the fact that the colder, snowier regions in Tohoku were not as hospitable to farming, we see that rice cultivation fell into disuse, and people seem to have once again picked up the lifeways of their ancestors in the region, returning to a more hunter-gatherer style of subsistence.  Indeed, in northern Tohoku and Hokkaido we see the continued evolution of Jomon culture in a phase that is generally known as the Epi-Jomon, or, in Japanese, the Zoku-Jomon period, which generally lasted through the end of the 7th century.  This Epi-Jomon or Zoku-Jomon cultural region lay far outside the “official” Yamato borders according to the Chroniclers in an area considered to be part of “Michinoku” – literally past the end of the road – so it's understandably commonly associated with the Emishi.  But once again, it's not that simple, because we do see Yayoi and Kofun culture extending up into this region.  In fact, there are even keyhole shaped kofun up in Tohoku, the largest of these being Raijinyama kofun, thought to have been built between the late 4th and early 5th centuries.  It sits south of modern Sendai, and there are numerous other tombs there as well, suggesting it was well connected to Yamato and the kofun culture of central Honshu. Another complication is that we have regions officially designated Emishi that were much closer in – on the borders of Yamato itself.  Based on simply the written record, it would seem that “Emishi” resided as close to Yamato as the lands of Koshi and the land of Hitachi, at the very least.  The Emishi in Koshi are mentioned several times in the Chronicles, and both the Nihon Shoki and works like the Hitachi Fudoki mention Emishi or people who are at least outside of the Yamato cultural sphere.  This area bordering Yamato seems to have been the most affected by kofun and even Yamato culture, and also would have likely come into the most direct conflict with Yamato itself.  It is also the area most likely to include those who, for one reason or another, decided to yet themselves outside the growing reach of the Yamato state, a pattern that would continue for centuries to come.  On top of that, there is something else going on in northern Hokkaido, where, starting around the 5th century, we see different archeological assemblages from the south, indicating further cultural distinctiveness from the Tohoku and southern Hokkaido inhabitants.  These are mostly found on the coast in the northern part of Hokkaido, and match closely with the culture we see first in the Sakhalin island, and later the Kurils, along the edges of the Okhotsk Sea.  Hence the name we've given to this unknown culture:  The Okhotsk Sea Culture, or just the Okhotsk culture. From what we can glean, the people of the Okhotsk culture subsisted largely off the hunting of marine mammals, such as seals, sea lions, sea cows, and whales.  In contrast, the Epi-Jomon people appear to have subsisted more on inland hunting strategies, along with coastal fishing, which is represented in their settlement patterns, among other things.  This latter description likewise tracks with descriptions of the Emishi as subsisting largely off of hunted game. It is unclear what exactly happened to the Okhotsk Sea Culture, but they appear to be one of the ancestral groups of the modern Nivkh people, on the northern part of Sakhalin and the lower Amur River and coastal regions, though the Okhotsk Sea Culture also seems to have had a large influence on the development of the people known today as the Ainu.  Modern DNA testing of Ainu demonstrate connections both with the earlier Jomon people of Japan—a connection that is much stronger than in most Japanese—but also with people from the Okhotsk Sea region.  Still, how and in what ways those people came together is not clear. The connection to the Jomon and Epi-Jomon people appears to be strengthened by the fact that throughout Tohoku there are placenames that appear to be more closely related to the Ainu language than to Japanese.  For example, in Ainu itak, terms like “nai” and “pet” refer to rivers and streams, and we find a lot of placenames ending with “nai”, “be”, or “betsu”.  These are often written with kanji that would be understandable to Japanese speakers, but the prevalence and location of these names often make people think that they are likely related to Ainu itak, in some way—possibly a proto-Ainuic language or dialect that is now lost. While I can't discount the fact that some this could be due to false etymologies, we can add to it the fact that the term “Emishi” was eventually changed to “Ezo”, which itself came to be used primarily for Hokkaido and the people there, including the people we know of today as the Ainu.  However, it isn't clear that the term Emishi, or even “Ezo”, was consistently applied to only one group, and its usage may have changed over time, simply being used in each period to refer to the people of the Tohoku and Hokkaido regions outside of the control of the Japanese court. Another aspect of the archaeological record is the change in the Epi-Jomon culture to what we know as the Satsumon culture around the time of our narrative.  Satsumon, like Jomon, is derived from the distinctive pottery styles found.  “Jomon” means “cord-marked”, referring to the use of pressed cords and similar decoration on the pottery, and starting in the 7th century we see a new style using wood to scrape designs, instead.  Thus the term “Satsumon”.  It first pops up in Honshu, but by the 9th century it had spread to Hokkaido and eventually even spread to areas associated with the Okhotsk Sea Culture.  It would last until roughly the 13th century, when it was replaced by a culture that is more clearly related to the modern Ainu people. But the Satsumon culture wasn't just new types of pottery.  We see more ironwork appearing in the Satsumon culture, as well as the cultivation of millet and other types of agriculture.  Tohoku and Hokkaido were still a bit cold for the ancient forms of wet rice agriculture that were prevalent in more southern regions, and millet and other crops likely fit more easily into the lifeways of the people in these areas. Likewise, by the 8th century, we also see a new type of stove appearing in Satsumon villages.  This “kamado” seems clearly related to the type of stove that came over to Honshu from the Korean peninsula around the 5th century, reaching Hokkaido by the 8th, and eventually finding purchase on Sakhalin by the 11th, demonstrating a slow yet continuous adoption. Some of these changes might be explained by greater contact with Wa people and the trade networks that extended through Honshu and over to the mainland, but there were also trade routes through Sakhalin island over to the Amur River delta and beyond that should not be overlooked, even if they weren't as prevalent in the written histories of the time. I previously mentioned that in the next episode, we'll dive into more of what the Chronicles have to say about the Emishi, but to give a preview, the Chronicles have already mentioned the Emishi several times as trading and treating with the Yamato state.  Back in the era before the Isshi Incident, Naka no Oe's coup in 645, Soga no Emishi himself had dealings with the Emishi of the land of Koshi, which we covered in episode 107.  Then, in the previous reign, Emishi had attended court, but the court had also erected barriers and barrier towns in Nutari and Ihabune in 647 and 648 to protect the border areas from purported raids by the Emishi.  Hence the episode opener, imagining what it might be like for a soldier at one of these barrier towns.  But, there is also another people that we've already talked about, mentioned in the Chronicles:  The Sushen people, also glossed as either the Mishihase or Ashihase people.  In the Nihon Shoki, they first appeared in an entry in the reign of Kimmei Tennou, when a group of them came ashore on Sado island, which we discussed back in episode 86.  In this period, however, the  appear to be referencing a people who were living in the north of Hokkaido, and who were putting pressure on the people to their south, much as Yamato was putting pressure on the people to their northeast. The Sinitic characters, or kanji, used to name them in the Nihon Shoki uses a term from mainland writings for the Sushen people.  This name is first given to people mentioned in early Warring States documents, such as the Classic of Mountains and Seas, as living on the Shandong peninsula.  Eventually, however, as empires expanded, the term was used to refer to people along the Amur river region and the coast, in modern China and Russia—the eastern areas of what we know as “Manchuria”.  These were probably not the same people originally referred to as living in Shandong, and instead seems to apply to the Yilou people, and likely also is cognate with the later term “Jurchen”. In the ancient Sinic documents, the Sushen are described as hunter-gatherers who live in the open, using caves and other such natural features for temporary shelter.  They hunted with bows and arrows, which were tipped with stone arrowheads.  To the settled cultures of the Yellow River basin, they were considered a primitive and barbaric people. As for the people mentioned in the Nihon Shoki, it is quite likely that the term “Sushen” was used differently.  Rather than referring to Jurchen people, or someone from mainland northeast Asia, it is thought that the characters were used because of the similar role played by the people of northern Hokkaido and Sakhalin island—and possibly because of connection with the Amur river region, including the area referred to in older documents as “Su-shen”.  Still, the people referred to in the Nihon Shoki were probably what we know as the Okhotsk Sea culture, especially based on what we know from later descriptions.  From Yamato's point of view, they were likewise living in the extreme northeast and they were a hunter-gatherer society that used stone arrowheads in their hunting.  The fact that it is glossed as either Mishihase or Ashihase by later commentators suggests that this was the name by which the Yamato knew these people, and the kanji were just borrowed for their meaning of a people in the northeast. And so in the 7th century we have both the Emishi and the Mishihase, at least in the northeast.  There are also the Hayato, another group of people in the southern reaches of Tsukushi.  We are told that they and the Emishi both attended the court in 655 in great numbers.   Discussion of who the Hayato were is probably best left for another episode.  Suffice it to say that they appear to be culturally distinct from the groups in the northeast, at least at this point. And that's where we are going to pause things for now.  The archaeological record gives us some idea of the people inhabiting the areas of Tohoku and up to Hokkaido, but it only tells part of the story—and it is a story that we are continuing to uncover.  Even today people are working on archaeological sites that just may turn up new information that will change how we see things. Next episode, we'll dive into the narrative of the Nihon Shoki and take a look at the actions of individuals—especially the actions of Abe no Hirafu, a key player in what was to happen in the north. Until then thank you for listening and for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, please tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website,  SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast. And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.

This episode we look at the Hakuchi era.  Specifically, the implementation of something called the "Equal Fields" system, which seems to be what the court was trying to implement in some of their early Ritsuryo edicts.  And then we'll see why this era is the "Asuka" period and not the "Naniwa" period, despite the grand temple to government erected in that area of ancient Osaka. For more, check out https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-114 Rough Transcript Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua and this is Episode 114: Public Lands and Remote Work   In the early evening, Karu paced through the halls of the inner palace.  The grand scale of the construction was impressive, and it was built and furnished with the finest materials available.  In all aspects it was the shining jewel.  The center of the Yamato world.  The entire thing still felt new. And yet, for all of that, it now felt strangely empty.  So many of those who had previously graced its halls were only memories.  Karu looked over the halls and wondered:  Was it worth it?    He had worked with his nephew and others to build a Kingdom worthy of the name.  They had instituted reforms to model themselves after the major powers of the day.  They had a built a palace to last the test of time.  This wasn't just another place to be abandoned—this was meant to be the bedrock on which the new State would stand.  It was the center of ritual and of the government. But was it?  The government was more than just buildings.  It was the people who made up the offices and the ministries.  It was the entire royal family.  It was the scholars and the officials, debating just how things should work. What would happen when Karu was gone?  Would this system last the test of time?  Or would it disappear, to be replaced by something new?  For centuries, every sovereign had made a new home for themselves every time the previous sovereign passed away.  Is that what would happen to Karu as well? As the sun set, and darkness set in, Karu could only wonder what the future might hold. So here we are in the Hakuchi era, during the reign of Karu, aka Ame Yorodzu Toyohi, which is to say between the years 650 and 654.  The era of Great Change was now the era of the White Pheasant – listen to our last couple of episodes to understand why -- and all of the changes weve been discussing were starting to really come together.  Front and center of those changes was the Nagara Toyosaki Palace, a physical manifestation of the new bureaucratic system of government that the sovereign, Karu; the Crown Prince, Naka no Oe; and others had put into place.  The work of this government was happening on a stage much grander than anything that had previously been seen in the islands. This was the start of what we know as the Ritsuryo Era, and it was finally coalescing.  In this episode we'll talk about how, in the Hakuchi era, we see the implementation of the continental system known as the “Equal Field System”, and how the bureaucratic government was extended down to the individual household.  This was all part of what we've come to know as the Ritsuryo state, which we talked about back in Episode 108 as we started all of these changes.  We are now seeing the foundations of that new state, and we are several years into its implementation, seeing those early edicts finally starting to bear fruit.All of this, of course, was focused on the seat of government in Naniwa. And yet, spoiler alert, this is not called the “Naniwa Era”.  We are still in what many refer to as the Asuka Era.  So what happened?  Towards the end of the episode we'll talk about what happened as the era came to a close, or at least as much as we know. To kick us off, let's talk about where we stand in the Hakuchi era, and look at the culmination of these early Ritsuryo changes we've been talking about. Whatever else had happened, various good omens, crises, and so on – the work of the government was continuing.  Once again, we see records of various envoys from the continent —and we'll get into the international situation, later—but for now, let's focus on what was going on in the archipelago itself.  Specifically, I want to talk about something called the Equal Field System, another innovation that Karu and his administration introduced to Yamato. The Equal Field System goes back to at least the Northern Wei dynasty, over on the continent, in the late 5th century.  It attempted to solve several issues regarding how the government could make sure that land was being worked—and that the government was also getting its cut.  To that end, let's back up a bit and talk about concepts of public versus private land, and how they apply to Yamato at the time. The concept of “private” land may seem simplistic, as we have an idea of what it means today.  Your “private” land is land you own, of course.  “Public” land belongs to the government.  But in Japan—and in much of East Asia—those concepts weren't necessarily the same.  In many early theories of land ownership, all land belonged to the State—individuals were simply using it.  To a certain degree, even today, land is often held only so long as you have a deed or other proof of ownership that is recognized by the State, but concepts like eminent domain can supercede that ownership. So for our purposes, here, Private land was land where all the produce went to a private individual or private interest,  such as a family—or even a temple or shrine.  If it was truly privately-owned land, then all of the produce of that land went to the owner.  Even if the government technically owned the land, the land could still be considered private, meaning that it wasn't  considered taxable by the government – whoever controlled the land got all the produce. In contrast to that, public land was land where the government was owed some or all of the produce.  It might have been worked by individuals, but was still taxable in part or full.  An early system that goes back to at least the Zhou dynasty was known as the Well Field System.  In this system, land was ideally divided into nine squares.  The eight squares of land on the outside of the square would all be held and worked by private farmers, who were able to keep whatever they produced on the land.  In return, they were to provide labor on the public land in the center, the produce of which went to the State, which could then be stashed away in case of famine or used to help increase the State's coffers and thus pay for other amenities. Of course often it just went into the pockets of various aristocrats.  I also wonder just how much effort was actually put in to working the public land in the Well Field System. That name, by the way, comes from how the whole schematic looked when drawn out.  The hanzi, or kanji, for a “well”—as in a place where you draw water—is much like a modern hashtag mark.  Think two horizontal and two vertical lines, like a tic-tac-toe board.  This comes from the fact that wells were often square or rectangular holes, the sides of which could be reinforced with wood.  At the top, the well frame was often formed with overlapping wooden beams, forming a shape similar to a hashtag.  And so in the Well Field System, the center of the tic-tac-toe board was the public land, and everything else was private.  This system fell apart with the fall of the Zhou during the Summer and Autumn periods, though there were attempts to revive it.  After all, it had been mentioned in the Book of Rites, the Liji, and it was praised by Mengzi—the famous scholar and philosopher we known to the West by his latinized name of  “Mencius”.  As such, it was officially documented as a “good idea” and so there were often attempts to revive it. The Northern Wei, however, took a slightly different approach.  In the late 5th century, they were looking for a way to curb the power of aristocratic families.  Since the Qin dynasty and onwards, they had seen the growth of families accumulating land and thus wealth and power.  These powerful families were both necessary and a threat, as they held the power to prop up or tear down a government.  Farmers would need to rent land from the powerful landowners, paying them a portion of their harvest as rent. To counter this, the Northern Wei instituted the Equal Field system.  Under this system, they claimed government ownership of vast swaths of land and then provided equal parts of that government land to every adult person.  Upon a person's death, their land would revert back to the government, who could then redistribute it to others.  The peasants would then be expected to provide a portion of the harvest as tax—they would provide food-rent for the land, as well as payment in cloth and a set number of days of corvee labor.  The key was that all of this payment was due to the government, and not to private aristocratic families. After the Northern Wei fell, the Equal Field system was reinvigorated by the Sui and Tang dynasties, who extended the system across their territories—or at least within the Yellow River and Yangzi River basins.  The system did have some allowances for inheritance—especially in instances like mulberry groves, which would be maintained by successive generations.  In general, however, most of the land was to be reclaimed by the government upon a person's death or at the point that they reached 60 years of age, and then it would be redistributed. This is still a relatively simplistic overview, and there were plenty of different adjustments and changes to the system over the years.  Key for us, though, is looking at the adoption of the Equal Field concept in the archipelago. Up to this point, land ownership in Yamato, such as it was, fell under various family groups.  They would own the land and whatever was produced on it, so it was truly private land.  “Yake” were set up by the families as central storehouses and administrative centers.  In this case, the royal family was, in many ways, just another landowner, and their “yake” are indicated in the Chronicles with the royal “mi” honorific—hence the “miyake”. As the reformers went about making changes in the period between 645-650, they adopted the concept of the Equal Field System.  Prominent figures such as Naka no Oe himself gave up their private fields, and the royal lands were turned into government lands.  They instituted the concept that all land in the archipelago nominally belonged to the State, and that others worked it at the Sovereign's pleasure. As we talked about in the past several episodes, this made the Sovereign and the State more prominent in people's lives, and it built bonds with the peasants in that they were granted land on which to work and make a livelihood.  They didn't necessarily have to work out a separate arrangement with some noble family, and the fields and taxes were “equal” for every person. Of course, surveying the land, taking a census, and distributing the land to the people didn't happen overnight, and it isn't even clear how well it occurred outside of the lands originally owned by the royal family, at least initially.  We are told that even though the project had kicked off years earlier, back in 646, it wasn't until the second month of 652 that we are told that the distribution of rice-land had been completed.  30 paces of land—Aston notes that it was 30 paces long by 12 paces wide—made up a single TAN of rice-land, and 10 TAN made up a CHOU.  Each TAN or land a person was granted was expected to provide back to the government a sheaf and a half of rice, with each CHOU providing 15 sheaves. This effort simplified taxation, in a way—everyone owed the same thing, based on their household and how much land they had been granted.  However, it also would have required an enormous bureaucratic engine.  Scribes would have been in high demand—anyone who could read and write.  Without modern computers, they would need to hand count everything in a given district, then send those numbers up to the governor, and then send them again to the capital.  Hence the giant government complex set up in Naniwa to oversee all of this and to ensure that the government worked as intended. In the fourth month of 652, the work continued.  We are told that the registers of population were prepared—presumably based on the information that had been previously acquired from around the provinces and sent to the court.  The earlier edicts from 646 that outlined this system—which we mentioned back in Episode 109—was finally put in force.  As we noted back in that episode, 50 houses made up a township, or RI—the character used is also pronounced “SATO”, today, and often refers to a village.  Each RI had an appointed elder, or head, using the term “CHOU”.  This term is still found today in modern parlance:  The head of a company, or “KAISHA” is the “SHACHOU”, while the head of a division, or BU, within said company would be the BUCHOU.  KAICHOU is the head of an association, or “KAI” and the “GAKUCHOU” is the head of a “DAIGAKU”, a university—basically the University President.  In this case the “CHOU” of the “RI” would be the “RICHOU”, using the Sino-Japanese On'yomi pronunciation, though in the vernacular they probably would have been called the “Sato-osa”.  All of this just means village head or village chief. So 50 houses made up a RI, with one RICHOU at the head.  In addition, each house would have a senior member appointed as the official head of household, or KACHOU.  From there, houses were associated together in groups of five for mutual protection, with one head, or CHOU, per group of five.  And okay, so they were creating groups of people for administrative purposes?  Who cares?  Well, the thing about this is that it was encoded into the new legal system, and it had several implications.  Chief among them was the implication of primogeniture: Since the most senior person was made the KACHOU or head of household (and by “person” I think we can assume that “man” was a given, unless there were no men in the house for some reason), this meant that the eldest person in the household was automatically the one who inherited that position, along with the status and control that came with it.  As we've seen, up to this point, it was not necessarily the case that the most senior person would inherit in ancient Yamato tradition.  Inheritance could pass from a younger brother to an older brother, or to a younger son of a younger son.  While there was some apparent concern over lineage and making sure that the individual was of the proper bloodline, at least for royal inheritance, there was not an automatic assumption of precedence for who would inherit. Of course, as we've seen, this set off all sorts of disputes and problems, especially among the elite where wealth and power was involved.  However, I think it is fair to assume that these problems weren't relegated purely to the upper levels of society.  Inheritance is always tricky, even in cases where it seems like it should be straightforward. I imagine that the institution of primogeniture as a legal concept would have had consequences beyond just inheritance.  It set up ideas of who was “important” in the family, and the family is often a microcosm of society at large.  Primogeniture meant that age and masculinity were both valued over youth and femininity.  That isn't to say that pre-Taika Ritsuryo was a bastion of equality, but we do see more instances where men and women seem to be on closer to equal footing. In the concept of primogeniture, I believe we can also see the institution of Confucian values—not surprising as this whole thing is cribbed from the continent, with a lot of it being taken from the Tang court.  We've discussed Confucian concepts of filial piety and how that fed into patriarchal—and frankly monarchical—ideas.  The Father and Son, the Ruler and Subject, the Husband and Wife, Elder Brother and Younger Brother, etc.  These were the relationships that were important and they defined much of the way people were expected to interact. As the new system being instituted copied the form of continental government, it would have also been preaching many of its values, as well.  Scholars will continue to debate how widespread the changes actually were.  Did the equal-fields system exist all the way out to the edge of Emishi territory?  Did it cover the mountainous regions of Honshu?  How about to the West of Yamato?  We don't know, but nonetheless, we do see both the expansion and centralization of Yamato power, so there seems to be something to it. By all accounts, the work that had taken place in this era appears to have been a smashing success.  The Taika reforms had taken hold, and the Ritsuryo state seemed to be off to a roaring start.  At the center of it was the newly built Nagara Toyosaki Palace, a giant stage for carrying out the business and ritual of the State.  One would think that the founders of this new State would have been overjoyed.  Naka no Oe, Nakatomi no Kamatari, and the sovereign, Karu, among them.  And yet, the story doesn't seem quite that simple. The first Ministers of the Right and Left had already passed away.  Abe no Oho-omi had passed of what appears to be natural causes, but Soga no Oho-omi, aka Ishikawa no Maro, was undone by slander, accused of treason, and took his own life rather than being killed by the government forces sent after him.  And in the 6th month of 653, the sovereign was told that the Priest Min had passed away. Min—Aston sometimes transcribes it as “Bin”—was one of the sources for much of the information about the continental systems of government.  We've mentioned him on and off for the last 5 or 6 episodes, though you may not have always caught the reference.  Also, since even Aston switches between pronunciations at times, I apologize if I haven't been consistent.  If I said Priest “Min” or “Bin”, we're talking about the same person.  He was a Buddhist priest who had traveled to the Sui dynasty in 608, spending 24 years there, witnessing the change from the Sui to the Tang, returning to Yamato in 632.  He was consulted on various omens, and he and Takamuko Kuromaro, who had also been made a State Scholar, or Hakase, at the same time, both worked to set up the eight ministries of the state, the core of the Ritsuryo bureaucracy. The death of Min was felt across the organs of state.  Both the Queen Dowager and Naka no Oe, the Crown Prince, sent messengers to offer condolences.  The sovereign commanded the painters, Koma no Tachibe no Komaro, Funado no Atahe, and others to make a large number of figures of the Buddha and Boddhisatvas.  They were to be placed in the temple of Kawaradera, though other sources say Yamadadera.  Both of these are in Asuka—although the capital had moved to Naniwa, and there was the temple of Shitennoji there, just south of the palace, I can't help but notice that many of the established temples remained in and around the old capital at Asuka. 653 saw something else, which also seems a bit odd, given the apparent success of the government.  We see that in this year the Crown Prince, Naka no Oe, petitioned his uncle, the Sovereign, to move the royal residence back to the Yamato capital, which is to say Asuka—in the heartland of Yamato as opposed to outside the Nara Basin, like Naniwa.  This is quite the request.  They had just finished establishing a large palace complex in Naniwa.  Why would they pull up stakes and move everything back to Asuka? So the sovereign, Karu, denied Naka no Oe's petition.  Regardless, Naka no Oe took his mother, the Queen Dowager, as well as Karu's own Queen, Hashibito and the younger royal princes, and he moved all of them back to Asuka, moving into the temporary palace of Kawabe.  The ministers and the various Daibu all followed him.  He basically moved the royal family and the court back to Asuka, without Karu's permission, and everyone followed him. We aren't told why this happened.  Was there a falling out between Naka no Oe and the Sovereign?  Was there some other issue that caused Naka no Oe to want to abandon the capital they had worked so hard to build? Karu was understandably upset by this apparent betrayal.  He expressed himself in a poem which he sent to his wife: KANAKITSUKE / AGAKAFU KOMA WA / HIKIDESEZU AGAKAFU KOMA WO / HITO MITSURAMUKA The pony which I keep/ I put shackles on / And led it not out Can anyone have seen / The pony which I keep? And if it wasn't enough that the people had left. We see once more, on the New Year's Day of 654, that the rats likewise left Naniwa and migrated towards Asuka.  This last one I certainly question as to whether or not it happened, but the meaning and symbolism is clear.  The Chroniclers are telling us that the effective capital was moving back to Asuka.  The time in Naniwa was limited. This doesn't appear to have negatively affected the fortunes of Naka no Oe and his supporters.  On the contrary: Nakatomi no Kamatari no Muraji, on this same New Year's Day, was granted the Shikwan, the purple cap, and his fief was increased.  The Toushi Kaden, the History of the Fujiwara House, says that it was increased by 8,000 households. It seems that the business of the government continued apace through 654, though it is a bit unclear just how things worked, given the split between Asuka and Naniwa.  Was Karu left alone in the giant complex he had built?  Or was it still where all of the government work happened?  If so, just how much were the high ministers missed, or were they working remotely, via messenger and post-horse? Whatever the situation, it would resolve by the end of the year.  On the 1st day of the 10th month, Naka no Oe learned that his uncle, the Sovereign, had taken ill.  Naka no Oe and the entire court returned to Naniwa to see him.  Nine days later, on the 10th day of the 10th month, Karu passed away in the state bedchamber he was around 57 or 58 years old.  He was temporarily interred in the southern courtyard, and Mozu no Hashi no Muraji no Doutoko oversaw the palace of temporary interment.  He would be buried in the Ohosaka Shinaga Tomb, which was built near the site of tombs associated with Kashikiyahime and others, south of the Yamato river, on the west side of the mountains that separate the Kawachi plain from the Nara basin. Two months later, Naka no Oe and his mother made it official, and formally moved to the temporary palace of Kawabe in Asuka.  Naka no Oe's mother, Takara Hime, would come to the throne on the third day of the first month of the new year, 655.  It would be her second time on the throne.   Since she reigned twice, the Chroniclers actually gave her two posthumous regnal names.  For the first reign they named her “Kougyoku Tennou”.  In the second reign they named her “Saimei Tennou”, to distinguish from her first reign on the throne.  As far as I know this has only happened twice—the second time being with Kouken, aka Shoutoku, Tennou in the late 8th century. Why she took the throne again is not addressed.  She had been the sovereign, stepping down during the Isshi Incident, when Soga no Iruka was killed in front of her.  At that time, Naka no Oe had been urged to take the throne, but he decided against it.  After all, Furubito no Oe was still around at that time, and seems to have had his own claim.  Naka no Oe couldn't take the throne while Furubito was still alive and, at the same time, claim to be the filial person that Confucian theory said he should be.  And so his uncle, Karu, took the throne, since nobody could really say anything against it.  Now, though, Furubito no Oe and Karu were both deceased.  Why didn't Naka no Oe, the Crown Prince, ascend the throne?  Again, we aren't given an answer.  There is one other thing that is possibly worth noting, however: Karu had a son.  This may be whom they are referring to as the “younger princes” who were brought to Asuka when everyone moved there.  This was Prince Arima.  He is believed to have been born in 640, so he would have been about 15 years old at the time of his father's death.  Naka no Oe was the Crown Prince, but did Arima also have a claim?  He was, after all, the male son of the most recent sovereign, Karu, and his queen, Hashibito hime.  This is something that we will definitely look at in a future episode. It should be noted that Naka no Oe was born in 626.  He would have been 18 or 19 years old during the time of the Isshi incident, and was only ten years old, 29 years old, when his mother took the throne for the second time, in 655.  She, on the other hand, was about 62 years old when she took the throne the second time.  The consensus is that even though she reigned as sovereign, the true power continued to rest with the young Naka no Oe and his clique, and they would continue to direct the government for the next several decades. And with that we largely bring to a close the Hakuchi era.  The era ended with Karu's death, and no new era was declared for Takara Hime's reign.  The period from the Hakuchi era to the start of the Nara period is often referred to as the Hakuho period.  An unofficial name taken from the names of the nengo on either side of it.  It often is used specifically to reference the art of the period, as more and more continental influence continued to pour in. Next episode, we'll take a look at the various interactions with the continent and go a little more into the politics of the time.  Takara Hime's second reign—for which she was posthumously given the name “Saimei Tennou”—dealt a lot with the continent, among other things.  Things on the Korean peninsula were heating up, and the Tang was continuing to push against those on their borders, both along the Silk Road to the West, but also against states like Goguryeo, in the northeast.  And yet it wasn't a time of constant warfare, either.  We'll do our best to look at what was happening. Until then thank you for listening and for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, please tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast. And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.

This episode we continue looking at the Taika reforms, covering only 3 months, but with edicts about mounded tombs, the labor due to the state vice individuals, and a variety of "offenses", often countering current practices such as forcing people to undergo "harai" in many instances. For more, check out the blog at https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-110 Rough Transcript: Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua and this is episode 110: Manual Labor, Mounded Tombs, and Marital Missteps. Maro sat by the small campfire he had made along the river's edge.  The water nearby was going to be the catalyst for the gruel that he was making with some of the last bit of food that he had.  As he stirred the pot, he looked over at his friend, lying out, his head propped up against the rock. Maro and Sumi had been working on one of the large tombs in Asuka at the commandof their lord, who had built it for his deceased father.  Now they were released and headed back to their village, still two days out.  Unlike their superiors, they didn't get horses to ride across the landscape, so it would be a few days before they returned home.  Unfortunately, Sumi had grown ill, and he was now almost delirious with fever.  Maro couldn't bear to leave his friend, but he also cursed his luck. What if Sumi were to die?  It was one thing to die at home, or even when they were working on the tomb.  But now they were travelers—strangers on the road.  If something happened to Sumi, Maro knew he couldn't just leave him, but neither could he go trudging through the countryside with a dead body.  Even association with death would bring problems for him, and if local villagers were to find out, they could force him to pay for the necessary ritual purification—or worse.  Heck, even something as simple as cooking rice on the side of the road could bring problems for a poor traveler—hence why Maro had found some place off the beaten path and away from prying eyes. Under his breath he prayed to whatever powers were listening to help Sumi recover.  If they could only make it back to their village, then everything would be alright. Once again, we are looking at the second year of Taika, 646.  As we heard in the past couple of episodes, the first year of Taika saw a plethora of edicts that would bring radical change to the way that the sovereign interacted with the land and the people.  These provided the start of  much more direct rule,   and yet also set the stage for a new bureaucratic state, with various new officials up and down the hierarchy. This episode we are continuing to look at what happened in the first several months of 646, largely because there was so much going on that it's worth focusing in on this short time period.   For one thing, we really should talk a little bit more about how this entire Taika era is reflecting the culmination of what appears to have been a major change to Yamato's cultural identity over the preceding century or so—a change in perspective that may not have even been entirely apparent to them, but which allowed Naka no Oe and the sovereign, Karu, aka Koutoku Tennou, to get away with these pronouncements that restructured the basic foundations of the Yamato state.  These changes include the death knell of the kofun period, with new restrictions on how mounded tombs were to be created, including how large they were allowed to be.  We'll also look at a litany of items being called out in the third month of the year—many of which directly affected people at the lowest ends of the economic spectrum and which give us a view of some of the practices that had presumably been going on prior to the edict. As we've already discussed, the early part of the year 646 saw quite a few quote-unquote “normal” things happening.  The sovereign moved into a new detached palace, perhaps while the Toyosaki Palace was being built.  This was the Koshiro Palace of Sayabe, in Naniwa.  Emissaries were sent out to restore—or possibly build—the arsenals; you may recall that the governors were supposed to gather up all of the weapons and armor in a single place so that it could be available, just in case.  Envoys from the Emishi came to do homage, and there was another round of envoys from Goguryeo, Baekje, and Silla.  Apparently, this time, there were no complaints about the tribute.  That was all in the first two months.  By the third, the governors had been called to account for their misdeeds, but also pardoned – we talked about this two episodes ago, when we explored the new system of governors, but this is when their pardons happen – and the sovereign moved out of the Koshiro Palace, presumably to take up residence in the shiny new Toyosaki palace that was just getting blessed and which was the nominal reason for the general amnesty across the land. And with all of that over… well, it was time to get back to figuring out what part of the traditional order they would overthrow next.  And apparently, Karu, our sovereign, had an idea.  He sent a question to the Crown Prince, Naka no Oe, to see what he thought about it, and we are given the Prince's response in a letter back to the crown on the 20th day of the 3rd month of 646.    The question Karu had askedwas roughly: what should be done about a group of families called the Iribe, including the Koshiro no Iribe of the Omi, Muraji, the Tomo no Miyatsuko, and the Kuni no Miyatsuko; and the Mina no Iribe of the Royal Princes.  Karu had also evidently asked what should be done about the Miyake. Now the question reading as “what should be done about these people” sounds a bit ominous, so before we get to Naka no Oe's suggestions, let's explore just who were the “Iribe” mentioned here.  As far as I can find, there doesn't appear to be another use of that word in the Chronicles, but the other terms around it provide clues and we have a general consensus about what this is all about.  “Koshiro”—the Child's Generation—and the “Mina”—the exalted name—suggest that the Iribe were those families set up in the name of a given prince or person.  As we've talked about on the podcast in the past, from the start of the various “Be” families, there was a longstanding tradition of creating specific families to support given individuals: for former queens, princes, and more. These families often took the name of the palace where these individuals  resided.  The output of these families and worker groups would then go to support that individual and their relatives. The language used in Naka no Oe's letter, here, suggests that various other elites had set up similar groups for themselves or their own relatives This is supported by the fact that the Miyake are also mentioned.  The Miyake were the royal granaries, and while they had a political significance in extending the presence of the Yamato throne, they were also supplying income, in the form of rice, to the throne and various members of the royal family. So, Karu's question basically boiled down to: what do we do about all of these groups that exist purely to support elite families?  Naka no Oe's response reflects the new order that he was pushing for in this period.  He notes that there is only one sovereign, and only the sovereign was owed the labor of the populace—suggesting that the labor of the Iribe and those otherwise conscripted into labor should be done according to the new labor laws they had just enacted.  This also suggested that even the Miyake should be abolished. This was another Big Change in the Taika era, and once again, this would have large ramifications, as it suggested, once again, that the traditions of people providing labor to these elite families would go away—although not entirely.  As we will see, elites would still get an income, but it would no longer be based on your hereditary rank and position and provided by groups bound to your service alone, but instead based on your appointed rank and position in the new government.  Those serving in government would continue to receive a stipend based on the labor of agricultural workers on land allotted to such purpose by the state, and in fact we've already seen where stipends were increased for some officers.  This goes along with the idea, at least, of a more merit-based society.  Those who worked hard and proved themselves would find their way to the highest positions and thus the greatest income for themselves and their families.  In reality, these promotions were highly political affairs, and most likely to go to those who came from the families already in power.  How that was envisioned, though, changed in this period, and it really emphasizes the shift that must have occurred within the cultural imaginary of the time. I've mentioned before the concept of the cultural imaginary, and it is something that I think we really need to talk about during this period—during the Great Change.  It is clear that, even if the term “Taika” was applied after the fact, people recognized that there was a sea change going on.  That change is externally represented by the edicts and the change going on in the way the government was operating.  However, this couldn't have happened without at least the tacit approval of the rest of the elites.  If Naka no Oe had just been a lone voice preaching the benefits of a more centralized state, with the sovereign at the top of a bureaucratic system that had never before been seen in the archipelago, then he could easily have been dismissed.  The other members of the court could have effectively revolted, refusing to comply and possibly even forcing a change in government.  And of course, that may have been part of what was behind the attempted revolt around Prince Furubito no Ohoye, which we talked about last episode. However, enough people continued to side with Naka no Oe and Nakatomi no Kamatari and their ideas that any opposition was unable to overcome their momentum.  So why? I would suggest that this was the result and culmination of a new way of envisioning—of imagining, if you will—the Yamato state.  It is an image that would have been familiar to the Chroniclers, and we see it throughout their narrative: the image of an imperial state, with the sovereign—known to the Chroniclers as the Sumera no Mikoto, or Tennou—at the very top.  The Sumera no Mikoto, as the sovereign would eventually be known, held authority not only in the secular realm, but also in the spiritual—in the Buddhist and in matters of the kami.  It envisioned the sovereign as the natural ruler of all of the archipelago, and even beyond. This was an image that is very much in line with the thinking of continental scholars.  It conforms, to a point, with Confucian and Buddhist ideas of what a Good Ruler should be, and, by extension, what the role of the State was and how the people should operate within that realm. Prior to the 6th century, there had been another image of the sovereign—the image of the Oho-kimi.  There are similarities—after all, power is power and humans are going to human.  But there were clearly other prevailing ideas in play back then.  We've talked about the idea of co-rulers, who ruled in tandem.  And we've seen examples of female and male rulers at various levels of society.  Spiritual authority came from the ability to intercede with the kami, and there were no native Buddhist traditions prior to 538—despite attempts by the Chroniclers to paint prior generations with the brush of Buddhist and Confucian morality.  One's place in society wasn't dictated by their own personal accomplishments as much as it was the accomplishments of their extended family, though even some of that may have come about as late as the 5th or 6th centuries.  Perhaps more importantly, prior to the 6th century, the sovereign's direct control only extended so far.  They were the sovereign of Yamato, and though they may have had influence over others in the archipelago, they did not necessarily have direct control over their lands and people.  By all accounts, the people owed their service not to the sovereign in Yamato, but to their local elites, who in turn may have had duties to those above them. But along with books and immigrants from the continent, the people of the archipelago got new ideas of what the government should look like.  These may have been foreign ideas, but over time we had new generations growing up with new and different examples of how things should work.  These new ideas worked their way into their thinking about how elited should behave and act, and colored their image for what a proper State should look like.  Sure, they understood how their own traditions worked, and that is still the mode under which they operated, but they were ready to change. Some of this change started back in the era of Prince Umayado and the sovereign, Kashikiya Hime.  Umayado's purported 17 article constitution, as we noted, didn't exactly lay out specific laws and punishments.  It wasn't a true legal code, though it was accompanied by a few legal changes, including the first attempt at a rank system for individuals.  More importantly, though, it articulated a set of values on which the government should be founded.  Whether or not these values were actually articulated to Prince Umayado, aka Shotoku Taishi, or even whether they were written down before the Chronicles were put together is debatable, but that whole episode certainly suggests that these kinds of ideas, which were rife with continental thought, were making their way into society. And thus, Naka no Oe was able to suggest his and Karu's reforms based on arguments that no doubt resonated with the people of the time, as many of those in government would have been reading similar texts.  So even while it was seemingly against their immediate interests to give up control of labor or production, they had already been provided an exemplar of how this would work.  They had a new imagination of what their culture should be and look like. And that's why I bring up the idea of a new cultural imaginary taking hold.  A cultural imaginary is the collection of various shared values and concepts that a group envisions for themselves. If we think of modern countries, one can look at American culture, where there are shared values of freedom, individuality, etc.  These are backed by common, shared ideas and stories—stories of the Founding Fathers, separating themselves from Great Britain, but also ideas of the Old West and concepts of the rugged cowboy on his horse.  These stories and images help us to determine our shared values and understanding.  It also tends to define the “us” versus “them”.  Why are *we* the way we are and why are *they* different? To be clear, these stories are not always true, and can change over time.  Early visions of America included some people, but not everyone.  Stories turned George Washington into an almost mythical figure, with an emphasis on his heroic qualities and his honesty.  Our modern version of the Old West is often driven by what we saw in movies, which in turn were influenced by dime novels of the late 19th and early 20th centuries.  The historical Old West tended to be quite different—and much more complex and diverse—than our modern visions of it. We can see similar forces at work in the Nihon Shoki and the Kojiki.  These were written with the cultural values of the 8th century, and deliberately or not, their values are reflected back into the past, which is then what later generations would hold onto, defining their own image of who they were and how things should be. When the cultural imaginary of what your society or culture *should* be conflicts with what people actually see happening, that often creates tension.  That tension can be resolved in a variety of ways, but it often requires something to change.  In this case, the cultural imaginaries of the elite had been flooded with examples of Confucian and Buddhist morals.  The stories and values had been passed along with knowledge of astronomy, mathematics, and more, in the media they were consuming from the continent.  There were also those who had come from the continent—from Baekje, Silla, and beyond—who no doubt also had absorbed some of these stories and values and were passing them on, as well. And so it wouldn't have taken that much for Naka no Oe to point out how the system that they were laboring under differed from what a so-called “good” government should look like.  So in a way, there was already buy-in for a change, at least at the top.  And thus it appears as though Naka no Oe and Karu were able to get many of the elites to give up a measure of their own autonomy under the old system for the benefits of the new system that was being created.  Mind you, it likely didn't hurt that the throne was also ensuring that they gave out lavish gifts of silk, gold ingots, and hefty stipends to many of the more influential members of society as well. There are still questions as to how much actually changed, initially.  Sure, we see the edicts and an intent to change, and the local elites of Yamato seem to have been going along with it, but we don't quite see how quickly these edicts were accepted in places like Izumo or Kibi, and I wouldn't be surprised to learn that, at least initially, many people just paid the edicts lip service, waiting to see whether or not they would actually be enforced.  Still, these are definite changes away from the previous cultural norms. Which leads into the next big edict, which focused on regulating tombs. While the ancient burial mounds which could be called “kofun” continued to be built into the 8th century in one form or another, by most timelines, the Kofun period ended around 538 with the introduction of Buddhism and the start of what is known as the Asuka period.  As we've noted, even the kingly tombs of the royal family from the end of the 6th century stopped relying on the round-keyhole shaped tomb shape.  By the early 7th century the building of temples had become the new memorial for the ultra-wealthy of Yamato—a temple being a memorial that could be built before you passed and carry on your memory to later generations as a place of worship.  This was no doubt helped by the idea that you would also accrue a fair bit of karma, the spiritual capital of the Buddhist worldview. However, a mounded burial was still de rigeur for the elites and certain families, including those who had come over from the continent.  The last keyhole style tombs known to have been built appear to be out in modern Chiba prefecture, in the Kanto region, in the first half of the 7th century.  From then on, we largely see round, square, or octagonal tombs.  Some of the latest tombs that we know of, in the late 7th and early 8th centuries, show clear signs of continental influence.  Kitora kofun and Takamatsuzuka Kofun, both in the Asuka area, are decorated in ways similar to tombs in Goguryeo, including paintings of the four directional animals mentioned in the Liji, the Confucian Book of Rites: Suzaku, the red bird of the south; Byakko, the white tiger of the west; Genbu, the black tortoise of the north; and Seiryuu, the blue dragon of the east.  Takamatsuzuka also contains murals of courtiers dressed in clothing that would be quite at home on the continent and which looks quite different from the clothing seen on haniwa figures from only a century or so earlier. Tombs were also more likely to be clustered together, and often only contained a single burial, rather than evidence of a double burial.  This was likely influenced by the edict of 646.  That edict also gives us ideas on what was considered to be reasonable for that era, and provides some of our best descriptions in the written record to help us better understand tomb construction. I would also note that the court had moved to Naniwa, and near to Naniwa were some of the largest of the kofun, including Daisen-ryo, the largest kofun in Japan and one of the largest mausoleums in the entire world.  So perhaps that was also influencing their thoughts. The edict starts out noting that large, mounded tombs are wasteful.  This shouldn't be a surprise:  large tombs were always about conspicuous consumption as a sign of the wealth and power of the occupant and their family.  As noted earlier, however, a lot of that seems to have shifted to the building of temples, and as such, tombs were no longer seen as something to waste resources on.  However, since it was still tradition, it was still happening, hence the edict. And so it goes on to limit the size of the tombs.  At the largest, it says a tomb should be no more than about nine shaku wide and 5 shaku wide on the inside—one shaku being approximately 1 foot—and no more then 9 hiro to a side and 5 hiro in height.  A “Hiro” was an ancient measure that was generally the length of two outspread arms.  This was about 5 shaku, or 5 feet.    That means that we are still talking about a mound 45 feet on a side, which is nothing to sneeze at.  But this size was reserved for princes and up.  The Daijin—the great ministers of State—could have similar inner dimensions for their sarcophagus, but the outside was limited to only seven hiro to a side and three hiro in height.  Lesser ministers only got 5 hiro to a side and 2.5 hiro in height, while others were allocated no mound at all, and a smaller inner chamber. In addition, the number of laborers and how long they could work on a tomb was also capped.  The largest tombs were allotted 1,000 laborers for 7 days.  The Daijin received 500 laborers over 5 days.  Other ministers received 250 laborers for 3 days, while below that you received 100 laborers for 1 day or 50 laborers for no more than 1 day.  Here we see the state once again asserting itself into the relationship between the various individuals and the laborers—previously, an elite family would have just used as many laborers as they had private access to, but now things were being regulated and it was all based on your rank and position within the civil service of the new government. In addition, how the deceased was delivered to the monument also was regulated.  A carriage was permitted for the highest ranked individuals—the members of the royal family.  Ministers could be placed on a bier and carried by pall-bearers.  No mention is made of people of the lower class, with the assumption that they likely didn't get such a ceremony. White cloth hangings were allowed in many cases—white is practical, in that it isn't dyed and so it wouldn't be as expensive, but it was also considered the color of death in Buddhist and continental tradition, so not surprising.  They also allowed small stones to be used for princes down to the rank of “sho-chi”—that was the lowest official rank.  These stones could refer to several things, and we aren't quite sure.  According to Aston, the compilers of the “shukai” edition of the Nihon Shoki attributed this to memorial stones set up with inscriptions about the deceased, but as he points out, we haven't found anything that really correlates to that.  Aston instead suggests that what is meant are the stones used to build the roof of the main chamber.  If you look at tombs like Ishibutai kofun, you can see the large stones used there, but this may be referring to something similar, possibly using smaller stones that took less effort to haul into place.  There were also stones used on the outside to decorate the kofun back in the day, and I suppose that they could have meant that as well. More than just regulations, there were prohibitions placed on burials.  For one thing, the concept of a temporary interment was discontinued for everyone.  In the past, a body would be buried or even placed in a hut for some time and then the burial would take place at a later date.  There are several reasons this may have been done in the past, from the purely ritual to the more practical.  However, that was no longer considered to be appropriate.  Likewise, commoners were required to be buried within a day of their death.  This goes along with talk about reducing “pollution”, which may have referred to spiritual as much as physical pollution, and so plots of ground were set aside specifically for burials, and people were not allowed to be buried outside of those official locations.  That could certainly help explain why we see more clusters of burials in this later period.  Using the sides of hills and ridges may have also meant that the tombs didn't take up important agricultural lands. There were also prohibitions on sacrifices to the dead.  For one thing, nobody was permitted to sacrifice themselves through strangulation—which apparently had been a thing even though we are told that human sacrifice was prohibited back in the time of Mimaki Iribiko, and the reason that haniwa were invented.  You also weren't allowed to sacrifice someone's horse or bury valuables along with the dead.  These are all things that we see in the early mounded tomb culture, including burials in the Kara, or Gaya, region of the Korean peninsula, and we certainly find plenty of grave goods in the archipelago.  It makes me wonder if this is one of the reasons that painted tombs, like Kitora and Takamatsuzuka, were used, perhaps in place of more lavish grave goods going into the burial.  There was also a prohibition on an apparent custom where people would cut their hair and stab themselves in the thigh prior to pronouncing a eulogy.  Similar traditions are found elsewhere, often to emphasize that people were grieving the dead. And since you can't punish the dead, if there were any problems then it would be the dead person's relatives who would be punished, instead. Speaking of punishments, this starts to get into a part of the Taika reforms that really focuses on the various offenses that people were apparently committing and needed to be stopped.  It is unclear to me how often these offenses occurred, and in some cases I wonder if they were things that were actually happening or if they were carryovers from the continental tradition.  Still, I tend to come down on the idea that these were likely things that were actually happening, and didn't fit in with the social norms and values that Naka no Oe and his cohorts were attempting to put in place.  Some of these will likely resonate with us, today, but others are a bit more difficult to fully grasp. One of the things that is perhaps most difficult for us to grasp today is the concept of “harai”, which Aston translates as “purgation” and is most commonly translated, today, as “purification”.  “Harai” is an important concept in Shinto, and has been something that seems to have been there in some form from the earliest times. In Shinto there is a concept of “pollution” or “tsumi” that can occur, and it may or may not be something that a person has control over.  For example, blood and death are forms of pollution—which also means that, by extension, birth also includes pollution in the form of blood.  “Tsumi” can also be something that occurs because of things that a person does, where they break the social mores or norms.  A number of examples are contained in the stories provided during the Age of the Gods.  In particular, you can see in the tales of Izanagi and Izanami, where Izanagi, coming back from the land of the dead, dips himself into the ocean to wash away any impurities—any pollution.  We talked about that back in episode 14.  In episode 15, we talked about some of the not-so-great actions of Susano'o.  Some of these, like the backwards flaying of the colt and flinging it through the roof of his sister's building is somewhat obvious.  But then there were things like moving the stakes delineating the rice fields, or letting livestock in to trample the young growth.  Those were some other examples of tsumi that were part of the many things that got him kicked out of Takamagahara, the High Plain of Heaven. An important thing here is that tsumi is not necessarily about a person's intentions, motives, nor responsibility.  For all types of tsumi, some form of harai, or purification, is called for.  Today, there are various ceremonies that can be performed by Shinto priests to help remove the effects of tsumi, and that seems to have been the case back in the Kofun and Asuka periods as well, but there was a catch: it wasn't without costs.  And apparently those costs could be significant—significant enough that it was almost like a kind of punishment.  Aston suggests that harai could include various payments, perhaps seen as a kind of sacrifice, but that could be more than some people could afford.  If we look back on the story of Susano'o, he had to have his hair and nails cut as part of his penance—his harai.  There is also some thought that this may have just been a literal payment to the community, like a fine.  I would note that “harai” can mean either purification or payment, depending on the kanji used.  So just keep that in mind when we talk about “harai”. Now here are some of the things that, according to the new edicts, people were to stop doing. First, there were people who saw or heard something—presumably something important—and yet they wouldn't say anything.  That wasn't going to fly anymore.  So I guess this is the pro-snitching rule—if you see something, say something. Then there were enslaved people who apparently would leave poor masters to find someone wealthier to serve, hoping to improve their lot.  Again, this was right out.  We are reminded that Yamato was a slave-holding society, and they weren't going to allow that. On the other hand, the new rules also put a stop to husbands who would dismiss their wives and then, when the wives remarried, try to make a claim on the new husband's property.  Similarly, there were some men who demanded a family's daughter for his wife, but before they consummate the marriage, she marries someone else.  In some of those cases, the men would, again, make demands on the property of the new husband's family as well as the wife's family.  The new edict put that strictly out of bounds. Following on a theme of women and marriage: there was a tradition in some places that widows who, when they married after 10 or 20 years, or even unmarried women got married for the first time, they would be forced by the community to pay for some kind of “harai”.  This, along with the other practice mentioned, was forbidden.  No longer would they have to pay for getting married. Now in some cases, it looks like men who wanted to divorce their wives wouldn't just let them out of the arrangement. Rather, they would sell their wives into slavery—another thing that the new edicts said would no longer be tolerated. And then there was the case of a man who believed his wife was having an affair.  In that case he now had to obtain at least three credible witnesses before bringing it up to the authorities.  One presumes this was to protect women from men simply making a baseless claim with no proof.  Not that a determined man couldn't find—or even bribe—three witnesses to come forward and accuse his wife, but it at least upped the ante a little bit.  Whether this was to provide protection to women or whether it was just to reduce the amount of work on government officials who would have to investigate and come to a decision isn't exactly clear. I would note that while many of these new rules were coming down on the side of protecting women, to some degree, there is still a very heavy patriarchal bias demonstrated throughout. In addition to all the information on marital affairs,  there were a few other, unrelated issues, but all of them were connected to the need to do harai.  And now we come back to our story about poor Maro and Sumi from the beginning of the episode: let's say a man, finishing his forced labor, is returning back when he falls ill on the road and dies in some village.  According to established traditions, the people there could then require his companions or even family members to perform harai—presumably meaning that they would have to pay the village something or at least pay for the ritual cleansing, to compensate for the tsumi that the death caused.  Similarly, if someone were to drown, his companions would be held responsible.  Even if someone were to stop and cook rice by the roadside while traveling, they could be made to perform harai.  And the harai for all of this was so onerous that we are told that even a younger brother might completely ignore the body of his elder brother, just to avoid being associated with him and thus forced to perform harai. In all of these cases, the edict said that this would no longer be acceptable.  You couldn't just put the squeeze on someone to perform harai just because their companion happened to pass away. Being on the road and traveling—especially for official government service—was clearly something that was on their mind.  Moving on from the list of things that were to be discontinued without exception, there were a few other cases that were dealt with in the same edict. First, there was the case where peasants, heading to the capital, would leave their horses with someone in Owari or Mikawa, for example.  They would leave cloth and bundles of hemp as payment for the person to look after their horses, and even procure a spade as a gift when they returned.  However, when they got back, they would find that their horse had died, or else the horse had been sold, but the owner was told it had died.  The last trick, if it was a mare, was to get the mare pregnant and then claim that the pregnancy had polluted their house, therefore the owner would have to do harai, meaning that the horse usually ended up staying with the person who was supposed to be holding onto it. The solution was to use the new bureaucracy.  The owner and the person who agreed to keep the horse would make their statement to the village elder and the owner would hand over the renumeration to the elder as the third party.  This payment would be held by the elder until the owner returned, at which point it was handed over to the person who had kept the horse.  This way the person keeping the horse knew that he would be paid for his troubles, but only if the horse was still around when the owner returned. So they effectively invented the concept of escrow.  I suspect that such a system could be applied to many other such endeavors as well, where there was otherwise no guarantee of payment at the end of a task nor guarantee that the task would completed as agreed if they got the money up front. Besides that, the edict also had a short note about dues payable to Market Commissioners for main roads and to ferrymen—likely various fees.  Instead, these kinds of positions would be granted rice-land which could be cultivated and they could receive a stipend from that. Finally, during the key agricultural months, everybody was to be working on cultivating rice-land.  The edict specifically calls out that they should not eat dainty food nor drink sake, I suspect because dainty food wouldn't give you enough energy and drinking sake would impair your ability in the field.  Each quarter, the Kuni no Miyatsuko were to send messengers to remind the people of this edict—a kind of human public service announcement. So all of that was part of an edict on the 22nd day of the 3rd month of 646.  I am not sure that there is a clear theme to all of it, other than calling out old practices and describing how things would be done from here on out.  There is clearly a concern with harai and how it would affect people's willingness to do the right thing. The next set of pronouncements would come almost five months later, and a lot of that had to do with names, as well as further work on the creation of the government bureaucracy, but that is going to take a lot more time, and so I think that for now we'll end this here:  The link between the state and laborers has been changed, the tomb-building has been strictly regulated, and a series of rather specific pronouncements and prohibitions has been issued. And so, until next time, thank you for listening and for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, please tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast. And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.

Reform, Rebellion, and Rats!  And all in less than a year!  This episode we continue to look at the Taika era and the reforms that bear the era's name.  We are still covering, though, just the first year or so from the start of the era--through 645 and very early 646.  And yet there is a lot going on, some of it as part of the reforms and some of it just the normal international and domestic politics. For more check out https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-109 Rough Transcript   Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua and this episode 109: Radical Reforms, Resourceful Rats, and Precarious Princes. ----------------- Prince Furubito no Ohoye looked out over the changing autumn leaves of Yoshino.  Where the mountains had been painted pink in cherry blossoms just seven months earlier, the mountains were now covered in garments of red, yellow, and orange.  Seven months.  A lot could happen in seven months.  Seven months ago, Prince Furubito had been in line for the throne.  His main contender for the position was dead, and he had the support of the most powerful men in the court.  Then it had all come crashing down in an instant. After the turmoil of the court earlier in the year, life in the countryside was no doubt a welcome respite.  The former Crown Prince had narrowly avoided sharing in the fate of his Soga relatives, who had been killed in front of him.  Furubito was no stranger to the literally cutthroat politics of the day.  Soga no Iruka had killed Yamashiro no Ohoye, son of Shotoku Taishi, ostensibly to place Furubito on the throne, no doubt with the expectation that the Soga descended prince would be easier to control.  Furubito himself had not been entirely out of the loop on that whole thing, either, specifically advising Iruka that he should make sure to send subordinates to do the dirty work and keep himself out of harm's way.  Now Furubito's seemingly untouchable supporters, Soga no Iruka and his father, were, themselves, dead at the hands of Furubito's younger brother, Prince Naka no Ohoye.  Their mother, Takara, had immediately abdicated, and Prince Furubito was suddenly in the crosshairs, potentially standing between his murderous brother and the throne.  And so he took himself out of the picture and retired, becoming a monk at a temple in Yoshino, a mostly wild area south of Asuka and the traditional heartland of Yamato, where sovereigns of the past had sometimes gone to get away. Furubito had spent the last several months there in the mountains, out of the political center, but that didn't mean he was completely on his own.  Not everyone was against him, and he still had people bringing him news.  He may have retired from the world, but he wasn't without his resources.  And there were those still in his camp, who thought he should be on the throne.  They just had to keep it under wraps until it was too late for Prince Naka and his cohorts to do anything about it.   So, with that little snapshot of life in Yoshino, let's get into it.  We're talking about the Taika era, so let's first start out with a recap of last episode and some things to keep in mind, and then continue with the story of the reforms, looking at what else was happening in that first year, as well.   We'll talk about the diplomatic missions from the Korean peninsula, the edicts focused on the Yamato elite and the clergy, as well as the strategic use of the change in the capital.  We'll also address just what happened with the “other” crown prince, Furubito no Ohoye. First off, let's quickly recap: So last episode we started talking about the Taika era and the Taika reforms.  In particular, we looked at how the governance of the archipelago had changed—as best as we can tell, at least, from the evidence available to us—and we looked at some of the very first edicts that went out.  According to the Nihon Shoki, things started with the appointment of the Ministers of the Left and Right, the Sadaijin and the Udaijin.  As later institutions were created, these ministers would each take a portion of those institutions into their portfolio, effectively dividing the management of the government.  Although the Sadaijin, or Minister of the Left, was considered senior to the Udaijin, the Minister of the Right, at least in later years, it should be noted that this system would prevent, at least on paper, a single prime minister from taking the reigns of the entire government, as the Soga seem to have largely done.  Presumably this meant that the sovereign, as head of state, would have the ultimate authority over the realm. Still, from the very get-go, we see that there are positions set up outside of this dynamic.  For one thing, you have the creation of the seemingly nebulous “Naidaijin”.  This is interpreted as the Minister of the Interior, meaning inside the royal house, and it was first granted to Naka no Ohoye's bro and best bud, Nakatomi no Kamatari—the co-conspirator who had helped make all this possible in the first place.  While the Sadaijin and Udaijin nominally had most of the power—and we see them referenced executing that power on a not infrequent basis—the position of Naidaijin appears to be almost extra-numerary, and is rarely mentioned, and yet he seemed to have wielded considerable power and influence.  This pattern of creating or using positions to exalt a singular individual, who would effectively run the affairs of state, is something that we'll see repeated multiple times in the future.  Whether this positionwas something like dajo daijin or kampaku, powerful individuals would often find their way, regardless of the bureaucratic norms. In addition to the Naidaijin, however, the position of the royal princes—especially the Crown Prince—seem to be untouched.  These were another class of elites often with wealth and influence, but who are largely outside the system of court ministers.  In fact, the bureaucratic system of government only really covered those positions by the so-called “commoner” families—elite families that nonetheless were not considered to be in a direct line of succession for the throne.  These were the members of the various be and uji corporate families that were created to serve the Yamato government.  After all, you don't hear of Royal princes taking on the position of a minister or anything similar, and presumably they managed their own affairs and estates as members of the extended royal family, with the sovereign as the familial head.  And then there were the peasants—the agricultural workers and truly common people who were so far removed from court business that they weren't even part of an uji clan or official familial unit other than their village, serfs or semi-free people—as free as anyone was in those days, though they were likely tied to the land by tradition and necessity—who owed service to some group of elites.  One of the things we are seeing in these reforms is a move to redirect the responsibilities of those serfs and semi-free people more directly to the state, with edicts directly addressing their status and their responsibilities.  That's something we'll talk about more as it comes up. But before that, let's get caught up on some other things happening in the first few months of the Taika era.  Sure, Naka no Oe and Kamatari were working closely with our sovereign, Karu—aka Koutoku Tennou—to get their reforms in place. As we talked about last episode, they were sending out governors, hanging bells outside of the palace, and otherwise trying out all kinds of new stuff.  However, as that was going on, they still had to deal with the day to day of the government.  Life didn't just stop while they ramped up their transition to a new, bureaucratic monarchy. One such routine event for a new reign was the designation of Karu's wife, Hashibito, as the queen.  In the fine Yamato tradition of keeping it all in the family, Hashibito was Karu's niece, the daughter of Karu's sister, Takara, aka Kougyoku Tennou, and her late husband, the sovereign Tamura, aka Joumei Tennou.  That made Hashibito a sister to Prince Naka no Oe, who was now his uncle's brother-in-law and, since he was named Crown Prince, his heir.  Probably don't think about it too much. There was also the matter of foreign envoys.  As you may recall, the murder of Soga no Iruka and his father, known to us as the Isshi Incident, kicked off during a court reception for peninsular envoys.  Two months later, we are told that envoys from Baekje, Goguryeo, and Silla all arrived with tribute.  These appear to be separate from those who had witnessed Naka no Oe's bloody coup d'etat, and given the time it took to travel, they may have already been on their way when everything went down.  They arrived in the 7th month of the year, not quite a full month since Karu had taken the throne. This might have been a regular visit, but we get some interesting information from the Chronicles about it.  Kose no Tokuda no Omi addressed the envoys, at least those of Goguryeo and Baekje.  Although it is also noted that Silla envoys arrived as well, communications with them are not recorded.  There was also a slight problem in that one of the envoys (whose name Aston transcribes as “Chaphyong Yonbok”, suggesting that he was actually the Minister of the Left, Yonbok) apparently traveled all the way to Yamato just to come down with an illness.  He stayed at Naniwa and rested while the other envoys made the journey onward, presumably to the palace in Asuka, where the court received the tribute. As for Goguryeo, Kose notes that Yamato and Goguryeo had not had formal relations for very long.  This is unsurprising, given that Goguryeo was on the far north of the peninsula, and would have had to go through either Silla or Baekje controlled territory to get to Yamato, and they weren't always on the best of terms with either of the other countries on the peninsula.  There were some attempts to reach the archipelago by landing on the northern edge of Honshu, along the Japan sea coast, landing near Tsuruga, on the western edge of the land of Koshi, but still, Yamato's relationship with Goguryeo does not appear to have been as old or as consistent as Yamato's dealings with their less distant neighbors.  Tokuda, the Yamato officer addressing the Goguryeo envoys, wished for long and continued interactions, but that was about it. Baekje, though, was another story, and a bit of a conflicting one.  The speech that Tokuda gives according to the Chronicles is likely heavily edited to sound more regal and to be in line with the Chroniclers' ideas of Japan's place in the world, but it is also possible that they were just using flowery, continental style pronouncements.  It starts off with the somewhat audacious statement that Karu is a God-incarnate, which tracks with the idea that he is descended from the Heavenly Grandson, who came down from Takama no Hara.  This same language was used with Goguryeo, earlier.  Then Tokuda repeats the claim that Baekje is a vassal state of Yamato, claiming that they were considered an “internal Miyake”, likely referring to a land that was supposed to be directly controlled by Yamato.  One is left to wonder just how Baekje felt about all of this, but then again, things may have been lost in translation from one court to the other. Finally, Baekje was admonished for not bringing sufficient tribute from Nimna, since it had theoretically been placed under Baekje's care. And here's where I see some conflicting information.  After all, we know that Silla had absorbed Nimna well before this period, and Silla had been made to bring two ships during tribute missions or to meet the Yamato delegation with two ships to preserve at least the fiction that Nimna was still an independent country and ally to the archipelago.  That was all back in the reign of Kashikiya Hime, aka Suiko Tennou, or earlier .  Of course Baekje would not have any tribute from Nimna, and yet the Yamato court seem to have expected something unless, of course, they were just putting on some kind of show for Silla's sake?  It seems like the matter of Nimna, which was no longer a going concern on the peninsula, was still something that Yamato was keeping front and center in their mind.  Whatever the logic, Tokuda says that the sovereign pays special attention to the tribute from Nimna, and as it was deficient, they returned the tribute back to Baekje until they could bring the expected amount. There is plenty of ink that has been spilt on the subject of the diplomatic tribute systems that were set up across East Asia, largely as part of or in imitation of those systems set up by dynasties like the Han and the Tang.  As we understand it, diplomats were expected to come to a foreign sovereign's courts as petitioners, bringing with them “tribute”—basically trade goods—to grease the wheels of international relations.  The receiving country would reciprocate with lavish gifts on the envoys, in turn, often in excess of the “tribute” they had brought—at least, that is how the central Sinic dynasties operated.  In this way, diplomatic missions were not only profitable for international relations, but also for acquiring elite goods that could not easily be otherwise obtained, and for that, envoys were willing to go along with the polite fiction that they were truly subordinate to the power they entreated.  It is unclear whether or not this went both ways.  I suspect that the Han or Tang dynasties  would not have accepted the idea that their own ambassadors would be bringing tribute to any “lesser” nation.  However, amongst nations like Yamato, Baekje, Silla, and Goguryeo, were there similar concerns?  Unfortunately, we don't really have a clear, contemporary record of these interactions, and can only make assumptions based on what sources do exist.  I suspect, however, that Baekje, though willing to indulge Yamato's fantasies, did not actually consider itself an “inner miyake” of Yamato—though they were a trusted ally.  Most of the time. Which makes me wonder how they took such a snub.  Unfortunately, both Baekje and Yamato sources appear to be quiet on that front. The envoys did not leave empty-handed, however.  They sent away the wife and children of a man identified as “Wisa”—likely hostages being held at the Yamato court as part of the other diplomatic system between Baekje and Yamato.  We are not told why, however, so we are left only to speculate on what actually happened. Later that month, and into the next, the reforms were really kicked off, sending out the governors to the eastern provinces and proclaiming some of the early edicts we talked about last month And while the court was waiting for news to come back from those governors, there was another issue that they were tackling, and that was further incorporating the Buddhist clergy and temples into the state government.  Yeah, if you hadn't already guessed, Yamato at this time didn't exactly have a principle of the separation of church—or in this case temple—and state.  In fact, quite the opposite.  For a little over two decades at this point the court had assumed the authority to appoint individuals at the head of the Buddhist clergy, presumably to keep them in line ever since that one incident with the axe—and if you want a reminder, check out Episode 102. And so a messenger was sent from the court to Kudara-dera to gather all of the clergy there.  That was the temple near where Tamura had built his palace, Kudara no Miya, and it reportedly had an absolutely jaw-dropping pagoda, so perhaps little wonder that it was a central location.  After recounting the history of Buddhism in the archipelago, the court representative appointed chief priests to ten different temples, as well as the chief priest of Kudara-dera.  They then made a promise that the Sovereign—which is to say the State—would pay for the repairs of any of the temples built by the Tomo no Miyatsuko; the courtly families.  At the same time, the court also appointed temple commissioners, and expected them and the chief priests to report out the number of priests and nuns, as well as acreage of cultivated temple land.  Interestingly, these commissioners were to report directly to the state, rather than through the local governors, indicating that the temples appear to have been somewhat exempt from the local civil authorities, though still under the thumb of the sovereign and the national government.  This was likely done through the “Houtou”, or “heads of the Law”, another set of positions for people appointed to oversee Buddhist practice. In the following month, the court moved on from the clergy and focused on the courtiers: the Omi, Muraji, and the Tomo no Miyatsuko, and not in a fun way:  These leading families were called to the carpet for what was seen as a host of offenses.  They were accused of compelling their own vassals to labor at their pleasure, and appropriating land for their own private use, denying it to the people.  This included mountains, hills, ponds, and even portions of the sea, which they turned into their own private hunting and fishing reserves.  They would take prime rice-lands—land that could be brought under cultivation—and use it purely for themselves.  They would take portions of the public land, divvy it up, and sell it off as if it were their own.  Or they would just rent it out, so that they would collect rent on the property and those who farmed it wouldn't actually own anything, making them a kind of tenant farmer or even something like a sharecropper.  Furthermore, when they collected taxes from those in areas they oversaw, they were accused of taking a portion off the top for themselves before turning over the rest to the government. And finally, they would take their own people and build palaces for themselves.  This practice, though probably nothing new, went against the direction the new state was headed, and if it was allowed to continue, it would potentially reduce the number of laborers available for government projects. To be clear, not all of the noble families were doing this, but enough that a broad edict was required.  This edict not only called out these practices, but specifically banned the private sale of land—likely meaning that it was up to the State to decide how land was apportioned—and it forbade anyone making themselves into a landlord. Now for anyone who has been following along—or simply looked at human history—the way that the elites had been concentrating power is hardly surprising.  History books are filled with examples of those in power using it to aggregate more and more to themselves, especially without some kind of regulation.  While the Taika edict treats this like an aberration of the way things should be, it is more likely that this is actually how the system had been designed to work up until this point.  There were elites who operated at different levels in an hierarchical structure.  Those above provided legitimacy and preferential treatment to those they considered their vassals.  Those vassals were left to largely run things as they saw fit at the lower levels, as long as they maintained an expected flow of tribute up the chain.  As long as things didn't get out of hand—no rebellions, famine, etc.—then there was little reason for those at the top to be concerned. Here, though, we are seeing a different imagining of the state: one where the governance of the state truly does flow from the sovereign down to the people.  Those who had been studying the Buddhist and Confucian canons from the continent had been introduced to new ideas of what a state ought to be, and now that they were in power, they were determined to implement those ideas. One has to imagine that this ruffled more than a few feathers, and I have to wonder if it didn't contribute, at least in some way, to what else was happening around the same time.  Remember, all of this—the tribute missions, the governors, the gathering of the clergy, and dressing down the courtiers—all happened in the first three months of the new reign—the Taika era.  But in the ninth month, the court's attention was also turned to another matter, when a man named Kibi no Kasa no Omi no Shidaru came to Naka no Ohoye with a confession:  He claimed he had been party to a meeting in Yoshino with none other than Prince Furubito no Ohoye, along with members of the Soga, the Yamato no Aya, and the Yechi no Hata.  They were all disillusioned with this new reign and how they got here, and were plotting to put a stop to it by overthrowing Karu and putting Prince Furubito on the throne. So, yeah, this is where we circle back to where we started the episode – imagining Prince Furubito, hanging out in the mountains of Yoshino, enjoying his near escape and contemplating his retirement.  Things weren't quite that peaceful. I'd note that another source claims that the guy who spilled the beans, Kibi no Kasa no Omi, instead went to the Daijin, the Great Ministers, Abe no Oho-omi and Soga no Oho-omi, the ministers of the Right and Left.  Regardless of who he spoke to, he ratted out all of his co-conspirators. The details are sparse on just how everything unfolded from there, but we know that Naka no Ohoye appointed two generals to go and arrest—by which I'm pretty sure he meant assassinate—Prince Furubito no Ohoye.  Whether or not the Prince had actually kicked off discussions or had even participated in any significant way, Naka no Ohoye's brother was too dangerous as a symbol around which anyone discontented with the new order could try and rally.  And it's not at all surprising to imagine that there are those who were not exactly happy with where things were going.   The throne was exerting greater control than it had in some time—perhaps more than it ever had, at this scale.  The foreign ideas that had come in the way of books and learning may have, at first, been just another way for the elite to demonstrate their own superiority, but now these ideas were starting to affect the way they, themselves, had to operate.  You could either accept it as the way forward or you could resist.  Those who would resist, though, needed someone to rally around.  Since the Sovereign and the Crown Prince were both pushing for change, anyone opposed would need to find a new sovereign to uphold their own ideas.  To that end, Furubito no Ohoye must have been an enticing figure.  He really was from the old school. Sure, that was a Soga dominated school, drenched in the blood of other members of the royal family, but it was still something that those who wanted to conserve their old way of life could use to legitimize their position. And that made Furubito no Ohoye dangerous, regardless of whether or not he encouraged such individuals or not. And so Uda no Yenomuro no Furu and Koma no Miyachi departed with a sizeable force to take out the Prince.  Which, spoiler alert: they did. There are some conflicting accounts on this.  Some records claim that the attack force didn't set out until more than two months later, on the 30th day of the 11th month.  Others say that the generals were actually Kosobe no Omi no Abe and Sahekibe no Komaro, at the head of only thirty men.  It is possible that both accounts are correct in some way, or that various family records retroactively  claimed credit for the attack.  It may also be that the time from the conspiracy's discovery to the eventual resolution—the killing of Furubito and his household—took a little over two months to complete; a not unreasonable situation. This whole event is often talked about as Furubito no Ohoye's revolt, and if we take the Chronicles at face value, that is largely accurate.  However, we don't have many actual details, and we do know about Naka no Ohoye—we know that he hadn't been afraid to kill Soga no Iruka in broad daylight, in the middle of the court.  Would it have really been too much for him to manufacture a conspiracy to provide him an excuse to take out his older brother and thus prepare his own eventual rise to the throne?  On things like this, the Chronicles are largely silent, and we can only speculate as to what was actually going on.  Still, I have to wonder. Following the death of Furubito no Ohoye, and the suppression of the rebellion in his name, the sovereign, Karu, announced that he had settled on a location for his new palace.  While most of the edicts at this time broke new ground, this one did not, following a tradition that, if we believe the Chronicles, had been around for centuries.  Each new sovereign would designate a location for their new palace, moving out of the palace of their predecessor.  Usually this would beannounced at the very start of a reign, but as we've seen, this reign had gotten off to a busy start, and so we don't see mention of the new palace until the twelfth month. The tradition of moving out of an old palace and into a new one is thought to have typically been due to the ritual pollution, or tsumi, attached to the palace of a sovereign who has died -- often in the palace itself, if they were lucky enough to pass away in their sleep.  Of course, in this case the throne didn't pass on the occasion of the sovereign's death, but there had certainly been plenty of blood spilled in the palace, recently, so I imagine that moving the palace was to be expected. Less expected was exactly where he moved the palace to, since Karu decided not to stay put in the Asuka region, and instead chose to move the palace to the port of Naniwa, where the continental envoys came. There are numerous examples throughout Japanese history where a change was made to move the capital, or at least the seat of government, to somewhere new.  In many cases, this was to get away from various political forces that had become entrenched in the capital region.  Courtiers and their retinue would settle near the palace, and soon an entire area was controlled, physically and politically, by a few powerful families or institutions.  The Asuka region, for example, had started out as the ancestral stronghold of the Soga clan, and for the past century had operated as the seat of Soga controlled sovereigns.  Tamura, or Jomei Tennou, had seemingly tried to move a little ways outside, near the site of Kudaradera, but his wife and successor, no doubt with the assistance and counsel of Soga no Emishi, had moved back into the Asuka valle, proper. Moving to Naniwa would have been quite the undertaking, as it didn't just mean moving the palace, but it meant moving the whole infrastructure of the government.  Granted, this wasn't exactly on par with the size and complexity of the Imperial dynasties in what we now know as China, but it did mean that the powerful families would need to make sure that they had a residence of some sort near the new capital if they wanted to be close to the reins of power.  That meant that they would need to also expend some of their own resources, as well. Also, it would be a good time to provide a sense of renewal for the era.  The Chroniclers added a line, taken from various Chinese histories, that shortly after the announcement of the new capital's location, rats were seen moving across the countryside in the direction of Naniwa.  At its most basic level, this likely recognized that when the people abandon a capital for a new city, that new city quickly has its own population.  No doubt it was felt that the rats had simply followed the people there.  The migration of rats would figure into several other movements during this reign, as well.  It was apparently a popular trope. The movement started in the twelfth month of the first year of Taika, or 645, and would be completed in the third month of the following year, 646.  That was around the same time that word was coming back from the lands in the east about just how things were going with the newly appointed governors.  Giventhe killing of Furubito no Ohoye in the 11th month of 645, as well as everything else that was now happening, the capital would be the catalyst for a fresh new slate in more ways than one.  The building of the new palace, and the need to entreat the kami, that would be used as an excuse to issue a general amnesty -- the “Get out of jail free” card for the governors and others who hadn't quite gotten on board, which we talked about last episode.  They were shown the stick, but offered a carrot.  While not explicitly stated, this may have also been a time to bury the hatchet for the pro-Furubito faction as well, giving them a chance to move on.   And there was a lot of movement to be had.  We are told that there was a proclamation in the first month of 646—a proper edict of reforms.  These are laid out in four articles, and are perhaps the closest we have to a true “code” of the reforms from this era.  And warning: this is where the reforms get really radical. The first article was on land ownership and allocation.  Specifically, it abolished the various royal Miyake and the previously established “representatives of children”—which I'm guessing refers to the various families that were tasked with supporting some of the various royal princes and other royal descendants.  It also abolished various farmsteads of serfs and abolished the bonds of those serfs who owed their service to various royal families; the ministers, the Omi and the Muraji; and general courtiers, the Tomo no Miyatsuko; as well as the various lords of the lands, the Kuni no Miyatsuko, and even down the villages, to the level of the Mura no Obito. In place of these mechanisms of bringing in rice and other goods, various fiefs were created out of the previously held land and redistributed to various princes and officials on a descending scale, with those at the top of the courtly rank system getting the most productive, and less for those further down.  To sweeten this deal, gifts of cloth were also given at the time of the edict, likely as a way to offset any harsh feelings. In the end, this article completely rewrote how land was owned in the archipelago, at least in principle.  The land belonged to the sovereign, who apportioned it out as required.  The fiefs would then supply incomes to government officials, effectively providing them a salary.  Those higher in the court system, which is to say those with a higher court rank, would have a larger stipend.  Some version of this system, which wasn't always as strictly enforced, would continue right up until it was abolished in the early Meiji era. The second article of the reforms largely targeted the capital and the “Home Provinces”, recognized, today, as the area from modern Iga city in the east; to Mt. Seyama, in Wakayama, to the south. It extended westward past modern Kobe to the Akashi area, and north to Afusakayama, on the southwestern shores of Lake Biwa, due east of modern Kyoto city.  These correspond largely to the areas that were traditionally under Yamato's direct rule, and where many of the noble families had their base of operations.  Actual governors were appointed to the home provinces, like Kii, Kawachi, Harima, Yamashiro, etc., with various roads, barriers, outposts, and more created to secure the home territories.  Post horses were included, and this is the first mention of the creation of bell tokens, a kind of bronze amulet with various round “bells” incorporated into the design.  These bell tokens would become a kind of badge of office for anyone traveling, as they would be used at government posts along the road to determine what kinds of and how many horses a given official was entitled to during their official travel. The area within the capital itself was divided into “wards”, or “Bo”.  Each ward would have an “wosa” appointed from the population.  Aston translates this as “alderman”, though it feels like “magistrate” is more appropriate.  For every four wards, an unagachi, or chief magistrate, was appointed.  These wosa and unagachi were charged to watch over the people and investigate criminal matters.  They were supposed to be people of “good character and solid capacity”, and if nobody in the ward could serve, then someone could be chosen from an adjoining ward, instead. Throughout the rest of the home provinces, the land was divided up into “townships” (RI or Sato), rather than wards, and townships would be gathered into “districts” (GUN or Koori).  Large districts were those with over forty townships.  Middle districts were those with anywhere from four to thirty townships.  And districts of three or fewer townships were considered Lesser Districts.  The Japanese for these would be Tai-gun, Chuu-gun, and Shou-gun, but I should note that it is unclear whether that was the actual term used or just the way to write it in the Sinitic style of the Chronicles.  The governors of these areas were the Tairei and Sharei, glossed in Japanese as the Koori no Miyatsuko and the Suke no Miyatsuko, though Aston suggests those were just translations, and the Yamato court was probably using the On'yomi for the names as this was an attempt to copy continental governance.  For these positions, you were expected to be not just good, but of “unblemished” character.  They were assisted by clerks and others who were skilled in writing and arithmetic.  I suspect a lot of this was also applied to the governors discussed in the previous episode, though we did not see such a clear list of qualifications for them and their staff at the time. So that set up the governance of the capital and the capital region, in a model that would be followed elsewhere. The third of the four articles provided for drawing up accounts of the land and people—much as the governors were doing in the east.  They also create The Books, as in the accounting books for the government.  These were to record the state of, well, the State.  How many people, what land was out there, in what condition, and to whom did it belong.  It would be the official register of receipts telling everyone what land belonged to whom. It also defined the townships, or Ri, as being made up of 50 households, with one magistrate per township, as above.  However, given that these townships were in the countryside, the magistrate was also responsible for the direction of sowing the crops and the cultivation of mulberry trees, used primarily for silk production.  It also fell to the magistrate to enforce the payment of taxes, both in rice and forced labor. And here we see just how much those taxes were.  Rice fields were measured by “tan”, sometimes translated as “kida”, which was an area of thirty paces by twelve paces.  That comes out to somewhere between 9,000 to 11,000 square feet, depending on the size of the pace—a modern “tan” is figured at 10,800 square feet, or a little over one thousand square meters or a bit under one quarter of an acre.  From there, ten tan would make a CHO, the largest land unit mentioned here.  All of this was only true of flat land, however.  For steep and wooded land, the various officials in charge would need to make special arrangements.  Afterall, a thousand square meters of cliff face wasn't exactly producing a ton of rice—or mulberry trees, for that matter.  The tax for each tan of cultivated land  was 22 bundles of rice on the stalk.  A single bundle was the amount that a person could reasonably grasp in one hand.  Ten bundles made up a sheaf, so actually it was 2 sheafs and 2 bundles.  The edicts then laid out the math to verify that for a CHO it was 22 sheafs, or ten times that of a TAN.  And all of this can be pretty boring and, well, academic, but it starts to get us a glimpse into life outside of the elite courtiers.  We can see that they assumed a community was about 50 households in rural areas, and you likely would have gotten to know your neighbors, as they were the ones you were planting and harvesting with.  While I'm not sure that a TAN was equivalent to a single field, we can see that four TAN would have been roughly an acre of land—an acre itself being an agricultural unit that was about as much land as a single individual could work in a day. What isn't clear from all of this is what was the expected gross yield of the field—in other words, how much of the crop would the farmers themselves be able to keep?  In later centuries, farmers often couldn't afford to keep their own crop of rice, and had to settle for eating millet and other, cheaper grains, with almost all of the rice they grew going to pay their taxes Besides taxes on the fields, there were also other taxes to be considered, but these were dealt with in the fourth and final article of the reforms of 646.  Up front, this article abolished any earlier taxes that may have been imposed, clearing the way for a new tax structure.  From there, it first laid out a series of alternatives to rice for paying your taxes.  One was the ability to pay in cloth, so for instance, if you had a single TAN of land, you could pay the 2 sheafs and 2 bundles of rice OR you could pay 10 feet of fine silk, 2.5 feet in width—the width of most home looms at the time.  Alternatively there were conversions into coarse silk (double it to 20 feet) or another bast fiber cloth (double again, to 40 feet).  Silk thread or silk floss are not mentioned as a substitute for the rice tax on land. But: this Article also laid out additional taxes to those on the fields.  Each household would have to also produce at least 12 shaku—roughly 12 feet—of bast fiber cloth each year.  There were also other taxes such as salt, etc., all depending on what was locally produced.  And on top of that, for every 2 townships of 100 people, they had to produce a single horse for the government.  A particularly fine horse could be used to cover the taxes for up to 4 townships.  And if they could not produce a horse, they would need to provide up to 12 feet of cloth per household to offset the cost of the government buying one.  That is 12 feet of cloth in addition to what they already had to pay. In addition to that, every person was expected to supply a sword, armor, bow and arrows, a flag, and a drum.  This may have only been for those able-bodied men called up for service, though—it isn't exactly clear. And then, when there were public works to be done, each township had the responsibility to offer up a single, able-bodied individual, and to provide 22 feet of cloth and 5 masu of rice for their service, to keep them clothed and fed.  This was actually an improvement on previous corvee labor requirements, which required one person per thirty households, who were all supposed to support them. Finally, there is a note about Uneme—the handmaidens at the court.  Uneme were drawn from the sisters or daughters of district officials of the rank of shorei and upwards.  Each Uneme was expected to be furnished with one male and two female servants to attend to their needs.  They would be provided cloth and rice similar to laborers, except that the cost was to be spread out across one hundred households, not just fifty. Again, we get a glimpse of what life under the new regime was like—or at least what it was supposed to be like.  We saw mention of taxes and other such things early on in the Chronicles, but this is the first time we really get to see what kinds of taxes would be levied on the common households.  A single agricultural household would likely be responsible for some portion of the town's field-tax, as well as a tax of cloth on their own home, and possibly supporting a laborer or even the purchase of a government horse.  Finally, they could also be responsible for providing for one of the handmaidens of the court. It was clear that the state was extending its reach in new ways.  In some cases this would have clearly been an improvement: there was a reduction in the amount of labor that people had to provide, and things were being standardized.  There were bureaucratic lines being built from the townships and wards up through to the sovereign, providing a clear connection between sovereign and vassal.  On the other hand, this trod on the ancestral traditions of certain groups.  We saw the attempted revolt around Prince Furubito no Ohoye, but after his death, the opposition didn't really have a central figure to rally around.  And so the reforms would continue. Although the reforms at the start of 646 may have been some of the most formal, there is still a lot of change to come and we'll deal with that in the next few episodes. Until then, thank you for listening and for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, please tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast. And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.

We are finally starting to get into the Taika era and the Taika reforms, which would really start the transformation of Yamato into the bureaucratic state of the Nara period.  This episode, we look back at how the Yamato state had been changing up to this point, some of the possible influences and precursors, and then dive into some of the first edicts, largely dealing with sending out governors to the provinces.  These governors, or "kokushi", were originally temporary positions, limited in what they could do.  More info over at https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-108  Rough Transcript   Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua and this is Episode 108: The Great Change ……………….. The Kuni no Miyatsuko, hereditary leader of his lands, likely heard the news before they arrived.  Apparently Yamato was sending out an official—a kokushi—who was going to be doing some sort of survey.  Whatever.  Just another person from Yamato's court—what did it matter?  His family had been in charge of the local lands for as long as anyone remembered, and while they might give nominal fealty to the Oho-kimi in Yamato, along with the occasional bit of taxes, paid in rice, what consequence was it to him?  Some might say he was a big fish in a small pond, but it was his pond.  Always had been, and always would be.  Wouldn't it? ……………….. And we are back with our regular chronological podcast, and we are finally going to pick back up on the fall out from the events of 645, the Isshi Incident, when Prince Naka no Oe orchestrated the murder of Soga no Iruka, and later his father, Soga no Emishi, in full view of the court, including his mother, Takara, aka Kougyoku Tennou.  That incident would be the start of Naka no Oe's own rise to power and the reshaping of Yamato from the its longstanding clan based system of government to a new national government of laws and punishments, known generally as the Ritsuryo system.  This episode we'll dive into this new system and the so-called “Taika reforms” that brought it about, the changes it ushered in, and the ripples this sent throughout the entire archipelago.     The term “Taika” itself means “Great Change”, and it isn't clear to me if it was picked because they expected to be making big changes or after the fact, but in the minds of most Japanese historians it is quite accurate. The entire system actually took about a century or so to really come together—we often think of the Ritsuryo system as it was in its final version.  This period, though, is where things kicked off, so we'll be setting the stage and talking about some of the edicts during this period that eventually became the written code of the Ritsuryo system.  This was started by Naka no Oe who, spoiler alert, would eventually reign as sovereign and be known as Tenchi Tennou.  The system he helps put into place would continue to be used and refined even after his death and even after the end of the period covered by the Nihon Shoki. So after some background, we'll get to some of the very first edicts this episode, and then spend more time on them again, in the future. The RitsuryoThe Ritsuryo system was based largely on continental models, with Confucian ideals and the legal code of the Tang dynasty having particular influence.  And as we discuss these changes, which were huge, I'll start with some clarifications and caveats.  This was a system of government based largely on continental models, with Confucian ideals and the legal code of the Tang dynasty having particular influence.  That   One of the first things to emphasize is that said, itthis wasn't exactly an immediate revolution and reformation.  Based on the entries in the Nihon Shoki, some of the work had already  been started long before Naka no Oe came on the scene, largely attributed to the influence of Prince Umayado, aka Shotoku Taishi, and things like the 17 article constitution and rank system, which we discussed back in episode 95.  And even after its initial implementation, there would come various tweaks to the system.  Although there are numerous edicts made in the initial years of what is known as the Taika era, leading this change to often be given the nickname of the “Taika reforms”, the earliest formal administrative codes would come much later, firming up in the 8th century. Another thing to keep in mind as we realize, as we start looking at these changes is that the Yamato courtit didn't necessarily discard the old system, either.  Changes like this take time, and something even if it is implemented for a year or two , it might not stick.  This is one of the reasons that it is important that two of the apparent architects of the new system for these changes were there present through much of its implementation, actively guiding and shaping the process direction that the changes would take.  These two individuals at wereas Prince Naka no Oe and Nakatomi no Kamako, later known in this reign as Kamatari, which is the name I'm going to use from here on out as it is the much more well known in case anyone decides to look up information later. Finally, I would also note that many of these changes were being applied at the level of the elites of society, how they organized power and how they approached governance – but  we should also spare a thought for how this affected the majority of people.  After all, it was the majority of people who were working the fields, cutting the wood, or fishing the seas.  The elites were often otherwise engaged, and whichthat isn't to say that they did nothing.  Often they were coordinating and bringing things together, but that was a smaller part of the overall population.  In these reforms we get to see some rare glimpses into how all of thisit may have affected people beyond just the court elites. To set this up, let's start with a look at what brought us here, and how things changed over time and how they had governed things up until now—or at least as best as we can make out from our various sources.  From there we can take a look at some of the earliest edicts related to the changes evolution in the government, focusing how they focused on consolidating the power and support at the center of the Yamato court and starteding to make more concrete Yamato's control across the rest of the archipelago. We've covered much of the development of complex society in Yamato this in previous episodes:  How Yayoi society came with or at least introduced a form of stratification evident in graves, grave goods, as well as other patterns of lifeways.  Local elites rose up to oversee communities, and eventually extended their influence, creating the various “kuni”, or countries—regional collections of communities that came together under a leadership structure and some shared cultural values.   Some of the earliest stories give us the Hiko-Hime leadership structure, often with a male and female head of state, though sometimes shown as elder and younger co-rulers.  This is backed up by some evidence in the kofun era, as we see large, single-purpose tomb mounds built for what we can only assume are the elite.  Their construction would have required control of a large labor force, indicating a certain amount of their power, and their shape and various burial goods have further suggested, at least to scholars like Kishimoto, that there may have been a division of rulership, at least early on. We've talked about the spread of Yamato style round keyhole shaped kofun through the archipelago and how the popularity of that kofun shape demonstrated Yamato's influence but  in the shape of their kofun, but that didn't necessarily accompany a change in  change the actual dynamics of local government, other than demonstrating Yamato's increased influence.  The next thing we see in the record, I would argue, is the change to a familial based system, or the Bemin-sei.  This is what we've talked about periodically in terms of both the uji, familial groups or clans, and the “be” familial or occupational groups, but here I'll give an overview of the whole practice and what its development means in the sense of changing approaches to organizing and governing a complex society. The Bemin system was a means of further dividing and categorizing people in society, .  It is  rooted in continental concepts of a familial group.  Prior to the 5th century, there isn't a clear indication of familial clans in Yamato, though that doesn't mean people didn't know where they were from.  They still remembered who their ancestors were, and that was important, often tracing back to mythical and legendary individuals who are recorded as gods, or kami.  I suspect, however, that in the smaller communities of the Yayoi period, where you were from was as a good an indicator of your relationships as anything else.  Farming is a pretty sedentary lifestyle, and if you know all of your neighbors there isn't as much need to divide each other up into specific familial groups.  It was more important that I'm from this village or region than I'm from this particular family. And so the oldest stories in the Nihon Shoki and the Kojiki only refer to individuals by their names or by locatives.  Occasionally we will be told that so-and-so was an ancestor of this or that uji, or clan, but it is telling that they don't use the clan name with that person. Surnames do become important, however, in the Bemin system.  But they are only really important for those in the upper tiers of society.  Amongst the farmers and other commoners—the heimin—you often won't find specific surnames, or people will use pure locatives or something similar to refer to a person.  Surnames were for people a little further up the social food chain. From what we can tell, the uji structure likely started with the “-Be” families, trying to set up groups of individuals who were in charge of certain economic activities beyond just farming the land.  The Imbe, the Mononobe, the Abe, the Kuratsukuribe, and the Kusakabe are all examples of family names ending in “-Be”.  Some, like Kuratsukuribe, Inukaibe, and Umakaibe are all fairly straightforward:  These are groups that were set up around particular industries.  Kuratsukuri literally means “saddle-making”, so the Kuratsukuri-be are the saddlemakers.  Inukai and Umakai refer to the ones who kept or raised the dogs and horses. Setting up a familial or clan unit around a certain profession was one way of organizing society so that you had the things that you needed.  Such jobs were often inherited, anyway, passing from father to son, mother to daughter, etc.  So it makes some sense.  And the clan, or uji, structure meant that there was a person or persons at the head of the familial unit who could be responsible for coordinating efforts across different, sometimes dispersed, groups of people. The thing is, there is no indication that the people in these professions were necessarily related to each other prior to this organization, and in many ways the idea that they were a family with a common ancestor was a created fiction.  There may have been some relationship—for instance, weaver groups were often centered on immigrant groups that came over from the continent with knowledge of specific techniques, so there was likely some pre-existing relationship, but they weren't necessarily what we would consider family, related by blood, to one another. Over time these groups became actual clans—children were born into them and remained, unless they specifically were split off into a different uji for some reason.  Some of them dropped the “-Be” part of their name—in some instances it seems this may have created a distinction between the line at the head of the clan vice the other members, but that distinction isn't entirely clear.  Furthermore, members of these clans were not, ultimately, restricted to the hereditary jobs for which the clan had been created.  There are also clans that appear to be more about location, possibly local rulers or magnates.  For example, there are the Munakata and the Miwa, referring to local chiefs or lords of the Munakata and Miwa areas, both important ritual areas. The clans formed another function as well, as each clan had a kabane, which was an early form of social rank.  Some of these ranks appear to have come from titles or positions.  So, for instance, you have the Omi, the Muraji, the Kimi, and the Atahe.  Early on, Muraji appears to be the more prestigious title, with the Ohomuraji being the head of a Muraji level house that was also a key member of the government.  Omi, meaning minister, eventually came to be seen as more prestigious, however.  Meanwhile, both were more presitiousprestigious than the term “Kimi”, although that may have originated as a term for the rulers of the local countries, which makes sense if you consider that the Yamato sovereign was the Oho-kimi, or the Great Kimi, much as the Oho-omi was in charge of an Omi group and the Ohomuraji was in charge of a Muraji level house.  There are also Omi and Muraji households for whom there is no Oho-omi or Oho-muraji ever mentioned, but only members of the Omi and Muraji ranked families were considered for positions at the top of the court hierarchy.  This All of this clan and rank system began to change in the 6th century during the reign of Toyomike Kashikiya Hime, aka Suiko Tenno, with the introduction of the 17 article constitution and new rank system.  While both of these developments are of debatable veracity, since the chroniclers likely made this change seem much more structured than it actually was in practice, —there is probably at least something to the idea that the Yamato court y werewas adopting more continental ideas regarding state governance.  The rank system, in particular, was a step towards recognizing individuals above simply their inherited social position.  While kabane rank was applied to an entire uji, the new rank was applied to individuals alone, meaning that an individual could be recognized without necessarily rewarding every other person holding their same surname.  At the same time, more and more books were coming in from the continent.  Some of these were focused on the new Buddhist religion, but there were also other works, based on a variety of subjects and introducing the Yamato court to some of the philosophical ideas of what government should be.  And then there were various envoys sent to the Sui and Tang courts in the early 7th century, where they would have seen how things were working there. Nonetheless, to be clear, we don't know it is unclear just how far Yamato control extended across the archipelago.  We know that in the 5th century there were individuals who considered themselves part of the Yamato court structure from the Kantou to Kyuushuu.  In the Nihon Shoki, we also see the establishment of Miyake up and down the archipelago, from as far out as Kamitsukenu, aka Kozuke, to the western edge of Kyushu, in the early 6th century.  These were areas of rice-land which owed their output to the Yamato court or a particular endeavor.  They would have had officials there tied to the court to oversee the miyake, providing a local court presence, but how much this translated into direct Yamato control is hard to say. Then there is the Dazai , the Yamato outpost in Kyushu,  set up in the area of Tsukushi, modern Fukuoka Prefecture, largely following the Iwai Rebellion, and which we .  We talked about this some in the Gishiwajinden Tour episode about Ito and Na, extending a more directand how the Yamato government extended a more direct, and explicitly military, presence in Kyushu. Still, the individual lands of places like Hi, Toyo, Kibi, Owari, or Musashi were all governed by the Kuni no Miyatsuko, the Yamato court's term for the various chieftains or rulers of the different lands. And that gets us roughly to the situation where we are now, in 645.  Prince Naka no Oe hadand been talking with his good friend Nakatomi no Kamatari about how things should be, ever since the day that Kamatari had helped him out at a kemari game—something akin to group hackey-sack with a volleyball.  As we've discussed in past episodes, a lot of this sense of “how things should be” related to nipping the power of Soga no Iruka and Soga no Emishi in the bud, cutting off what they no doubt saw as a thread to imperial power and the ”right way of doing things”.  But Tthe two had also been taking lessons from the Priest Minabuchi, and, like students everywhere, they thought they had figured this whole government thing out as well.  They'd been reading the classics and would have had access to the reports from various envoys and ambassadors to the Tang court.  The last one had left in 630 and returned in 632.  They would no doubt have seen the workings of the Tang dynasty law code of 624 and the subsequent update in 627.  Naka no Oe and Kamatari may have even heard news of the update in 637. Thise law code, implemented by Tang Taizong, relied on Confucian and Legalist theory.  It wasn't the first law code in East Asia, or even the Yellow River basin , but it is one of the most significant and influential, and the earliest for which we have the actual code itself—though the extant version is from 653, about eight years after the events of 645., butHowever, as we'll see, all of this was well withing the timeframe which the Ritsuryo system was used and updated, itself. So, Naka no Oe and Kamatari have a shiny new document in their hands, promising an organized system of government very different from the status quo in Yamato to date.  However, the Tang law code did have a problem:  It was undeniably centered in the imperial culture of the Yellow River and Yangzi River basins.  These areas had long had the concept of empire, and even in the chaotic period of the Sixteen Kingdoms and the Northern and Southern dynasties, the concept of an empire that ruled “All Under Heaven”, or “Tianxia” was something that people generally accepted.  The Wa polities of the Japanese archipelago, even as they were now consuming media from the continent, still operated under their own cultural imaginaries of how the world was ordered and how government operated.  And so the code couldn't just be adopted wholesale:  It would have to be adapted to the needs and demands of the Wa polity. I should note that this was unlikely the reforms that took place in Yamato were sole effort of Naka no Oe and Kamatari, and much of what is written suggests that this wasn't done simply through autocratic fiat, but included some key politicking.  This started even before the Isshi Incident.  Kamatari already had close ties with Prince Karu before he met with Naka no Oe.  Kamatari and Naka no Oe had also brought Soga no Kurayamada no Ishikawa no Maro into their confidence, a member of the Soga family.  The Fujiwara family history, the Toushi Kaden, compiled by Fujiwara Nakamaro in the 8th century, describes Maro—referenced as Soga no Yamada—as a man of particular and upright character.  He also appears to have had a beef with his cousin , Soga no Iruka, and was ambitious. I'm not sure just how much Naka no Oe and Kamatari were sharing their plans about reforming the State at this point, or if they were simply concentrating efforts on bringing down—that is to say murdering—Soga no Iruka. The Toushi Kaden mentions that others were also brought around to at least the idea that something had to be done about Soga no Iruka, though nobody was quite willing to speak out for fear of Soga no Iruka and his father, Emishi, and what they could do to someone's reputation—or worse.  After all, Soga no Iruka had only   recently killed the Prince Yamashiro no Oe, reportedly as part of a plot to ensure Prince Furubito would be next elevated to the throne.  On the other hand, not much information seems to be given about the reforms until they are enacted. And so after the Isshi Incident, we see our murderous firebrands taking the reins of power.  As we noted back in episode 106, Prince Karu was encouraged to take the throne, while Prince Furubito no Ohoye retired from the world and took orders at a temple in Yoshino.  Naka no Oe had been offered the throne, we are told, but turned it down, as the optics on it would not have been great.  Not only because he was clearly responsible for the death of Soga no Iruka and his father, and thus his mother's abdication.  However, he could still be made Crown Prince, and keep right on going with his ambitions to change up the way things were done in the Yamato government. Although Naka no Oe and Kamatari get most of the credit, the work required the cooperation—or at least consent—of the newly made sovereign, Prince Karu, also known as Ame Yorozu Toyohi, later styled as Koutoku Tennou.  After all, it would be his edicts that would lay out the new system, and his name that would be attached to it.   One good example is a change that came immediately: Meanwhile, in place of Soga no Iruka as Oho-omi, Karu selected two individuals to take his place, dividing up the position of Oho-omi into ministers of the Left and Right.  The first was Abe no Omi no Uchimaro, as Minister of the Left, and then Soga no Kurayamada no Omi no Ishikawa no Maro, Naka no Oe's recently made father-in-law, was made the Minister of the Right.  These positions, later known as the Sadaijin and Udaijin, would continue to be two of the most powerful civil positions in the Ritsuryo and later Japanese governments.  The Minister of the Left, the Sadaijin, was often considered the senior of the two. By the way, “Daijin” is just a sinified reading applied to the characters used for “Oho-omi”, or great minister.  This means that the Minister of the Left, the Sadaijin, could just as easily be called the Oho-omi of the Left, or something similar.  This actually causes a bit of confusion, especially in translation, but just realize that this is effectively just a rebranding, and not entirely a new name.  What was new was this idea that they were broken into the Left and the Right a distinction that would mean a lot more once more of the bureaucratic offices and functionaries were properly defined. Who were these two new ministers? Abe no Uchimaro has popped up a few times in the narrative.  He was an experienced courtier.  The Abe family had been moving within the halls of power for some time, and had even stood up to the Soga family when Soga no Umako had tried to acquire their lands in Katsuraki, making an ancestral claim.  Uchimaro had also been involved in the discussions regarding Princes Tamura and Yamashiro no Oe after the death of Kashikya Hime, hosting one of the dinners during which the delicate issue of succession was discussed.  He was clearly a politician of the first order.  Of course, Soga no Kurayamada had clearly earned his position through his connections with the conspirators. , bBut what about Nakatomi no Kamatari?  Well, he wasn't exactly left out in the cold.  Nakatomi no Kamatari was made the Naijin, the Minister, or “Omi”, of the Middle or the Minister of the Interior, implying that he had some authority over the royal household itself.  This feels like a created position, possibly to allow him the freedom to help with the primary work of transforming the Yamato government. Although Naka no Oe and Kamatari get most of the credit, the work required the cooperation—or at least consent—of the newly made sovereign, Prince Karu, also known as Ame Yorozu Toyohi, later styled as Koutoku Tennou.  After all, it would be his edicts that would lay out the new system, and his name that would be attached to it. One of the first things that is recorded in the Nihon Shoki was the declaration of a nengo, or era name.  Up to this point, years in Yamato were remembered by the reign of the sovereign—typically based on their palace.  So you would see things like the second year of the reign of the sovereign of Shiki palace, or something like that.  In addition, at least since about the 6th century, if not earlier, years would eventually be given the appropriate sexagesimal year name, combing one of the ten stems and twelve branches.  For example, 2024, when this episode is coming out, is the year of the Wood Dragon, or Kinoe-tatsu.  This is still used for various Japanese traditionspractice still continues today in Japan for various reasons. The Nengo was something newly introduced to Japan, however: .  Aan era name would be chosen by the sovereign, often based on important changes that either had occurred or even as a wish for something new.  So you would we see a new nengo with the ascension of a new sovereign, but it couldan also come because of an auspicious omen or because of a terrible disaster and hope for something new.  The current nengo, which started with the reign of Emperor Naruhito a few years back, is “Reiwa”. This very first nengo, we are told, was “Taika”, meaning, as I said up front, “Great Change”.  It certainly was apropos to the work at hand.  So let's go through the Chronicles and see some of the “great changes” occurring at the Yamato court now that the intention had been made clear.  We already talked about the change from an single Oho-omi to ministers of the Left and Right, but there were many other Some of the first things were to set up various newly created officials and positions.  An example is , such as two doctors, or Hakase – doctors in the sense of learned experts, not medical doctors, although medicine was certainly revered.  One of these new Hakase was the Priest Min, presumably the same one who had brought back astronomical knowledge from the Sui dynasty, possibly the same as the one known as Sho'an.  The other was Takamuko no Fubito no Kuromaro, who had gone to the Sui Dynasty with Min and others and come back with knowledge of how things worked on the continent.  The Takamuko family had immigrant roots as descendants of the Ayabito, and Kuromaro was well traveled, returning from the Sui court by way of Silla.  These two were well positioned to help with the work at hand. Now that the rudiments of a cabinet were in place, Oone of the first problems set before things after setting up their cabinet, as it were, was to askthe their new Ministers of the Right and Left, as well as the various officials, the Daibu and the Tomo no Miyatsuko, was how tohey should  get people to acquiesce to forced, or corvee labor—the idea that for certain government projects villages could be called upon to provide manual labor in the form of a healthy adult—typically male—to help as needed.  This was a thorny problem, and evidently it was thought best to get expertise beyond the purely human.  The following day, tThe Udaijin, Soga no Ishikawa no Maro, suggested that the kami of Heaven and Earth should be worshipped and then affairs of government should be considered.  And so Yamato no Aya no Hirafu was sent to Wohari and Imbe no Obito no Komaro was sent to Mino, both to make offerings to the kami there for their assistance, it would seem, in setting up a good government. This is significant, in part, as it shows the continued importance of local traditions focused on appeasing the kami, rather than the Buddhist rituals that they could have likely turned to, instead. FinallyThree weeks later, on the 5th day of the 8th month—about three weeks later— camecomes the first truly major edict of the Taika era, which and it wasis to appoint new governors, or kokushi, of the eastern provinces.  Note that they specifically mention the Eastern Provinces, presumably meaning those east of Yamato, since they only sent out eight of them.  They also did not send them to usurp control, necessarily, from the Kuni no Miyatsuko of those areas.  The Kuni no Miyatsuko were still nominally in charge, it would seem, but the court was getting ready to make some major changes to the relationship. These governors were expected to go out and take a census of the people—both those free and those in bondage to others.  They were also to take account of all of the land currently under cultivation, likely to figure out how to tax it appropriately.  As for things other than arable land, such as gardens, ponds, rivers, oceans, lakes, mountains, etc., the edict commands the governors to consult with the people—presumably the people of the province—to get a better idea of what should be done. And this doesn't sound so bad.  It is basically just a tally of what is already there.  That said, anyone who has worked in a modern office probably knows about the dread that comes over a workplace when people show up from the Head Office with clipboards in hand.  However, apparently many of the people had not yet heard of a “clipboard” and likely didn't realize that this was only a precursor to greater and more centralized bureaucratic control. Now in addition to taking a zero-baseline review of provincial resources, there was also a list of what these new governors y were to avoid – clear boundaries around the power they were to wield.  For one thing, they were not to hear criminal cases.  They weren't there to be an extension of the Yamato court in such matters or to usurp the duties of the Kuni no Miyatsuko, one supposes.  Furthermore, when they were traveling to the capital, they were only to bring themselves and district officials, but not a huge retinue.  Whether they realized it or not, these kokushi were early bureaucrats in a burgeoning bureaucratic state, and they weren't supposed to be going out there to become minor kings in their own right; their power came from and was limited by the royal edict.  They also did not send them to usurp control, necessarily, from the Kuni no Miyatsuko of those areas.  The Kuni no Miyatsuko were still nominally in charge, it would seem, but the court was getting ready to make some major changes to the relationship. When traveling on official business, the governors could use appropriate government resources, such as the horses and food that they were entitled to.  Remember that post stations were set up, previously, to help better facilitate official travel and communication.  In a later edict it would be clarified that officials would be given a bronze token with bell-like figures on it.  The shape of the token would indicate what kinds of resources the individual was entitled to.  This applied to governors and their assistants.  Those who follow the rules could be rewarded with rank and more, while those who disobeyed would be reduced in rank, and any stipend that came with it.  Furthermore, any government official who was found taking a bribe would be liable to pay twice the amount, as well as being open to criminal punishment. The Chief Governor was allowed nine attendants, while the assistant was allowed seven, and a secretary—for which think more of the head of a branch office or department under the governor—could have five.  Any more, and the governor and followers could be punished for it. While in the provinces, the governors were expected to look into any claims of potentially false inheritance.  This included anyone using a false name or title to claim rights that were not theirs.  Governors were to first investigate what was going on before submitting their findings up to the court. Governors were also to erect arsenals on waste pieces of ground—ground that could not be cultivated for some reason.  In those arsenals they were to gather the various weapons and armor of the provinces and districts, presumably so that soldiers could be called up quickly and everyone could just get their equipment from one place, but it also looks like an attempt to take control of the means of violence.  Whether or not that was their direct intention I cannot say.  There was a provision for those on the frontier, with the Emishi, to allow the owners to keep their weapons, probably because the situation was potentially volatile, and it could turn at any moment. And so that was the first major piece of legislation:  Sending out governors to what are translated as “provinces”—though we are still using the term “kuni”, which equally refers to a state or country—ostensibly for the purposes of assessing the land, its value, the number of people, etc, but also to .  They are centralizeing military assets.   and they are given status as true court representatives.  I do notice that it was explicitly stated that these governors were for the eastern lands, .  presumably meaning those east of Yamato, since they only sent out eight of them These are areas that historically appear to have relied more on Yamato or else been something of a frontier area for the ethnic Wa people.  They may have been more open to Yamato's demands on their sovereignty. There were two more pieces to thise edict that didon't directly apply to the governors.  First off was the institution of a bell and a box to be set up at the court.  The box was basically a place to receive complaints about how things were going in the realm.  They are careful to note that complaints should be vetted by the Tomo no Miyatsuko, one of the hereditary government officials, or at least to the head of one's uji, if possible.  If they couldn't come to a decision, though, the complaints would be collected at dawn and then the government would look into them.  If anyone thought that there was a problem with how a complaint was being handled—for example, if they thought there was malfeasance involved or even just neglect, with officials not addressing it in a timely fashion, then the plaintiffs could go to the court and ring the bell, officially noting their dissatisfaction with the process. This idea of a bell and complaints seems to be a wide-ranging practice throughout Asia.  During the reign of the Legendary Yao, people were encouraged to nail their complaints to a tree.  Other edicts suggest that bells and drums were hung in royal palaces to allow common people to voice their grievances.  We have examples of the practice showing up in the Sukhothai kingdom of Thailand, during the 13th century reign of King Ramkhamhaeng, and then a 16th century example in what is now Myanmar, aka Burma.  While they differ in specifics, they are all related to the concept of royal justice even for the lowest of the people.  Granted, if you are a farmer in Owari province, I don't know how easy it was going to be to make your way over to the royal palace and ring that bell, but at least there was the idea that people could submit complaints. This was apparently used relatively soon after, as recounted in the second month of the following year, about six months later.  Apparently some person had placed a complaint in the box stating that people who had come to the capital on government business were being put to work and ill-used.  Basically it sounds like they were being rounded up for corvee labor even though they weren't local residents, they were just passing through.  In response, the sovereign, Karu, put a stop to forced labor at various places—presumably where the offending action was taking place, so I guess the complaint system it was working. The last part of this first set of edicts, kicking off the change was about inheritance.  Not all people in Yamato were free, and the law saw a difference between the status of free and unfree persons—that is to say enslaved persons.  And so they made laws that only the child of two free persons would be considered free.  If either parent was in bondage, then the child was also considered in bondage to their parent's house.  If two enslaved persons of different houses had a child, then they would stay with the mother.  Temple serfs, though technically bound to service of the temple, were made a special case, and their children were to be treated as if the temple serf was a free person. Slavery is something that doesn't always get talked about regarding ancient Yamato, and the Chronicles themselves don't tend to mention enslaved peoplethem often, but more because they belonged to a class of society that was largely outside of the scope of the narrative.  In cases where they are discussed, such as in these edicts, the Chronicles are unapologetic of the practice.  These may have been people who were captured in raids, or their descendants, or people who had been enslaved as punishment for some offence, although it isn't quite clear just what would count.  We know that Himiko sent enslaved persons as part of the tribute to the Wei Court, as she was trying to curry favor, and mention of them certainly shows up now and again. It is unclear how many people were enslaved up to this point, but some estimates suggest that it may have been five to ten percent of the population.  As I've mentioned before, this practice continued up until the Sengoku Period, and was only abolished by Toyotomi Hideyoshi in an attempt to stop the Portuguese from buying enslaved Japanese people and transporting them away from Japan.  That didn't meant that other forms of bondage, often economic in nature, didn't happen, however. So that was the content of the first edict—one of many.  The court sent out newly appointed “governors” to the provinces, but these governors were, so far, limited in their scope.  There is even some evidence that these may have been initially seen as temporary positions, and there was mention of “kokushi” in the previous reign.  Still, this was part of a clearly concentrated effort to assume central authority over the archipelago.  There were even officials appointed over the six districts of Yamato province, the core of the Yamato state, who were likewise expected to prepare registers of the population and the cultivated land. Even the idea that the sovereign had the right to make these appointments was something a bit radical, and indicated a change in way that the court, at least, would view the sovereign.  It likewise placed the sovereign in a position to dispense justice, through the vehicle of the court, and it began to define the citizens of the realm as well. That said, this all could have been argued for by using the Sui and Tang as examples of what government should look like and what a true nation should look like. It is also possible that this didn't all happen of a sudden in the 8th month, as the Chronicles describe it.  This is suggested at based on a separate account, mentioned in the Nihon Shoki, that the gathering of weapons, for instance—one of the things that the governors were charged with—actually took place between the 6th and 9th month, so some of this likely started before the date listed for the edict, and that may just have been one part of the whole.  The Chroniclers often do this, finding one particular date and throwing in everything rather than giving things piecemeal—depending on the event.  In addition, on the 19th day of the 9th month, officials were sent out to all of the provinces—not just the eastern provinces—to take a proper census.  At this same time, the sovereign, Karu, issued another edict, which seems related to their work as well as that of the governors, or kokushi, sent to the east.  In it he noted that the powerful families—the Omi, the Muraji, the Tomo no Miyatsuko, and the Kuni no Miyatsuko—would compel their own vassals to work at their pleasure.  They would also appropriate for themselves various pieces of land, so that people could only work it for them.  Not everyone was doing this, though.  Some unnamed persons were accused of hording thousands of acres of rice-land, while others had no more land than you could stick a needle into.  Furthermore, these powerful families were collecting taxes for themselves, first, and then handing a portion over to the government.  They likely compelled their vassals to work on their own tombs, and such.  And so, the sovereign, Karu, forbade anyone from becoming a landlord and forcing people to pay rent.  Presumably he was also dealing with some of the other aspects, though that may have proved more difficult.  After all, from what we've seen, everything that Karu is complaining about—things that no doubt were considered antithetical to good government based on pure Confucian values—were the norm for the elite at the time.  Heck, the Kuni no Miyatsuko had no doubt thought of the land and the people on it as their own, not Yamato's.  However, things were shifting, and once again we see Yamato exerting royal prerogative over the land and people, something that they would do more and more as the system of laws and punishments eventually came together. Now the big question is how did this all pan out?  Well, it took some time, but we get a report on the second day of the third month of the following year, 646, and to be honest, it doesn't sound like things were going too well.  Of the high officials sent out as kokushi to govern the eastern provinces, six listened and did what they were told, but two did not, and then there were numerous other issues.  A more detailed list was given on the 19th of the month, including a clearer idea of punishments. The decree was given to the “Choushuushi”, apparently other government officials sent to check on how things were going, though it was clearly about various officials. The decree starts by reminding officials that they were not to use their position to appropriate public or private property.  Anyone of Assistant governor rank or higher would be punished by being degraded in rank, and presumably their stipend.  Those officials of clerk, or secretary, on down would face flogging.  If anyone was found converting public property (or someone else's) to their own use, they would be fined double the value of the property, just as with bribes.  So the Yamato government was They were really trying to tamp down on people trying to make a profit from their position. Here are a few of the specific things that the Choushuushi reported back: -             Hozumi no Omi no Kuhi taxed individual families for his own use and though he gave some of it back make, it wasn't all.  His two assistants were at fault for not correcting him. -             Kose no Tokune no Omi did something similar, taking away horses from the farmers for his own use.  His assistants not only did not correct him, but actually helped him.  They also took horses from the Kuni no Miyatsuko of the province.  One of the officials tried to remonstrate with him, but he finally gave in to the corruption. -             Ki no Marikida no Omi sent men to Asakura no Kimi and Inoue no Kimi to look at their horses for his own use.  He also had Asakura no Kimi make him swords and provide bow-cloth.  He also took the payments in lieu of weapons offered by the Kuni no Miyatsuko but didn't properly report it.  As a somewhat strange addition to these charges, he apparently was guilty of allowing himself to be robbed of a sword in his own province as well as in Yamato, presumably one that was actually government property.  Apparently being held up at sword point wasn't considered sufficient justification for letting it go.  This was facilitated by his assistants and their subordinates. -             Adzumi no Muraji apparently made the Kuni no Miyatsuko send government property to someone when they were ill, and he took horses belonging to the Yube clan.  His assistant gathered items at his house that were paid in lieu of hay, and he took the horses of the Kuni no Miyatsuko and exchanged them for others.  At least two other brothers were found guilty as well. -             Ohochi no Muraji broke the decree of not personally judging the complaints of the people in the districts under his charge.  He took it on himself to judge the case of the men of Udo and the matter of the enslaved persons of Nakatomi no Toko, who was also considered guilty. -             Kishida no Omi, as with Ki no Marikida, also allowed his sword to be stolen, showing a want of circumspection. -             In one of the strangest put-downs in this list, Womidori no Omi and Tanba no Omi weren't guilty of anything, but were just considered incompetent.  So make of that what you will. -             Imbe no Konomi and Nakatomi no Muraji no Mutsuki also committed offenses, we are told, but the nature is unclear. -             Hada no Omi and Taguchi no Omi, on the other hand, were free and clear.  Apparently they hadn't committed any offenses. -             Finally, Heguri no Omi was guilty of neglecting to investigate the complaints of the men of Mikuni. A big to-do was made about the punishments to be meted out to all of these individuals, as well as to the Kuni no Miyatsuko who may have enabled them.  However, instead of prosecuting them, Karu declared a general amnesty.  This was like a mass pardon of offenses—a do-over if you would.  Not that anything would be forgotten.  On the other hand, six individuals who did as they were told were all commended for their service.  He also took the lent-rice for the maintenance of the late Kibishima, the dowager queen who had passed away in 643, and distributed her official-rice lands amongst the ministers down to the Tomo no Miyatsuko.  He also gave rice-land and hill tracts, which weren't suitable for farming, over to various temples which had previously been omitted from the official registers for some reason. Over all, this seems to be a rather powerful message:  We're not They weren't fooling around with these changes, and people better get on board or get out of the way.  Whereas previously things in the provinces may have operated under a sort of Vegas Rules, that was no longer going to be tolerated.  On the other hand, Karuhe demonstrated mercy, likely realizing that too harsh an approach would bring the wrath of the other powerful nobles.  Nonetheless, he elaborated what each person had done and effectively put them and anyone else harboring thoughts that they could just ignore these edicts on notice.  These reforms weren't going away. So we've talked about where we were and we can see the powers at the Yamato court starting to make changes.  For now, this is probably going to be a good place to take a break for this episode, but there are a lot more of these reforms to get to, not to mention the rest of the intra-palace politicking at the court, as well as the changing situation on the continent and in diplomatic channels.  We are going to keep looking at these changes as we move forward through the period of Great Change, known as the Taika era. Until then, thank you for listening and for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, please tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast. And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.

Ito-koku and Na-koku were the next two countries on the path of the Wei envoys noted in the Gishiwajinden.  They likely refer to the areas known today as Itoshima and Fukuoka, so what do we know about these places in the Yayoi period, and how is it that by the 3rd century Yamato seemed to have taken the foremost position on the archipelago and not one of these other countries, where wet paddy rice agriculture and other continental technologies first arrived in the archipelago. For more see our podcast blog post at: https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/itoandna Rough Transcript 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.

Filling in the rest of Takara's reign with the stories of the various envoys at court, the Baekje princes living in Yamato, and the story of a 7th century millenial cult. For more, check out https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-107   Rough Transcript 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. 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.

This episode we look at the reign of Tamura, aka Jomei Tenno. For references and more, check out https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-105   Rough Transcript 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.

It's the last episode of 2023, and our 100th episode!  But despite that, we keep on moving through the period, hitting a bunch of smaller stories from the Nihon Shoki about this period. We talk about Zentoku no Omi, the temple commissioner of Hokoji, as well as the trouble they went through to get the Asukadera Daibutsu in place to begin with.  We have the first instance of the Dazai--as in the Dazaifu of Kyushu--as well as the first instance of the holiday that would eventually become Children's Day, Kodomo no Hi.  There are various immigrants, bringing painting, handmills, and even a new kind of musical dance theater known as gigaku.  And that's just some of what we'll cover. For more, check out our website at https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-100 Rough Transcript   Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua, and this is episode 100: Sacred Tetris and Other Tidbits First off:  woohoo!  One hundred episodes!  Thank you to everyone who has been listening and following along on this journey so far.  When I started this I had no idea how long I would be able to keep up with it, but I appreciate everyone who has encouraged me along the way.  This all started in September of 2019, and we are now four years in and we have a ways to go.  While I'm thanking people, I'd also like to give a big thank you to my wife, Ellen, who has been helping me behind the scenes.  She's the one who typically helps read through what I'm going to say and helps edit out a lot of things, and provides reminders of things that I sometimes forget.  She really helps to keep me on track, and I always appreciate the time she puts into helping to edit the scripts and the questions she asks. Now, we are still talking about the 6th and early 7th centuries during the reign of Kashikiya Hime, aka Suiko Tenno.  We've talked about a lot of different aspects of this period—about the conflicts over Nimna on the peninsula, about the rise of the Sui dynasty on the continent, and the importation of various continental goods, including animals, immigrants, and knowledge.  That knowledge included new ideas about governance as well as religious practices such as Buddhism—and possibly other religious practices as well, as many of the stories that we saw in the Age of the Gods may have analogs on the continent and may just as easily have been coming over with the current crop of immigrants, though it is hard to say for certain.  At the heart of these changes are three individuals.  Obviously there is Kashikiya Hime, on the throne through a rather intricate and bloody series of events.  Then there is Soga no Umako, her maternal uncle, who has been helping to keep the Soga family on top.  And of course, the subject of our last couple episodes, Prince Umayado, aka Shotoku Taishi.  He, of course, is credited with the very founding of the Japanese state through the 17 article constitution and the promulgation of Buddhism. This episode, I'd like to tackle some of the little things.  Some of the stories that maybe didn't make it into other episodes up to this point.  For this, we'll mostly look at it in a chronological fashion, more or less. As you may recall, Kashikiya Hime came to the throne in about 593, ruling in the palace of Toyoura.  This was around the time that the pagoda was erected at Houkouji temple—and about the time that we are told that Shitennouji temple was erected as well.  Kashikiya Home made Umayado the Crown Prince, despite having a son of her own, as we'd mentioned previously, and then, in 594, she told Umayado and Umako to start to promulgate Buddhism, kicking off a temple building craze that would sweep the nation—or at least the areas ruled by the elites of Yamato. By 596, Houkouji was finished and, in a detail I don't think we touched on when talking about Asukadera back in episode 97, they appointed as commissioner one Zentoku no Omi—or possibly Zentoko, in one reading I found.  This is a curious name, since “Zentoku” comes across as a decidedly Buddhist name, and they really liked to use the character “Zen”, it feels like, at this time.  In fact, it is the same name that the nun, the daughter of Ohotomo no Sadehiko no Muraji, took, though the narrative is very clear about gender in both instances, despite them having the exact same Buddhist names.  This name isn't exactly unique, however, and it is also the name recorded for the Silla ruler, Queen Seondeok, whose name uses the same two characters, so it is possible that at this time it was a popular name—or perhaps people just weren't in the mood to get too creative, yet. However, what is particularly interesting to me, is that the name “Zentoku” is then followed by the kabane of “Omi”.  As you may recall from Episode XX, a kabane is a level of rank, but associated with an entire family or lineage group rather than an individual.  So while there are times where we have seen “personal name” + “kabane” in the past, there is usually a surname somewhere in there.  In this case, we aren't told the surname, but we know it because we are given the name of Zentoku's father: we are told that he was the son of none other than the “Oho-omi”, the Great Omi, aka Soga no Umako.  So, in summary, one of Soga no Umako's sons took the tonsure and became a monk. I bring this little tidbit up because there is something that seems very odd to me and, at the same time, very aristocratic, about taking vows, retiring from the world, and yet still being known by your family's title of rank. Often monks are depicted as outside of the civil rank and status system—though there were certainly ranks and titles within the priesthood.  I wonder if it read as strange to the 8th century readers, looking back on this period.  It certainly seems to illustrate quite clearly how Buddhism at this point was a tool of the elite families, and not a grass-roots movements among the common people. This also further strengthens the idea that Houkouji was the temple of the Soga—and specifically Soga no Umako.  Sure, as a Soga descendant, Prince Umayado may have had some hand in it, but in the end it was the head of the Soga family who was running the show, and so he appoints one of his own sons as the chief commissioner of the temple.  They aren't even trying to hide the connection.  In fact, having one of his sons “retire” and start making merit through Buddhist practice was probably a great PR move, overall. We don't hear much more from Zentoku after this point, and we really know very little about him.  We do know something about the Soga family, and we know that Soga no Umako has at least one other son.  While we've yet to see him in the narrative—children in the Nihon Shoki are often meant to be neither seen nor heard, it would seem—Umako's other son is known to us as Soga no Emishi.  Based on when we believe Soga no Emishi was born, however, he would have been a child, still, when all this was happening, and so Zentoku may have actually been his father's eldest son, taking the reins at Houkouji temple, likely setting him up to claim a role of spiritual leadership in the new religion of Buddhism.  Compare this to what we see later, and also in other places, such as Europe, where it is often the second son that is sent into religious life, while the eldest son—the heir—is kept at hand to succeed the father in case anything happens.  On the other hand, I am unsure if the monks of this time had any sort of celibacy that was expected of them, and I suspect that even as the temple commissioner, the tera no Tsukasa, Zentoku was keeping his hand in.  After all, the Soga family head appears to have been staying near the temple as well, so it isn't like they were packing him off to the high mountains. Moving on, in 601 we are told that Kashikiya Hime was in a temporary palace at a place called Miminashi, when heavy rains came and flooded the palace site.  This seems to be referring to flooding of Toyoura palace, which was, we believe, next to the Asuka river.  I wonder, then, if that wasn't the impetus for, two years later, in 603, moving the palace to Woharida, and leaving the old palace buildings to become a nunnery.  That Woharida palace is not thought to have been very far away—traditionally just a little ways north or possibly across the river. In 604, with the court operating out of the new Woharida palace, we see the institution of more continental style traditions.  It includes the idea of bowing when you entered or left the palace grounds—going so far as to get on your hands and knees for the bow.  Even today, it is customary to bow when entering a room—particularly a traditional room like in a dojo or similar—and it is also customary to bow when passing through a torii gate, entering into a sacred space.  Of course, that is often just a standing bow from the waist, and not a full bow from a seated position. In 605, with more continental culture being imported, we see it affecting fashion.  In fact, in this year we are told that Prince Umayado commanded all the ministers to wear the “hirami”.  The kanji simply translates to “pleats”, but in clothing terms this refers to a pleated skirt or apron.  We see examples of this in courtly clothing going back to at least the Han dynasty, if not earlier, typically tied high above the waist and falling all the way down so that only the tips of the shoes are poking out from underneath.  We have a bit more on this in the historical clothing section of the Sengoku Daimyo website, sengokudaimyo.com.   I wonder if these wrapped skirts aren't some of what we see in the embroidered Tenjukoku mandala of Chuuguuji.  Court women would continue to wear some kind of pleated skirt-like garment, which would become the mo, though for men they would largely abandon the fashion, except for some very specific ritual outfits.  That said, there is still an outfit used for some imperial ceremonies.  It is red, with many continental and what some might consider Taoist symbols, such as dragons, the sun and moon, etc..  That continuation of tradition gives us some idea of what this was and what it may have looked like back in the day.  It is also very neat that we are starting to get specific pieces of potentially identifiable clothing information, even if it is only for the court nobles. The year following that, 606, we get the giant Buddha image being installed at Houkouji, aka Asukadera.  Or at least, we think that is the one they are talking about, as we can't be one hundred percent certain.  However, it is traditionally thought to be one and the same.  The copper and gold image was commissioned a year prior, along with an embroidered image as well, but when they went to install it they ran into a slight problem:  The statue was too large to fit through the doors of the kondo, the golden image hall.  No doubt that caused some embarrassment—it is like ordering furniture that won't fit through the doorway, no matter how you and your friends try to maneuver it around.  They were thinking they would have to cut through the doors of the kondo to create more room, and then fix it afterwards.  Nobody really wanted to do that thought—whether because they thought it would damage the structural integrity of the building or they just didn't want to have to put up with an unsightly scar, it isn't clear.  Finally, before they took such extreme measures, they called on the original artist, Kuratsukuri no Tori.  He is said to be the son of the famous Shiba Tattou, and so his family was quite close with the Soga, and he seems to have had quite the eye for geometry as we are told that he, “by way of skill”, was able to get it through the doors and into the hall.  I don't know if that meant he had to some how turn it on its side and walk it through, or something else, but whatever it was, it worked.  Tori's mad Tetris skills worked, and they were able to install the giant Buddha in the hall without cutting through the doorways. For his efforts, Tori was rewarded, and he was raised up to the rank of Dainin, one of the 12 new ranks of the court.  He was also given 20 cho worth of “water fields”—likely meaning rice paddies.  With the income from those fields, we are told that he invested in a temple of his own:  Kongoji, later known as the nunnery of Sakata in Minabuchi. For all that Buddhism was on the rise, the worship of the kami was still going strong as well.  In 607 we are told that there was an edict that everyone should worship the kami of heaven and earth, and we are told that all of the noble families complied.  I would note that Aston wonders about this entry, as the phrasing looks like something you could have taken right out of continental records, but at the same time, it likely reflects reality to some extent.  It is hard to see the court just completely giving up on the traditional kami worship, which would continue to be an important part of court ritual.  In fact, it is still unclear just how the new religion of Buddhism was viewed, and how much people understood the Buddha to be anything more than just another type of kami. Later in that same year was the mission to the Sui court, which we discussed in Episode 96.  The year after, the mission returned to Yamato with Sui ambassadors, and then, in 609, those ambassadors returned to the Sui court.  These were the missions of that infamous letter, where the Yamato court addressed the Sui Emperor as an equal.  “From the child of heaven in the land where the sun rises to the child of heaven in the land where the sun sets.”  It is still one of my favorite little pieces of history, and I constantly wonder if Yamato didn't understand the difference in scale or if they just didn't care.  Either way, some really powerful vibes coming off that whole thing. That same year that the Sui ambassadors were going back to their court there was another engagement with foreigners.  In this case the official on the island of Tsukushi, aka Kyuushuu, reported to the Yamato court that 2 priests from Baekje, along with 10 other priests  and 75 laypersons had anchored in the harbor of Ashigita, in the land of Higo, which is to say the land of Hi that was farther from Yamato, on the western side of Kyuushuu.  Ashigita, you may recall, came up in Episode 89 in reference to the Baekje monk—and I use that term loosely—Nichira, aka Illa.  There, Nichira was said to descend from the lord of Ashigita, who was said to be Arisateung, a name which appears to be a Korean—possibly Baekje—title.  So now we have a Baekje ship harboring in a land that once was ruled by a family identified, at least in their names or titles, as having come from or at least having ties with Baekje.  This isn't entirely surprising, as it wouldn't have taken all that much effort for people to cross from one side to the other, and particularly during the period before there was a truly strong central government it is easy to see that there may have been lands in the archipelago that had ties to Baekje, just as we believe there were some lands on the peninsula that had ties to Yamato. One more note before get to the heart of the matter is the title of the person who reported all these Baekje goings-on.  Aston translates the title as the Viceroy of Tsukushi, and the kanji read “Dazai”, as in the “Dazaifu”, or government of the “Dazai”.  There is kana that translates the title as Oho-mikoto-Mochi—the Great August Thing Holder, per Aston, who takes this as a translation, rather than a strict transliteration.  This is the first time that this term, “Dazai” has popped up in the history, and it will appear more and more in the future.  We know that, at least later, the Dazaifu was the Yamato court's representative government in Kyuushuu.  The position wasn't new - it goes back to the various military governors sent there in previous reigns - but this is the first time that specific phrasing is used—and unfortunately we don't even know much about who it was referring to.  The position, however, would become an important part of the Yamato governing apparatus, as it provided an extension of the court's power over Kyuushuu, which could otherwise have easily fallen under the sway of others, much as Iwai tried to do when he tried to ally with Silla and take Tsukushi by force.  Given the importance of Kyuushuu as the entrypoint to the archipelago, it was in the Court's best interest to keep it under their control. Getting back to the ship with the Baekje priests on it:  the passengers claimed they were on their way to Wu, or Kure—presumably headed to the Yangzi river region.  Given the number of Buddhist monasteries in the hills around the Yangzi river, it is quite believable, though of course by this time the Wu dynasty was long gone.  What they had not prepared for was the new Sui dynasty, as they said there was a civil war of some kind going on, and so they couldn't land and were subsequently blown off course in a storm, eventually limping along to Ashigita harbor, where they presumably undertook rest and a chance to repair their vessels.  It is unclear to me exactly what civil war they were referring to, and it may have just been a local conflict.  There would be rebellions south of the Yangzi river a few years later, but no indication that it was this, just a bit out of context.  We know that the Sui dynasty suffered—it wouldn't last another decade before being dismantled and replaced by the Tang dynasty in about 618.  There were also ongoing conflicts with Goguryeo and even the area of modern Vietnam, which were draining the Sui's resources and could be related to all of these issues.  If so, though, it is hard to see an exact correlation to the “civil war” mentioned in the text. Given all this, two court nobles:  Naniwa no Kishi no Tokomaro and Fumibito no Tatsu were sent to Kyuushuu to see what had happened, and, once they learned the truth, help send the visitors on their way.  However, ten of the priests asked to stay in Yamato, and they were sent to be housed at the Soga family temple of Houkouji.  As you may recall, 10 monks was the necessary number to hold a proper ordination ceremony, funnily enough. In 610, another couple of monks showed up—this time from Goguryeo.  They were actually sent, we are told, as “tribute”.  We are told that one of them was well read—specifically that he knew the Five Classics—but also that he understood how to prepare various paints and pigments.  A lot of paint and pigments were based on available materials as well as what was known at the time, and so it is understandable, to me, why you might have that as a noted and remarkable skill.  We are also told that he made mills—likely a type of handmill.  These can be easily used for helping to crush and blend medicines, but I suspect it could just as easily be used to crush the various ingredients for different pigments.  A type of handmill, where you roll a wheel in a narrow channel, forward and back, is still in use today throughout Asia. In 611, on the 5th day of the 5th month, the court went out to gather herbs.  They assembled at the pond of Fujiwara—the pond of the wisteria field—and set out at sunrise.  We are told that their clothing matched their official cap colors, which was based on their rank, so that would seem to indicate that they were dressed in their court outfits.  In this case, though, they also had hair ornaments mad of gold, leopard's tails, or birds.  That leopard's tail, assuming the description is accurate, is particularly interesting, as it would have had to have come from the continent. This ritual gathering of herbs would be repeated on the 5th day of the 5th month of both 612 and 614.  If that date seems familiar, you might be thinking of the modern holiday of Tango no Sekku, aka Kodomo no Hi.  That is to say:  Boy's Day or the more gender neutral “Children's Day”.  It is part of a series of celebrations in Japan known today as “Golden Week”, when there are so many holidays crammed together that people get roughly a week off of work, meaning that a lot of travel tends to happen in that period.  While the idea of “Boy's Day” probably doesn't come about until the Kamakura period, Tango no Sekku has long been one of the five seasonal festivals of the court, the Gosekku.  These included New Year's day; the third day of the third month, later to become the Doll Festival, or Girl's Day; the seventh day of the seventh month, during Tanabata; and the 9th day of the 9th month.  As you can see, that is 1/1, 3/3, 5/5, 7/7, and 9/9.  Interestingly, they skipped over 11/11, possibly because that was in the winter time, based on the old calendar, and people were just trying to stay warm. Early traditions of Tango no Sekku include women gathering irises to protect the home.  That could connect to the practice, here, of “picking herbs” by the court, and indeed, many people connect the origins of Tango no Sekku back to this reign specifically because of these references, though there is very little said about what they were doing, other than picking herbs in their fancy outfits. We are given a few more glimpses into the lives of the court in a few other entries.  In 612, for instance, we have a banquet thrown for the high functionaries.  This may have been a semi-regular occasion, but this particular incident was memorable for a couple of poems that were bandied back and forth between Soga no Umako and Kashikiya Hime.  He toasted her, and she responded with a toast to the sons of Soga. Later that year, they held a more somber event, as Kitashi Hime was re-interred.  She was the sister to Soga no Umako, consort of Nunakura Futodamashiki no Ohokimi, aka Kimmei Tenno, and mother to both Tachibana no Toyohi, aka Youmei Tennou, and Kashikiya Hime, Suiko Tennou.  She was re-buried with her husband at his tomb in Hinokuma.  During this period, various nobles made speeches.  Kicking the event off was Abe no Uchi no Omi no Tori, who made offerings to her spirit, including around 15,000 utensils and garments.  Then the royal princes spoke, each according to rank, but we aren't given just what they said.  After that, Nakatomi no Miyatokoro no Muraji no Womaro gave the eulogy of the Oho-omi, presumably speaking on Umako's behalf, though it isn't exactly clear why, though Umako was certainly getting on in years.  Then, Sakahibe no Omi no Marise delivered the written eulogies of the other families. And here we get an interesting glimpse into court life as we see a report that both Nakatomi no Womaro and Sakahibe no Marise apparently delivered their speeches with great aplomb, and the people listening were quite appreciative.  However, they did not look quite so fondly on the speechifying of Abe no Tori, and they said that he was less than skillful.  And consider that—if you find public speaking to be something you dread, imagine if your entire reputation hung on ensuring that every word was executed properly.  A single misstep or a bad day and suddenly you are recorded in the national history as having been just the worst.  In fact, his political career seems to have tanked, as we don't hear much more about him after that. 612 also saw more immigrants bringing more art and culture.  The first was a man from Baekje.  He did not look well—he had white circles under his eyes, we are told, possibly indicating ringworm or some other infection.  It was so bad that the people on the ship with him were thinking about putting him off on an island to fend for himself.  He protested that his looks were not contagious, and no different that the white patches of color you might see on horses or cattle.  Moreover, he had a talent for painting figures and mountains.  He drew figures of the legendary Mt. Sumeru, and of the Bridge of Wu, during the period of the Southern Courts, and the people were so taken by it that they forestalled tossing him overboard.  He was eventually known as Michiko no Takumi, though more colloquially he was known as Shikomaro, which basically was a nickname calling him ugly, because judging people based on appearance was still totally a thing. The other notable immigrant that year was also a man of Baekje, known to us as Mimachi, or perhaps Mimashi or Mimaji.  He claimed to know the music and dancing of the Wu court—or at least some continental dynasty.  He settled in Sakurawi and took on students who were basically forced to learn from him.  As if a piano teacher appeared and all the children went to learn, but now it isn't just your parents and their high expectations, but the very state telling you to do it.  So… no pressure, I'm sure.  Eventually, Manu no Obito no Deshi—whose name literally means “student” or “disciple”—and Imaki no Ayabito no Seibun learned the teachings and passed them down to others.  This would appear to be the masked dances known as Gigaku. If you know about early Japanese music and dance you may have heard of Gagaku, Bugaku, and Noh theater.  Gagaku is the courtly music, with roots in apparently indigenous Japanese music as well as various continental sources, from the Korean peninsula all the way down to Southeast Asia.  Indeed, the musical records we have in Japan are often the only remaining records of what some of the continental music of this time might have sounded like, even though the playing style and flourishes have changed over the centuries, and many scholars have used the repertoire of the Japanese court to help work backwards to try and recreate some of the continental music. The dances that you often see with Gagaku musical accompaniment are known as Bugaku, and most of that was codified in the latter years of the Heian era—about the 12th century.  Then there is the famous masked theater known as Noh, which has its origins in a variety of traditions, going back to at least the 8th century and really brought together around the 14th century.  All of these traditions, however, are preceded by Gigaku, this form of masked dance that came over in the 7th century, and claims its roots in the area of “Wu” rather than “Tang”, implying that it goes back to traditions of the southern courts of the Yangzi river region. Gigaku spread along with the rest of continental culture, along with the spread of Buddhism and other such ideas.  From what we can tell, it was a dominant form of music and dance for the court, and many of the masks that were used are preserved in temple storehouses such as the famous Shosoin at the Todaiji in Nara.  However, as the centuries rolled by, Gigaku was eventually replaced at court by Bugaku style dances, though it continued to be practiced up through at least the 14th century.  Unfortunately, I know of no Gigaku dances that survived into the modern day, and we are left with the elaborate masks, some illustrations of dancers, and a few descriptions of what it was like, but that seems to be it. From what we can tell, Gigaku—also known as Kure-gaku, or Kure-no-utamai, meaning Music or Music and Dances of Wu—is first noted back in the reign of Nunakura Futodamashiki, aka Kimmei Tennou, but it wasn't until the reign of Kashikiya Hime that we actually see someone coming over and clearly imparting knowledge of the dances and music—Mimashi, mentioned above.  We then see the dances mentioned at various temples, including Houryuuji, Toudaiji, and others.  Of course, as with many such things, Shotoku Taishi is given credit for spreading Gigaku through the Buddhist temples, and the two do seem to have gone hand in hand. We know a little bit about the dances from the masks and various writings.  The masks are not random, and a collection of Gigaku masks will have generally the same set of characters.  These characters appear to have been organized in a traditional order.  A performance would start with a parade and a sutra reading—which I wonder if that was original or if it was added as they grew more connected to the Buddhist temple establishment.  And then there was a lion dance, where a young cub would pacify an adult lion.  Lion dances, in various forms, continue to be found throughout East Asia. Then the characters come into play and there are various stories about, for example, the Duke of Wu, and people from the “Hu” Western Regions—that is to say the non-Han people in the Western part of what is now China and central Eurasia.  Some of these performances appear to be serious, while others may have been humorous interludes, like when a demon assaults the character Rikishi using a man's genitals while calling for the “Woman of Wu”.  That brings to mind the later tradition of ai-kyougen; similarly humorous or lighthearted episodes acted out during Noh plays to help break up the dramatic tension. Many of aspects of Gigaku would go on to influence the later styles of court music and dance.  Bugaku is thought to have some of its origins in masked Gigaku dancers performing to the various styles of what became known as Gagaku music.  There are also examples of some of the characters making their way into other theatrical traditions, such as Sarugaku and, eventually, Noh and even folk theater.  These hints have been used to help artists reconstruct what Gigagku might have been like. One of the key aspects of Gigaku is that for all they were telling stories, other than things like the recitation of the sutras, the action of the story appears to have been told strictly through pantomime in the dances.  This was accompanied by the musicians, who played a variety of instruments during the performance that would provide the musical queues for the dancers-slash-actors.  There was no dialogue, however, but the names of the various characters appear to have been well known, and based on the specifics of the masks one could tell who was who and what was going on. This is similar to how, in the west, there were often stock characters in things like the English Mummers plays or the Comedia dell'arte of the Italian city-states, though in Gigaku those characters would not speak at all, and their story would be conveyed simply through pantomime, music, and masks. There have been attempts to reconstruct Gigaku.  Notably there was an attempt in the 1980s, in coordination with a celebration of the anniversary of Todaiji, in Nara, and it appears that Tenri University may continue that tradition.  There was also another revival by famed Kyougen actor Nomura Mannojo, uncle to another famous Kyougen actor turned movie star, Nomura Mansai.  Mannojo called his style “Shingigaku”, which seems to be translated as either “True Gigaku” or “New Gigagku”, and he took that on tour to various countries.  You can find an example of his performance from the Silk Road Theater at the Smithsonian Folklife Festival in Washington, DC back in 2002, as well as elsewhere.  It does appear that he's changed things up just a little bit, however, based on his layout of the dances, but it is an interesting interpretation, nonetheless. We may never truly know what Gigaku looked and sounded like, but it certainly had an impact on theatrical and musical traditions of Japan, and for that alone it perhaps deserves to be mentioned. And I think we'll stop right there, for now.  There is more to get through, so we'll certainly have a part two as we continue to look at events of this rein.  There are stories of gods and omens.  There is contact with an island off the southern coast of Kyuushuu.  There are more trips to the Sui court.  Much of that is coming.  Until then, I'd like to thank you once again.  I can hardly believe we reached one hundred episodes!  And it comes just as we are about to close out the year. As usual, I'll plan for a recap episode over New Year's, and then I'll plan to get back into everything the episode after that, but this closes out the year. I hope everyone has a wonderful new year, however you celebrate and, as always, 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.  And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  

Hello everyone and welcome to Some Like It Scott's second Countdown miniseries on 2023, a podcast first focusing entirely on the works of Japanese animator, Hayao Miyazaki: the Miyazaki Countdown. To honor one of the living legends of animation, the countdown crew of Scott, Scott, and Jay will watch all 11 of Miyazaki's films to-date, rewinding all the way back to his directorial origins with 1979's action-adventure heist thriller LUPIN III: THE CASTLE OF CAGLIOSTRO, all the way to his then-final film, 2013's biographical epic romance drama, THE WIND RISES. Join us each week over the next 11 weeks, as we build up to what is Miyazaki's self-proclaimed now-final film (we'll see...), the fantasy epic, THE BOY AND THE HERON.   In Part 7 of the Miyazaki Countdown, Scott, Scott, and Jay discuss the film that catapulted Hayao Miyazaki and Studio Ghibli to international recognition, the 1997 fantasy epic, PRINCESS MONONOKE. Set in the late Muromachi period of Japan (14th-16th century AD) and centering on Ashitaka, one of the last young princes of the indigenous Emishi tribe, PRINCESS MONONOKE opens with a demon-possessed boar god attacking Ashitaka's village. He manages to fend the boar off, but at great personal cost, as the boar passes the curse to Ashitaka before he is slain. One of the elders of the Emishi tribe give Ashitaka a choice: set out from the village heading west in search of the cure to this curse and never be allowed to return to his homeland, or surely perish as the curse consumes him. Ashitaka of course takes the former option, and heads west, with only a single lead: a heavy iron ball in the stomach of the boar that appears to have caused the demonic corruption. On his journey, Ashitaka encounters Jigo, a mischievous monk who informs him that the Great Forest Spirit may be able to help cure him. When Ashitaka heads that direction, he encounters a new settlement - Iron Town, a refuge for societal outcasts like lepers and prostitutes - run by the enterprising Lady Eboshi, who is in conflict with the local wolf god of the forest, Moro, her two cubs, and a young girl, San, that Moro has taken in after she was abandoned in the forest as a baby. Ashitaka finds himself stuck in the middle between both sides of the conflict and must find a way to convince each side that peace and compromise are the better option than continued destruction of either the forest or the local people. Easier said than done for Ashitaka, and the countdown crew give their thoughts on what may be Miyazaki's most nuanced film to-date, discussing a number of complex themes about balance and duality, as well as economic development and environmental preservation. Those ideas, the most expansive plot of his since NAUSICAÄ OF THE VALLEY OF THE WIND, and the production and musical score create a recipe for plenty to discuss.

⁠⁠Support us on Patreon⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ --- In 1869, the Meiji Emperor declared the northern island of Hokkaido to be sovereign territory of Japan. In a process direclty inspired by American colonization, Japanese settlers were brought in to "civilize" the territory, a process which would have terrible consequences for the indigenous inhabitants -- a non-Japanese people known as the Ainu. Japanese colonists and western onlookers derisively viewed the Ainu as isolated primitives, at best isolated remnants of the ancient Jomon people ancestral to the mainland Japanese. This is nonsense. The Ainu and their predecessors have a rich history of interaction with the peoples of Asia, including the Japanese, and have an illustrious history that goes back many hundreds of years. This episode of Gladio Free Europe charts the course of Ainu history before the conquest of Hokkaido. Using archaeology and archaeogenetics, cover the ancient mingling of various Northeast Asian peoples who populares the island and investigate longstanding claims that the Ainu are related to various outside groups. Chinese early Japanese sources also give us incredibly insights into early relations between Hokkaido and the outside world. We discuss the fearsome Emishi people, a medieval community that has long been associated with the Ainu, who feature prominently in the film Princess Mononoke, and recount how the expansion of Ainu people into mainland Siberia led to a long war against the Mongols. By the Sengoku Era, feudal warlords began competing for access over the growing Hokkaido trade, which led to the establishment of Japanese settlements on the island. In this period, the Ainu came under Japanese occupation without falling under the protection of Japanese law. This exploitative situation had profoundly negative consequences for the indigenous people, leading to two major revolts against the settlers. While the Ainu remain colonized by Japan today, their survival exposes the myth of homogeneity central to Japanese nationalism. Please join us for this discussion on one of Asia's most intriguing and inspiring peoples.

Fresh off the killing of Anahobe and the destruction of the Mononobe, Soga no Umako is riding high as a new sovereign, Prince Hasebe, takes the throne.  Surely things will have finally settled down, won't they have done? For more, check out our podcast page at: https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-92 Rough Transcription: Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is Episode 92: Death or Taxes, aka Don't Piss Off Umako. Before we get going, a quick recap: we are still in the late 6th century, and since the death of Nunakura Futodamashiki, aka Bidatsu Tennou, things have been a bit crazy.  The number of apparently legitimate heirs was rather impressive.  There were the various siblings of Nunakura, both full and half-siblings, and there were his children and his siblings' children.  On top of that, there were some truly tense politics amongst some of the most powerful families in the realm, particularly the ancient Mononobe and the more recent Soga family, who had tied themselves so closely with the royal family through marriage that at this point just about every possible heir to the throne was in some way a Soga descendant.  The stories of this era have been filled with stories of death, war, and struggles for the throne.  Finally, there is the tension between Buddhism, which was first introduced in the early 6th century, and the established worship of the various kami, which also speaks to the tensions between various sources of spiritual political authority. As we discussed int the last two episodes, when Nunakura passed away, Prince Anahobe tried to take the throne, and he was initially thwarted by Miwa no Kimi no Sakahe, aka Sakahe no Kimi.  Anahobe, possibly with the assistance of his brother, Prince Hasebe, as well as Mononobe no Ohomuraji no Moriya, killed Sakahe no Kimi, pissing off Nunakura's former Queen, Kashikiya Hime.  Next, Nakatomi no Muraji no Katsumi, in support of Mononobe no Moriya, attempted to curse several of the candidates with stronger claims on the throne, and when that didn't work, he just out and out killed Crown Prince Hikobito, getting offed himself in the process.  Throughout all of this, another prince, Tachibana no Toyohi, apparently ascended, briefly, but seems to have died of natural causes.  In the process, however, he provided legitimacy for his own children as Royal Princes and Princesses to also contest for the throne. Moriya's support of Anahobe led to the death of Prince Anahobe, Prince Yakabe, and Moriya and his family—and many of his supporters, as well.  And yet, despite the loss of the Mononobe and Prince Anahobe, the next heir to the throne, with the approval of Queen Kashikiya Hime, was none other than Prince Hatsusebe, aka Hasebe, a full brother to the rebel Prince Anahobe and the focus of this episode.  If this all seems a bit confusing regarding the individuals and different factions, then congratulations, you've been paying attention.  The narrative certainly seems to be missing some key information, likely lost in the attempt to either whitewash some of the more contentious historical records, or simply due to the Chroniclers' attempts to create a more straightforward narrative out of a complex era which probably saw various courts competing to be recognized as the court that was actually making the decisions—something that doesn't exactly fit in with the attempt to tell the story of a relatively unbroken royal line. And yet, despite the chaos, we do see a solidification of power and control in general, as evidenced by the shift in late 6th century tomb structures.  As I may have mentioned in previous episodes, the Yamato area continued to build monumental round keyhole shaped tombs, but that shape of tomb simultaneously declined in nearby regions, which saw more round or square shaped—or even square keyhole shaped—tombs instead.  On the other hand, at the periphery, at the farthest reaches of the archipelago, we continue to see round keyhole shaped tombs in the Yamato style. This is all likely due to a consolidation of Yamato's power and authority.  Previously we had seen that start with the proliferation of the Yamato style tomb, but even from early times those round keyhole tombs were interspersed with other, typically smaller tombs.  The general assumption, based on the size, grave goods, and other archaeological features, is that the round keyhole tomb, at least in a Yamato context, was reserved for the Yamato royal family and only those of the most elite status.  In the Yamato and Kawachi regions, this seems to have held true, but further afield, local magnates adopted the round keyhole tombs for themselves, perhaps even appropriating some of the prestige of that tomb shape for themselves.  Similarly, it is very likely that Yamato did not have the power to stop local rulers from building whatever the heck they wanted, despite the impression given by the Chroniclers that all was hunky-dory as soon as Mimaki Iribiko and Ikume Iribiko sent out people to subdue the four corners of the archipelago. Whether because of an increased military might, or because of a cultural change in accepting Yamato's leadership, more and more lands seem to have been more directly under Yamato's sway, following their customs and accepting their position in the Yamato hierarchy.  To put it another way: in many parts of the archipelago, particularly those closer to Yamato, we do not see continued claims of “kingship” by the local elite.  They have accepted a lower status in the evolving hierarchy, presumably gaining some security and access to resources of the entire Yamato polity in the process, though that isn't entirely clear to me based purely on the archaeological evidence.  But according to our tomb theory, those on the periphery, where Yamato's control remained the weakest, continued to build their own round keyhole tombs, indicating they still considered themselves somewhat independent, even as they remained influenced by Yamato's overall cultural affectations. Into this world, Prince Hasebe ascended the throne.  Prince Hasebe was another half-brother to Nunakura Futodamashiki.  Like his full brother, Prince Anahobe Hasetsukabe, he was a Soga descendant through the maternal line.  We are told that his ascension was endorsed by Kashikiya Hime, his half-sister, and another Soga-descended royal.  He assumed the throne almost immediately following the turmoil that resulted in Anahobe's death and the destruction of Mononobe no Moriya.  This was in 587, and for the next five years, the reign appeared to be similar to any other, but I suspect that things hadn't quite settled, yet.  How could they?  It seems clear that it was way too easy for political violence to break out, and despite the Chronicles' insistence that everything was fine, many of the systemic issues that led to the violence in the first place were still there. To start with, you still had all of those potential heirs to the throne, and no clear succession tradition or precedence.  On top of that, each household, while created to serve the Court, had grown into its own political entity, vying for their own level of power and control.  No doubt some of this was exacerbated as Yamato's influence grew, bringing more people directly under Yamato's authority. I also can't help but notice that there appears to be a lack of any kind of clear justice system.  In fact, laws in general at this time appear to be based on precedent and tradition, likely oral tradition: although we have writing, we don't have a written system of laws just yet.  We have artifacts with writing on them.  We also have records of books coming over from the continent, which presumably people were able to read.  However, what was writing being used for?  It appears to have been used for communication—for example, diplomatic missions, or to send instructions and receive information back from the various lands under Yamato's rule.  David Lurie notes that this was a kind of practical writing, and it wasn't the same as the kind of extensive journaling that we would see later. It makes sense that much of the laws and traditions at this time were probably based on memorized precedent.  Groups like the Kataribe were organized around an oral tradition, and even the Kojiki was based on a tradition of oral recitation that was still in place by the late 7th century.  I suspect that different families maintained their own memories of precedence and tradition, collectively advising on what should be done in any given situation. This isn't exactly the kind of legal system with firm and fast rules, with everyone equal under the law, and some sort of immutable code.  That wasn't solely because it wasn't written down, mind you—there are plenty of cultures with oral traditions that maintain very clear sets of laws.  However, in this case it was not written down and given what we see and what we know about later court, legal precedent was kept in the memories of various individuals in different families, all of whom were competing for their place in the hierarchical structure that had been created.  Therefore, as long as you could get enough people on your side, then you determined what was just and what was not.  And of course it was the winners who wrote—or at least remembered—the history.   Strong leadership may have been able to keep things stable, but during any change things could get messy, as we've seen time and again.  And had Anahobe and the Mononobe been triumphant we'd likely be reading a very different telling of events. Hasebe's ascension didn't really change any of that, other than the person at the head of the system.  Still, things seemed to hold together alright, and with the recent purges, hopefully things would settle out after a while. The reign started with the standard ceremonies.  Soga no Umako was confirmed as Oho-omi, and though other “Ministers and Daibu”, or high officials, were confirmed, nobody else is named.  Hasebe's palace was set up at Kurahashi, presumably in the hills south of modern Sakurai.  His wife was Koteko, daughter of Ohotomo no Nukade. In his first year, Baekje sent envoys that included Buddhist priests and relics, along with various Buddhist artisans.  We'll probably touch on them more at a later date, but for now I'll note that with their coming, Soga no Umako consulted with them on several matters regarding Buddhism, and then he went ahead and pulled down the house of a man named Konoha and started work on another temple.  This one was known as Hokoji, though it is more popularly known to us by its common name:  Asukadera. Asukadera is perhaps the oldest purpose-built Buddhist temple commissioned by the state, and I think we can do an entire episode just on that temple alone.  The Chronicles make out that it was built to commemorate the supernatural support granted to Umako in his battle against Mononobe no Moriya, though it is impossible to know for certain how much of that is true.  What we can say is that this time there were no dissenting voices from the Mononobe nor the Nakatomi, and Asukadera would become one of the major temples of the Asuka period.  Later, when the capital was built up at Heijo-kyo, in modern Nara, the temple was moved to the new capital, and the complex in Asuka dwindled in importance.  Today you can still visit a temple at the site of Asukadera, but it is a shell of its former self, having been rebuilt on a much smaller footprint than before.   You can, however, go and see the original Buddha statue—or at least the reconstructed form of it, as the original icon was severely damaged in a fire at one point. But building up a proper temple and pagoda in the continental fashion would all take time—for now it appears that they were just breaking ground on a new construction, rather than just repurposing a part of an existing house into the temple, as they had seemingly done in the past.  This was going to take some time.  At the same time, it wasn't just buildings that were needed, and we are told that several Buddhists returned to Baekje along with the envoys.  We are told that they were going to Baekje to gain further instruction in Buddhist teachings. This was the nun Zenshin, daughter of Shiba Tattou, and her companions, who had been ordained at the order of Soga no Umako to help staff his first attempt at building a worship site at his house. The following year, in 589, we are told that there were three “inspections” that were sent out along the various circuits, or roadways, of eastern Honshu.  These circuits were regions of Japan, and come from a continental tradition that would be formalized in the law codes of the early 7th century.  Generally speaking there are usually 7 circuits—8 once Hokkaidou comes into the picture—and then the capital region, often known as the home territories around Yamato and the Nara basin.  Kyushu and Shikoku were each covered by their own circuits:  The Saikaidou, or Western Sea Circuit, covered all of Kyushu, and eventually the Ryukyu islands as well, while the Nankaidou, or Southern Sea circuit covered from the south of the Kii peninsula and the island of Shikoku.  Western Honshu was covered by another two circuits—there was the San'indou, the Mountain Yin Circuit, and the San'yodou, the Mountain Yang Circuit.  Yin being related to the dark and the north, the San'indou covered the areas to the north of the Western mountain range along the Japan Sea coast, from the land of Tanba west to Iwami, including the lands of Inaba and Izumo.  In contrast, Yang was related to the south, and so the San'yodou covered the regions from Harima, next to the land of Settsu, part of modern Ohosaka, and stretched along the southern side of the mountains to the Seto Inland sea to the western land of Nagato, part of modern Yamaguchi Prefecture, and included the ancient land of Kibi. Finally, there were the three circuits of Eastern Honshu, which were the subject of the Chronicles entry in 589.  First off was the Tousando, or the Eastern Mountain Circuit.  Whereas western Honshu can be largely divided by the mountains into a northern and southern region, eastern Honshu was a little different, as the Japanese alps created difficulties that meant that the Tousandou covered the inland regions, starting at Afumi, around lake Biwa, out to Kenu—modern Gunma and Tochigi prefectures, north of Tokyo.  It would eventually include the distant regions of Dewa and Mutsu, which covered much of the Tohoku region up to Hokkaido, although those were still largely outside of the area of Yamato influence, and home to those that the Yamato court called Emishi.  The man sent to inspect this region was named Afumi no Omi no Kamafu—fitting given that Afumi was at the western end of the circuit. Next they sent Shishibito no Omi no Kari to inspect the Toukaidou, or Eastern Sea circuit.  This circuit proceeded from Iga, Ise, and Owari, eastward along the Pacific coast to Hitachi, in modern Ibaraki prefecture.  It includes much of modern Tokyo, and is likely one of the more well known, if only for things like the JR Tokaido line.  This route became well traveled in the Edo period both for the daimyo processions of the sankin-kotai as well as the pilgrimages from Edo to Ise, and onward to points even further west. Finally, we have a member of the Abe no Omi heading out to inspect the Hokurikudou, the Northern Land Circuit.  This was largely the area known in the Chronicles as Koshi, along the Japan Sea Coast.  The Abe family may have had some influence in that region, though it is said that they originally came from the land of Iga, just east of Yamato.  However, we aren't given a specific individual's name—Abe no Omi is just the family name and their kabane rank, and could indicate any member of the Abe family.  This may have to do with the actions of Abe no Hirafu in the late 7th century, but at this point in the story it is unclear.  We are provided the given names of the other inspectors, however—Kamafu and Kari—so it stands out that we have nothing for the inspector of the Hokurikudou other than their family name. Other than the mention of the circuits, and the inspections that the court was conducting, this seems to be a fairly mundane entry—though it does link to some later events.  Still, it provides a little more evidence for the expansion of Yamato's direct control.  The idea that there were court inspectors checking up on these territorial circuits suggests that they were a somewhat active part of the bureaucracy of the court.  Previously the court had set up the Miyake, or royal granaries, which were extensions of royal authority in various areas.  Now we see an additional layer of government that would have been going through the areas and making sure that things were being administered as Yamato believed.  It also suggests that there were those in these circuits who were beholden to Yamato in that they were required to produce some kind of evidence for what they were up to. The year after, in 590, the big news was apparently the return to Japan of Zenshin and others, and we are told that they took up residence at a temple in Sakurai – very possibly a reference to Hokoji or Asukadera, the newly-founded temple we just discussed.  Asuka is outside of the modern bounds of Sakurai city, but at this time the name Sakurai may have referred to a slightly larger and more nebulous area.  On the other hand, they could have settled at another temple in the area that just wasn't part of the state funded program.  In that same vein, later in 590 we are told that people went up into the hills to get timber for building Buddhist temples, and many more people, most of them with connections to the mainland, and especially the Korean peninsula, were ordained.  Buddhism was starting to grow more popular and it was being better patronized by the elites, and soon we will start to see more and more temples popping up. In 591, we see the final burial of Nunakura Futodamashiki, aka Bidatsu Tennou.  This was now many years since his death, but that isn't entirely surprising given the fighting and general turmoil that followed his death.  Building a tomb mound was not exactly a simple feat, and if one wasn't already prepared by the time he passed away, then it would have taken a while to prepare it—and even more time if much of your labor force was being split and repurposed in the fights for the throne.  As you may recall, Nunakura died of a disease, so it is unlikely that there had been a lot of preparation for his death, so we can assume that his body, after resting in the palace of temporary interment for a while, was eventually given a temporary burial and then they likely were reburying the bones several years later.  This isn't exactly unheard of, but it does seem that this was an exceptionally long period between death and final burial. The location of his tomb is said to be on the western side of the mountains, outside of the Nara Basin, in the area  of modern Taishi, in the south of Ohosaka.  This seems to have been a new region for royal burials, from what I can tell, but there would be several important Asuka era burials located in this region. Later in that same year, Hasebe and the court indulged themselves in something that was becoming almost a tradition:  Wondering aloud if they should go marching over to the peninsula and re-establish Nimna.  There's apparently no thought the fact that Nimna had not been a going concern for quite some time now, and this may have just been the popular casus belli of the Yamato court.  Of course, all of the ministers were for it, agreeing that it would be just the best if they could go over there and get Nimna started again. And so they set in motion the necessary work of gathering an army.  This wasn't a simple task and would take quite some time to get the word out, gather men together, and then have them all meet down in Tsukushi at the court's outpost down there.  Not only that, but there would need to be boats made, and armor and weapons would have to be ready.  This was quite the undertaking.  We are told that they eventually gathered over 20,000 men, though that could easily be an exaggeration.  They named five generals, or Taishogun.  This is different from the “Shogun” of later years—the Sei-I Taishogun, or General for Subduing Barbarians.  This is just the title of general, Taishogun, and there were apparently five people who were running things—possibly referring to five different forces that were going to go over, or it may have been a political thing to ensure that people of rank were given opportunities.  It is interesting to see the names, as we have heard some of the family names, at least, before. The five generals were:  Ki no Womaro no Sukune, Kose no Omi no Hirafu, Kashiwade no Omi no Katafu, Ohotomo no Kuhi no Muraji, and Katsuraki no Wonara no Omi.  Then various other Omi and Muraji level individuals were placed in charge below them.  They were all stationed in Tsukushi and two men, Kishi no Kana and Kishi no Itahiko were sent to Silla and Nimna respectively, presumably to try to work something out before things got ugly. That was all listed in the 11th month of 591, and preparations were still ongoing by the time of the next entry, in the 10th month of 592. So remember how I mentioned at the top of the episode about how many of the systemic issues that had led to so much war and bloodshed were still a thing?  Yeah—despite the seemingly rosy and downright mundane picture of the last five years, things were apparently not quite as stable as they may have appeared.  And I say that because of what happened in the 10th month of 592. We are told that this was the winter, possibly around late November or December according to our modern calendar—trying to map ancient lunar calendar dates to modern solar dates are a whole thing, trust me.  Anyway, it was during this season that someone brought in a wild boar and presented it to the sovereign.  And there was nothing too sus going on there—it wasn't a white boar or some kind of unusually large animal.  No, what was remarkable wasn't the presentation at all, but what it kicked off, because apparently Hasebe looked at the boar and made an off-hand comment, which Aston translates as: “When shall those to whom We have an aversion be cut off as this wild boar's throat has been cut.” Just in case you didn't get the allusion, he was basically wondering when those people whom he didn't like would be killed—though possibly he meant cut off in another sense, I think it is pretty clear that he wanted some people taken care of, if you know what I mean.  I would liken it to a phrase attributed to King Henry II of England, who is said to have wondered aloud, “Will no one rid me of this turbulent priest”, which led to several men heading out and eventually killing Thomas Becket, the then Archbishop of Canterbury.  While Henry may not have actually ordered the killing of Thomas Becket, with whom he'd been in something of a power struggle, his words certainly ended up being the catalyst that led to the archbishop's eventual demise. Similarly here, that certainly seems to have been the intent, or at least that is how it was taken.  Word of the sovereign's outburst made it back to none other than Soga no Umako, the Oho-omi himself, who grew more than a little bit worried.  It didn't help that word was also coming that the royal household was apparently stockpiling weapons—more than usual. Soga no Umako came to believe that Hasebe was talking about him, and though there wasn't a particular reason given, it suggests that there were some things going on below the surface detailed by the Chronicles, and we can speculate on a few of them. First off, Hasebe had not been the first choice for sovereign, and he didn't really enter the picture until after the death of his brother, Prince Anahobe. Anahobe had, of course, believed that he should take the throne himself, but then he was killed.  It is possible that Hasebe was appointed sovereign to appease some of Anahobe's supporters against the wishes of those such as Soga no Umako. Second, it is clear that Umako was immensely influential and powerful, and he probably had more influence than the sovereign himself.  Always remember that if someone raises an army and helps put you on the throne, rather than themselves, they usually have the ability to do the same thing in reverse.  Or, as so many parents are fond of saying: I brought you into this world, I can take you out!  So it may be that Hasebe felt threatened by Umako's own power and felt he needed to be dealt with before Soga no Umako decided that he'd rather have someone more pliable on the throne.  Of course, in another time it might have been enough to just demote him, but it is unclear if Hasebe actually had the power to do that—and if he did, would it stick. There is also another option as well—Hasebe may not have said anything at all, and it is possible that this was a story concocted to explain Umako's own reaction.  This is hinted at, somewhat, in another account that basically comes in once again with the tired “blame the woman” trope.  It suggests that Ohotomo no Koteko, Hasebe's consort and the mother to his two children, started the whole thing as a rumor.  According to this account, she was “declining in favor”—although it is unclear just whom else she was competing against.  If that record is correct, she was the one who told Umako about what Hasebe was purportedly saying, knowing that it would cause problems for her husband because she was unhappy with him.  Even if that were true, we don't know whether or not Hasebe actually said what is attributed to him. Again, regardless of what Hasebe actually said, all of this suggests that things were not as solid and stable as they might otherwise appear to be, and suggests just how literally cut-throat the politics of the Yamato court could get. And so, Soga no Umako took this threat quite seriously, and he engaged the services of one Yamato no Aya no Atahe no Koma. We don't know much about Koma.  The Yamato no Aya were one of several Aya families, and their name suggests that they were descended, at least in part, from ethnic Han Chinese weavers—or at least traced their lineage back to the continent with claims to the Han dynasty, just as the Hata family claimed ties back to the Qin dynasty.  They had been in Japan for generations, but are still often associated with various technologies that came over from the continent. There is also a record, we are told, that says Koma's father was Yamato no Aya no Iwai—whose name is suspiciously similar to that of the Iwai in Tsukushi, or Kyushu, who had allied with Silla and tried to block trade and military support between Yamato and Baekje.  It is possible, and even probable, that this was just a coincidence—after all, why would the son of a rebel who had so aggravated Yamato be in the court at all?  But it was considered significant enough for the Chroniclers to mention it at the same time, and that may be because of the relationship back to that other rebel. Now, for Koma to take action, he and Umako would need to act quickly.  Soga no Umako sent a message to the court ministers and claimed that he was sending someone to present the taxes of the Eastern provinces.  As you may recall from earlier in this episode, a few years earlier inspectors had been sent out along the three eastern circuits.  It would have taken them time to survey, compile their information, and collect any taxes owed, and bring that back to the court.  Umako lied to the other ministers and said that the taxes were ready, and he was sending someone to the sovereign to present the taxes. Of course, he was really sending Yamato no Aya no Koma, and in lieu of taxes he brought death—somewhat fitting if you think about it.  Koma killed the sovereign and then, somehow, made his escape.  Unlike some of the other killings we aren't given too many details of the deed itself. What we are given is the aftermath.  For later in that same month, Soga no Umako had Koma himself killed.  And this is where I find it really weird, or perhaps the Chroniclers were just in denial.  They claimed that Soga no Umako had learned that Koma had been having a clandestine relationship with Kawakami no Iratsume, herself a consort of the sovereign and Soga no Umako's own daughter.  Koma had apparently taken her back to his place to live and made her his wife in secret—basically saying that they had carnal relations together as man and wife, though it is not clear whether or not they were consensual.  Umako thought that his daughter was dead, but when he learned that Yamato no Aya no Koma had taken her, he had Koma killed. And that just all seems so very convenient.  So Soga no Umako has enough influence over Koma to get him to assassinate the sovereign, but somehow misses that his co-conspirator in this has eloped with his daughter, and then kills him out of apparently justified rage?  Uh-huh.  Nothing fishy about that at all. I suspect that what happened at the time versus what was later recorded differed slightly.  Assuming that most of it was accurate, I wouldn't be surprised if Umako got Koma to do the dirty deed, and then offed him, possibly so that he would not be immediately implicated.  Even so, what were the laws around such events?  With Hasebe gone, and nobody else in power to challenge him, Soga no Umako was one of the most powerful people around.  He just didn't have the parental qualifications to take the throne himself. And that is probably what saved him from being labeled a rebel, himself.  After all, you don't get much more rebellious than killing the king.  But is it rebellion when it is self-defense?  Here is where the lack of a strict law code likely came down on the side of Soga no Umako, because despite his involvement, nobody seems to have gone after him or taken him to task.  In fact, he would remain a powerful figure in the Yamato court for years to come. There are also several figures who seem to have remained absent from all of this, but it would be interesting to know where they came down.  The first was Prince Umayado, aka Shotoku Taishi.  Did he sanction or even take part in this plot?  Umayado was still somewhat young, so he may not have had much to say at this point.  Then there was Kashikiya Hime, Nunakura's queen.  Presumably, she had been the one to recommend Hasebe to the throne, but we also see her hand in the decision to punish Anahobe and the Mononobe, which we discussed over the last couple of episodes.  She is often kept at arms length in the narrative, however, which may be because of what the Chroniclers already knew.  With the court once more in need of an heir they searched high and low, and the assembled ministers finally settled on the candidate they thought would be the best of all of them:  Kashikiya Hime herself.  It makes sense: Kashikiya Hime, who is known today as Suiko Tennou, clearly knew how the court operated.  She had sanctioned, if not outright directed, the deaths of Anahobe and Mononobe no Moriya. On the other hand, the patriarchal society of the day—and even that of modern day scholars—questioned her fitness for the job.  Many have pointed to the strongman tactics of Soga no Umako, as well as the focus on Prince Umayado, whom she made her Crown Prince and whom, we are told, assisted in all areas of government.  In fact, it often seems as though Umayado and Umako are the ones actually running things, with Kashikiya Hime as a puppet.  On the other hand, perhaps there was something even more complex—a conspiracy between Umako, Umayado, and Kashikiya Hime.  She may have also been something of a compromise candidate, someone that all of the different factions could get behind. We'll explore all of that and more as we get into her reign in the coming episodes, along with the role played by Prince Umayado.  We'll also look more in depth at the spread of Buddhism, and the temple building that would pick up shortly after Kashikiya Hime came to power.  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.  And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan. 

This episode we examine some of the other things during the reign of Nunakura, including the relationship with Baekje--which, despite all of the Buddhist materials they had received, seems to be a bit more fragile than one might have guessed. For more, check out https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-89 Rough Transcript   Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua and this is Episode 89:  Baekje and Yamato on the Rocks Last episode we covered the continued rise of Buddhism.  From the enigmatic Prince Ohowake, and his importation of experts and texts to found a temple in the Naniwa region, to the more well-documented case of Soga no Umako, who continued his father's efforts to establish a temple at their home in the Asuka area, going so far as to have three women inducted as nuns—the first clergy we know of to have been ordained in the archipelago, even though it may have been less than perfectly orthodox in the manner of ceremony.  We also talked about how a coalition of other court nobles, led by the Mononobe family, were undermining the Soga and accused their new-fangled religious ideas of bringing plague to the people—plague that, even though the Soga's temple was destroyed to prevent it, nonetheless took the life of the sovereign, Nunakura Fotadamashiki, aka Bidatsu Tennou. And for many, that's probably the highlight of this reign, which was deeply involved in the spread of Buddhism, as well as providing the roots of the conflict between the old guard of the Mononobe and the newly risen Soga family.  However, it isn't as if that is all that was happening.  There were continued international developments, among other things, and these were intertwined with everything else—nothing was happening in a vacuum.  For example, the country of Baekje was the source of many of the early Buddhist texts and professionals, with Buddhist gifts becoming a part of the “tributary diplomacy” that is depicted in the Chronicles at this time.  Whereas earlier diplomatic gifts may have included bronze mirrors, many embossed with figures such as the Queen Mother of the West, in the 6th century Buddhist icons and imagery seem to hold a similar currency. I'd also note that giving Buddhist images and texts as gifts or tribute held an added layer of meaning, at least from a Buddhist interpretation.  After all, not only were you providing prestige goods, which then helped boost the status of one's diplomatic partners, but it also earned merit for the person gifting such things, as they were then able to make the claim that they were helping to spread the teachings of the Buddha.  This provided an appeal to such gifts on multiple levels, both within and without the growing Buddhist world. At the same time that Baekje and Yamato continued to advance their ties, Silla continued to grow.  Since absorbing the states of Kara, or Gaya, including the Yamato-allied state of Nimna, Silla had grown and was consolidating its power.  Silla itself had started out as a coalition of six city-state-like polities that came together in a union.  They were one of the main targets of early Yamato aggressions on the Korean peninsula, with numerous discussions of raids by “Wa” sailors, though little is typically seen of the reverse.  The Chronicles make the claim that early Silla was a subordinate tributary state of Yamato, which modern historians regard as little more than fiction—likely part of the propaganda campaign of the Yamato court attempting to place themselves in the superior position.  Still, it does seem reasonable that prior to the 6th century Silla had remained a relatively minor state, occasionally allying with—or against—the states of Baekje and Goguryeo, as well as the other independent polities that were once present but have largely been obscured by the uncertain mists of the past.  The fact that they survived as long as they did, and thus had so much written material, speaks to why they loom so much larger in the early histories, but such things are always hard to judge when all of your material basically comes from the quote-unquote “winners”, historically speaking.  Just think how, if Kibi or Tsukushi, or even Izumo had become the dominant polity in Japan, our Chronicles would focus much more on what happened there rather than just covering what was happening in the Nara basin and adjacent Kawachi plain all the time. And then there is the state of Goryeo, known to us today as Goguryeo, or Old Goreyo—in many ways the granddame of the Three Kingdoms of ancient Korea, with the greatest claim to the territory of ancient Gojoseon and Buyeo culture.  Back in Episode 86 we saw a few of their attempts at diplomatic relations with Yamato landing along the Japan Sea side of Honshu—possibly a side effect of the path they were taking, sailing down along the eastern coast of the Korean peninsula, rather than via the Bohai Sea in the west.  This may also have been indicative of the relatively friendly relations between Goguryeo and the expanding state of Silla. Silla also offered up a normalization of relations, though it was met with mixed results—and even those mixed results are, well, mixed in terms of just what was really happening versus what was being projected back by Chroniclers writing a century or two later.  Back in the previous reign, that of Ame Kunioshi, aka Kimmei Tennou, Silla envoys had also been received some time after their conquest of Nimna, and the Chronicles, at least, indicate that Yamato was less than enthusiastic to receive them, indicating that tensions remained high, and Ame Kunioshi took every opportunity to admonish Silla and to request that Nimna be reestablished as an independent entity, or so we are told. Similarly, in the 11th month of 574, Silla sent another embassy, but we have very little information on it—given the timing it may have been intended to express their condolences on the death of Ame Kunioshi and their congratulations to Nunakura for ascending to the throne.  About four months later, in 575, Baekje also sent an embassy, and we are told that this one sent more “tribute” than normal, possibly as a congratulations to Nunakura and an attempt to strengthen the Baekje-Yamato alliance.  There may have also been a request for more specific assistance, since Nunakura apparently took the time to remind the Imperial Princes, as well as the new Oho-omi, Soga no Umako, to remain diligent regarding the matter of Nimna. As Aston translates it, he specifically said “Be not remiss in the matter of Imna”.  Yamato was still apparently displeased with the fact that Nimna, which was once an ally, was now under Silla control. Following that, the Yamato court sent their own envoys to Baekje and then Silla—though specifically they sent the embassy to Silla controlled Nimna, according to the Chronicles.  A couple of months later, Silla sent an embassy back, including more tribute than normal, though the only hint of why, beyond the previous mention of Nimna, is that Silla was including tribute for four more townships, which seems kind of a weird flex, but may have been an indication of their growth, as well as a diplomatic notification that these four areas were part of what Silla now considered their territory. The full reasons Baekje and Silla sent more tribute than normal are unclear; it could have been part of a recognition of Nunakura's coronation and an attempt to butter up the new administration.  It is possible that both Baekje and Silla were vying for Yamato favoritism, as well.  Silla may also have been trying to basically pay off Yamato and get them to forget the whole thing with Nimna—something that, as we shall see, was not going to happen quickly. Yamato sent another mission to Baekje in 577, two years later.  This was the mission of Ohowake no Miko and Woguro no Kishi to Baekje, from which Ohowake brought back various accoutrements and set up a temple in Naniwa—modern Ohosaka.  We discussed this, as well as our ignorance over the actual person of Ohowake no Miko, in our last episode, episode 88.  It is interesting, however, if Ohowake no Miko was the actual individual who went to Baekje—mostly we see lower ranking men; those from Kishi level families, or similar.  Occasionally a “muraji” or “omi” level family sends someone, particularly at the head of a military force, but not so often do we see a prince of the blood making the dangerous journey across the seas.  I have to assume that this was an important mission, and that seems to have been borne out when you consider just what was brought back.  Despite all of that, the details are frustratingly vague—worse than trying to find and put together the oldest episodes of Dr. Who and the First Doctor. We do know that the whole trip took about six months, which gives a sense of what it meant to undertake one of these journeys.  Most of that would have been living at the distant court.  They didn't have phones, let alone email, so they couldn't really send word ahead with exact details—although there may have been informal communication networks via the many fishermen who regularly worked the straits.  More likely, an embassy would simply show up in a boat one day and start asking the locals to “take me to your leader”. Once you got there, they hopefully had room for you—they might even have a special location for you and your entourage to stay while they went through the formalities.  After all, someone had to get you on the schedule, and any diplomatic gifts… ahem, “tribute”… should be catalogued and written down before the meeting.  That way the host country could figure out just what they were going to reciprocate with.  There is also possible training in any local ceremony and customs as you couldn't assume that foreign dignitaries necessarily know what is expected.  And then there would be the translating, likely through a shared language, possibly Sinic characters if everyone is literate. Also, during that time, the mission would probably have been hosting guests or being invited out by some of the local elites.  They were both guests and curiosities.  And there might have been some personal trading and bartering going on off to the side—after all, you have to pay the bills somehow, and as long as nothing eclipsed the diplomatic mission, then I suspect there were some other “trade goods” that these ambassadors brought to help barter with locals and ensure they could bring back various goods and souvenirs. In some cases, and it is unclear if it was by choice or not, ambassadors might be invited to stay longer, even settle down with a local wife and family.  There are several examples of this that we see in the Chronicles, so it wasn't all that rare. So that was the mission from Yamato to Baekje.  The next mission from Silla came in 579, some four years later, and we are told they brought “tribute” that included a Buddhist image.  And then, only a year after that we have another mission, but it was dismissed before it could ever be received. And that is a bit odd.  Why would Yamato not receive the embassy?  We aren't given a reason, and it is pretty short, all things considered.  We do know the names of the envoys.  Indeed, the same two envoys:  Ato Nama and Chilsyo Nama tried again two years later, but they were again dismissed, without accepting the tribute.  This is all quite odd, but it does go to show the fickle nature of foreign relations. One possibility may have to do with the way that “tribute diplomacy” appears to have worked.  We know that in the case of the Han, Wei, and even the Tang and later dynasties, states were encouraged to come as tributaries, bringing goods as part of their diplomatic embassy, and then the receiving state was expected to provide items of even greater value in return.  In the 16th century, various daimyo, or Japanese warlords, would use this to their advantage, representing themselves as legitimate emissaries in order to get the Ming dynasty court to give them even greater gifts in return.  As multiple embassies showed up, all claiming to be the Japanese representatives, the Ming court started a policy of only accepting the first one that came, as they had no way to tell who was the legitimate ruler during the chaos of the Warring States period. I bring that up because I notice that the first mission by Ato Nama and Chilsyo Nama took place only 8 months or so after the one in 579, which brought the Buddhist image.  Given the typical time between embassies, that seems very short, and it seems quite possible that the Yamato court didn't believe that the embassy was real, and that it was too soon after the previous one.  Or it could even have been even more mundane—it is possible the court didn't have the stores to pay out against the tribute, though that isn't the reason that they would have given for turning them away.  After all, it was not exactly a safe journey to cross the ocean and make your way to Japan.  Whether you hopped down the island chain or took a more direct route, using the island of Okinoshima as a guide post in the middle of the strait, it was not particularly easy and many embassies never made it across or back. I suspect, however, that there was something else going on, and that is in part because it seems to be the same two individuals coming back two years later, and they were once again turned away.  It is possible that Nunakura and the Yamato court had a specific beef with these two individuals, but in that case they probably would have sent word to Silla to tell them to send someone else.  This probably is indicative of the growing tensions between Yamato and Silla.  From a narrative sense, it would make sense for Yamato to accept envoys just after a new sovereign came to power.  It would help legitimize the sovereign, and it also offers a chance to reset and reestablish the relationship.  The second envoy, bringing a Buddhist image, would certainly be something that the Chroniclers would find historically interesting and would bolster their own thoughts about the rising importance of Buddhism in the period.  However, as we see in an episode from 583, Nunakura was still concerned about trying to re-establish Nimna.  I suspect that this may have been a condition the Yamato court placed on Silla and the envoys, and it is possible that they weren't willing to discuss anything without at least discussing that. Or perhaps that is at least the impression the Chroniclers wish to give.  They are still referring to it as “Mimana” or “Mimana no Nihonfu”, making claims that it was the Yamato government's outpost on the peninsula, and therefore something of a personal blow to the Yamato court for it to have been overrun.  Trying to re-establish Nimna would become something of a rallying cry; think of it like “Remember the Alamo” or “Remember the Maine”; regardless of the truth behind either incident, they were both used as justifications for war at the time.  The case of Mimana was used to justify Yamato actions on the peninsula, and it would continue to be brought back up until modern times, including helping to justify Japan's invasion of Korea in the early 20th century. Here I'll interject with the possibility that there could also have been some internal issues that the court was dealing with.  Specifically, in between these two missions by Ato Nama and Chilsyo Nama, there was a bit of a disruption on the northeastern frontier, as the people known to the court as the Emishi rose up in rebellion. We aren't given the details, but we are told that several thousand Emishi “showed hostility”.  The Chronicle then claims that the sovereign simply summoned the leaders, including a chief named Ayakasu, who may have been a chief of chiefs, and then reamed them out, suggesting that he would put the leaders—i.e. Ayakasu and the other chieftains—to death.  Of course, the rebellious chieftains immediately had a change of heart and pledged an oath to support Yamato. Much more likely, I suspect, there was rising tension and hostility in the frontier regions, and Yamato likely had to raise a force to go face them.  Assuming that was the case, it would have taken time to travel out there, subdue any uprising, and then drag the leaders back to the court to make of them an example to others.  If that was the case, then it may have been that Yamato simply did not feel they had the time to deal with Ato Nama and his crew. For a bit clearer reference, from the 8th through 11th years of the reign, there are simply relatively short entries.  So in 579 there is the mission of ChilCheulchong Nama, who brought the Buddhist image.  Then, in 580, we have Ato Nama and Chilsyo Nama attempt to offer tribute.  Then, in 581, there is a rebellion of the Emishi, followed, in 582, by another attempt by Ato Nama and Chilsyo Nama to offer tribute.  That's about all that we have to go on. In any case, though, we have a very clear indication in 583, only 9 months after again refusing the tribute from Ato Nama and crew, that Nimna was once again on the Court's mind.  Nunakura apparently went on a rant about how Silla had destroyed Nimna back in the days of his father, Ame Kunioshi.  Nunakura claimed he wanted to continue his father's work, but it was unclear just where to get started.  And so they decided to consult an expert. His name appears to have been something like Nichira—possibly something like Nila, depending on the pronunciation of the Sinic characters, or Illa in modern Korean, which is Aston's preferred reading.  It is said that he is the son of “Arishito” or “Arisateung”, the “Kuni no Miyatsuko”, or local ruler, of Ashikita, in the land of Hi, in Kyushu, and that he lived in Baekje, holding the rank of “Talsol”, the second official rank in the Baekje court.  Ashikita was mentioned as far back as Episode 33, during the reign of Oho Tarashi Hiko, aka Keikou Tennou, as he was trying to subdue the Kumaso, and was likely a later addition to Yamato's sphere of influence. Nichira only makes a brief appearance here in the Nihon Shoki, but he is something of an enigma.  He is presented as a citizen of Yamato, but his name appears to be from the Korean peninsula and even his father's name hearkens back to another Arishito, who may have been the king of Kara or one of the associated polities.  And yet here, this Arishito is the local ruler in Ashikita, in the land of Hi—later divided into Hizen and Higo.  Given that he is referenced as “Hi no Ashikita no Kuni no Miyatsuko” this has been suggested as indicating that he was a member of the “Hi no Kimi”, the family that descended from the Lords of Hi.  And this may connect to something later in the story. There do appear to be some later documents that reference Nichira.  Some claim that he was a Buddhist priest, and he's even connected with the famous Shotoku Taishi in some stories, where he is depicted as a wise priest who recognizes Shotoku Taishi's own Buddha nature.  Of course, at this point, the prince would only have been about 10 years old, assuming the dates around his birth are at all accurate—a subject we'll save for a later podcast, as there is just so much around Shotoku Taishi to cover. As for the current story, however:  Nichira was over in Baekje, at the court of the Baekje king, and so it wasn't just a small matter of asking him to come to court.  Ki no Kuni no Miyatsuko no Oshikatsu and Kibi no Amabe no Atahe no Hashima were sent on the dangerous mission of crossing the straits and bringing him back from Baekje.  Their mission was for naught, however.  Three months later they returned, empty-handed, with the unfortunate news that the king of Baekje had refused to let Nichira leave.  Apparently his presence in Baekje was highly prized, and the Baekje king wasn't willing to part with him so easily. Yamato wasn't deterred, however, and Nunakura sent Hashima back to Baekje.  This time, Hashima went straight to Nichira's house before any audiences at court.  When he arrived, he heard a woman calling out in the local language a phrase which Aston found salty enough to throw into Latin:  “Let your root enter my root!”  Despite the implied sexual innuendo of such a statement, Hashima quickly understood what she meant and he followed her inside.  She led him to Nichira, and there Hashima was asked to take a seat. Nichira acknowledged that the Baekje king was not likely to let him go if he had a choice.  The King was likely afraid that if Nichira went to Yamato then he'd never be allowed to return back to Baekje.  Therefore, Hashima had to summon all of the authority vested in him by the sovereign of Yamato to demand Nichira's release in no uncertain terms. Sure enough, Hashima took the bold approach and demanded Nichira's release, and the King of Baekje finally relented and allowed him to return.  He wouldn't go alone, however.  Nichira was accompanied by other high officials from Baekje, including several men of the 3rd and 4th ranks, and a number of sailors to transport them. They first arrived in the land of Kibi, Hashima's own home base, and then headed on to Naniwa, where Nichira was greated by Ohotomo no Nukadeko no Muraji, likely a descendent of Ohotomo no Kanamura, the former top dog in the Yamato court.  He offered Nichira condolences for the long trip he'd had to endure, and set him up in an official residence there in the port city. Later there were daibu—high officials—who were sent to the residence to attend on Nichira. After he'd had time to freshen up, Nichira headed off to the court.  When he drew near, he donned a suit of armor and mounted a horse, and in such a fashion he rode right up to the Audience Hall of the sovereign.  There he bowed before kneeling down.  He then recounted how his forefathers had been sent to the Korean Peninsula up in the first place back in the reign of Senka Tennou, aka Takewo Hiro Kunioshi Tate, in the early part of the 6th century.  After explaining who he was and where he came from, he took off the armor and offered it as a gift to the sovereign himself. Off to such a great start, the sovereign had a residence constructed for Nichira in the area of Kuwanoichi, in Ato—likely meaning an area of modern Ohosaka, near Naniwa.  Later, with all of the ritual pleasantries out of the way, a war council was sent to ask Nichira just how they could move forward on the question of Nimna.  This war council included Abe no Me no Omi, Mononobe no Niheko no Muraji, and Ohotomo no Nukadeko no Muraji. Nichira provided them a plan to go to war, but it wasn't simple nor was it quick.  First he suggested that they spend the first three years building up the prosperity of Yamato, and getting all of the people behind the government.  Next, he suggested building up a massive number of ships, such at that any visitors would be impressed to see them all in the harbor, and thus word would get out and it would project Yamato's military power. Finally, once that was done, Nichira suggested inviting the King of Baekje—or at least a royal representative in the form of a high prince or similar—be invited to Yamato, where they would see all of the power and good governance.  They could then be taken to task for why Nimna had not yet been reestablished. After the war council, Nichira sent a letter to the sovereign, Nunakura.  In it he let Nunakura know that Baekje was going to send a request to relocate 300 ships worth of people to Tsukushi to settle there.  Here things turned rather dark as Nichira suggested that they would see the ships filled with men, women, and children hoping to establish a Baekje colony in the archipelago.  Nichira suggested setting up an ambush around Iki and Tsushima and that they should slaughter everyone.  Then Yamato should build up fortifications of their own—probably as coastal defenses in case Baekje decided to retaliate. And here I'm going to interject that this seems just really odd and strange.  First, Nichira and Nunakura were talking about trying to reestablish Nimna with their ally, Baekje, and suddenly Nichira is suggesting that Baekje might try to establish a colony in their territory, and therefore it should be wiped out.  That all feels very extreme, and this whole passage has puzzled commenters, especially when you consider the reputation Nichira later has as some kind of holy priest or monk. Apparently this was the kind of advice, though, that may have been why Baekje did not want Nichira to come back in the first place.  In fact, as the Baekje envoys themselves began to head out to return to Baekje, they left a couple of people in Yamato with a sinister plot of their own: as soon as the ships had sailed off and made considerable distance on the way back home, those left behind were to assassinate Nichira.  In return, they were told that they would be given a higher rank and that their families would be looked after, in the very real possibility that they found out and killed themselves.  A not insubstantial promise at the time. With the official residence in Naniwa vacated after the departure of the rest of the Baekje delegation, Nichira decided to move back in, rather than staying in the home made for him in Kuwanoichi.  The would-be assassins tried to approach him, and hatched plot after plot.  However, they were stopped because apparently Nichira had some ancient superpowers.  Indeed, his body apparently glowed brightly, like a flame of fire, and so the assassins could not get anywhere near him.  They had to wait until the end of the 12th month, when Nichira's own radiance faded, and they were then able to slay him. This whole thing about radiance is intriguing, and may have several origins such that even if it isn't factually accurate, it may have something more to say about just who Nichira was or might have been. First off, there is the obvious.  “Nichi”, in “Nichira”, means the “sun”, and so it could have been a direct allusion to Nichira's name.  This strikes me as also intriguing because the 12th month indicates the end of the year, usually  meaning that it is darker.  While the Winter Solstice would not have necessarily been in the old twelfth lunar month, those would have been the days when the suns light was least seen.  Add to this that it was at the end of the month, and based on a lunar calendar, the end and beginning of the month would have been the times of the new moon, when it was not visible in the sky.  And so we come to what most likely was the darkest night of the entire year. There is also the fact that he is from Hi no Kuni—he is even considered a member of the ruling family of the land of Hi.  The character of “Hi” in this instance is fire.  Michaeol Como notes that the Hi no Kimi appear to have been associated with fire cults, as well as with rites of resurrection.  “Hi no Kimi” could also be translated as “fire lord”.  There may be some connection there with the story. Finally, we can't ignore the Buddhist context.  Holy individuals are often said to radiate light from their bodies.  For example, we have the story about Nichira meeting the young child that would be known as Shotoku Taishi, found in the Konjaku Monogatari, or “Tales of Now and Then”, a 12th century collection of various stories, many focused on Buddhist stories.  In that story, Nichira radiates a light and the Shotoku radiates a light of his own in response.  In fact, Buddhist images often depict holy figures with halos, or even wreathes of flames around them, likely a depiction or literal interpretation of what we find in the Buddhist texts, which may have originally been meant more metaphorically. Oh, and notice how I talked about resurrection?  Maybe you thought we'd just let that one slide.  Well, apparently there was a brief zombie moment, as Nichira suddenly came back to life after he had been killed just to implicate the men from Baekje who had stayed back, and then he died again.  Supposedly this is because there was a Silla envoy in port, and he didn't want them to take the blame. That resurrection piece, well, it isn't the first time we've seen that, and it isn't entirely uncommon to hear about something along those lines.  In the Harima Fudoki there is another story of resurrection, and it involves a member of the “Hi no Kimi”, or lords of Hi.  In that story, a member of the Hi no Kimi came to a center of Silla immigrants and married a young woman whom he had brought back from the dead.  Another connection between the country of Hi and some of what we see attributed to Nichira. At the same time, Saints in ancient England would occasionally rise from their deathbeds for one last piece of wisdom or to admonish someone before laying back down into that sleep of death.  At the same time, it is possible that diagnosing death, versus, say, a coma or other unconscious state with very shallow breathing, wasn't always a clear thing. In the west, as recently as at least Victorian times people were so afraid of being buried alive that there were tombstones created with bells that went to a pull down in the coffin, just in case.  There have also been practices of pricking a corpse with a needle or similar to try to get a response.  So I could believe that every once in a while a person who was declared deceased wasn't quite ready to start pushing up daisies, and it is possible that this is more of a deathbed accusation than any kind of resurrection. Still, the story clearly depicts it as a brief, but true resurrection.  From his words, the court arrested the envoys who had remained behind and threw them into some kind of confinement while they figured out what to do with them.  Nichira's wife and children were moved to Kudaramura, or “Baekje Village”, in the area of Ishikawa, while the sailors who had been part of Nichira's household were settled in nearby Ohotomo no mura.  It is unclear if they were given leave to return to Baekje if they wanted, or if that was even on the table. As for the murderers themselves, they weren't punished by the Court.  Rather the court handed them over to Nichira's family, the Ashikita, for them to deliver justice.  I believe this is the first time we've really seen this kind of justice in the Chronicles, with the familial groups taking such a direct role. Now why is this story important, and what does it tell us? Well, nominally, this says something about the continuing struggle by Yamato to reestablish Nimna, but I'm not sure how much of that is accurate.  Though the story starts out about consulting Nichira about Nimna, there is nothing more to say on that topic, and it quickly becomes something that is almost more about the seemingly fragile Baekje-Yamato alliance. There is also an interesting side note that through all of this there were apparently Silla emissaries there in Yamato, even though the Chronicle claims that the last two were sent away, so what's up with that?  It could be that the story is anachronistic—that is, it isn't recorded in the right year.  Or there was a mission that just didn't rise to the level of being noticed by the Chroniclers.  One other thought is that the formal diplomatic ties were only some of the traffic flowing back and forth.  This seems the most likely, to me.  By this point there was no doubt a desire for trade goods on both sides of the strait, and no matter where people came from, the merchant ships were likely plying the waters back and forth.  So it is quite possible that the men of Silla who were in port were part of a trade mission, not necessarily diplomats. Michael Como suggests some other reasons why this whole thing was considered important.  He notes that there are several things here that connect this to the Abe family.  It is unclear where this family comes from, but they have been mentioned here or there throughout the Chronicles, and by this point are at least are fairly high up in the court.  Their name is a bit of an enigma for me, and I'll have to do more research.  I just want to note that they use a different “Be” than the Mononobe or similarly created corporate families.  It is unclear to me why this would be the case, unless this is just where the two seem similar. It should be noted that we should be careful not to assume too much about this early Abe family from one of its most famous Heian era descendants, Abe no Seimei, known as a famous Onmyoji, or master of Yin-Yang divination.  I'm not entirely sure that the Abe were any more or less court ritualists than any other family, especially this early.  Rather, it is their influence over certain geographic regions that is more immediately of interest. We noted that as the son of a “Hi no Ashikita no Kuni no Miyatsuko”, Nichira was likely a member of the Hi no Kimi clan.  They were originally based in southern Kyushu, and Como notes that they may have been under the sway of the Abe clan, at least by the 7th century, along with other notable families of Tsukushi, which is to say, modern Kyushu.  There are a lot of connections between Ashikita, Hi, and Silla that are telling.  In the Harima story, it is a Silla wife that the Hi no Kimi marries.  When Nichira resurrects, it is specifically to ensure that the Silla envoys who were present would not take the blame.  Then there is his father's name—or more likely title—of Arishito.  A term seen used for the King of Nimna at one point, but also for the ancient Tsunoga, who is said to have been an ancient prince from the continent.  Como suggests that Hi no Kuni—and thus their lords, the Hi no Kimi, may have played a part in the rebellion of Iwai, when Iwai attempted to ally Kyushu with Silla to break off contact between Yamato and Baekje.  It is even possible that this was one of the reasons that Nichira was basically being held hostage in Baekje—perhaps he and his family had been exiled after the rebellion, or else left before any harm could come to them. It would make some sense as to why the court sought him out in the first place.  If he and his family were familiar with Silla, perhaps the court thought he would have particular insights.  It might also suggest some of his motives regarding Baekje as well.  Still, the picture is far from clear. Although the Chronicle says that Nichira was taken back to Ashikita and buried, other sources suggest that he was entombed  in Naniwa at Himejima, near Himegoso shrine.  This, in turn, was the home of a sub-lineage of the Abe family, known as the Himegoso Abe.  Como suggests that by the 7th century, the Abe were appropriating various Hi no Kimi cultic centers, to the point that by the time the Chronicles were written, the Abe no Omi and the Hi no Kimi were claiming common ancestry and jointly participating in various rites. Como then links the timing of the death of Nichira to certain court rituals of fire pacification and purification.  And so there may have been much more at play here than simply the story of Nimna and the attempts to reestablish that country. As for the envoys who sailed off and left their lackeys to do their bidding?  Apparently they were struck with a bout of karma on the way back, and their boat foundered and sank.  This was likely seen as proof that their deeds had been committed with evil intent, at least by later readers, interpreting everything through a Buddhist lens that likely saw Nichira as more saintly than it seems he truly was. After all of that, though, there is no evidence that the court really pulled it off.  Instead, in 584, the year after everything had gone down with Nichira, the court sent Naniwa no Kishi no Kitahiko off to Nimna, now controlled by Silla, presumably to negotiate for some kind of reinstatement. That doesn't appear to have happened, however, and the year after that, in 585, there was one more attempt, this time by Sakata no Mimiko no Miko.  Sakata had previously been sent on a mission to request Silla reestablish Nimna in 571, only months before the sovereign, Ame Kunioshi, died.  Now, as he was about to set out, the sovereign and the powerful Mononobe no Moriya came down with a pestilence, and were ridden with sores, such that they called off preparations for the mission.  And sure enough, later that year, Ame Kunioshi's successor, Nunakura Futadamashiki, likewise passed away. I guess the rule here is don't send Sakada no Mimiko to try to demand anything about Silla. Of course, I have to also wonder if there wasn't something else going on.  It's suspicious that the Chroniclers recorded two missions to Silla, both led by the same guy, both about reestablishing Nimna, and both happening just before the Sovereign passed away.  Maybe history really repeated itself like this, or maybe the Chroniclers just knew that such a mission was sent in the last year of one of these reigns, and then put it in bothAnd we don't hear anything more about Mimiko after that, either. We also don't hear anything else about the unfortunate envoy, Sakada no Mimiko, either.  The other interesting thing to note is that, like Ohowake no Miko, Mimiko is a certified royal prince, though I don't see any immediate name to connect him with, at least in the immediate lineage.  It has been suggested that this is one of the sons of Wohodo no Ohokimi, aka Keitai Tennou, though even that feels tenuous to me. Either way, both he and Nunakura, as we noted last episode, passed away from the disease sweeping the land. And that concludes the reign of Nunakura.  Next, we'll get into what happened after his death as we start to see the Soga influence become pre-eminent.  There is more to say about the growth of Buddhism and about the clash between the Soga and the Mononobe, one of the formative conflicts from this early period.  And of course, we've already caught glimpses of Prince Umayado, aka Shotoku Taishi, who had quite the impact on the court—assuming he even existed.  But that's a discussion for another 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.  And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.

This episode we start our look at the reign of Ame Kunioshi Hiraki Niha, aka Kinmei Tennō. We'll start off with a look at his ascension to the throne and some of the politics that we can see going on in the court. We'll also discuss some of the theories regarding this reign, particularly its chronological placement in the Chronicles, which may not be exactly as it seems. Still, we are in what many consider to be the historical period, meaning that the records the Chroniclers were working from are assumed to be more accurate—they were likely using more written material, including books we no longer have extant. However, that doesn't mean everything is factual, and it is clear there are still some lacunae in the texts and some additional massaging by the Chroniclers themselves. For more information, check out https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-81   Rough Transcript: Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua and this is episode 81, the Politics of the Early Yamato Court. Last episode, before our Nara tour interlude, we covered the life of Takewo Hiro Kunioshi Tate, aka Senka Tennō.  He picked up where his brother, Magari no Ohine, aka Ankan Tennō, had[EB1]  left off, and is said to have reigned for about two and a half years, from 536 to 539.  During that time we see more of the rise of the family of Soga no Omi but we also see the Ōtomo no Muraji and the Mononobe going quite strong.  The sons of Ōtomo no Kanamura ended up involved with the government in Tsukushi, aka Kyuushuu, as well as the war efforts across the straits, mainly focused on Nimna and the surrounding areas.  Indeed, as we talked about last episode—episode 80—it is said that Ohtomo no Sadehiko went to Nimna and restored peace there, before lending aid to Baekje[EB2] .  This preoccupation with Nimna and events on the Korean peninsula are going to dominate our narrative moving forward, at least initially.  Much of the next reign focuses on events on the peninsula, rather than on the archipelago.  Oddly, this preoccupation isn't found everywhere.  In the Sendai Kuji Hongi—and other copies of the same work—there appears only a brief mention of Nimna, aka Mimana, in the record, which otherwise simply talks about inheritance and similar issues. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Before we dive into all of that, to include all of the peninsular goodness that we have coming our way, let's briefly talk about some of the things a little closer to home.  Mainly, let's talk about the succession and who our next sovereign appears to be. So first off, his name is given as Ame Kunioshi Hiraki Hiro Niha, and he is posthumously known to us as Kimmei Tennō.  For my part, rather than repeating the whole thing, I'm going to refer to him simply as Ame Kunioshi, though I'm honestly not sure if the best way to parse his name, assuming it isn't just another type of royal title.  He is said to have been the son of Wohodo no Ōkimi, aka Keitai Tennō, and his queen, Tashiraga, a sister to Wohatsuse Wakasazaki, aka Buretsu Tennō. This would all seem pretty straightforward if it weren't for the fact that two of his half-brothers had taken the throne before him.  Prince Magari and his brother, Takewo, were descended through another line, that of Menoko, daughter of Owari no Muraji no Kusaka.  Menoko did not appear to meet the Nihon Shoki's Chroniclers' strict requirements for being named queen—namely, they don't bother to trace her lineage back to the royal line in some way, shape, or form.  As such, the Nihon Shoki tries to pass off the reigns of the two brothers as though they were just keeping the seat warm while Ame Kunioshi himself came of age. None of the language used, however, really suggests that they were not considered legitimate in the eyes of their respective courts, and in all aspects they played the part of sovereign, and it is quite likely that if they had reigned long enough, or had valid heirs, themselves, we may be reading a slightly different story.  As it is, the Chroniclers likely manipulated the narrative just enough to ensure that things made sense in terms of a linear progression. And that manipulation hardly stopped at his ascension.  The account of Ame Kunioshi on the throne is filled with questionable narration.  Beyond just the fantastical—accounts of kami and of evil spirits—much of the reign is focused on events on the Korean peninsula, and these are almost always portrayed as actions by the Kingdom of Baekje, one of the three largest kingdoms across the straits, along with Silla and Goguryeo.  Baekje, in turn, is portrayed in the Nihon Shoki as a loyal vassal state, constantly looking to the sovereign of Yamato as their liege and attempting to carry out their will. For the most part, this is a blatant attempt by the Chroniclers to place Yamato front and center, and in control of events on the mainland.  Taken at face value, it has for a long time fueled nationalist claims to the Korean peninsula, and may have even been designed for that very purpose.  Remember, a history like this was written as much for a political purpose as it was record for posterity, and the narration is about as trustworthy as that of a certain fictional radio host in a sleepy desert community.  And yet, we want to be careful about throwing the proverbial baby out with the bathwater, here.  The Nihon Shoki is a treasure trove of stories about this period and what was happening on the mainland, even if we have to be careful of taking everything at face value.  The details given in the text are sometimes more than any other sources we have for this period, and they are certainly closer to the source.  Korean sources, such as the Samguk Sagi, the Samguk Yusa, and the Tongkam all have their own gaps in the literature of the time, as well as their own political aims and goals, such that even they are suspect.  Sure, the flowery speechification is probably a little too much, but much of the back and forth seems reasonable, and there are numerous times where the Nihon Shoki directly quotes the copy of the Baekje annals that they had at the time—a text that is no longer extant, and which seems to have items that did not make it into later collections.  By following the back and forth and the flow of allegiances and deceptions, and looking at who was said to have been involved—both the individuals and the countries—we might be able to draw a picture of this era. And what a picture it will be.  I probably won't get to it all today, but there is conflict over Nimna, with Baekje and Yamato typically teaming up against Silla and Goguryeo, but there are other things as well.  For one thing, nothing in this era is cut and dried, and while there are overarching themes, alliances were clearly fluid, and could quickly change.  Furthermore, all this activity spawned a new level of interaction, particularly between Baekje and Yamato, and we see a new era of Baekje sharing their knowledge with Yamato.  For instance, this reign we see the first mention of Yin-Yang Divination studies—the famous Onmyouji—as well as calendrical studies in the archipelago.  We also see the arrival of Buddhism to the islands.  Well, at least we see the formal introduction of Buddhism; given all of the people in the archipelago who came over from the continent, there were likely more than a few Buddhists already living in the archipelago, but it hadn't grown, yet, to be a State religion, as it would be in later centuries. To try to do this period justice, I'm going to try to break things down a bit so that we can focus on various themes as we move through the stories here.  It will probably take us a few episodes to get through.  Furthermore, at some point here I want to talk about this new religion, Buddhism, and how it traveled all the way from India to the islands of Japan.  But for now, let's focus on the Chronicles. Not all of what is talked about in this reign is focused on the mainland, so I'm going to start us off talking about the stories about this period that are taking place in the islands themselves, starting with how Ame Kunioshi came to the throne.  Or rather, with some events just before he came to the throne. The first story about Ame Kunioshi comes when he is simply a prince—it is unclear during which reign this is supposed to have happened, only that it happened before he came to the throne.  The Chronicles say that Ame Kunioshi had a dream in which he was told to seek out a man named Hata no Ōtsuchi. We've seen in the past these kinds of oracular dreams, where the gods, or kami, will speak directly to a person—often to the sovereign or someone close to the sovereign.  By all accounts, the ability to act as a conduit for the kami was an important aspect of rulership and political power at this time, and we've seen the supposed consequences of not listening to such an oracle as well.  And so he sent people out to find this man, who was eventually found in the Kii district of the land of Yamashiro. Now this area is not surprising.  It is identified as the area, today, in the modern Fushimi district of Kyoto.  In fact, it includes the area of the famous Fushimi Inari Taisha—the Fushimi Inari shrine.  That shrine is also connected to the Hata family. For those who don't recall, the Hata family appear to have been descended from weavers who were brought over from the continent.  The kanji used for their name is the same as that of the Qin dynasty, from which we get the modern name of China, though the pronunciation is taken from the word “Hata”, which appears to refer to a type of cloth, and also resembles the word for banners or flags.  We mentioned them some time back in episode 63, when we talked about one of the early heads of the Hata, who was given the name Uzumasa.  That name is still used to identify a district in Kyoto to this day. And so here we are, back in the Kyoto area, near Fushimi shrine, which is also, as it happens, connected to the Hata family.  That story is found not in the Nihon Shoki, but rather it is attributed to fragments of the Yamashiro no Fudoki.  In that account we hear tell of a wealthy man named Irogu, whom we are told is a distant relative of Hata no Nakatsu no Imiki—no doubt a contemporary to the Yamashiro Fudoki, and the reason the story made the cut.  Irogu, it seems, had made himself wealthy through rice cultivation.  In fact, he had so much rice that he was using mochi—pounded glutinous rice cakes—as targets for his archery practice.  As he was shooting at the mochi, suddenly one of them turned into a swan and flew up into the sky, up to the top of a nearby mountain.  Where it landed rice, or “ine”, began to grow. That mountain is none other than the site of Fushimi Inari Shrine, a shrine that will show up again and again in various stories, as it was quite prominent.  Though the shrine was only founded in the 8th century, the story may indicate that there were older rituals, or perhaps that it was a focus of worship much like Mt. Miwa, down in the land of Yamato, to the south, and that shrine buildings were simply added to the mountain at a later date.  Fushimi is, of course, the place, and Inari is the name of the god, or kami, worshipped at the shrine.  Inari is a god of farming—specifically of rice cultivation—and today small Inari shrines can be found throughout Japan.  They are typified by red gates—usually multiple gates, one after the other, often donated by various individuals.  In addition, one might see Inari's servants and messengers, foxes, which take the place of the lion-dogs that often guard shrine precincts.  Importantly, these foxes are not the kami themselves, but simply the kami's messengers.  Still people will often bring gifts of oily, deep fried tofu—abura-age—said to be a favorite of foxes, to help ensure that their prayers—their messages to the kami—are swiftly and properly delivered. I could probably do an entire episode on Fushimi Inari and Inari worship in Japan.  There is so much material on the phenomenon on foxes, or kitsune, and fox-spirits, especially with the co-mingling of both continental and insular belief, which is sometimes at odds.  For now, however, we can confine ourselves to the fact that Fushimi clearly had connections to the Hata family, who have shown up a few times in the past, but are still largely taking bit roles in things at the moment.  Nonetheless, since the Chroniclers were writing from the 8th century, things like this, which were no doubt important to the powerful families of their day, were often included. Getting back to our main story, when Hata no Ōtsuchi came before the prince, Ame Kunioshi, he told a story of how he had been traveling the land, coming back from trading in Ise, when he came upon two wolves, fighting each other on a mountain.  The wolves were each covered in blood from their hostilities, and yet, through all of that, Hata no Ōtsuchi recognized them as visible incarnations of kami.  Immediately he got off his horse, rinsed his hands and mouth to purify himself, and then made a prayer to the kami.  In his prayer he admonished them for delighting in violence.  After all, while they were there, attacking each other, what if a hunter came along and, not recognizing their divine nature, took both of them?  With his earnest prayer he got them to stop fighting and he then cleaned off the blood and let them both go, thus saving their lives. Hearing such a story, Ame Kunioshi determined that his dream was likely sent by the same kami saved by Ōtsuchi, or perhaps another spirit who had seen his good deed, who was recommending this good Samaritan to the prince.  And who was he to deny the kami?  So when he came to the throne, Ame Kunioshi put Hata no Ōtsuchi in charge of the Treasury. That would have to wait until he actually ascended the throne, however; an opportunity that preserved itself with the death of his half brother, Takewo no Ōkimi.  When Takewo passed away in 539, we are told that the ministers all requested that Ane Kunioshi take the throne, but at first he deferred, suggesting that the wife of his eldest half brother, Magari no Ohine, aka Ankan Tennō, take the throne, instead. This was the former queen, Yamada, daughter of Ōke no Ōkimi, aka Ninken Tennō, so no doubt she had a good sense of how the government should work.  Yet she, too, waved off the honor.  Her reasoning, though, is a very patriarchal and misogynistic diatribe about how women aren't fit four the duties of running the country.  Clearly it is drawn from continental sources, and it always makes me wonder.  After all, the Nihon Shoki was being written in the time of rather powerful women controlling the Yamato court – which, I imagine irked some people to no end, especially those learned in classic literature, such as the works of Confucius. So I wonder why this was put in.  Did he truly defer to her?  Or was this just to demonstrate his magnanimous nature?  Was she pushed aside by the politics of the court?  I also wonder why they went to her, and not Takewo's wife.  It is also interesting to me that the Chroniclers only note her own objections to her rule, and there isn't a peep out of the assembled ministers. There appears to be another possible angle.  Some scholars have pointed out inconsistencies with the timeline and events in the reign of Ame Kunioshi that may have actually happened much earlier, including the arrival of Buddhism.  They suggest that perhaps there was a period of multiple rulers, possibly rival dynasties, with Magari no Ohine and his brother, Takewo, handling one court and Ame Kunioshi ruling another.  If that were the case, then was Yamada the senior person in the other line?  At the very least she represents the transfer of power and authority over to Tashiraga's lineage. Moving forward, we're going to want to pay close attention to these kinds of political details.  Often we'll see how how princes of different mothers will end up as pawns in the factional infighting that will become de rigeur in the Yamato court, with different families providing wives in the hopes that they might eventually be family members to the next sovereign. So, however it really happened, Ame Kunioshi took the throne.  He reappointed Ōtomo no Kanamura and Mononobe no Okoshi Ōmuraji and named Soga no Iname no Sukune back to his position as Ō-omi.  He set up his palace at a place called Shikishima, in the district of Shiki in the middle of the Nara Basin in the ancient country of Nara—still within sight of Mt. Miwa and, by now, numerous kofun built for previous kings, queens, and various nobles.  Both the Emishi and the Hayato are said to have come and paid tribute—apparently part of the enthronement rituals—and even envoys from Baekje, Silla, Goguryeo and Nimna are said to have stopped in with congratulatory messages.  These were probably fairly pro forma messages to maintain good—or at least tolerable—relations between the various states of the day, not unlike today when various people call a newly elected president or prime minister to congratulate them on their own entry to office. He also took as his Queen his own niece, daughter of his half-brother, the previous sovereign, Takewo Hiro Kunioshi Tate, aka Senka Tennō.  Her name was Ishihime, and she would provide Ame Kunioshi with several children, including the Crown Prince, Wosada Nunakara Futodamashiki no Mikoto, aka the eventual Bidatsu Tennō. By the way, for anyone concerned that Ame Kunioshi was” robbing the cradle”, so to speak, remember that he was already 33 years younger than his brother.  It is quite possible, assuming the dates are correct, that he and Ishihime were roughly the same age.  To put it another way, if Ame Kunioshi was a Millennial, his brother Takewo had been a Boomer, meaning that Ishihime was likely either Gen X or a Millennial herself, to extend the analogy. Of course, they were still uncle and niece, so… yeah, there's that.  I could point out again that at this time it was the maternal lineage that determined whether people were considered closely related or not.  Children of different mothers, even with the same fathers, were considered distant enough that it was not at all scandalous for them to be married, and that we probably should be careful about placing our own cultural biases on a foreign culture—and at this point in history many aspects of the culture would be foreign even to modern Japanese, just as a modern person from London would likely find conditions in the Anglo Saxon era Lundenwic perhaps a bit off-putting.  Still, I don't think I can actually recommend the practice. Now it is true he was coming to the throne at relatively young age.  He was probably about 30 years old when he took charge of the state, while his brothers, their father's eldest sons, had come to the throne much later in life, in their 50s or 60s.  And if Ame Kunioshi was actually ruling earlier then he might have been younger, running the state of Yamato—or at least some part of it—when he was still in his early 20s. Along with Ishihime, Ame Kunioshi took several other wives.  The first two were Ishihime's younger sisters, Kurawakaya Hime and Hikage.  Then there were two daughters of Soga no Iname—and yes, *that* Soga no Iname, the re-appointed Ō-omi.  At least three of the next four sovereigns would come from those two unions, and I'll let you take a guess at how the Soga family's fortunes fared during that time.  Finally, the last wife was was named Nukako, and she was the daughter of Kasuga no Hifuri no Omi.   Kasuga was also the family name of Kasuga no Yamada no Himemiko, who had turned down the throne to allow Ame Kunioshi to ascend, though we don't hear too much else from the Kasuga family.  This could be connected to that, although it is hard to be certain.  For the most part the Kasuga family seems to stay behind the scenes, but the fact that they are inserting themselves into the royal line at different points would seem to be significant.   The Soga, on the other hand, are going to feature quite prominently in matters of state moving forward. While it is unclear just when the various marriages occurred—they may have happened before or after his ascension to the throne—it is interesting to see how much influence the Soga family may have had in the royal bedchamber, something we would do well to remember as we look into this period.  And while the Soga family was on the rise, other families were not doing so well.  In particular, it seems that something happened to the Ōtomo family. Now don't get me wrong, Ōtomo Kanamura, that veteran courtier, was reappointed as Ōmuraji at the start of the reign, and given all of his influence up to this point, he clearly had been doing something right.  But then we have a single incident at the start of Ame Kunioshi's reign that makes me wonder. It took place during a court visit to Hafuri-tsu-no-miya over at Naniwa—modern Ōsaka.  Hafuri would appear to refer to a Shinto priest, so apparently they were at the palace—or possibly shrine—of the Priest, at least as far as I can make out.  When Ame Kunioshi went out, much of the court came with, including Ōtomo no Kanamura, Kose no Omi no Inamochi, and Mononobe no Okoshi.    Of those three, Kose no Inamochi seems a bit of an odd choice, but we'll go with it, for now. While they were there, away from the palace, talking over various subjects, the conversation turned towards talk about invading Silla.  At this, Mononobe no Okoshi related the story of how Kanamura had basically orchestrated giving up four districts of Nimna over to Baekje.  Those were the Upper and Lower Tari, Syata, and Muro.  This had pissed off Silla, who no doubt wanted as much of a buffer state between them and their allies as possible, and who also may have felt that Nimna and other border states were theirs to manipulate.  Through all of these talks and deliberations, which apparently went on for some time, Kanamura stayed at home, out of the public eye, feigning illness.  Eventually, though Awomi no Ōtoshi no Magariko came to check in on him and see how he was doing, and Kanamura admitted that he had simply been feigning illness to get out of the humiliation of having given up the provinces so many years ago. Hearing of this, Ame Kunioshi pardoned Ōtomo no Kanamura of any guilt.  He could put the past behind him and speak nothing of it. And he did.  Speak nothing of it, that is.  Or at least nothing that was recorded in the Chronicles.  From here on out, we don't hear of Kanamura—and barely of Ōtomo.  There is a brief mention of Kanamura's son, Sadehiko, who had gone to the Korean peninsula to fight back in the previous reign.  Then, another member of the Ōtomo pops up again in the reign of Bidatsu, but this appears to be the last time we see an “Ōtomo no Ōmuraji”—no other Ōtomo would be recorded as having taken that position, even though others, particularly the Mononobe, would continue to be honored with the title up through at least the 7th century. Ōtomo no Kanamura's exit at this point in the narrative seems somewhat appropriate, as the narrative will go on to focus on Nimna, and the violence on the peninsula.  That fighting would consume much of the next century, with Silla eventually winding up on top, but that was not always a foregone conclusion.  In the meantime there were numerous battles, back and forth.  Sometimes it was Silla and Goguryeo against Baekje and Yamato.  Other times, Silla and Baekje fought against Goguryeo.  Then there were the smaller states of Kara, Ara, Nimna, and more. With all of that chaos, the Chronicles record numerous people from the peninsula coming to stay in the archipelago, but also there were many ethnic Wa people—possibly from Yamato, especially based on their names—that went to live and fight on the peninsula as well.  Family names such as the Mononobe, Ikuba, and even Kibi show up with Baekje or Silla titles, intermingled with other names of unknown, though likely peninsular, origin.  This intermingling would appear to indicate that the states of the Korean peninsula were multi-ethnic states, with individuals from all over.   Despite—or perhaps even because of—all the fighting, there seems to be an increased intercourse between the various states, as well as with states like the Northern Wei, to the West, in the Yellow River Basin, and Liang, to the South, along the Yangtze. We'll dive into all of that chaos and confusion—and try to draw a few more concrete facts and concepts—next time. 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.  And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.

In this episode we'll explore the career of Otomo Otomaro, who is believed to be the first Seiitai-Shōgun, as well as Sakanoue Tamuramaro and their subsequent adventures in Tōhoku. We'll also discuss the Emishi and the strategies the Yamato armies used to incorporate them into the emperor's sphere of influence.If you'd like to see an ink drawing of Sakanoue Tamuramaro as well as the grave site of infamous Emishi leader Aterui, check out the supplemental post!Support the show (https://www.patreon.com/AHistoryOfJapan)

Friends From Film School Podcast - EP 65: Princess Mononoke - Can Anime Reach Universal Acclaim? This week we conclude our journey to the East in search of becoming true Anime fans. We watch the 1997 Hayao Miyazaki classic, Princess Mononoke and tackle the question of "Can anime reach universal acclaim?" Mononoke tells the story of a young Emishi prince named Ashitaka, and his involvement in a struggle between the gods of a forest and the humans who consume its resources. The film is known for its heartfelt story, beautiful showcase of human folly, and its influence on filmmakers and fans alike. It is one of the highest grossing Japanese films of all time and a major cornerstone of solidifying anime's reputation in the West. Dive in with us as we discuss this Studio Ghibli hit and figure out if Luke and Brad will join Ellis as "true anime fans!" If you liked what you watched, support Friends From Film School on PATREON! Sign up today to help us to continue making this show and also get exclusive FFFS Patreon Bonus Content such as the FFFS Movie Night episodes! PATREON | https://www.patreon.com/friendsfromfilmschool Listeners have described our podcast as one of the best filmmaking podcasts for movie lovers! Thanks for listening to our Indie Film Podcast! Don't forget to subscribe! FOLLOW US: TikTok: http://bit.ly/SBF_TikTok Facebook: http://bit.ly/SBF_Facebook Instagram: http://bit.ly/SBF_Insta Twitter: http://bit.ly/SBF_Twitter SUPPORT US: Merch: http://bit.ly/SBF_Merch --- This episode is sponsored by · Anchor: The easiest way to make a podcast. https://anchor.fm/app --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/sozo-bear-films/message Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/sozo-bear-films/support

Emperor Kammu took the throne as the first sovereign of Japan who descended from Baekje stock. He had big plans for the nation - intensifying the war against the Emishi, building a new capital and, when that one failed, building a new capital in a different place.For a beautiful picture of Emperor Kammu, as well as pics of cool scale models of both Nagaoka-kyo and Heian-kyo, check out the supplemental post!Support the show (https://www.patreon.com/AHistoryOfJapan)

The reign of Emperor Kōnin was off to a rocky start when his Empress was accused of practicing witchcraft to subvert the state. Prince Yamabe, originally passed over for the office of Tennō because of his Baekje ancestry, now comes once more to the foreground of succession debates. Meanwhile, in Tōhoku, an imperial army was about to meet with utter disaster at the hands of the Shiwa Emishi.For a map of the Tōhoku region, check out the supplemental post!

With Empress Shōtoku gone, the court quickly acted to remove Dōkyō and his cronies from power, then turned their eyes toward the critical issue of succession. Their choice for the next Tennō was the elder Prince Shirakabe, whose reign, while more stable than that of Shōtoku-Tennō's, was still fraught with scandal, military catastrophe, and intrigue.For a picture of Emperor Kōnin, check out the supplemental post!Support the show (https://www.patreon.com/AHistoryOfJapan)

Here we start the story of the Brave of Yamato:  Yamato Takeru.  The archetype for later heroes, and the primary story told about the early conquest of Japan.  In this episode we take a look at his early years and victories and follow him out to the East and his campaign against the Emishi.

Emperor Shomu's court was filled with rivalries and scandals among the kuge which sometimes took a violent turn. The feud between the Fujiwara Clan and Prince Nagaya would become the stuff of legend.For a painting of Emperor Shomu and an image of the Emishi people, check out the supplemental post!Support the show (https://www.patreon.com/AHistoryOfJapan)

Episode 50!!!!Today's special guest is my dear friend Emishi Ashitaka. We begin by shooting the shit and sharing some thoughts we have about current events. Emishi and I have been friends for several years but we allow each other space to be different and that's what makes our friendship so multi-faceted.We tackle coronavirus, farmer's woes, what engineering is about, normalized reactivity, Kanye West v. Taylor Swift, Cool Hand Luke: We have a failure to communicate, Sci-fi theology, how strength is an illusion, circles of alignment, Logos, how to protest, why sometimes people are stupid, and why wives make their men sandwiches. To connect with Emishi Ashitaka, you can find him on Facebook.https://www.facebook.com/ashitaka.emishi.355?epa=SEARCH_BOX 

Prince Yamashiro must make a decision that will decide the fate of the kingdom, as Emishi's cruel son Iruka begins a tyrannical rampage to wipe out Shotoku's descendants. Kamatari, clan leader of the Nakatomi, begins forming a plot that will result in a final showdown with the Soga, culminating in the notorious Isshi incident. As always, thank you so much for joining us on this journey through the history of Japan. You can always reach me at twitter.com/sagaofjapan. I deeply appreciate you taking the time out of your day to give a listen to the Saga of Japan, and I hope to see you next time! If you like the show, please leave a review, rating, or subscribe. Source list: The Nihon Shoki (Primary Source) / The Kojiki / The Cambridge History of Japan Vol. 1 / A Concise History of Japan by Brett Walker / The History of Japan to 1334 by George Sansom / Historians of China and Japan by W.G. Beasley and E.G. Pulleybank / Japan: A Concise History - by Milton W. Meyer / A History of Japan by John Caiger and Richard Mason Support The Saga of Japan by donating to their Tip Jar: https://tips.pinecast.com/jar/the-saga-of-japan Find out more at https://the-saga-of-japan.pinecast.co

Japan finally receives the name Nihon, the Land of the Rising Sun while the Soga Clan reaches the peak of it's power, led by a new leader who rules with an iron fist. Emishi consolidates Soga power, placing Emperor Jomei on the throne. A lone Soga voice speaks out against Emishi's tyranny, before he and his family are snuffed out. As always, thank you so much for joining us on this journey through the history of Japan. You can always reach me at twitter.com/sagaofjapan. I deeply appreciate you taking the time out of your day to give a listen to the Saga of Japan, and I hope to see you next time! If you like the show, please leave a review, rating, or subscribe. Source list: The Nihon Shoki (Primary Source) / The Kojiki / The Cambridge History of Japan Vol. 1 / A Concise History of Japan by Brett Walker / The History of Japan to 1334 by George Sansom / Historians of China and Japan by W.G. Beasley and E.G. Pulleybank / Japan: A Concise History - by Milton W. Meyer / A History of Japan by John Caiger and Richard Mason Support The Saga of Japan by donating to their Tip Jar: https://tips.pinecast.com/jar/the-saga-of-japan Find out more at https://the-saga-of-japan.pinecast.co

Principessa Mononoke racconta la storia di Ashitaka, un guerriero Emishi, e della maledizione caduta su di lui dopo che ha salvato il suo villaggio dalla furia di un cinghiale, impazzito dall’ira. Destinato a morte certa, il giovane abbandona il villaggio per evitare che il maleficio ricada su tutti gli abitanti. Durante il suo viaggio per ... L'articolo Principessa Mononoke proviene da RadioAnimati.

The beginning of human inhabitation of Japan. First ruler, emperors and oligarchs. The Yayoi subdue the Jomon and Emishi people. To defeat the Emeshi , they create the Samurai, a class of soldiers and knights. --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/history0/message

In this episode, that is nearly as long as the movie it discusses, Grace and Emma attempt to break down this fantastical samurai epic. As this is masterful film with many questions and few answers, most of this episode’s runtime is existential and ambiguous. At first we try to contextualize its depiction of indigenous peoples and the Muromashi period in our shaky understanding of Japanese history Is there a way to reconcile civilization and nature? Is this movie environmental centrism? Is the ending hopeful, bleak, or even cheap? What last 19th, early 20th century classical composer does the soundtrack borrow from the most? All of the questions are discussed and much more!The resources we used to talk about Japanese history and indigenous peoples are: a summary of the history of both the Emishi and the Ainu, an account of the Ainu’s contemporary struggles, and a website about the Emishi’s cultural history. The critic Grace references at around an 1:06:20 of the podcast is Mark Shilling. The piece by Cole Henry that Grace discusses at 1:20:44 can be found here, and the twitter thread about indigenous survival discussed shortly thereafter can be found here.The music used at 1:38:36 mark is a 1967 Recording of Richard Strauss’s Salome, performed by the Vienna Philharmonic and conducted by Sir Georg Solti. The music at the 1:39 is the track San and Ashitaka in the Forest of the Deer God from the film’s soundtrack by Joe Hisaishi.The next movie is Spirited AwayFollow Grace on Twitter @grace_machineFollow Emma on Twitter @uofwhalesFollow the show @seasonsmoviepodEmail us questions at seasonspod@gmail.com

Episode Rundown 00:54 - Miyazaki the anime hero 05:08 - Shades of gray morality 06:01 - Unburdened by Western political baggage 08:53 - Ashitaka's empathy and respect for the opposition 15:29 - The animation of combat 22:23 - Progress as a bullet (and metaphor) 24:04 - The Emishi 27:00 - The fantasy setting & Human vs. Nature 28:27 - The village attack 30:15 - The stakes are high for Nature 32:42 - Jigo's pragmatism 36:35 - Lady Eboshi and Moro's attack run 44:02 - The beauty and ruthlessness of Nature 48:00 - Iron Town 52:15 - Ashitaka's respect for Lady Eboshi despite their contention 1:00:36 - San vs. Lady Eboshi with Ashitaka as the moderator 1:05:22 - Nature's internal squabbling 1:18:52 - Holding destructive and creative forces in balance 1:25:29 - Lord Asano's troops get trounced at Iron Town 1:30:54 - Moro doesn't hate all humans, only Lady Eboshi 1:32:49 - Ashitaka's refusal to commit to hate 1:40:20 - The inevitability of death, change, and rebirth 1:46:22 - The unceremonious decapitation of the Forest Spirit 1:50:26 - The Forest Spirit's death breathes life into the land Twitter Dean @dean_lsgmedia Matthew @matthewfromlsg LSG @lsgmedia Get bonus content here! Disclaimer: This is a commentary and criticism show that will routinely slander, suggest, and make wild claims - it should be considered comedy entertainment only, and not to be taken seriously. Take responsibility for your own feelings and actions.

Welcome back to your favorite movie analysis podcast, the GoodTrash GenreCast! On this week's show, we tackle a Patreon-sponsored pick from Keithan Smith by the name of Princess Mononoke! That's right, we once again move to the world of Anime—specifically Studio Ghibli and Hayao Miyazaki. Want to Choose a Movie for the GenreCast? You can always suggest movie ideas to us on Twitter or via email (goodtrashgenrecast@gmail.com) or in the comments. But, if you want to guarantee we'll do a movie of your choice, go to Patreon. There are a variety of bonuses that are awarded at different support levels, including monthly and quarterly content, specially curated goodies and of course a chance for you to program our show. This money is used to cover basic operating expenses, and if we ever get enough, hopefully some cool swag. Diving in to Princess Mononoke Princess Mononoke is the 10th feature film from Studio Ghibli, and the fifth to be directed by Miyazaki. It tells the story of Ashikata, the last Emishi prince who is cursed by a demon. He is told to travel to the western lands to search out the Great Forest Spirit in hopes of a cure, but in doing so, he will be exiled from his community. In his journeys, Ashikate encounters San, the Mononoke Hime (Spirit Princess). There is actually a lot more to it than that, it's pretty complex. In this week's episode, we give our quick reviews and then play our game: Movies that Would Make Interesting Anime. We follow this up with round table analysis: discussing the film's complexity, and the use of animation as a mode of storytelling. We then discuss the film's complex themes and Miyazaki's refusal to enter strict black and white territory. Dustin brings up the film's dialogue with nature and spirituality and brings the conversation into the station. So, grab your bow and mount your horse, we're going on an adventure!   More GTGC Anime Discussions You can find our shows on other Anime films, as well as a written discourse on Japanese cinema, below: Japanese Film, a (very) brief historyAkiraPokemon the Movie (a live show)PaprikaThe Wind RisesGhost in the ShellSummer WarsNausicaa of the Valley of the Wind GET IN TOUCH Thanks for joining us this week! If you haven’t yet, you can connect with us through our various means of social media. Hit us up and let us know what you like and what you don’t like. Also, it would mean a lot if you left a review on iTunes after you finish subscribing. Follow Us on Twitter.Subscribe and Review us on iTunes. Supporting the GenreCast If you're interested in offering financial support for the show, that would be awesome. We use these funds to cover production costs and hosting and domain fees, as well as occasional events and merchandise. Support on Patreon comes with a variety of rewards and additional content, such as physical rewards, bonus shows and fun stuff and even programming opportunities. Our January bonus content is live! This month, all Patreons who pledge $1 or more can have access to this first piece of content.

This time Podcastle In The Sky looks at two works of fictional sumptuous epics set in the shadow of a developing landscape and dealing with indigenous groups – The Last of the Mohicans having Native Americans, and Princess Mononoke having the Emishi, a now vanished people believed to be related to the Ainu.

Otaku Movie Anatomy hosts review Princess Mononoke! Princess Mononoke (Japanese: もののけ姫 Hepburn: Mononoke-hime, "Spirit/Monster Princess") is a 1997 epichistorical fantasy anime film written and directed by Hayao Miyazaki. It was animated by Studio Ghibli and produced by Toshio Suzuki. The film stars the voices of Yōji Matsuda, Yuriko Ishida, Yūko Tanaka, Kaoru Kobayashi,Masahiko Nishimura, Tsunehiko Kamijo, Akihiro Miwa, Mitsuko Mori and Hisaya Morishige. Princess Mononoke is set in the late Muromachi period (approximately 1336 to 1573) of Japan with fantasy elements. The story follows the young Emishi warrior Ashitaka's involvement in a struggle between forest gods and the humans who consume its resources. The term "Mononoke" (物の怪 or もののけ) is not a name, but a Japanese word for a spirit or monster. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices