So this episode we continue with the reign of Mimaki Iribiko, and look at why the Chronicles refer to him as the August Founder, even though he is also the 10th sovereign.  We'll look at how he is said to have "pacified" the rest of the land.  We'll also compare what the Chronicles tell us with what we know through other sources.

For more go to: https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-29

Rough Transcript

 

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua, and this is Episode 29:  The August Founder

Last episode we covered the first part of Mimaki Iribiko’s reign, with a lot of focus on Yamato Totohi Momoso Hime and the potential connections with the time of Queen Himiko, in the 3rd century, and while there are some who suggest that this account is actually taking place much earlier—possibly as early as the late 2nd century—for now we’ll keep it where it is.

Of course, that episode took us through Yamato Totohi Momoso Hime’s death and subsequent burial in what we believe to be Hashihaka kofun.  And with her passing it is now time for us to move on with our discussion of the ruler mentioned in the Chronicles—perhaps Himiko’s co-ruler—Mimaki Iribiko Iniye no Mikoto.  We’ll go through the rest of his account and talk about what it means that he shares with Jimmu that curious title of August Founder of Yamato.  We’ll look at the military and administrative expansion that he is credited with.

First, though, a little more on this name:  Mimaki.  Now, truth be told, we don’t really have a clear indication of its meaning.  Some have suggested that the “Ki” is from a Korean word meaning castle, and later we’ll see “Mimana” as a name for a state on the Korean peninsula, possibly a part of the Gaya Confederation that grew up around the area we believe have been home to the Pyonhan.   So, one idea is that Mimaki indicates that this ruler is actually from the continent.  This goes along with a popular theory that states that the royal line was actually founded by a conquering force from the mainland, and draws some of its inspiration from the idea of Iware Biko—who was also identified with a peninsular placename—making his way up from Kyushu, the direction that any invaders from the mainland would need to take.  We’ll revisit this later in the story of Oujin, one of the later sovereigns, and another important figure in the Chronicles, who is also cited as an example of this invasion.  This theory of continental origin conveniently explains why Himiko isn’t mentioned in the Chronicles, because in this narrative, the royal lineage isn’t truly from “Yamato” at all, but they either founded the state (in which case it was likely separate from the Yamatai state of Himiko) or they took over an existing state and simply put themselves up as the rulers, possibly marrying into the royal line.  This is often referred to as the horserider theory, because the horse and associated technology are thought to have been the innovation that gave these immigrants such an upper hand against the otherwise established entities on the archipelago.

I don’t want to get into all of this right now, but suffice it to say that I’m not currently a proponent of this theory, which I believe puts me in good company with a number of scholars.  That isn’t to say that we won’t see some influence from the peninsula later on the archipelago in later centuries, but I just am not seeing it in reference to our current subject, Mimaki Iribiko.  Although Mimaki Iribiko does seem to have his own conquests—acts of pacification—it is all described as starting in the Nara Basin and spreading outward from there.  Furthermore, his name doesn’t necessarily come from Mimana.  Various people have pointed out different possible derivations for the name Mimaki on the archipelago itself, so a Korean explanation isn’t required.  In fact, looking into the Wei Chronicles, I couldn’t help but notice that those chronicles mentioned several ministers with similar names.  One of them is either Mimashi or Mimato, depending on whether you follow Soumare or Kidder, and then likewise another’s is either Mimakaki or Mimawaki.  In Bentley’s take on ancient Japanese pronunciation they are something like Memasing and Memawake.  This makes me wonder if one of these two might not, in fact, be the Mimaki Iribiko of the Chronicles, but referenced as a minister rather than a sovereign.

Either way, I think there is enough to say that there is no need to suppose a Korean origin, and no reason to believe that the name Mimaki doesn’t come from the archipelago.  Of course, how much of his story is actually about him and how much is memory or legend of the founding of the state, it is hard to say, but let’s assume that he did exist, at least, and probably played some part in the early state formation of Yamato.  Even if he’s a composite character—like when a complex novel is translated into a 2 hour movie—we should still be able to get the general course of the plot.

And so, when we pick up the story from last time, although he no longer had his aunt Yamato Totohi Momoso Hime’s spiritual insights to guide him, Mimaki Iri-biko still had four generals and their armies, and that was no small thing. And so he once again sent them out to pacify the land.

As a reminder from last episode these four generals are named as Oho-hiko, Take Nunkawa Wake, Tamba no Chi-Nushi, and Isaseri Hiko—aka Kibitsu Hiko.

And I’d like to quickly pause here and just put in a reminder that the Wei Chronicles also mention four great commanders that helped to oversee the country.  Whether those had any relationship to these four, who knows.  But still curious, no?

Now, the first of the generals, Oho-hiko, whose name translates to just “the Great Prince”, was supposed to head north to Koshi but had been stopped when heard the prophetic song that forecast the attempted invasion and coup by Take Haniyasu Hiko in Yamashiro.  After the death of Yamato Totohi Momoso Hime, it is said that he resumed his task, successfully adding Koshi, the northern part of Honshu along the Japan Sea Coast, to the Yamato sphere of influence.

Heading eastward, from Yamato along the Eastern Sea Path—known to us as the Tokaido—was the second general, Oho-hiko’s son, Take Nunakawa Wake, the Young Brave of Nunakawa, also pronounced Nunagawa, depending on your source.  He took his forces eastward and then followed the coastline north, eventually meeting his father at an area that is known as Aizu, which is said to reference how the met—“Au”—at this place.

Aizu is, I assume, the place better known as Aizu-Wakamatsu, in modern Fukushima Prefecture.  It is much more famous for its role in later Japanese history: it was one of the last hold-outs for the Shogunal troops during the fall of the Tokugawa Bakufu, and the site of the tragic suicide of the youths of the Byakkotai.  Of course, this area is also the southern end of the Tohoku region of Japan, known in our early sources a Michi no Oku, roughly translated as the End of the Road, and often shortened to just “Mutsu”.  This is also just about the northern edge of the Yayoi rice-farming culture, which initially made inroads up to the north of Tohoku but then retreated back to the southern regions.  Somewhere north of this point were the people known to the later Yamato courts as the Emishi, and it would be a border area that would slowly expand northward with time, but not quite yet.  This is the northern extent of the Wa who would become part of the Yamato political system.

In addition to all this, you may recall that Nunakawa—as in the son, here, Take Nunakawa Wake—was a place name also referenced in the name of Iware Biko’s successor, Nunakawa Mimi, as well as in the name of Nunakawa Hime, who is said to have married Ohonamuji of Izumo and was the mother, at least according to legend and the Kujiki, of Take Minakata, one of the sons of Ohonamuji who stood up to the Heavenly Deities and lost the duel with Take Mikazuchi.

As far as I can tell, Nunakawa appears to be associated with the Princess River—Himekawa—and the area of Itoigawa, in Niigata.  This area had long been settled, though I don’t know how convenient the mountainous valleys were for the wet-paddy rice farming of the Yayoi culture, but it apparently has long been a center of jadeite manufacturing, with beginnings back in the Neolithic period and an industry that continued even into the Kofun era, producing the magatama and other such stone jewelry and prestige goods.  For reference, this is just north over the mountains from Nagano and Matsumoto, with the Himekawa continuing all the way to the Japan Sea coast.

If Take Nunakawa Wake really was from this area, it would go right along with the idea that he may, indeed, have been related to Oho-hiko.  Personally, I wonder if Ohohiko might have been a “Great Prince” in that area—could it possibly indicate a Chieftain or Chieftain of Chieftains in the Koshi region?  The Chronicles tie all these figures back to the royal lineage, but through figures that we’ve already said are tenuous at best.

So were these generals really members of the court, or were they leaders in independent polities, perhaps allied with Yamato, but not directly related?  I honestly couldn’t say at this point, but we can take a look again at what archaeological evidence we have and what that suggests about everything.

First, though, let’s talk about the third general, Tamba no Chi-Nushi.

It is written that Tamba no Chi-Nushi headed up past Yamashiro, and on to Tamba Province, which encompassed the central parts of modern Kyouto and Hyougo prefectures.  There is another figure who similarly traveled this route and who may have been the same individual under a different name:  Hiko Imasu, Mimaki Iribiko’s own half-brother, and someone whom many court families would claim in their lineages.  The Kojiki tells us that Hiko Imasu went to Tamba province to subdue Kuga Mimi no Mikasa.  If they are the same person, perhaps after he subdued Kuga Mimi, then Hiko Imasu set himself as the master of the land of Tamba—the Tamba no Chi-Nushi.

With the first three generals out of the way, we still have one more general to talk about here, and that is Isaseri Hiko, aka Kibi-tsu Hiko—the Prince of Kibi.  Once again, we can take a guess that Isaseri Hiko was either already a chieftain in Kibi or his name came after some kind of assault on the region. He is said to have headed West towards Kibi, on the Seto Inland Sea.  The Kojiki actually tells us that it was two people—Ohokibi tsu Hiko, or the Great Prince of Kibi, and Waka Hiko Take Kibi tsu Hiko—the Young Prince Brave Prince of Kibi.  Their conquest is actually given in greater detail in the Kojiki, but placed a few reigns earlier.

Now we’ve mentioned Kibi in the past, but it may be worthwhile to delve a little bit more into the geography and history, here—or at least what we know.  Kibi is the ancient province—one could say the ancient state—that controlled much of the northern shoreline of the Seto Inland Sea, encompassing much of what is today Okayama Prefecture and parts of eastern Hiroshima prefecture.  It was later broken up into the provinces of Bizen, Bitchuu, and Bingo—literally Front, Middle, and Back Kibi—as well as the province of Mimasaka, but this wouldn’t be until much later. 

To the north of Kibi, across the mountains, was Izumo, and the Kibi heartland seems to have been the plains between the modern cities of Soja and Okayama.  These expansive plains, nestled between hills on all sides, would have been the perfect spot for ancient Yayoi farmers and their agricultural techniques.  It actually makes for a nice bike ride, today, which is one of the best ways to see much of this area, including the giant tombs.  Beyond the agricultural capacity, however, it had another benefit, as much of the area between the Yoshii and Takahashi rivers would have been underwater—an extension of the Seto Inland Sea that hadn’t yet silted up.  Kojima would have been an actual island at that time, as is referenced in the Chronicles during the creation of the islands.  With safe, defensible harbors at an area where the channels narrow, with many small islands littering the seaways, it doesn’t take much imagination to see how Kibi may have controlled much of the trade through the Inland Sea.

Furthermore, Kibi has long had a connection to mainland traditions, and had an early form of metalworking technology that was shared with Northern Kyushu.

Kibi is often described as a Kingdom, or Ou-koku, at least on par with that of Yamato, in the Nara Basin.  Often, people will point to the large Kofun that dot the Kibi plain as evidence of their power and importance, though that is the story throughout the Early to Late Kofun periods.  I find it significant that Inland Sea pottery is found among the assemblage at the Makimuku site in Yamato, and the early pottery that appears to have decorated Hashihaka Kofun appears to have borrowed heavily from a Kibi tradition of jar stands, which predated the use of haniwa. Clearly there was some sort of connection.

Now, going back to the Kojiki, Ohokibi tsu Hiko and Waka Hiko Take Kibi tsu Hiko started out their trek west by placing ceremonial jars before the Hi river in ancient Harima province, much as was done by Oho Hiko and Hiko Kunibuku before embarking against Take Haniyasu Hiko in Yamashiro—in fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if it is actually the same account of burying jars, just placed in different stories in the different chronicles.  Regardless, they place the jars at the Hi river, which was likely the ancient boundary of Yamato territory, assuming that they, like we still do today, often used natural features as boundary markers.

From Harima province they moved on into the land of Kibi and subdued the land there, and little else is said in the Chronicles, but there is a local legend in the area.  You see, Kibitsu Shrine, in Okayama, enshrines the spirit of Kibi tsu Hiko, and it tells the legend of how Kibi tsu Hiko came in with his forces and subdued a demon named Ura—or some sources say Unra or Onra—who lived in a hilltop fortress, known as Ki no jo: the demon’s fortress.  According to this legend, Kibi tsu Hiko had three companions with him on this journey—Inukai Takeru, Sasamori Hiko, and Tometama Omi.  Working together they were able to subdue Ura and bring peace to the land.

There are those who believe this story has an historical foundation.  Ura, the so-called “demon”, is said to have been a prince from the land of Kudara—also known as Baekje—on the Korean peninsula.  In later centuries there were many immigrants from the mainland, and Ura may have been the leader or at least a manifestation of a local group of Baekje immigrants.  We do know that Kibi had a reputation for their ironworking abilities, which may have come from mainland smiths coming over in the early days, and this story could reflect some conflict between the local immigrant population and a local prince or noble—some have suggested that this was possibly tied to the founding story of the state of Kibi.

This story of the “demon’s castle” and how Kibitsuhiko subdued it was later connected to a Korean-style hilltop fortress that had been built in the 7th century as part of the defenses against a Korean invasion that the archipelago believed would come after Baekje, Japan’s ally, fell to a Silla-Tang alliance with the naval battle of Hakusukinoe.  In Baekje, the word “Ki” was frequently used for fortress or castle, and it is thought that in Japan they transformed that into another “Ki”, meaning Oni or demon.  Thus Ki no Jo or Ki no Shiro could mean either the “Castle Castle” or, with the characters in use today, the Demon’s castle.

The hilltop fortress—which I’m sure we’ll revisit later in our story—has had some of the walls reconstructed, and you can go see it today.  However, we can also see that this moves much of this story to a later period, and leaving us to wonder just who were the original chieftains—or even sovereigns—of Kibi?

Oh, and one more thing: this whole little sidebar, as anachronistic as it clearly is, connects with one other story that you may have heard about, as it is rather famous—the famous folk story of Momotaro.  Now, what does a children’s story of a young boy, born from a magical peach, have to do with one of the ancient generals pacifying the land of Kibi?  Well, as you may recall, Momotaro heads out with his companions—a dog, a monkey, and a pheasant—and they eventually fight and subdue the Oni, or demons.

Though the Momotaro story doesn’t seem to have been written down until the Edo period, local tradition in the area of Okayama around Kibitsu shrine claims that Momotaro was modeled after local stories and memories of Kibitsu Hiko, and that the three companions, which he gained through gifts of kibi-dango, were based off of Kibitsu Hiko’s own companions:  Inukai, Sasamori, and Tometama.  Together they defeated the “Oni”, “Ura”, of the Demon’s Castle, Ki no Jo.

Now I won’t lie, there is a lot of speculation in here, and the timelines for all of this don’t line up in the slightest from any kind of historical point of view, but it is definitely one of those traditions that clings fast in the modern area of Okayama, and who am I to harsh their peach-boy vibes?  More, I just find it interesting the way that a few simple lines the chronicles are expanded through local tradition and over time, and eventually connected to a beloved children’s story.

We do know that Kibi was large and important during the Kofun period, and there are plenty of times where it seems that Yamato and Kibi may have had tense and perhaps even adversarial relationship with one another.  Who knows, had things gone differently perhaps we would be dealing with the royal line of Kibi instead of the line of Yamato.  But that isn’t what happened, and so here we are. 

The Four Generals had completed their pacification of the land and sent back their reports, and the year following, many tribes showed up to pay homage to the ruler of Yamato.  It seems that everything was well and truly at peace.  The Nihon Shoki puts it in typically continental terms, summarizing all Mimaki Iri-biko had accomplished:  He had set up proper worship of the gods of Heaven and Earth, he had pacified the quote-unquote “savage” tribes—by force if necessary—and he had seen to it that there was no unemployment, that there was universal education through the example of the sovereign, and the court was visited even by ambassadors from across the sea.  All of that can be lifted almost word for word from continental sources.  But it also goes on to mention that he was able to institute the first tax on the archipelago—a “bow-tax” for men and a “finger-tax” for women.  This would seem to indicate taxes in the form of game and animal products from men and crafts or fabric from women.

And for all of this, Mimaki Iri-biko is given a rather surprising title:  The August Founder of Yamato.  One might think that such a title would be more fitting for the first sovereign, Iware Biko, after all, but then again, Iware Biko is only really credited with the conquest of the Nara Basin—it is just presumed that he then ruled the archipelago.  Mimaki Iri-biko, on the other hand, clearly pacified the land and instituted the things that most of us would recognize as government.  And so it is that our tenth sovereign is known as the August Founder.

And this is also the reason that many believe that Mimaki Iri-biko is actually our first possibly historical sovereign.  The generations before may have actually been chieftains in the Yamato basin—perhaps even contemporaries of Mimaki Iri-biko, or possibly competitors.  Iware-biko, aka Jimmu, and his story clearly has indications that link it to the reign of Temmu.  Personally, I wonder if Mimaki Iri-biko’s story wasn’t more closely tied with Temmu’s brother, Tenchi, who had introduced a great number of reforms and truly set up a new form of government in the archipelago.  Regardless many believe this is where we truly should start looking for hints of historicity.

Of course, much of it still is questionable.  Was all this conquest and pacification and governmental improvements really accomplished in the reign of a single sovereign?  Furthermore, despite evidence of conflict during the Yayoi period—certainly much more than there was in the Jomon—I don’t believe we have yet uncovered anything that suggests the scale of conflict shown here.

So why, then, is it that from the late 3rd century we suddenly see round keyhole tombs start popping up across the areas of the Inland Sea and north Kyushu, as we mentioned before?  Was that really a sign of unity with the Yamato polity—a physical manifestation of their acquiescence to Yamato cultural norms and hierarchies?  Or was it competition?  Was this a sign of chieftains saying “see, we can build our own grand tombs, just like yours”.

Furthermore, if we look at the areas that the first three generals were said to have subdued from an archeological perspective, it seems that, with the exception of mentioning Izumo proper, these are the areas that appear to have shared the latest in metal-working technology at the beginning of the Kofun era, but they were also the areas that were least likely to follow suit with Yamato in the first wave of rounded keyhole tomb mounds.  What’s up with that? If these were closely allied with Yamato, or even a part of Yamato, why are their tombs so different? 

One interpretation of this could be that, despite what it says here in the chronicles, these areas were not actually part of Yamato’s dominion, and so all the talk of subjugation is simply a fiction of the later court to help justify their preeminent position in the isles.  I can’t help but wonder, though, if there is another significance—were these, perhaps, the original members of the federation of states that placed rulers like Himiko on the throne in Yamato?  If so, perhaps these areas and their leaders did not feel the same cultural pressures to conform, since they were already in an alliance and not in direct competition with the Yamato court.  Basically, what if they just had nothing to prove?  They had their own traditions that were good enough for them, and they didn’t have to adopt new cultural traditions, like a new shape of tomb, in order to prove their allegiance to the Yamato polity.  Perhaps that could explain why we first see the Round Keyhole tombs seem to spread into the Seto Inland Sea areas and down to Kyushu.

Now, it is commonly assumed that size and shape of the mounded tombs was significant and must have indicated rank and position in society.  Therefore, a corollary would seem to indicate that those who were building such tombs must have been part of the Yamato polity’s control—and, conversely, that those without such tombs must have been outside their control.  I would offer again the suggestion that this could well have been exactly opposite, at least in the early days of the mounded tomb culture.  Those areas that had already been allied with Yamato may not have seen a need, immediately, to copy them, especially if they were just one amongst many different parts of a federation.  After the Wei embassies, though, through which it seems clear that Yamato was able to acquire at least a significant amount of wealth, if not also some status and political cache, I would not be surprised if that is when other polities—perhaps  those groups that had much older ties to the mainland—started to perk up and pay attention.  They then were trying to either get in good with a new power broker or were setting themselves up as a rival—possibly both at the same time—and the adoption of things like the round keyhole tombs was part of this shift.

Given all this, let me lay out for you a story that follows my current thinking.  I warn you this is a tenuous story, but it may help with what we are seeing.  It isn’t great, however—there is still too much we don’t know, but I feel like we are getting better glimpses as we continue.

So back around the turn of the first millennium, we have information that there were many small polities—called states, but we may better refer to them as chiefdoms—in the archipelago.  They had access to the mainland through the Korean peninsula, and some of these groups had even enough sway to send embassies to the Han court and receive diplomatic gifts and recognition.  They had news about the rest of the world, and access to prestige goods of bronze and iron tools.  They even had access to metalworking technology, at least up through the Seto Inland Sea and just east of the land of Kibi or Harima, though they still needed to get the raw materials from their mainland suppliers.  These chieftains had set up relatively stable connections with one another, and I imagine that there were some common traits among the people in that corridor.

Then, with the collapse of the Han and turmoil on the continent, the trade routes that these chiefdoms relied upon for their tools and prestige items—and possibly much more—were cut off.  The only source of prestige goods—or at least the metal to make them—would have been other chiefdoms.  As ties broke down and people sought to maintain an old way of life, fighting and conflict could have broken out.  This may have led to some consolidation, but even more I suspect much of it may have been between the older and more advanced chiefdoms.  After all, if this really was triggered by a breakdown in the trade with the mainland, then where were the goods people were seeking but in those same chiefdoms?

As those older chiefdoms jockeyed for dominance, the trade routes probably became more perilous.  Izumo, on the Japan Sea side of Honshu, offers a path that would have side-stepped much of the unrest, and with the other chiefdoms fighting and expending resources against one another, perhaps Izumo and the various polities in its orbit—out to Kochi, as well as other areas down on the Kii peninsula and out to the modern Kantou region.  New trade and new contacts would bring new technologies, including new methods of working metal.  Perhaps these communities built themselves up through trade via the Japan Sea Coast and over to the mainland, such that by the 3rd century, there is an alliance of various communities, working together much as the early Kyushu communities had done.  Eventually, one of these, Yamato, came to preeminence.  Nestled in the southeast corner of a large basin, one might not immediately assume that its location was ideal, but it had rivers and flat lands to build plenty of rice paddies, and through the river deltas, plains, and mountain passes there were likely trade routes that carried goods from the Japan Sea coast and it was at the end of the Seto Inland Sea routes.

Leveraging their connections and allies, they sent a mission off to the Wei court, and came back with tremendous wealth.  They would later repeat this feat, and they not only had secured precious goods and cargo, but a special status, which may have even been recognized, however grudgingly, by other polities on the island.

Based on the goods that we find in various tombs, such as the mirrors, and the patterns of distribution, there is a strong suggestion that the model of the Wei court was mimicked in the islands, with leaders amassing wealth and goods and then distributing them to their followers, effectively buying the loyalty of those beneath them.  This process would repeat itself over and over again.  It wasn’t just the shape and construction of the tombs that was being transmitted, but even similar grave goods, making up what some might know as the “Initial Kofun Package”.  And if some of those grave goods were primarily available through Yamato, that may have been one of the levers that thye were able to pull to bring people together.

Now, for those already part of the trade network and alliance, there may have been very little that was considered especially novel about Yamato’s burial practices, but for those outside, access to these prestige goods and more may have been enticing, providing some impetus to conform.  Alliances might have beenformed through gifts and marriage politics, and outside groups would have felt pressure to mimic Yamato’s culture.

This was still a loose arrangement, though.  While the Chronicles talk of a “state” and act as if this is the Yamato state, fully formed under the leadership of a divine royal lineage, it was maybe more of an alliance or federation.  Over time, those bonds would grow stronger, tradition would gain the force of law, and administrative techniques would evolve—or just be imported—to control a growing territory that eventually expanded all the way to tip of Korean Peninsula.

For now, though, it was just in its nascent stages, and we have a few more items to pull out of the records and we can see what they tell us.

So after the land was pacified and Mimaki Iribiko was ruling the court, with his new system of government in place—signified in part by the levying of taxes—a new edict went out that ordered the building of ships.  Apparently much of the trade was conducted via overland routes, and the Wei Chronicles seem fairly certain on the point that there was nothing that they would consider a true road, and so ships were built so that the people who lived on the coast could trade more efficiently, and better and more quickly transport things from one place to another.  Of course, why they weren’t doing this anyway is anybody’s guess.  Certainly in a land like Japan, where the main island of Honshu is generally long and relatively thin, the waters would make for excellent highways.  Plus, due to the mountainous interior, most communities were on the plains and river deltas near to the water in some way shape or form.  So this may have been their equivalent of building roads, allowing faster transport and easier access.  Roads would come eventually, but given the mountain paths, travel across the water was no doubt much more efficient.  Still, I have to wonder how many people got the order and just nodded—did the local communities really need a royal edict to encourage them?

So with everything at peace, it was time for Mimaki Iribiko to take care of another important piece of dynastic statecraft—choosing a successor.

If you are listening to this in November, 2020, succession planning has been in the news—and I’m not talking about US Election, either.  On November 8th, Emperor Naruhito invested his brother, Fumihito, Prince Akishino, as Crown Prince and heir to the throne:  Akishino-no-miya Fumihito Shinnou.  This sets him up to officially inherit the throne after his brother.

Now I don’t want to get into the whole modern debate over the current laws in Japan and their requirement for patrilineal succession, but I will note that it is always a great chance to see some of that beautiful court garb.  Mmm-mmm…. I love me some of that sweet sokutai action. 

But as we’ve already seen, things weren’t quite as cut and dried back in ancient times.  Declaring a Crown Prince was an important ritual to actually declare a successor, because there wasn’t a tradition that the first-born would just take the throne.  Certainly, if a sovereign died without declaring an heir, there was tradition and precedent on how to proceed—and not everyone abided by the decision of the previous sovereign when it came down to it—but having a declared Crown Prince on hand certainly made things easier.

The only problem was, how to choose?  You see, Mimaki Iribiko had two qualified princes who could be chosen to succeed him—not to mention all of his daughters, but then, remember who is putting this together, so we just get two of the sons.  First up was Toyoki Iribiko, son of Toho tsu Ayume Ma-kuhashi Hime and brother to Toyosuki Iribime, the princess who had taken over the worship of Amaterasu Ohokami in Kasanuhi.  Then there was Ikume Iribiko, son of Mima tsu Hime.

Mimaki Iribiko asked both of the princes to sleep and then tell him about their dreams when they woke up.  Toyoki Iribiko had a dream where he ascended to the top of Mt. Miwa, turned to the east, where the sun rises.  Looking out over the eastern lands, he took up a spear, and moved it about in eight flourishes.  Then, he exchanged the spear for a sword, and likewise swung it through the air eight times.

Ikume Iribiko also had a dream, and just like his brother he hiked up to the top of Mt. Miwa, and from there he stretched out a cord to the four quarters.  This was supposedly to drive away the sparrows, which fed upon the grain of the harvest.

Mimaki Iribiko listened to each of their dreams and gave them careful consideration.  Finally, he made his decision.  Because Toyoki Iribiko had turned east, he was sent out to the eastern provinces to administer the land in the area we know as the Kantou, to include the border lands with the northeastern lands—the eventual home of the Emishi.  Indeed the lords of Keno, and of the later provinces split from it, Kamitsu Keno no Kuni and Shimotsu Keno no Kuni—the upper and lower Keno provinces—claimed descent from Toyoki Iribiko.  BTW, if you don’t recognize these names you may know them by their later pronunciations:  Kouzuke and Shimotsuke.  For reference this is the area of modern Gunma and Tochigi prefectures.

Now, was there really a Toyoki Iribiko and was he sent out to administer the east?  It is hard to say for certain, but I doubt it is as straightforward as we get here.  This could be a figure from the genealogical records of the eastern nobles, attempting to ride the royal coattails and boost their esteemed lineage.  That said, it isn’t out of character for Japan—throughout it’s history similar tactics have been used, with close relatives often being sent off to be a kind of deputy overseer in the east or elsewhere in the archipelago, allowing for a more local presence of the central government.  Of course, as we’ve alluded to, I’m not entirely sure we have what we would think of as a fully functioning government, just yet.

Speaking of the record, let’s get back to it.

So with Toyoki Iribiko headed off to the east it was Ikume Iribiko who was declared the Crown Prince.  I find it notable that while Toyoki’s dream featured weapons of war, Ikume’s dream was about agriculture and crops—perhaps a link back to the agricultural foundations of society ever since the development of the Yayoi culture?

Now one of the last episodes from the reign of Mimaki Iribiko has to do with Yamato’s connection to yet another region that we’ve spent some time on—and this time it is to the region of Izumo, home of Ohokuni Nushi himself.

So the story goes, Take Hiteru, aka Ame no Hinatori, had taken the Divine Treasures and stored them in Izumo since ancient times.  We aren’t sure exactly what these “divine treasures” were—theoretically the heavenly treasures that were provided to Ninigi and Nigi Hayahi had been gathered up and stored locally, so one would think the ones in Izumo must be something actually connected with that land of gathering clouds.  Some have suggested that it could be connected with all of the bronze items found buried on a hillside, though it really is unclear.

Mimaki Iribiko decided that he’d like to take a gander at these heavenly treasures, and he dispatched Mononobe Take Morozumi no Muraji to go and “bring them back” to the court—obviously implying that they had been sent out from the court in the first place.

Now at this time, the man in charge of the treasures at the grand shrine, Izumo no Ohoyashiro, was a man named Izumo no Furune.  He was charged, it seems, with protecting the treasures and making sure nothing happened to them.  He must have had other duties, however, because by the time Take Morozumi arrived, Furune had departed on a trip to Tsukushi—aka Northern Kyushu—leaving his younger brother, Ihi’irine, to mind the store—or the storehouse, in this case.

The impression I get, though nothing states it quite so explicitly, is that this may have been another case of brothers co-ruling, perhaps each with a different focus on the spiritual v. the secular, but that is just a hunch.

Now it seems that nobody, not even the ruler in Yamato, was supposed to just be given the treasures—if you wanted to come and commune with the holy relics you would need to actually travel to Izumo yourself.  After all, travel was dangerous, and the last thing anyone wanted to for the treasures to get lost anywhere.

And so you can imagine the shock on Furune’s face when he returned from his sojourn only to find that Ihi’irine had simply submitted to the royal decree from Yamato, ordering his younger brother, Umashi-kara-hisa, and his nephew, Uka-tsukunu, to travel with the treasures and keep them safe.  He was furious, but he decided to hide his anger, at least at first.  He appeared to put the whole thing behind him—after all, what’s done is done, right?  And how could his brother have known that not even the sovereign in Yamato should get to call in their sacred treasures.  Instead, he invited Ihi’irine out for a swim.  Together they headed out for a little family fun.

And so they swam and relaxed in the waters, and when they were finished, Furune was the first one out.  He grabbed his clothes, but as he did so, he grabbed his younger brother’s sword, girding it around him in apparent error.  No doubt an honest mistake—the swords may have looked quite similar to one another.  And so Ihi’irine thought nothing of it as he started to get dressed.  And as he did so, suddenly Furune attacked.  Fumbling around, Ihi’irine grabbed for his elder brother’s sword to defend himself, but as he tried to draw it out, it stuck.  In the last few moments before Furune struck, Ihi’irine must have realized what had happened.  His brother hadn’t brought a real sword, but just a piece of wood, carved to look like a sword and a sheath, but there was no blade.  This wasn’t a fight.  It was murder.

News of Ihi’irine’s death spread fast.  It reached the ears of Umashikara Hisa and Ukatsu Kunu, who were accompanying the treasures, and when they reached Yamato, they told Mimaki Iribiko and his court what had happened.  In turn, Mimaki turned to one of his generals, Kibi tsu Hiko, who took Take Nukawa Wake and, one assumes, a force of some size, and they marched forth to Izumo.

What exactly happened next is obscured in the Chronicles which really only tells us that Izumo no Omi—the ruling family of Izumo, of which Furune and Ihi’irine were a part and probably the leaders—desisted in the worship of the Great God.  I don’t think Furune just decided to stop worshipping the main god of their area, so something must have gone down, and we certainly don’t hear anymore about Furune in the record, so I think we can safely assume that the generals went up with a small army and they did what small armies usually do, and they must have been successful.

Still, they couldn’t leave the Great Shrine unattended forever.  And some time after all of this went down, the infant son of Hika Tohe, a chieftain in Higami, in the land of Tanba, had a dream about mo grass and a river stone—which apparently represented the two gods of Izumo—you know, Ohokuni Nushi and, well, the other one.  I’m honestly not sure which one that might be—they could even be talking about two other gods entirely, such as Takami Musubi and Kami Musubi.  Either way, the court decided to start worshipping the Izumo gods again, and, one assumes, they reinstated the Izumo no Omi as far as worship of the Izumo gods was concerned.

So once again we are left with the question:  just what does this mean and what is going on here?  It seems fairly clear that there was some kind of expedition against Izumo.  A part of me wonders if this doesn’t have a parallel in the mythical stories where the gods of Heaven came down to pacify Izumo and to ask for Ohokuni Nushi to hand over the land, though once again the connection is tenuous, at best.

Most importantly it seems to show that the gods of Izumo did hold some status, especially if they were in possession of Heavenly Treasures—though it may have been less impressive than all that.  It also shows an interventionist Yamato, willing to send out the troops when necessary.  It also implies, at least to me, that Yamato’s hold on power was not absolute.   This was really a web of agreements, which could be broken if good relationships and standard order and tradition were not enough.  This goes along with many archaeologists’ assertions that there is not enough evidence that Yamato was actually ruling the archipelago, even if they were acting in a manner that might be considered primer inter pares—first among equals.

It also emphasizes the importance of ritual activities.  What if many of the prestige goods were not simply items of prestige, but literal items of worship.  Requesting permission to call them to you whenever you want seems like a bold move and a power play—and not something that one would be able to do if there weren’t at least some relationship already in play.  Which all seems to speak, once again, to this idea of an alliance or loose federation of some sort—possibly just an intricate network of treaties and marriage alliances.

The Chronicles end with discussion of something that we probably find puzzling, today:  the creation of ponds.  Specifically the ponds of Yosami and Sakawori, which were specifically attributed to Mimaki Iribiko.

Now why would a pond be so important as to warrant mention in the chronicles?  Well, perhaps for the same reason that Ikume Iribiko was chosen as the Crown Prince:  Because above all else, this was still a society built on agriculture and agricultural ideals.  Ponds would have provided reservoirs during heavy rains that could contain some of the water and prevent flooding.  In dry seasons, they could be used to help irrigate the fields.  And of course, there is always the added bonus of stocking the ponds with fish and having a ready supply on hand.  Whatever the reason, it is clear that it was important to the people of the time.

Finally, the Chronicles—or at least the Nihon Shoki—closes out in classic continental fashion, describing how Mimaki Iribiko ruled all the land, and even received submission from lands across the sea—and they name some of the states on the Korean peninsula.  Of course, it would seem much too early to really be putting much stock in what was happening with the peninsula.  It is possible that the young state of Baekje may have opened relations, but it is more likely that this is primarily some kind of standard paean about how great and wonderful Yamato was and how, didn’t we tell you? We’re the best!

Of course, that isn’t to say that there was nobody on the continent who was part of the Yamato alliance—after all, there is plenty of evidence of Wa speaking peoples still on the peninsula at this time—particularly in the southeast, where both the Wei Chronicles and archaeology seems to suggest there was the greatest amount of cross-strait contact.

But we’ll talk about that later.  Next episode we’ll see if Ikume Iribiko can fill his dad’s shoes, and we should get a chance to see the formation of the Ise Shrine—at least as the Chronicles tell it.

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