This episode we go into some of the people and things around the court of Iware Biko, aka Jimmu Tennō.  We'll talk about his queen, Hime Tatara Isuzu Hime, as well as some of the members of his court, including Umashimaji--that son of the other Heavenly Descendant, Nigi Hayahi.

We'll also talk a little bit about what the kofun tell us about what early kingship may have actually looked like at this time.  Of course, then there is Jimmu's own kofun--or at least the kofun identified as Jimmu's.

For more go to: https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-26

Rough Transcript

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua, and this is Episode 26:  The Court at Kashiwara .

So here we are: when we last left off, according to the Chronicles, Iware Biko, also known as Sano or Sanu, among other names, and later known as Jimmu Tennou, had marched from Kyushu onto the Nara Basin, where he and his army had defeated those who opposed him, and he had set up his palace at Kashiwara, at the foot of Mt. Unebi. Tradition places this at the site of Kashiwara Jingu—Kashiwara Shrine—at the southeastern foot of the mountain.  Meanwhile, the tomb attributed to Iware Biko sits due north—the Unebi Goryo—and we’ll talk a bit more about that later in this episode.

First off, this is going to be somewhat of a disconnected episode.  I want to cover some of the characters and situations around Iware Biko and take a look at the supposed court of this first sovereign.  This includes some stories that we didn’t really get into earlier, including the fantastical birth of his queen.  We will also cover a few other topics, including a look at what the early kofun tell us about the actual form of kingship during what we might consider the historical formation of Yamato—something for us to consider as we read through the rest of these Chronicles.  We’ll top it off with a discussion of the tomb that is claimed as Iware Biko’s final resting place.

To get started, though, let’s talk about Iware Biko’s latest significant other:  Himetatara Isuzu Hime.  The woman who would be his wife—despite any previous assignations back in Himuka—and  who would give birth to the next generation of sovereigns.  But  our story doesn’t start right after Iware Biko’s ascension to the throne—it actually goes back a little further, to her birth and is a little confused between the sources.  The first sovereign didn’t just find a wife—and then Queen—from any old background.  Who better for the sovereign’s first queen than the daughter of a god?  That’s right, Hime Tatara Isuzu Hime was no ordinary woman, but she was the son of a deity—one which we have already seen, though, which one is still at issue.

In the Nihon Shoki, as well as the Kujiki, the story features Kotoshiro Nushi, who was the son of Ohonamuchi.  He was the one who jumped off the boat after telling his father that they should submit to the will of Heaven, disappearing into an enclosure on the sea.  Well, the story has it that he transformed into a sea monster—specifically a kuma-wani, or Bear Sea Monster, though what this could be referring to is anyone’s guess.  John Bentley suggests that it simply meant a very large shark, but I like the idea of some kind of shark-bear hybrid, myself.

Anyway, apparently Himetatara Isuzu Hime’s mother, the daughter of Mishima no Mizokuhi had something of a bestial streak, because she and the shark-bear that was Kotoshiro Nushi somehow got it on, if you know what I mean, and produced two children, a boy and a girl.  The boy was Ame Hikata Kushi Hikata, and he served in the court of Iware Biko in the Kashiwara Palace, while Himetatara Isuzu Hime ended up married to the sovereign—not bad for the wife of a giant ocean bear, you know?

On the other hand, there is another story in the Kojiki.  In this one, the daughter of Mishima no Mizokuhi is referred to as Seya Tatara Hime.  She had been noticed by the god Ohomononushi of Miwa, and like Zeus gazing down on, well, just about anything, he became infatuated.  And so he did what anyone would do.  He took the form of a handsome young man, strolled down the mountain, and introduced himself.

Oh, wait, sorry.  Wrong story.  Right, instead of that, he transformed himself into a red painted arrow, waited until she was out in the fields relieving herself, and struck her in the genitals.  Because what exactly *is* consent, anyways?

Seya Tatara Hime had no idea what was going on.  She jumped up, looked around, and must have seen nobody, except for the offending arrow.  So she grabbed it and ran back home.  Once safely back in her own domicile, she placed the arrow near her bed, and it was at *that* point that Ohomononushi decided to take the form of a lovely young man.

The Chronicles only point out that the two than lay together—specifically that Ohomononushi took the maiden to wife—and that from that union was born a child.  She was named Hoto Tatara Isusuki Hime no Mikoto, which apparently referred to the whole incident in the fields and the arrow and… yeah.  Even the Chroniclers thought this was a bit much, which is why her name was changed to Hime Tatara Isukeyori Hime, or even just Iseukeyori Hime.

Obviously, these are both fantastical myths, but let’s take a look at what they tell us, nonetheless.

First, let’s take a look at the name:  Hime Tatara Isuzu Hime, or Hime Tatara Isukeyori Hime.  Isuzu and Isukeyori both have a similar root, and we could attribute their differences to the way they were handed down.  Isuzu uses the kanji for “50 bells”, but I don’t know if that had anything to do with the meaning.  Typically the Nihon Shoki is considered to be more trustworthy on this, and I personally wonder if the Kojiki isn’t mixing up some details with a later story—but we’ll get to that in time.

So both use the format Hime Tatara Isu-something Hime.  In both cases, it does appear that both the first and last “Hime” have the same meaning of “woman of the sun” or, more commonly translated as “princess”.  This seems to be not dissimilar from the construction we find with others, like Hiko Hohodemi.  Typically in Japanese names we expect the title to come later.  Such as Jimmu Tenno, Amaterasu Ohokami, Nagasune Biko, etc.  However, there does seem to be this common format earlier.  I haven’t seen an explanation on it, but it may have something to do with the mythical nature of these early stories.

As for the the “Tatara”, I’m not entirely sure where this comes from, but it is interesting that it shows up in both ….

Beyond that, though, there are the connections with Kotoshiro Nushi and his father, Ohomono Nushi.  So it provides the line of Iware Biko a connection to the Miwa cult—Ohomono Nushi being the deity of Mt. Miwa, and Kotoshiro Nushi being one of the eight deities charged with protecting the Yamato court. 

Beyond that, elements of the story may speak to the image of the shamaness in the ancient days:  Along with other stories we’ll encounter in the narrative, the idea that a female shaman would be “married” to the deity she worships seems not too far-fetched.  This interpretation would seem to suggest that the shaman would “consult” with the deity in privacy, but still, I’m unclear on just what this would mean.  Nonetheless, the idea that there was a special relationship between a shaman and their deity hardly seems unique to Japan, and there seem to be numerous stories surrounding Miwa of the deity basically seducing women and sleeping with them.

Of course, as for that Shark-bear things with Kotoshiro Nushi, I’m not sure what to say.  Other than sounding like the latest SyFy movie idea, I don’t know if we have anything else that explains it.  I mean, Japan *is* an island nation, and so stories with a connection to the sea are hardly surprising, and if we compare the story of Kotoshiro Nushi jumping off the boat into an enclosure on the water with one of Iware Biko’s brothers stepping off into the sea when they were stopped by the heavy seas, there are some parallels as in both cases they seem to have become sea monsters, or wani, of some kind, so perhaps there is some kind of basic story element there, but in this case there isn’t as direct a connection between the two events.

Whatever other purposes there may be in her story, the main role for Isuzu Hime appears to be to produce the next line of descendants of the Heavenly Grandchild, providing them even more connections to various divine lineages through her descent from the deity of Mt. Miwa—which also connects back through Susanowo and that whole Izumo Cycle—and also providing a local connection to the Yamato region, since Iware Biko was, after all, an outsider to the region.  This will become relevant to the next part of our story, since we now have two lineages—one through Iware Biko and Isuzu Hime and the other through Ahira tsu Hime —the wife he had taken back in Himuka.

Isuzu Hime’s children number either two or three depending on the chronicle.  They are:

•              Kamu Nunakawa Mimi no Mikoto

•              Hiko Yai Mimi or Hiko Yai no Mikoto

•              And then we also find Kamu (or Kami) Yai Mimi no Mikoto

Given that the later two are both “Yai”—or perhaps more properly “Yawi”—I suspect that the Kojiki, which is the only one where it explicitly mentions three children, may have just confused different names for the same individual and parsed them as separate.

I find one name in particular interesting here and that is the name of our future successor to the Yamato throne—Kamu Nunakawa Mimi no Mikoto.  As you may recall, one of the princesses that Ohonamuchi had taken to wife was named Nunakawa Hime, and she was supposedly up in Koshi, somewhere along the Japan sea coast.  In fact, there are quite a few things related to a Nunakawa Hime and Nunakawa in general up in the area of Itoigawa, apparently.  So if Nunakawa was relating to a place, and we assume that Mimi is also some kind of title, then this would seem to reference a Nunakawa Mimi as son of Iware Biko, and that certainly strikes me as odd.  Perhaps as we continue we’ll see some reasoning or explanation—I have some thoughts but I think I’ll wait on those for now—wait at least until we start to move on to the next sovereign and their court.  For now, though, let’s look at another important member of this court:  our old friend, Umashimaji.

Just to recap, Umashimaji is supposed to be the son of Nigi Hayahi, that Divine Descendant who came down from the Heavenly Plain before Ninigi, lived out his life in the Yamato plain, and died before Iware Biko and his brothers decided to march east from Kyushu.  Umashimaji was supposedly already sitting on the throne, supported by his uncle, Nagasune Biko, who seems to have been acting as his proxy, at least in war, since it is Nagasune Biko that we see leading the armies, negotiating with Iware Biko, etc.  In fact, Umashimaji only really shows up late in the game, at least in most of the narratives, and his right to the throne isn’t even truly touched on—yes, he is descended from the lineages of both Amaterasu Ohokami and Takami Musubi, but where that is mentioned he fairly quickly gives up any claim to the throne by submitting to his cousin-twice-removed, Iware Biko.

Now one would think, that given the purpose of the Chronicles, this would be a good place for Umashimaji to exit the stage.  Otherwise, one could foresee some uncomfortable questions being brought to light.  And predictably that is what we find in the Nihon Shoki and the Kojiki, which are arguably the official court narratives of events.  Umashimaji is not important to the royal line, so he’s dropped for more interesting topics.  It is only in the Kujiki where we get a rather detailed account of Umashimaji’s role in the court.  In fact, he doesn’t just play a role, but according to the Kujiki you would think he was the most important courtier in the new Kashiwara Palace.  Of course, remember our source’s bias—while the Kojiki and Nihon Shoki were commissioned by the court, the author of the Kujiki seems to have had another goal.  They were clearly paying lip service to the official narrative, but it seems as though they also had the actual goal of raising up the Mononobe—and possibly the Ohowari—families.  So it was in their best interest to tell the story of their ancestor, Umashimaji, and build up his importance in the early court as much as they could short of replacing the royal ancestor with their own.

In consequence, the author of the Kujiki actually does more to fill out our understanding of the reign of the first sovereign.  Where the other chronicles mainly tell us what Iware Biko did—he set up his palace at Kashiwara, elevated Isuzu Hime to be his consort, and set up the main rituals that would be used by the court at least until the 7th and 8th centuries—in the Kujiki we get a more detailed glimpse of much of this.

To start with, we learn that Umashimaji presented his heavenly precious symbols to Iware Biko and erected the “shield of the gods”, who were then worshipped.  With this we see Umashimaji giving over, in no uncertain terms, any claim to the throne.  It also appears that they took the sword that had been sent down, Futsu Nushi, and went around spearing the ground here and there in Imaki, south of Kashiwara.  I suspect this had something to do with subduing the land and possibly preparing the area for Iware Biko’s palace, but I am unsure what else it might realistically signify.  Next it seems they are worshipping the Great Deity in the palace and enshrining and worshiping the Heavenly precious symbols to help pacify the spirit of the sovereign—the Great King.  We’ve already touched somewhat on soul pacification, and it seems that this ceremony was considered particularly important for the sovereign.

And then we get a detail about Umashimaji being the first courtier to be given the exalted title of “Sukune”.  This comes about, as do so many things in these early chronicles, with a dash of false etymology, as the claim is made that the title was developed because Umashimaji was allowed to sleep (“Ne”) in the inner palace.  Bentley notes that it seems more likely that this title came from the Korean peninsula, as there is a Middle Korean and Mongolian root word that means “Few”, which may have been its original intended meaning—basically denoting the few people in the upper echelons of the court.  Whatever it’s true derivation, it is clear that the authors of the Kujiki are signifying that Umashimaji was an important person in the early court, and that access to the inner palace was an honor only granted to a few.  This mirrors Chinese continental practice, where there were often various areas of the palace, and the further “in” one went the greater one’s rank needed to be.  In the later Heian court there would literally be a difference between those who could be up on the veranda of the palace buildings versus those who had to remain on the ground, outside.  Rank thus granted greater access to the sovereign and, by extension, greater influence and access to rewards for oneself and their family.

Of course, given the nature of this narrative it is hard to say when such customs truly came about.  While the Chinese scribes note that there was a clear division between Himiko and the public at large, it is unclear just how fine-grained such access was—assuming that the information was transmitted back to the continent accurately in the first place.

The Kujiki  doesn’t focus solely on Umashimaji, of course, and it does mention ancestors of some of the other notables at court as well.  They discuss setting a Mirror that was presented and bestowed by the people of the Imbe, let by Ame no Tomi, a son of Takami Musubi.  This mirror was installed in the Seiden, or State Chamber, of the palace, which is where ceremonies were held.  According to tradition, this mirror that was bestowed by the Imbe was the same one that was moved to Ise during the reign of Suinin.  The Imbe were, as I’ve mentioned in the past, were ritualists, originally focused, it would seem, on divination and maintaining knowledge of various taboos, etc.

Their rivals at court, the Nakatomi, were also mentioned.  In this case it is Ame no Taneko, son of Ame no Koyane and one of the ancestors of the Nakatomi family.  Taneko is said to have recited the “Ancient Things from the Age of the Gods” and the “Prayers to the Heavenly Deities”.  This certainly appears to reference a tradition of reciting some kind of oral history—perhaps in the same vein as the tradition that was eventually captured by O no Yasumaru as the Kojiki.  In addition, the prayers to the Heavenly Deities would seem to indicate the norito, the prayers that are still recited in the modern Shinto faith.

The importance of the familial nature of these groups and their roles cannot be overstated.  It would have been expected that oral tradition regarding the precise words and rituals would have been handed down within each family, and these would have been closely guarded.  This would have meant that conducting the rituals properly would require members of these families, guaranteeing their positions in the court.  It was because of the belief in the efficacy and necessity of these rituals for the smooth governance of the state as well as the families’ monopoly on their specialized knowledge that the families would stay in power.  In fact, this argument over who conducts which rituals would continue into the Heian period, and would be at the heart of one of our other early sources, the Kogo Shui.

Beyond the rituals of the Imbe and Nakatomi, there were also the rituals of the Mononobe.  Entrusted to guard the sovereigns and their palace, there were actually two groups—the “inner” and “outer” Mononobe.  As part of the early consolidation of rituals, Umashimaji is said to have led the Inner Mononobe on a solemn ceremony to erect the shield and spear.  Whether this was some metaphor for how they were setting up around the palace or part of their normal duties, I am not entirely sure, but it sounds about right given their position.

And the Mononobe weren’t the only ones conducting rituals of a more martial nature.  Michi no Omi is said to have led the Kumebe—others might just call it the Army—through the interior of the palace with their weapons, opening and closing them to protect the palace gate.

So let me take a moment here to address something—why are we spending all this time talking about ritual?  What does that have to do with our story?  And does it really matter what rituals were happening if this was all mythical before-times, anyway?

Well, it is important to realize the functions of government—at least by the time that this was being written down and quite likely well before then—were as much about ritual as they were about administration.  In today’s modern world, filled with numerous modern bureaucracies, we are familiar with the idea that government is about making and executing the laws of the land, and overseeing the administration of the resources under their purview.  Certainly there are some rituals, such as the swearing in of new state officials, but by and large these are built around a legal framework that legitimizes the officers in their positions and grants them authority to otherwise do their work.

For much of Japan’s history, however, the rituals appeasing the kami—or the later Buddhist rituals of state—were considered just as important, if not more so, for the smooth running of the government.  Just as Iware Biko decided to blame the direction he was attacking for his failure to succeed against Nagasune Biko at their clash near Kusaka, a disaster for the country—be it rebellion, plague, famine, or any number of disasters, natural or manmade—could just as easily be blamed on the failure of the state to conduct the proper rituals, rather than any sort of administrative failure.

That doesn’t mean that there weren’t also the other aspects of administration and executive power in the court, but much of the politics, intrigue, and movement within the courts can often be described around these various ritual events, which were often tied to particular times of the year, particular families and participants, etc., and rooted in appeals to antiquity.

I have little doubt that the rituals mentioned in this section of the Kujiki would have sounded familiar to the work’s intended audience, and may even have been more directly connected with rituals being practiced at the time, or at least in recent enough memory to be recognizable to the men and women of the court.  Unfortunately, today, it takes a deeper understanding than we will want to get into now to try to trace all of these and figure out when everything happened—and besides, we will hear more about the various groups and rituals again in the chronicles, have no fear.  So consider this a foundation on which to build as we continue our journey.

Now there are a few rituals noted with specific dates.  The New Year ritual—which probably would have been closer to late January or February in the old Japanese lunar calendar—is not explicitly described, but the participants are.  The entry states that the Princes and courtiers led the Omi, Muraji, Tomo no Miyatsuko,  and Kuni no Miyatsuko into the palace for the New Year’s festival.  The important thing, here, is that these are all ranks in the old court, and they are given in relative order.  After the sovereign were the princes—members of the royal household.  In Iware Biko’s time, one assumes that these were his direct descendants, though I suppose there could have been princes through his various brothers.  Later in the Nihon Shoki we are told that at least his son, Prince Tagishi Mimi, was helping to run the government, though the specific language used in the Chronicle does raise questions of his legitimacy.  Whether there were other “princes” at this point is unclear—Japanese isn’t always clear between the singular and plural, after all.

Later this princely title would apply just about any male figure descended from a royal lineage, even if they were no longer directly in the line of succession.  That system would eventually become unwieldy, but for now, that was a problem for a future court.

Next it mentions the courtiers, who I assume refer to the specific individuals, who wielded power.  This may have referred to men like Umashimaji no Sukune, but I’m not truly sure.  The next two, however, the Omi and the Muraji, are kabane—ranks provided not necessarily to individuals but to entire families, like the Imbe and the Nakatomi.  The Kabane system really deserves its own treatment, and I’ll dive into it at some later date.  For now just realize that rank was based on your family and not strictly through the works of the individual.  This is an important distinction from the Chinese court, where rank was supposed to be based on one’s merit, as determined by various government tests.  This would be a constant source of tension and conflict between the native traditions of Yamato and the continental concepts of government that they would attempt to institute over the years.

After the Omi and the Muraji were the Tomo no Miyatsuko and the Kuni no Miyatsuko.  The Tomo no Miyatsuko referred to those were in charge of government administration and the Kuni no Miyatsuko were in charge of the provinces or “kuni”—often translated as provincial governors or chieftains. 

These are terms we’ll see again and again in the Chronicles, and so it is good to have a general idea of what they were in reference to, even though in many cases they are anachronistic to the times.  For instance, I highly doubt that this system was fully formed to this extent during the reign of Himiko in the mid-3rd century.  In fact, it is highly doubtful that Yamato actually held as much control or sway as the Chronicles would have us believe until much later—something we see even in the language used in the Wei Chronicles, as well as other telltale signs.

But back to Umashimaji and the rituals.

So it is recorded that on the 15th day of the 11th month of the first year of Iware Biko’s reign that Umashimaji first performed services for the precious Heavenly symbols, presenting them, interestingly enough, on behalf of the Queen, Hime Tatatara Isuzu Hime.  He also pacified the spirits of the deities, which may be in reference to the “Festival of Appeasement of the Spirit”. 

Then, in the second month of the following year, Iware Biko granted the sword that had pacified the land, Futsu Nushi no Mitama, to Umashimaji for all of his support and loyalty.  This sword was presumably stored at Isonokami Shrine, the chief shrine of the ujigami of Umashimaji’s descendants, the Mononobe, for whom this sword is said to have been a particular cultic item, with various names by which it was known.

And with such trust, Umashimaji and others, including Hime Tatara Isuzu Hime’s brother, Ame no Hikata Kushikata, the ancestor of the Ohomiwa family, whom one could guess was closely tied to the cult of Mt. Miwa—well together they performed services and were made officials over the administration of the government.

Eventually Umashimaji would get married and have two sons.  One of them, Kisaki, would rise to his father’s title of Sukune during the reign of the next sovereign, and the Kujiki then chronicles a lineage that goes all the way to the time of Temmu.

So that’s the story of Umashimaji and the early court at Kashiwara.  Again, fictional, but giving us some insight into how the Chroniclers envisioned courts to be, which at least gives us some point of reference by which to interpret what else we are seeing in the stories.

But of course, we don’t want to only use the Chroniclers’ take on things.  After all, we already know that they seem to have completely left out or downplayed the story of Himiko—not to suggest that Himiko herself was the founder of the Yamato state, either, though her position right at the cusp of the Yayoi and Kofun periods certainly suggest that she existed during a time of significant cultural change on the archipelago. Regardless, her absence in the Chronicles, which clearly had access to the Wei Chronicles for reference, remains a subject of scholarly discussion even today.

Rather than taking a look at simply what was said about the court in the Chronicles—which was being interpreted through the lens of government as it existed in the time it was being compiled—let’s take a look at the archaeological evidence for what early kingship may have looked like.  We have talked somewhat about about the Yayoi period and the rise of the elites, and we’ve mentioned the elite tombs and eventually the large kofun—specifically the keyhole shaped kofun that seem to be so peculiar to the Yamato state.

But even in that keyhole shape, there were variations.  In fact, in the Nara basin there actually appear to be at least two separate lines of mounded kofun, each with specific details, but overlapping each other chronologically.  Basically, there were two different styles of building these keyhole kofun that appear to have been going on at the same time, in the same area—what we believe to be the sovereigns of Yamato.

In 2013, UrbanScope, an e-journal published by Osaka City University, included a paper by Kishimoto Naofumi, then Associate Professor at the Department of Japanese History.  In it, Kishimoto makes the argument that there was actually a system of dual kingship.  This is not an entirely new theory as we’ve mentioned before—there are plenty of theories that describe a gendered division of labor between male and female rulers.  These generally propose that women held positions that were largely focused on the sacred, while their male counterpart would focus on the secular administration of the state.  This theory helps to conveniently legitimize the position of Himiko as a sacred ruler while at the same time suggesting that it was her brother who held actual, secular power.  This would then allow historians to match what they see about Himiko with the line of strictly male rulers—with the occasional female regent—found in Chronicles.  It would also explain why, when Iware Biko needed a chief ritualist for his own rituals, the title given was feminine, Izu Hime, even though the role was filled by a presumably masculine individual.

And then there are the number of women who have liaisons with various kami, particularly the kami of Mt. Miwa, Ohomono Nushi, and it is easy to see in that a tradition of female shamans—perhaps even female shaman rulers that were later reduced due to a patriarchal view of the line of succession.  Of course, many of those stories are far from what one would call historical.

Off the top of my head I see several problems with this gendered approach to a dual kingship model.  First off, if Himiko had not held actual power, would the Chinese chronicles have suggested that she did?  After all, it is clear that embassies went both ways, and one presumes that the Chinese interacting with the early Wa were able to tell who they were actually dealing with.  In fact, if anything, one would assume that their patriarchal world view would have inclined them towards assuming that a man was in charge unless they had evidence to the contrary.  Of course, it could have been that it was seen as yet another dig at the Wa, or perhaps it was building upon their already exotic nature for them to be ruled over by a woman.

But then when you see before and after Himiko there are men who apparently inhabit her position—or one very similar to it.  It wouldn’t make sense for the Chinese court to constantly be flipping back and forth between a male secular King and a female shaman King the way they do unless you assume they really didn’t know what was going on.

And then I would note, even in the mythical account of Iware Biko, the number of “Elder/Younger” chieftains that are generally assumed to be brothers, which is to say that they were both male.  So if the Chroniclers had some idea that there was any kind of male/female split in the power structure it certainly isn’t clear from the stories.  It is, of course, always possible that these stories came from a later, more patriarchal, period, when the idea of a gendered ruling pair was no longer as prevalent, but two male co-rulers was considered more likely.

Regardless, Kishimoto points out that there is nothing in the archaeology to clearly suggest a split along gendered lines, but there is certainly evidence to suggest difference in function.  For instance, in terms of grave goods, there are those burials where there may be ritual items like stone bracelets, but there were relatively few or no weapons or armor, while a separate burial in the same tomb may have numerous weapons and armor.  Early on, we may have assumed that bracelets meant a female was buried there and weapons mean that the occupant must be a man.  However, this is a dangerous assumption to make, as it presupposes modern concepts of gendered societal roles on the people of the past.  One need only look to Europe and the various Viking age burials to see how these assumptions can lead us down the wrong path.

If you haven’t heard about this, I’ll go over it quickly.  Essentially, in many early Viking age burials, it was assumed that if weapons and shields and similar things were found, then the occupant of a grave must be male, while if the grave goods were related to the home, then the occupant must be female.  This was the case even when skeletal remains may have suggested otherwise.  This assumption continued, despite references in the old sagas to Shield Maidens—female warriors who fought alongside the men.  That was generally considered to be a fantastical element of the sagas, and many kept to their gendered assumptions.  More recently, though, DNA testing has shown that those assumptions are not necessarily correct, and there are some graves that are being reconsidered.  It may simply have been that the items were more about a person’s place in society, but not necessarily their gender.

Similarly we do not have anything that explicitly states that burials with weapons and armor belong to men and that those without belong to women.  That could be the case, but there is not enough evidence to substantiate the assumption that there is a gendered difference, but there does appear to be a functional one—with one sovereign maintaining a ritual authority and another maintaining secular and military authorities.  It could be that it is a male sovereign with ritual authority, and it is equally possible that there could have been women with military authority—certainly some of the stories seem to indicate that women could certainly wield such power and lead their troops into battle, and even Amaterasu Ohokami dons armor and weapons when she believes that her brother, Susanowo, is coming to take the Plain of Heaven.

Now these dual lines appear to show up almost immediately with the start of the kofun period, around the time of or immediately after the death of Himiko.  Assuming that Hashihaka Kofun is, indeed, the  tomb of Queen Himiko, then Kishimoto suggests that Nishitonozuka would have belonged to Toyo, and then Andon’yama may be the tomb of the sovereign known posthumously as Sujin Tenno.  If that is the case, it would suggest that there is a main line of sacred kings, and at the same time there are concurrent tombs found that would appear to be associated with a more politico-military function.  These may have been the tombs of their co-sovereigns.

This general pattern exists in several tomb groups from about the mid-3rd century up until about the 5th century.  There may have been times where one line or the other was pre-eminent in the politics of the day, but overall some sort of shared power structure seems to have continued to exist until the line of sacral kings appears to have fully eclipsed—and possibly even overthrew, their secular co-rulers.

Of course, there is still a lot of conjecture in here that we need to get through.  Kishimoto identifies certain kofun with particular rulers, from Sunin onward, applying a correction to the dating given in the chronicles, matching it up with later Chinese chronicles, and using various clues to help date the kofun themselves—though that is not always easy depending on what features remain and how much investigation that the government—in particular the Imperial Household Agency—is willing to allow.

But what does all this mean for Iware Biko?  We’ve said that he is fictional, but Chronicles do identify a tomb for him:  The Unebi Goryo.

So a bit about the Unebi Goryo—the supposed tomb or mausoleum of Iware Biko, aka Jimmu Tenno.  A Goryo, or Misasagi, is considered to be an imperial mausoleum, designated as such by the Imperial Household Agency of Japan, and it refers to any structure believed to be the tomb of one of the sovereigns or their consorts over the years.  While many are kofun they can be any sort of tomb, mausoleum, or other burial, as far as I can tell.  As for Jimmu’s Goryou, it was, for a time, “lost”—which may seem odd.  After all, how do you “lose” a giant earthen mound?  Well, frankly, it isn’t as difficult as one might think.  There are many tombs that over time lost their distinctive features, were overgrown with trees and other growth, and people just assumed that they were hills.  Some were known to be manmade, with common names like “Tsukuriyama” indicating that it was a hill that had been purposely built, but many tombs across Japan completely lost any connection with who is actually in them, if they were remembered as tombs at all.

And so whatever tomb was determined to be Jimmu’s in the 7th century, it seems that be some time in Japan’s medieval period the precise determination was lost.  At one time the tomb slightly northeast of the current Unebi Goryou was determined to be the tomb of Jimmu, but later they decided that the sources more clearly pointed to its current location.

The Chronicles tell us that Jimmu’s tomb is on “Kashino’o”, north of Mt. Unebi.  Supposedly Prince Ohoama—aka Temmu—had a vision during his rebellion, the Jinshin War, where Kotoshironushi and Takamimusubi came down to tell him to dedicate horses and weapons to the tomb of Jimmu to ensure that he could raise troops, and it is thought that later he had a temple built for the tomb, called Okuboji.  In the Heian period another temple, Kokugenji, was built in the area related to Jimmu’s tomb, but by Japan’s medieval period the whereabouts were apparently unknown.  Temples were destroyed or moved, the tomb became overgrown, and no doubt the fighting of the Warring States period didn’t help much.

In the early Edo period there was renewed interest in history, including finding the tombs of Jimmu and other important sovereigns.  The Shogunate initiated a public works effort to identify and the tomb of Jimmu and enhance it, basically as a public relations campaign to strengthen their own position.  Again, in the late 17th century, the Shogunate also instigated a project to investigate the tombs of the various sovereigns and carry out necessary repairs, including the tomb of Jimmu.

In 1863, only five years before the end of the Tokugawa period, it was determined that the government had been mistaken.  The tomb that they had identified in the early Edo period as the tomb of Jimmu was actually the tomb of his successor, Suizei.  It was, they said, too far from the mountain, and on a flat plain, while the tomb of Jimmu was supposed to be on a hill.  Since there are plenty of tombs—let alone tombs on hills—in the area, they had their pick of which they thought it could be.  Several seemed to fit the bill, but they settled on the current site, also known as Shijou-Misanzai, and the shogunate spent 15,000 Ryo—which seems to be at least $600,00 0.00 in modern US currency—possibly much more—on fixing it up.  They also restored many of the other tombs as well.

Later, in the following Meiji Period, this tomb became an even greater site of veneration, with visits by the sovereign to the grave of his great ancestor.  They set up Kashiwara Shrine at the site of what they believed to be his ancient palace, and so continued to build up—literally—this mythical figure.  It was somewhere in the Edo or Meiji period that it seems the tomb took much of its present shape.  Originally it was probably just a plain round tomb, but it seems that at some point they tried to “repair” it back to a keyhole tomb shape.

Who is actually buried there at Unebi Goryo, we may never know.  The site belongs to the Imperial Household and they have been extremely reluctant to allow anyone to examine the contents of those tombs designated as belonging to the ancient sovereigns.  Was this really the tomb of someone named Iware Biko, and were they really connected to the early rulers of Yamato?  We may never know.

As for the palace that he is said to have occupied?  Well, today the claim is that it was at the site of Kashiwara Jingu, but if there is any archaeological trace of a palace in this location, I have yet to see anything about it.  Certainly it is within the confines of what would eventually become Fujiwara-kyo, the first Chinese style capital, initiated by the later sovereign, Temmu, and perhaps it was entirely obscured.  However, I suspect that the location is based on the Chronicles’ account, and little else.  The shrine itself was erected in the late 19th century, and while it enshrines both Jimmu and his consort, Hime Tatara Isuzu Hime, it can hardly said to be an ancient shrine.

And with that, I think we’ll leave it there for the time being.  Sorry  if this has been a bit all over the place, but there were several points I wanted to make sure we touch on before going forward. 

Next episode we’re going to take a look at the continuation of the royal line according to the Chronicles, from Jimmu up until Suinin.  This may seem like a lot, but you know, most of these sovereigns are considered to be fictional.  Either that or perhaps they were famous chieftains, but not actual sovereigns.  Their placement in the lineage may have been for no other reason than to provide a greater demonstration of antiquity, but who knows for sure.  I’ll try to give each one his due, but some of these entries are actually quite short, so we may throw some of them together in a batch, particularly if we don’t have any reason to believe they were actually historical figures.  I really want us to get to Sunin, where we have at least a hint of some historical truth, but there is still some good stuff in here, so we’ll mine if for what we can in the meantime.ō

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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.