Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan

Another episode, another new reign--same old problems.  This episode we talk about what happened after Ohoama, aka Temmu Tenno, passed away.  We'll touch on the fact that it wasn't entirely a smooth transition, and there are certainly hints that not everyone was in agreement as to what should happen.  And then there were other problems, such that the heir apparent never actually took the throne.  So what happened?
For more information on the main characters in this episode, check out the blogpost at https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-147 
(Also apologies ahead of time--my voice was not in great shape, and that may come through on the audio)
Rough Transcript
Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua, and this is episode 147: Here We Go Again
 
Iki no Hakatoko looked around the spacious room and recognized many of the faces he saw there.  There were various nobles from around the court present.  All of them were familiar, even if they were not the closest of acquaintances—they ran in similar circles and were connected to each other over various political positions.  Some were connected by marriage, some were just allies, and others were almost rivals—but they were all there for a common cause.
The open chamber had been buzzing as all of those elites of Yamato talked about why they might have gathered.  Of course, the big news was the death of the sovereign.  Ohoama had passed away, and the court was formally in mourning. And yet the government seemed stable.    The Queen was at the helm, guiding t he government, and her son was beside her as the Crown Prince.  So what was everyone doing here, gathering for what they could only assume were… other options?
Finally, the buzzing started to die down as the doors to the chamber were closed and guards posted.  And then, the host for the discussion arrived, as Royal Prince Ohotsu stepped out and greeted all of his soon-to-be co-conspirators….
 
 
This episode, at long last, we are about to dive into a new reign.  And if you haven't picked up by now, this, the end of the 7th century, was a turbulent time.  Although the court had been instituting reforms to be more like the courts on the continent—and it wasn't like Ohoama died without any heir whatsoever—things were still unstable.  I know, shocker, right? So what happened?
Let's go over the history some, and the main players, and then we can see what happened and the aftermath. Before that, however, let's talk about what we might expect to have happened, if everything had worked like clockwork.
While Ohoama passed away in 686, it wasn't as if he hadn't made any plans.  His wife and Queen, Uno no Sarara, was deeply entrenched in governmental affairs, and their son, Prince Kusakabe, had been named Crown Prince in 681.  This meant that both were in positions of significant power within the current government.  All things being equal, and assuming a Confucian model, one would expect that upon Ohoama's passing, Kusakabe would step up and take the reins of the government, ascending to the throne as the new ruler.  Uno would oversee the transition and take her place as the Queen Mother, remaining in the palace and helping to shepherd the new rule, while one of Kusakabe's wives—probably Abe-hime, who, like her half-sister Uno, was also a daughter of Naka no Oe—would become his queen.
And yet that is not what happened.  Prince Kusakabe does not show up in our list of sovereigns, and we are told he never ascended the throne.  Instead, his mother, Uno no Sarara, came to power.  So what exactly happened?  Why would she not have handed over power to her only son and set him up on the throne?  To understand all of that, I think there are several things we need to discuss, first of them being just how tenuous and fragile transitions like this were.
If you've been listening to the podcast for a while, you might be nodding in agreement with this statement: for more than a century, at this point, whatever high-minded ideals the rulers of Yamato may have espoused, their path to the throne had been covered in blood.  Let's roll back to the events of 587.  We talked about this in Episode 91, when the Soga and Mononobe families had each lined up behind different aspirants to the royal throne.  The Mononobe were a powerful family, known to be warriors for the throne, and the head of the Mononobe, the Ohomuraji, Moriya, was one of the most influential people at court.  However, in recent years, the Soga family had been on the rise.  Soga no Iname had married his daughters to members of the royal family, and he and his son, Umako, were known as the Ohoomi.  The Mononobe were not having it with these uppity newcomers, but the Soga seem to have built their power, anyway, likely using their connections to the continent to do so.  In a series of succession disputes, the Soga came out on top, defeating the Mononobe and eventually killing Moriya.  It was a bloody fight, but eventually the Soga's royal relatives won out.
This brought Hasebe Wakasasagi, aka Sushun Tennou, to the throne.  For a time, Wakasasagi and Soga no Umako ruled the land, but eventually Wakasasagi grew suspicious of Umako—perhaps jealous of his power.  He considered taking him out, but Umako caught wind and had the sovereign assassinated, instead.  Umako then put his own niece, Kashikiya Hime, on the throne, where most know her as Suiko Tennou.
Kashikiya was no stranger to the court, having served as the wife of her own half-brother, Nunakura, aka Bidatsu Tennou.  Kashikya is thought to have been a compromise candidate, chosen specifically to avert any further power struggles.  Certainly, Umako did not want a repeat performance of what had just happened with Wakasasagi.  And though she reigned, power was apparently shared between Soga no Umako, Kashikiya Hime, and Kashikiya Hime's nephew—Umako's grandnephew—Crown Prince Umayado, aka the legendary Shotoku Taishi.
  By all rights, it seemed like things should have gone smoothly.  Umako, the eldest, would pass away to be succeeded by his niece, and it would make sense that after Kashikiya Hime's passing, Umayado would assume the throne.  Instead, Umayado would be the first to pass, creating uncertainty as to the future of the throne.  Then Umako would follow several years later.  Finally, Suiko would pass away soon thereafter.
So, in about six years the three most powerful people in court all passed away.  Soga no Umako's son, Soga no Emishi, was still coming out from under his father's shadow.  Furthermore, it was not clear who should sit the throne—should it be Prince Yamashiro no Oe, the son of the Crown Prince, Umayado?  After all, his father would have likely inherited the throne and then it would have no doubt been passed to him.  And yet, there was another contender: Prince Tamura.  Ultimately Soga no Emishi backed Prince Tamura, a man with ties to Nunakura through both his father and mother, and yet who was not truly a royal prince in that his own parents had never held the throne.  Then again, neither had Umayado. 
Eventually, Prince Yamashiro no Oe would back down from his claim to avoid bloodshed—and yet blood would be shed anyway.  When Prince Tamura died,  in an apparent bid to keep Soga power and quash any resistance before it started up, Soga no Emishi had Tamura's wife, Takara hime, aka Kougyoku Tennou, installed—but Prince Yamashiro no Ohoe was still alive, and his heirs were still out there.  Soga no Emishi appeared to be content, but his son and heir, Soga no Iruka, was not. And when his father was ill and Iruka had a free hand, he ordered the destruction of Prince Yamashiro no Oe, presumably to avoid a future challenge to the throne and thus to the Soga family's hold on power.
This move shocked many, and rather than preventing conflict, it seems to have stirred up ill feelings against the Soga for their heavy hand in the politics of the period.  This would lead Prince Naka no Ohoe and several co-conspirators to rise up, killing Soga no Iruka in court, and then attacking his father, Soga no Emishi, in their home.  See episode 106 for more on that, known as the Isshi Incident.  Naka no Ohoe and his supporters would take their place in the court, but Naka no Ohoe would not ascend to the throne, himself – at least not yet.  Instead, he took the position of Crown Prince, and his uncle, Prince Karu,aka Kotoku Tennou,  took the throne. 
However, that still left a loose end.  Prince Furubito no Oe, who had appeared to be the favorite for the throne under the Soga, was still alive.  Furubito no Oe was the son of Tamura and a Soga consort—Hotei no Iratsume, the daughter of Soga no Umako.  Although the Chronicles do not mention it, he seems to have been well placed to be Crown Prince in place of Naka no Oe, especially in a Soga dominated court.  Without that backing, however, his claim may not have been quite so strong.  He had gone into exile in Yoshino, but opponents of Naka no Oe's faction and their bloody coup began to use him as a rallying point.  It is unclear if Prince Furubito himself had any ambitions, but the fact remained that he was a threat, nonetheless, and Prince Naka no Oe had him taken out.
By controlling things from behind the throne, Prince Naka no Oe seems to have been able to keep things fairly stable.  When his uncle Karu  passed away, the throne went back to his mother, who is known as Saimei Tennou in her second reign, but Naka no Oe was still in a place of considerable power, and the continuity likely helped keep things on track.  Then Takara Hime passed away in the midst of a national crisis—the mobilization to support Baekje against the Silla-Tang alliance.  That military effort turned out to be less than successful, but by that point, there does not seem to have been much question over who was in charge – it was finally Naka no Oe's turn to take the throne, and he did, as Tenji Tennou.
And so it wasn't until Naka no Oe's own death that we again see major violence.  Naka no Oe's brother, Ohoama, is said to have been the Crown Prince, but then Naka no Oe's son, Ohotomo, came of age.  He was made the Dajo Daijin and supported by the most powerful nobles in court.   It is clear that there were divergent factions within the court itself, though, with some supporting Ohotomo and others supporting Ohoama.  In the midst of this, Ohoama chose to bow out, at least while his brother Naka no Oe was still on the throne.  However, Ohotomo and his supporters could not leave Ohoama out there as a loose end.  They knew that he still had a claim and supporters, and they started to make plans to move against him after Naka no Oe's death.  They were too slow, however—Ohoama caught word and moved against the court, instead.  In a bloody struggle that upended the politics of the court one more time, Ohoama came to the throne.  That struggle, the Jinshin no Ran, was covered in detail in episodes 129 to 132.
So if we look back we can see that for all of the thoughts of inheritance and legitimacy, most of those who had ascended the throne had done so by eliminating their rivals—either before or just after they assumed the royal mantle.  As such, this is something that Ohoama was, himself, quite concerned about, and he took several steps to try to avoid a repeat of this scenario.
First, and perhaps somewhat confusingly, he ensured that those in positions of authority in the government were largely tied by blood to the royal family.  The royal and non-royal princes were all nominally related in one way, shape, or form.  If nothing else this meant that the nobility— those elites without direct blood ties to the throne—were not, themselves, gaining the kind of power and authority that had previously been given out to families like the Ohotomo, the Mononobe, and the Soga.  We don't even hear that much about the relatives of Nakatomi no Kamatari, who had achieved such heights under Naka no Oe that he had become the Naidaijin, the great minister of the interior.
One might think that this system still had issues, however.  After all, each princely line had their own tie to a previous sovereign, and we've certainly seen times where a sovereign came in out of left field, with a nominal, but hardly convincing, connection to the throne.  This is particularly true in a time when succession was still not necessarily a strictly patrilineal custom; where it was not unusual for a senior family member to take up the mantle of leadership, rather than just the first-born son of the current ruler.
And that seems to be why Ohoama also held the Yoshino conference with his immediate family members in 679.  This included his Queen Consort, Uno; the Royal Prince Kusakabe, the Royal Prince Ohotsu, the Royal Prince Takechi, the Royal Prince Kawashima, the Royal Prince Osakabe, and the Royal Prince Shiki.  These were sons of both Ohoama and Naka no Oe, but they were all considered to be loyal insiders of the royal family.  Ohoama had them swear to work together and to protect one another.  And yet, as we shall see, that promise does not seem to have survived Ohoama himself.
So let's talk about some of these characters, now that we are here at another question of succession. 
We'll start with the Queen herself, Uno no Sarara. Uno was born in 645, the daughter of Naka no Oe and a consort, Wochi no Iratsume, daughter of Soga no Yamada no Ishikawa no Maro.  Ishikawa no Maro had been a powerful ally of Naka no Oe, assisting with the overthrow of his own uncle and cousin, Soga no Emishi and Soga no Iruka.  In turn, he seems to have become the head of the Soga family.  Despite the rhetoric that the Soga family was destroyed, it was more that the power of Emishi and Iruka was broken.  Ishikawa no Maro had parlayed his assistance into another means to access power at the court, and married his own daughter to Naka no Oe.  That worked until it didn't—enemies in court slandered Ishikawa no Maro and Naka no Oe had him killed in 649.
Wochi no Iratsume would have three children with Naka no Oe.  The eldest was Princess Ota, followed by Princess Uno, and finally Prince Takeru.  There is a theory that she died in 651, giving birth to Prince Takeru.  Prince Takeru himself would only survive a short while passing away in 658.  He was only seven years old.
Both Princess Ohota and Princess Uno were married off to their uncle, Prince Ohoama.  Princess Ohota was the elder of the two, and bore Princess Ohoku and Prince Ohotsu, whom we'll discuss in a bit.  However, Princess Ohota passed away in 667, during the reign of Naka no Oe, and so did not play as big a role in the politics of the day as her younger sister.
Uno, on the other hand, appears to have been Ohoama's ride-or-die.  They were married when she was only thirteen years old, and she followed him when he and Naka no Oe went to Kyushu to oversee the war on the peninsula.  It was there that she gave birth to her first and only son in 662.  She left the court behind to follow Ohoama to Yoshino, along with their son, Prince Kusakabe.  She then followed Ohoama on his lightning blitz through the mountains over to the east.  It is said that while he went on to the front, she maintained a place in the relative safety of the land of Mie.  From there she likely organized the rearguard and would have been involved with the back-end logistics.  She is also said to have made particular entreaties to the deities of Ise shrine, and may have had a hand in raising the Shrine to greater prominence during the reign of Ohoama and later.
A key note is the fact that, when Ohoama became ill, and could not effectively manage the affairs of state, Uno stepped in and made sure that things continued to operate.  And so, when Ohoama finally passed away, his projects were not simply left hanging—his queen and consort, Uno no Sarara, was there to see that everything remained on track.
As queen, Uno's son, Prince Kusakabe, was the favorite to succeed his father.  In fact, in 681, he was named Crown Prince at the age of 19.  Kusakabe had even married his own aunt, Princess Abe—his mother's half-sister.  Princess Abe was another daughter of Naka no Oe and a Soga related consort; in this case it was Wochi no Iratsume's younger sister, Mehi no Iratsume—sometimes called Sakurai no Iratsume.  I should note that Princess Abe was only about 20 years old in 681, only a year older than the Crown Prince, so it isn't like there was a huge age gap between them, even if he was technically marrying his own aunt.  Still, they had already had a child between them the year before, in 680—this was Princess Hidaka or Niimi.  Two years later, in 683, they had another child, Prince Karu, and later we know that they had a third child, Princess Kibi.  This is all a pretty good start for a future sovereign, and Kusakabe seems to have been on track to succeed his father.
By all rights, it seems that Kusakabe should have stepped up in 686 to take the throne, but that was not to be.  Instead, his mother, Queen Uno no Sarara, would retain her place at the head of the government.  It is possible that this was meant to be merely temporary —there were still many things to be taken care of.  With Ohoama's death there were numerous rituals having to do with his interment, and the Crown Prince, Kusakabe, appears to have been integral to those events.  Whereas we may have previously seen powerful nobles step up, with the increased influence of Confucianism, it makes sense that a son would be responsible for ensuring that things were taken care of.   There was also the issue of a new palace that would need to be built, and the court would need to prepare for the various enthronement ceremonies.  After all, Naka no Oe himself wasn't formally enthroned for three years into his supposed reign. And just like his grandfather, as Crown Prince, Kusakabe maintained a powerful portfolio at the court that would still allow him to have a heavy hand on the rudder of the ship of state.  In fact, had things gone differently, then the Chroniclers may have simply counted these early years as part of Kusakabe's reign, as they had done with Naka no Oe.
And all that would have been great—except that, despite all those nice family agreements at Yoshino, there were others who seem to have had designs on the throne.
The first claim that likely could have been made was by Prince Takechi.  Prince Takechi—written as Takaichi, like the district of the same name—was technically the eldest son of Ohoama.  He had been called to Ohoama's side during the Jinshin no Ran, and given nominal control over the troops waiting to cross the pass from Ohowari into Afumi.  This was likely more of a sinecure, however; Prince Takechi was still quite young, and while the position would no doubt teach him much about organization and leadership, I certainly hope that there were more experienced individuals assisting him.
However, for all of that, Prince Takechi had a major strike against him In the form of his parentage.  Although he was Ohoama's eldest son, his mother was not a royal princess.  Instead she was Amago no Iratsume, the daughter of the powerful head of the Munakata family, Munakata no Tokusen.
Munakata was a powerful area on the northwest coast of Tsukushi—modern Kyushu.  It is famous for the three Munakata shrines.  The outer, or Hetsu, shrine is on the land, but the middle shrine is on the island of Ohoshima, 11 kilometers from the Hetsu shrine.  Then the Oki, or deep sea, shrine is on the aptly named Okinoshima, another 49 kilometers past that, out in the middle of the Genkai Sea, the body of water between Kyushu, Tsushima, and the Korean peninsula.  Even today, Okinoshima is considered a sacred place, and has never been developed: even today, only those closely associated with the shrine are allowed to set foot there.  Because of that we can see something remarkable, as Okinoshima was held as sacred for hundreds of years, during which time, offerings were regularly made to the kami there, presumably for safe passage across the waters.  These offerings have accumulated over the centuries and serve as a fascinating glimpse back into the history of the shrine and of the relations between the archipelago and the peninsula.
The land of Munakata—and by extension the rulers, or Kimi—appear to have had not inconsiderable influence over the trade back and forth across the ocean to the continent.  This is further corroborated by the wealth left at Okinoshima and elsewhere, as well as by large kofun nearby, thought to be those of the ruling family of the area.  This would have no doubt been a powerful and prestigious family to be allied with, especially in Ohoama's role as a Prince.  However, despite all of that, they were not, ultimately, a royal family.   That would seem to have made Prince Takechi ineligible to take the throne—at least without some serious backing and perhaps a little re-working of his parentage.
And this brings us to the third eldest son of Ohoama:  Prince Ohotsu.  Unlike Prince Takechi, Prince Ohotsu was the son of a royal princess—Princess Ohota.  In fact, not only was she a royal princess, but she was the sister to Queen Uno.  And Prince Ohotsu was born only a year later than Prince Kusakabe.  Furthermore, during the Jinshin no Ran, Prince Ohotsu was called to Ohoama's side, along with his half-brother, Prince Takechi, and he is specifically mentioned in that role, despite the fact that he was still too young to have played much of a role.  Like Prince Kusakabe, Prince Ohotsu was in his early twenties.
So if we put Kusakabe and Ohotsu side-by-side, we can see that they have a lot of similar qualifications. Both were the sons of Ohoama by daughters of Naka no Oe, giving them double-royal lineages.  Their mothers were even full sisters, so they were both great-grandsons of Soga no Ishikawa no Maro, for whatever that means.  Kusakabe was older by a day, but Ohotsu's mother was the eldest of the two sisters.  But for the fact that his mother had passed away, she could possibly have been declared Queen, and Ohotsu might have ended up as Crown Prince, instead of Kusakabe.  Even if something had simply befallen Kusakabe, Ohotsu likely would have been able to step in, especially since Kusakabe had no full-blooded siblings, himself.
The reign of Ohoama is replete with examples of Kusakabe, Ohotsu, and Takechi often acting together or being given honors together.  While it is always clear to rank them in that order, it is also clear that all three seemed to hold a place of high esteem.   What we don't seem to see is any ill will between them—but then again, the Chronicles rarely give much attention to anyone who is not the sovereign except to mention them in passing. 
As such, we get only a simple sentence in the record, dated barely two weeks after Ohoama's passing, that Prince Ohotsu conspired against the Crown Prince, which is to say, Prince Kusakabe. As is so frustratingly often the case we aren't told how he was conspiring.  Clearly, it refers to succession and we can see that it wouldn't take much for Ohotsu to gather support and place himself on the throne—had that occurred, we likely would see some differences in the Chronicles as well. 
However, as it stood, the conspiracy came to naught.  We are told that about one more week later, after the temporary interment of Ohoama's body and the many, many days spent eulogizing him and those around him—seriously, the Chronicles go into way too much detail, which is great for giving us a lot of details on people in the court and their court ranks, but otherwise is mostly paragraphs of names of individuals who were likely important enough for the Chroniclers to ensure that they got at least a mention.
It was after that was finished that we are told that Prince Ohotsu's conspiracy was discovered.  He had the support of some thirty nobles, including a priest from Silla and the famous Iki no Muraji no Hakatoko—the one who had written the detailed account of the embassy that had been held under arrest by the Tang court, which we talked about back in Episode 123.  The point is these were people with some amount of clout and who moved in important circles, and for thirty of them to be in Ohotsu's camp might not seem like much, but that doesn't begin to illuminate all of the people that they would have brought with them to the party.  Furthermore, once they went public, who knows how many others might have joined them. 
Fortunately for Kusakabe—and unfortunately for Ohotsu—the would-be conspiracy was quashed and quashed hard.  We are told that it was discovered on the second day of the tenth month of 686—less than 30 days after Ohoama's death—and the Queen herself, Uno no Sarara, stepped in and had Ohotsu executed at his own mansion in Wosada.  She then issued a royal decree, stating to everyone that Ohotsu had committed treason, and that the punishment for treason was death.  She also stated that those who had assisted him were also guilty, and should likewise receive the same sentence, except that she was going to be merciful.  And so she ended up pardoning Prince Ohotsu's co-conspirators.  The only exceptions were Toki no Michidzukuri, who was banished to Idzu, and the Silla priest, who was exiled to a temple in Hida.  While we aren't told what roles they played, those two apparently were considered more complicit than the others.
A few days later, Prince Ohotsu's sister, Princess Oku, was recalled from her position as the shrine princess of Ise.  It is unclear if this is related, but it seems relevant given the proximity of the two events.
There is one other thing I should likely mention, and that seems to come from the Kaifuso.  The Kaifuso is a collection of continental style poetry from the 8th century, similar to the Man'yoshu, but with a different focus.  In both works they often given some description of the authors of the poems, which provide us more information on the people of the time.  For instance, the Kaifuso speaks favorably of Prince Ohotomo, Ohoama's rival in the Jinshin no Ran, and seems more than a little sympathetic towards him and his cause, compared to the way he is treated in the Nihon Shoki's main narrative.  In regards to our current point in the narrative and the treason of Prince Ohotsu the Kaifuso tells us that Prince Ohotsu was ratted out to the Queen by none other than his best friend, Prince Kawashima.  Prince Kawashima was another one of the princes who had been called to Yoshino and who had pledged to work together.  He was not Ohotsu's brother or even half-brother, however, as Kawashima was the son of Naka no Oe.  He was actually a good deal older than Ohoama's actual sons, but apparently trusted by Ohoama at the same time.  The Kaifuso also seems to tell us that Kawashima was rewarded for his efforts by the court.
The only problem is that the Nihon Shoki, our primary source, tells us none of this.  Not only is Prince Kawashima not mentioned in regards to the plot, neither is he mentioned as having received any kind of reward or gift by the court.  That doesn't mean the Kaifuso is wrong, but it does raise the question.
Similarly, it is just as easy to suggest that the Nihon Shoki itself may be covering up what actually happened.  After all, we only have one side of the story.  What if there wasn't a conspiracy?  Or what if the conspiracy were of the Queen's making, instead.  Prince Ohotsu was clearly popular, and had a reasonable claim to the throne.  That was a threat to her own son's eventual ascension.  It is possible that the Queen, Uno no Sarara, saw a threat and decided to do away with it, herself, keeping her own son's hands relatively clean in the process.
Whatever the truth, we likely will never know, and so this is all we have to go on.  Whether it was an actual conspiracy or just the paranoid  concerns of a queen and mother, it is clear that it was not yet enough to have an heir named—there was always the possibility for these things to go sideways and for someone else to jump in with a claim of their own.
For all of that, while it seems that Prince Kusakabe was intended to ascend to the throne, for one reason or another, that was delayed.  For some three years, as we've mentioned, Kusakabe and his mother ruled as Queen and Crown Prince, perhaps just because they were handling Ohoama's burial and the creation of a new palace from which Kusakabe himself could then reign.  Unfortunately, it seems that time accomplished what Prince Ohotsu and his conspirators could not, and in 689, Prince Kusakabe passed away.  Shortly thereafter, the Queen, Uno no Sarara, ascended to the throne herself.  This appears to have been because Kusakabe's own son and heir, Royal Prince Karu, was only about 6 years old, having been born in 683, and his daughter was only 9.  So rather than giving up the throne to some other woman's child, Uno no Sarara took the throne for herself.  She is remembered, today, as Jitou Tennou.
Jitou Tennou continued to work the initiatives that had been pushed forward during the reign of her husband.  These were projects that she herself was quite familiar with, and in fact, many of the projects are sometimes thought to have been hers, with attribution given to her husband just to give it a greater air of legitimacy.  Ultimately, however, she would oversee some quite formidable changes, even if many of them started in the previous reign or not.
And so begins the last reign of the Nihon Shoki, covering the years 686 to 697.  The Nihon Shoki itself wouldn't be complete and presented to the court for another 23 years or so, and yet this is where they chose to leave off.  Perhaps that is because of when it was started, or they just didn't have all the records ready for anything beyond.  They clearly had to end somewhere, after all.  And given that both Ohoama and Uno had such a hand in many of the changes, perhaps it just made sense to end here.  Much of what would come would set the tone for centuries to come.
There is one more thing that I want to address in all of this.  We've talked about the lineages of the various individuals, who trace their lineages back to either powerful noble families, like the Soga, or to specific sovereigns.  There is a tendancy by some to talk about Ohoama having started what some would call the Temmu Dynasty.  The idea being that Ohoama's offspring would continue to reign for a time, displacing the offspring of his brother, Naka no Oe.  Then, at a later date, Naka no Oe's line would reassert itself.
This seems to be pretty clear cut from a strictly patrilineal viewpoint of royal succession, but I think it ignores a lot about the cultural aspects of the time.  For one thing, descent was about both the father AND the mother, and too often people discount the mother's influence, when, in fact, the mother most likely had more influence in the raising of children than did a royal father.  After all, we don't exactly get a lot of anecdotes about sovereigns spending quality time with their children—and I don't think calling them to help you on campaign counts.  To be fair we get hardly any anecdotes about children.  But we also see that sovereigns were having multiple children with multiple consorts.  Naka no Oe is said to have had about 14 children—possibly more.  I count 17 children for Ohoama.  And we see the ages spread out across the sovereigns' lifetimes, with some children being born at a point that they had not even attained the age of majority by the time their father passed away.  Put another way, look at how Prince Kusakabe was able to marry his own aunt, who was only a year older than he was.  Clearly there was a bit of an age difference between siblings.  I don't imagine that they were being raised by their father, necessarily, but probably by their mothers and the servants at the palace, generally.
I would also point out that Ohoama included both his own children as well as children of his brother in the Yoshino conference, further indicating that he did not have any specific intention to entirely shut out the his brother's line.
And then there is Uno no Sarara.  She was Ohoama's spouse, but also the daughter of Naka no Oe.  Are we to think that she stopped being her father's daughter because she married someone?
That doesn't mean that labels might not be helpful in some ways, but I just don't want to over emphasize the familial or dynastic connections.  Brothers regularly turned on each other, and blood ties were no guarantee of cordial relations.  In fact, only maternal siblings—those with the same mother—were actually considered true siblings in most cases.  That's how they justified so much of what we would consider incest in the royal family in the first place.
So while I do think that Ohoama and Uno tweaked the system set up by Naka no Oe and made their own impression on Yamato and, by extension, Japanese culture, I just don't want to read too much into the lineages.  The stories of politics and royal succession are often much more involved and complex.
And hopefully, we'll get to see how complex as we continue on down this path.  For now, I think I'm going to leave it here, and so, until next time, 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 [email protected]. 
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 close out discussion of this reign with a bit of a grab bag.  There is the minting of new coins, new letters to write Japanese, board games, and more.
For more, check out our blogpost:  https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-146
Rough Transcript
Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua, and this is episode 146: Coins, Letters, Games, and More
 
The large audience hall was filled with nobles, sitting in pairs across from each other.  Throughout the hall, the roof and walls reverberated with the sounds of numerous stone markers being placed on painted wooden tables—or more appropriately, game boards.   It was accompanied by the sound of dice clattering.  At the far end of the hall was the royal presence, where his majesty could likewise join in the entertainment—with someone of sufficient standing, of course.
Throughout the day there were bursts of joy and frustration throughout the hall.  In some instances, one could see two players sharing in the joy and love of the game.  In other cases, political rivals stared each other down, neither one willing to give away any strategic advantage.  Any smiles there were merely a mask.  And yet, no matter how hard one tried, there was only so much you could do.  Ultimately, your fate was in the hands of the dice, though you could certainly do your best to nudge it here and there.
And so they continued.  As they played, small wagers were made between players.  At the conclusion of their match, each player could find another opponent, and see if their luck held out.  Victory was desired, but at the very least one didn't want to be embarrassed.  As such, losing gracefully was just as important as winning with humility.  Sure, there were  the petty stakes that were gambled here and there, but the real stakes were embedded in the politics of the court.  That was a game  that everyone was playing, except that there was no board, and the rules were often merely suggestions, at best.
 
 
This episode we are going to close out the reign of Ohoama, aka Temmu Tenno.  It has been a while getting here—but then again, Ohoama's reign is the best documented so far, almost like the entire Chronicle has built up to this point.  We have spent about a dozen episodes on this reign—not including the four before that discussing the Jinshin no Ran.
During that time we've talked about how Ohoama continued the Ritsuryou experiment, while  at the same time shaping it into something that was even more directly under his control.  A lot of this appears to have been done with the mostly willing consent of a good part of the archipelago.
That may have been because of a few different things.  For one, all of this was justified through the philosophical underpinnings of the continent.  This is the new knowledge that the court had been devouring for over a century, and so I suspect that none of it seemed particularly surprising or out of place.  Furthermore, it seems that Ohoama's actions may have appealed to some of the more middle-tier elites; those for whom the idea of a government stipend was quite appealing.
There was also the external threat of Silla and Tang.  Though in reality, Silla was in conflict with the Tang dynasty, up until the conclusion of the Silla-Tang War, around 676.  In truth, the Tang court wouldn't recognize Sillan sovereignty south of the Taedong river until 736, so there were still tensions.  However, early on in the reign there was at least the thought that hostilities could spill over onto the archipelago.
And then there are all of the projects.  The designation of national temples, the beginning of a national history project, the founding of a permanent capital city, and the creation of a formal code—the Asuka Kiyomihara Code.
Compared to all of that, the topics of this episode really are some miscellaneous stuff that I didn't have anywhere else to put, but wanted to bring to light anyway. 
First, we'll talk about the minting of coins, and what that meant.  Once again, this is really neat because we actually have some coins that appear to be from this time frame, providing what might be a direct relationship between what is written down and what we have in the archaeological record. 
Then we'll touch on another project of Ohoama's—this one less successful than some of the others we've discussed.  This was an attempt to create a new writing system specific to the Japanese language.  Remember, at this point literate people in the archipelago were using kanji to write everything down, and for the most part they were using kanbun—so Sinitic characters and grammar, with occasional use of characters purely for their phonetic qualities when they absolutely had to spell something out.  Eventually this would evolve into the syllabaries of katakana and hiragana, but there were several false starts before that, and we'll talk about what was being attempted during Ohoama's reign.
Beyond those court projects we'll talk about some of the kami and Buddhist related rituals, especially as they related to growing merit and attempting to protect the state and its people from disasters—natural or otherwise.  And then there are various omens, and just a few edicts that were more geared towards the court but are still fun, like when Ohoama forced the entire court to join him for a day of… board games.  I guess when you are the sovereign and trying to set up a game day, scheduling is suddenly not so big of a problem.
So that's what we are going to cover.  We are skipping around throughout the reign, and so while I'll mention dates here and there, I'll try not to get too bogged down with the exact dates unless it really matters.
First off: coins.  We are going to start somewhere in the middle, on the 15th day of the 4th month of 683.  It is here that we see a note that Ohoama decreed that copper coins would be used, and not silver.  Remember that a silver mine had been discovered in Tsushima back in 674.  At that time we know that there were silver coins being made, but in 683 it looks like they were changing from silver to copper.  But three days later, they reversed the decision to completely cancel the silver coins, so they presumably had both silver and copper coins.
Coins are interesting for several reasons.  For one, coins often help us to date various collections—if they are distinctive enough.  They can be quite helpful in telling us that a particular archaeological assemblage is almost certainly from sometime after the coins had begun to be circulated.  After all, if you unearth a stratum of an archeological dig and you find a penny dated to 1912, you can be reasonably confident that that layer was last exposed on or after 1912, unless time travel was at play. There are some exceptions where animals or tree roots or other forces can disturb the layering, but that's why archeologists carefully pay attention to soil features. 
That isn't to say that all coins of the time had clear dates on them.  In fact, the oldest coins we have in the archipelago are something called "Mumon Ginsen"—literally unmarked silver coins.  They are found in various assemblages and thought to have originated under Naka no Oe, aka Tenji Tennou.  The silver from Tsushima would have likely been used for this.  For many reasons it is unclear if these were minted by the state or if they were privately minted and circulated.
The copper coin mentioned in Ohoama's record in the Nihon Shoki would appear to be what is known as a Fuhonsen coin, which we also have extant examples of.  These are round copper coins with a square hole in the middle, as was common on the continent.  The previous unmarked silver coins were just small circles of solid silver.  In contrast, the Fuhonsen bear the characters "FU-HON":  FU, or "Tomi", means wealth, and HON, or "moto", means something like base or basis.  "SEN" just refers to the fact that it is a coin.  So the coin represents the basis of wealth. They are just under an inch in diameter, and 1.5 millimeters thick.  While primarily copper, they do have traces of antimony, silver, and bismuth.  The use of copper was likely because of its lower melting point, which would have been easier to cast with.
So it seems that these were the new copper coins mentioned in the Chronicles, and the intent was originally to completely replace any silver currency.  I suspect that they quickly realized that they could not easily replace all of the silver, and so the older silver coins were probably still in circulation—though I don't know if any new ones were being minted.
We don't exactly know how the coins were used.  They weren't being used to pay taxes or similar things—that was still all being handled in rice, silk, cloth, and labor.  They might have been used by the government to pay individuals, who would then exchange them for goods, but they were probably not used very often between individuals.  There is even some suggestion that they had a more ritual meaning. 
Coins of a similar shape—round with a square hole in the center—go back to at least 350 BCE on the continent, and were quite common by the  time of the Han dynasty.  The round hole allowed them to be placed on strings—you'll often see references to strings of cash.  In the Qin dynasty, a string was meant to be a superunit, made up of 1000 coins.  Merchants and others operating at some scale could then just pay in "strings" of cash rather than counting out each and every coin.  It also provided a way of transporting them.  Anyone doing business in east Asia would have encountered coinage from one of the dynasties on the mainland, and we certainly see various coins making their way over to the archipelago, though how exactly they were used and valued isn't certain.  It may have been more important to just have them on hand for trips to the continent so that an embassy or trading vessel could participate in the economy, there.
The next coin to be minted in the archipelago itself wasn't until 708, and that was the Wadokaichin, or Wado coins, named for the four characters around the square hole, which included the era name that they were created, "Wado".  This seems to have kicked off an actual national currency that would only last for a couple hundred years before it was debased and lost its value.  For centuries after that, rice was once again the primary currency, and would continue to be so, even though the Tokugawa shogunate would begin to mint and issue coins again through much of their rule.  Still, coins were often outside the grasp of most of the common people.
While coins may not have fully caught on, they did better than our next project.  This was a task that was given to Sakahibe no Muraji no Iwashiki who compiled, by royal command, a new set of characters, which were recorded in a book of 44 volumes.  Though this book  is no longer extant, we do have later sources that claim it was once in the royal library.  It describes the characters as similar to Sanskrit characters. 
This appears to be an attempt to create an alphabet, or syllabary, for the Japanese language. While Yamato had adopted the Sinitic systems of logographic writing, it wasn't exactly up to the task of directly writing in Japanese.  For one thing, the languages had different sounds that they used, and in different combinations.  Furthermore, grammatically, the two were quite different.  Many Sinitic languages are Subject, Verb, Object, similar to English, while Japanese is Subject, Object, Verb, meaning the verb goes at the end.  But beyond that, Japanese relies extensively on conjugation of verbs, with verbs and adjectives changing to express tense and other such things that Sinitic languages, such as modern Putonghua and languages such as Middle Chinese handle in other ways. 
To give an English speaking person a similar experience, imagine writing sentences as "The bird in the tree sat"  or "the man the bread at the store bought".  Now remove many of the articles and prepositions, so you get things like "bird tree sit" and "man bread store buy".  You can imagine how that can really get unwieldy if you want to convey more nuanced concepts.
Japanese would either need to add a phonetic writing system—which it did—or it would need to come up with new characters to use in place of the special qualities of the language.  Or they would need to continue to write in Sinitic grammatical order and  continue to do the translation to Japanese on the fly.   One can imagine that this was hardly efficient—in order to learn how to write you would basically have to learn a whole new language.
That these new symbols were similar to characters associated with Sanskrit also makes sense, and we even see similar attempts on the continent, though they had other writing systems to compare to as well.  For example, we see the Persian Sogdian, written with a variation of Syriac script, and the Ghandari language written with its own Ghandari or Kharosthi script, but the influence of Buddhism likely explains why scripts associated with Sanskrit likely had a greater influence than other languages.  I should note here that Sanskrit itself does not have a single script—today, people probably think of the Devanagari script, commonly used in India, but that doesn't seem to have been developed until the 8th century.  The work of Iwashiki was likely based on something like the Siddham, or Kutila, script.  This is an abudgida, where consonants and vowels are connected together when written.  This would have worked well for the Japanese language as phonemes are often grouped together as consonant-vowel clusters known as morae.  Siddham evolved in the late 6th century and many Buddhist scripts that were making their way along the Silk Road would have used it.  However, it is said that Siddham proper—or at least as we know it today—was introduced to Japan by the famous monk Kuukai in the early 9th century.  If that is the case, then what script was Iwashiki using as his inspiration?
Regardless of the details, this new script doesn't seem to have taken off.  It may have just been too much to ask someone to learn the various kanji AND another system on top of that.  Instead, the Japanese would adopt certain kanji over time, and simplify them into what we know, today, as kana. 
Our earliest example is what we know of as Man'yogana, named for the Man'yoshu, an 8th century collection of poems attributed to various contemporary and historical figures.  Because the poetic structure of Japanese required specific counts of syllables or, more specifically, morae, it was important to capture the actual pronunciation of the language.  Certain characters were chosen and used over and over again purely for their phonetic value, rather than any other inherent meaning.  Over time, those characters were simplified and standardized, developing into the katakana and hiragana still used today.  While it was these organically-evolving systems that would eventually be most popular and fill the gap, but it is still incredible to see someone deliberately tackling the problem at this early date.
Moving on from money and writing, let's turn now to matters of the kami and the Buddha.   Yamato existed in a world that saw itself as being caught between forces both seen and unseen.  Besides the natural world there was the spiritual world, and to many it was just as real as anything else.
We've talked all along about the interplay between the court, the kami and the Buddha, and some of the evidence we see is relatively simple.  For instance, in 675, the Ohokami, the great god, of Tosa presented a divine sword to the sovereign.  I doubt that a kami was showing up in person to the court—this would have been priests from the shrine.   Aston suggests that the kami in question was probably either Hitokotonushi no Mikoto or Misukitakahikone no Mikoto, quoting "authorities" which he does not otherwise name. 
We get more serious, though, when it comes to major events.  And the drought and famine of 676 seems to fit that description.  As you may recall from episode 144, the governor of Shimotsukeno reported a bad harvest in the 5th month, and by the 6th month we see more reports coming in of a great drought.  Clothing was collected for the Buddhist temples to help build merit.  Later, there was a comet in the sky, and then, in the 8th month, we see that the court compelled the Kuni no Miyatsuko and the governors to all contribute to an Ohoharae, or Great Purification. 
Eventually, the Ohoharae would become a regular ceremony held on the 30th day of the 6th and 12th months of the year, with royal princes down to the high ministers gathering at the southern gate—the Suzaku-mon. Members of the Urabe, the Diviners, would read the various norito, the ritual prayers, to disperse evil influences.  It was, and is,also used when there is a royal visit to the Ise or Kamo shrines, as well as at the Dajosai festival at the start of a new reign.  It can also be done if there is thought to have been some kind of offense that was committed.
"Harae", or "purification", is a common part of Shinto ritual today.  From the simple washing of the hands and mouth before entering the shrine grounds to pray to spiritual purification performed by a priest who waves a large stick with paper streamers—the ohonusa or haraegushi—while chanting prayers to ward off evil influences, purification is a key component in Shinto, which often concerns itself with aspects of spiritual pollution.  And so the Oho-harae, the Great Purification, is that, but turned up to eleven.
The litany used for the Ohoharae, today, is also known as the Nakatomi no Ohoharae, indicating the importance of the Nakatomi in the ritual.  This Ohoharae, however, was taking place in the 8th month, and may not have had all of the traditions of the later rituals we know today.  Rather, we are told what was required:  The Kuni no Miyatsuko of the provinces were instructed to send one horse and a piece of cloth to specific shrines of purification.  In addition, the governors of the various districts were each told to supply one sword, one deerskin, one mattock, one smaller sword, one sickle, one set of arrows, and one sheaf of rice.  In addition, each household had to supply a bundle of hemp cloth.  These may not have been used in the ritual as much as they were offerings to the kami and their shrine.
We'll see this in various cases where the State places rather onerous financial requirements on the population in order to perform rituals.  Of course, by the logic of the time, whatever was donated would make the ritual more effective—it would be more pleasing to the kami.  Still this seems remarkably costly in a year where we are told that the peasants were starving just a few months prior.
I'll also take this moment to point out a link here to something that anyone who has been to a shrine may be familiar with, and that is the donation of horses. Horses were common enough a donation—if people of status rode horses, then how much more so the kami themselves?  Sacred or votive horses could be used to carry the kami, and even today some shrines keep sacred horses for the kami.  However, not everyone has horses to donate, and I suspect that the shrine probably didn't need an entire herd of horses.  And so some would pay money for an image of a horse, instead, to be hung in the shrine, likely indicating the donor.  Of course, this wasn't just a picture, but an official record of some kind of donation, which could theoretically go to purchase horses and other such things that the shrine might need.  These pictures of horses were known as "e-ma", literally "picture horse", and we still see them today: The most common type of e-ma will be small wooden placards sold at the shrine, and people will write their desires on the back, with their name and information.  They will often be found hanging in groups on specially designated racks meant for that purpose.  Today, e-ma might have horses on them, but more often have other pictures, associated with the particular shrine and kami. 
Speaking of horses, we have a couple more references to them this year.  At some point, Ohoama had issued an edict seeking horses, not just for riding, but other good horses so that the givernment would have them when needed, distributed to the various post-stations.  So when he was returning from a banquet by the Todoroki pool in Hatsuse—modern Hase--Ohoama made a diversion to the post-station of Tomi and had the horses demonstrate their speed.  Presumably this was just a horse race, which seems to be popular around the world, in any place with horses.
We see something similar when we are told that Ohoama went to Asatsuma to inspect the horses of the officials there.  At his request, the officials organized a competition of horseback archery.  This appears to reference the famous art of Yabusame—though it may not have been recognized as such just yet, there is some thought that the idea of a horsed archer shooting at three targets while galloping past may have originated in the 6th century, with ties to Usa Jingu.  Still, horseback archery would remain important, and later it would become the primary art of the warrior class from about the 12th to the 13th century or so—and arguably even up until the Sengoku period, with its spear formations and foreign guns.
Later, in the 10th lunar month of 681, Ohoama and the court were prepared to go hunting on the Hirose plain.  A temporary palace was prepared and all of the bags were packed, but ultimately, Ohoama didn't go.  Instead, those from the rank of Prince to high ministers stayed at Karunoichi—a market at a cross-roads in the Nara basin that likely was the location of a government stable.  There, they inspected the horses and saddle equipment.  Those from the rank of Shokin up sat under the trees while those of Daisen and below mounted up and passed along from south to north.  Not quite as exciting as horse racing or horsed archery, but who doesn't like a parade.
One wonders what happened to call off the hunt.  Perhaps Ohoama, while not bedridden, was not in the best of health.  If he was having some kind of recurring problems then that could explain some of the merit-making as well.  You may recall we discussed how much merit the state seemed to be trying to make in support of the sovereign's health, which we discussed in episode 142.
Getting back to the Ohoharae—the great purification.  That was followed up by a general amnesty, which we talked about last episode, as well as a command to let loose living things.  This is a Buddhist practice that one still sees today in various places, usually in the form of letting loose animals like fish and birds that were kept by individuals.  I don't think they were just opening up the paddocks and letting the horses, cattle, and other animals go.  As fascinating as that might be to contemplate, with horses just running wild and cattle trampling the rice fields, I doubt they took it that far. 
Still, this practice was clearly an attempt to make more merit for the State.   This edict was repeated only a few months later, in the 11th lunar month, but then it was confined to those provinces that were considered to be "near" to the capital, so a little more focused.  The day after that second release of animals, men were dispatched to all parts to expound the Konkwoumyou and Ninou sutras.  This was the Sutra of Golden Light and the Sutra of the Benevolent King—both sutras focused on concepts of good rulership and protection of the State.  In fact, together with the Lotus Sutra, they would come to be considered the Gokoku Sanbukyou—the Three sutras for Protection of the State.  They were read for the purpose of averting disaster, but they also helped to prop up the image of a righteous and benevolent ruler—what might be termed a golden-wheel turning sovereign, or Chakravarti.
So all of this would seem to simultaneously reflect an intention to protect the State while also demonstrating performative regnal righteousness.  It was, after all, what a good ruler was supposed to do, which also conveniently told people what a good ruler was supposed to do.
It is unclear whether or not the court actually felt this did anything.  I would note that a month later they were asking Princes and Ministers to gather up weapons, so it is possible that they were concerned about more than just natural disasters— such as a concern that the people were getting restless.  A few days later, we see more largess, as the court made presents to public functionaries and men of the frontier states.  It is unclear to me if this is a reward of some sort or perhaps an attempt to boost their morale and support.
Later in that month we see preparations for the upcoming Feast of First Fruits, or Niinamesai, two months later.  We are told that the Jingikan, the Office of Kami Matters, had made the divination that the Yuki, the ceremonially pure rice for the ritual would come from the District of Yamada, in Owari.  For the Sugi, the "next" lower quality of rice, that would come from the district of Kasa, in Tamba.  The feast went off as usual in the 11th month, pre-empting the normal announcement of the first of the month.
Later in the record we see that preparations were started for another Ohoharae, or Great Purification, and a general amnesty was issued.  This time, instead of sending horses for the kami, the Miyatsuko of each province were to supply one male and one female servant to the shrines, instead. 
Fifteen days later, in the intercalary 7th lunar month—an extra month inserted to keep the lunar and solar calendars in synch—we see the queen, Uno, hosting a feast after ritual fasting.  She then had sutras expounded throughout the capital.  I find it particularly interesting that this was apparently instigated by the queen, but along with the Ohoharae, this all speaks towards the feeling that the State needed to be purified and supplied with good merit.
The Ohoharae was not the only way to curry favor with the kami.  For example, in one record we see Ohoama designating sacred rice-tax for the shrines of Heaven and Earth—shrines for the Amatsu kami and Kunitsu kami.  One third of the rice was to go to the kami directly, while two thirds of the rice was to go to the priests who kept the shrines going.
This same year, 677, we aren't told where the rice for the Niiname-sai came from, but we are told that those who donated as well as members of the Jingikan, who were involved in the divination and ritual more generally, were all compensated for their troubles with various presents.
The Jingikan is one of those aspects of the new, bureaucratic state, that feels extremely tied to the archipelago.  It literally is the Bureau of Kami Matters, or the Bureau of Kami Affairs—the Kami no Tsukasa.  It would even come to be ranked above the Council of State in the official org chart of the government.  While the government had national temples and appointed members of the clergy who were responsible for keeping the Buddhist institutions in line with the State, the Jingikan was that entity for court ritual, and even for interfacing with various shrines around the country.   In the 10th century, all of the official shrines across the archipelago would be catalogued and assessed a rank and position, with Ise Shrine and the royal court at the top of the list.
Speaking of the national temples, the fourth month of 680 was when Ohoama designated the national temples—which we also covered in Episode 142.  On the first day of month after that, we are told that he bestowed gifts of silk and cloth to 24 temples around the capital; and if there really were 24 temples just around the capital itself, one can imagine why they had to put a stop to publicly funding all of them.  That must have been quite the upkeep.  That same day, the Golden Light Sutra was expounded in the palace and at select temples as well.  As we've seen, the court relied just as heavily—or more—on Buddhism for certain rituals and providing spiritual power.
While both Kami-based rituals and Buddhism were revered for their ability to affect the supernatural, Buddhist priests seem to have had a particularly revered place in—or perhaps more rightly outside—of society.  One is more likely to hear about someone who was a Buddhist priest or a novice being revered than a kannushi, or shrine priest.  For example, in the 7th month of 680, the priest Kouchou, of Asukadera, passed away. The royal princes Ohotsu and Takechi were sent to express royal condolence.  Later that same year we would see something similar, with Royal—later Crown—Prince Kusakabe visiting the eminent priest (Y)emyou on his death bed.  Yemyou died the next day, and three royal princes were sent to offer the condolences on behalf of the royal family.
Towards the end of 680, Ohoama fell ill. One hundred individuals were made to take holy orders on his behalf, after which he appears to have recovered—or at least recovered enough for the time.  Earlier in the month his queen, Uno no Sarara, had taken ill, for which Ohoama had pledged to build Yakushiji, a temple of the Medicine Buddha, as we talked about in Episode 142.
Although Ohoama temporarily recovered, we have mentioned how there are plenty of suggestions that he may not have been entirely better.  It could just be that time and numerous diseases were taking a toll, or perhaps he had an ailment that came and went.  I get that impression from things like in the 10th month of 685, as autumn changed to winter,  several nobles were sent to Shinano to build a temporary palace in preparation for a royal progress.  It seems that Ohoama wanted to visit the hot springs at Tsukama.  Tsukama may have been located on the outskirts of modern Matsumoto city, in Nagano, which is known for its hot springs, today.  Bentley implies  that the court was not entirely thrilled with Ohoama taking this journey.  I have to wonder whether or not this was all about Ohoama's health—hot springs were often seen as restorative.  At the same time, this sounds like a fairly long journey into the mountains as the weather was growing colder.  That also may have been part of the draw, however, allowing them to travel and see the changing leaves, a very common pastime in successive centuries, and even today.
I can't help but imagine that Ohoama was seeking the restorative properties, while his court may have been apprehensive about the journey there and back as the days were getting colder.  Compare this to his actions at the start of the Jinshin no Ran, when he made that incredible dash from Yoshino, through the mountains, over to Owari.  But that was well over a decade ago, at this point, and he seems not quite so spry as he once had been.
Another popular record that we find in this reign were various oddities and omens.  We've covered quite a few, but I did want to cover a few more before we pull the curtain closed on this era.
First off, early in the reign, we see a record in the 10th month of 675 for a woman in the district of Takakura, in the province of Sagami, giving birth to triplets.  A quick Internet search suggests that natural triplets occur in about 1 in every 8000 or 10,000 births.  However, there is another thing to consider at this time:  giving birth to a single child was already a risky business, and death during or just after childbirth was a constant threat.  So now consider the issues with giving birth to twins or even triplets.  The odds that there is a complication just go up at that point.  So I suspect this was a very rare occurrence.  The fact that it was three sons was probably also seen as particularly auspicious, at least for any who were studying traditional Confucian scholarship.
Moving on to the 4th day of the 4th lunar month of that same year, we get an omen for the court.  First is a cock sent to the court by Wanitsumi no Yogoto, from the Lower Sofu district in Yamato province.  This cock is said to have had a comb like a camelia flower, which was apparently quite auspicious.  On the other hand, a report came in from Akunami, also in Yamato province, about a hen that had turned into a cock.  Aston, of course, considers that this would have been an ominous sign—a disruption of the natural order.  To be honest, I don't see any particular judgment placed on it one way or the other.  It is just listed as a wondrous or miraculous occurrence.
The year 678 has remarkably few events, in total, with nothing recorded between the 4th and 9th months.  And the 9th month was just a note about the death of one, Prince Wakasa, of the third princely rank.  The month after that we have another one of those strange occurrences.  This time it is a report of something falling from the sky like silk floss, except that it was 5 or 6 feet long and 7 or 8 inches wide.  It supposedly floated on the wind and waved from the fir woods and the reed plains.  People who saw it called it kanro, or "sweet nectar".
This is really just a crazy entry.  I've wracked my brains to think of a natural event that could cause something like this, but this seems like something that was more like a rumor that got written down.  "Kanro" is thought to be something that Buddhist texts refer to as "Amrita", an exlixir of immortality.  In continental lore, it is said to be a sweet nectar that forms when yin and yang are in harmony—such as during a benevolent reign.  So whatever the truth of any natural event, to the Chroniclers the entry is clearly a chance to hype up Ohoama's reign.
And then, towards the end of the 8th month, we see Katsura no Miyatsuko no Oshikatsu presenting auspicious stalks of grain.  Reportedly they all came from different plots and yet had very similar ears of grain.  Auspicious stalks of rice weren't uncommon, but Aston suggests that this was possibly an allegory for all of the royal princes who were brought together in Yoshino to swear to support each other.  The 8th month may have been when the grain was harvested—because it wasn't until the final month of the year that we see the court reacting.  At that point presents were made to the Royal and non-Royal Princes, the Ministers, and the public functionaries, all according to rank, in consequence of the auspicious stalks of grain.  In addition there was an amnesty for all offences from capital crimes on down.
Now on top of all of that, there were a few edicts that touched on various topics that we just haven't gotten to, elsewhere.
For instance, in the 8th month of 681, on the 10th day, we see a notification to all of the people in the archipelago who claimed descent from those from the continent—specifically those from the Korean peninsula, or the Samhan.  They were told that the taxes, which had previously been remitted for 10 years, so starting in 671, had come to an end.  However, corvee labor was still remitted for ten years to them and their children and grandchildren who had been with them when they first arrived.
There are some questions about this passage, but in general it seems that those refugees who had escaped to the archipelago from Baekje and Goguryeo had previously been given 10 years from the time they arrived during which they did not owe taxes.  This included corvee labor—which also extended to any children that had been with them at the time.  Children that were born after that… well they wouldn't be of age to be used as corvee labor in 10 years so this would only apply to those who were with them at the  time and who would be of age within that 10 year timeframe.
This exemption from taxes appears several times in different forms, and appears to be a grace period, during which people were expected to establish themselves, open fields, and begin to thrive.  At the end of 10 years, then they would start paying taxes, with the assumption that they had more than enough time to prepare and work the land.
Moving on to one of my favorite entries, on the 18th day of the 9th lunar month in 685, Ohoama declared a game day.  He had the Princes and Ministers gather at the Ohoandono, the Great Audience Hall, and had them play a game called "Pakugi" or "Bakugi".  We aren't quite sure what the rules were—it probably wasn't Settlers of Catan, but you never know.  It was likely a game with dice, possibly a version of backgammon, which is quite old and commonly known as a game for gambling.  That same day, Ohoama gave out gifts of robes and trousers to ten princes and others—perhaps related to the gaming session?
The history of games and gaming is particularly fascinating.  For one thing, many of the games that were played in the archipelago had come from the continent, and many had variants that had traversed the entirety of Eurasia.  Backgammon and Chess were both games that had variants that would be known in Japan.  Backgammon was known as sugoroku, and in Japan they played a game similar to chess known as Shogi.  They would also play go—or more appropriately igo—from at least the Nara period, though that game, invented in what is now China, does not seem to have spread quite as much as either backgammon or chess variants.  And while chess was a game that was often highly localized—with different pieces representing different things and often moving in different ways depending on the variant—backgammon seems to have been quite similar everywhere, and could probably be played by two people with wildly different cultural backgrounds with very little interpretation needed.
The day after Ohoama had the court join his game day, there were more presents.  This time it was brown bear hides given to the royal and non-royal princes.  In total there were 48 hides given out, which is really pretty incredible.  I have this image in my mind of a very Asuka era wooden mansion, with wood and bronze and silk, and then a large bear hide sprawled out on the floor.  I'm not sure exactly how they were used, but I suspect that they were mostly used as floor coverings for people to sit or lay on, though I could also see them being used as sleeping mats.  It seems they were clearly elite status goods, but hardly what we think about in this period.
And that is where we are going to come to a close.  There are only a few more things that we'll get to, but they are all related to what happened with the events surrounding Ohoama's death and the succession that followed, so we'll touch on those when we kick off the next reign.
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And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.

CW: Suicide
This episode we are talking about Law and Order--where Ritsuryo system gets its name.  We are going to look at some of the underlying theory of how the government was set up and then some of the new laws people were expected to follow and examples of punishment--as well as pardons and general amnesties.
For the blogpost, check out:  https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-145
Rough Transcript
Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua, and this is Episode 145:  Law and Order in the Reign of Temmu
 
 
The sound of struggle could be heard, as a man, hands bound behind him, was roughly brought into the courtyard by several sturdy men.  They thrust him roughly to the bare ground in front of the pavilion.  The man's clothes were disheveled, his hair was unkempt, and his right eye was swollen shut.  He was a stark contrast from the four officials standing over him, and even more from those who stood in the pavilion, above, prepared to dole out judgment.  A clerk was handling the paperwork at a nearby desk, but the court official already knew this case.  He had read the reports, heard the testimony of the witnesses and, to top it all off, he had read the confession.  It seems it had taken some coercion, but in the end, the criminal before him had admitted to his wrongdoing.
And thus the official was able to pronounce the sentence with some sense of moral clarity.  After all, if this man was innocent, why would he confess?  On the other hand, if he were truly innocent, how would he even have come to their attention?  Even if he was not guilty of this crime, if he had been such an upstanding citizen, why would his neighbors have accused him in the first place? 
One way or another, justice was being done.
 
 
We remain—for at least the next couple of episodes—firmly in the reign of Ohoama, aka Temmu Tennou.  There is a lot more in this reign, and we are reaching a period where we won't be able to cover nearly as much as previously, so we'll have to summarize some things, but there is still a lot here to discuss.  Last episode we looked at what was happening outside of the court.  This episode we turn our attention back to the center, and specifically, what law and order meant in Ohoama's time.
This period is called the Ritsuryo period, and as the name indicates, it is characterized by the set of laws and accompanying penal codes, the ritsu and the ryo.  Most of these codes are no longer extant, only known to us by other sources which contain only fragments of the originals.  But it was this adoption of a continental style of law that seems to most characterize this period.  So this episode, we are going to look at the project Ohoama kicked off to establish  one such law code —possibly even the first actual—for Yamato, as well as some of the examples of how law and order were enforced.
In Episode 143 we talked about Ohoama's  historiographical project, which kicked off in the third month of 681 and culminated in the very chronicles we have been poring over.  However, a month before that, we see the start of a different and likely more immediate project, as the sovereign ordered work to begin on a new legal code.  This task was decreed from the Daigokuden to all of the Princes and Ministers -- who were then cautioned to divide it up and take it in shifts, since after all, they still needed to administer the government.  And so this division of labor began.
The code would take years to compile, so, like so many of the ambitious projects of this reign, it was not quite ready by the time of Ohoama's death in 686.  In fact, it wouldn't be promulgated until 689, and even then that was only the "Ryou" part of the "Ritsuryou"—that is to say it contained the laws, the "ryou", but no the penal code, or "ritsu".  Still, we are told that the total body of laws was some 22 volumes and is known today as the Asuka Kiyomihara Code.  It is unfortunately no longer extant—we only have evidence of the laws based on those edicts and references we see in the Nihon Shoki, but it is thought by some to be the first such deliberate attempt to create a law code for Yamato.  We do have an earlier reference to Naka no Ohoye putting together a collection of laws during his reign, known as the Afumi Code, but there is some question as to whether that was actually a deliberate code or just a compilation of edicts that had been made up to that point.  These various codes are where the "Ritsuryo" period gets its name, and the Asuka Kiyomihara Code would eventually be supplanted in 701 by the Taihou code—which is one of the reasons why copies of previous codes haven't been kept around.  After all, why would you need the old law code when you now have the new and improved version?
This also means that often, when we don't have other evidence, we look to later codes and histories to understand what might be happening when we get hints or fragments of legal matters.  The Chronicles often make note of various laws or customs, but they can be sparse on details.  After all, the main audience, in the 8th century, would be living the current law codes and likely understood the references in ways we may have to work out through other sources.
As for the Kiyomihara Code, there are further notes in the Chronicles that seem to be referencing this project.  Besides the obvious—the new laws that were promulgated through various edicts—we see a few entries sprinkled throughout that appear to be related to this project.  First, I would note that in the 10th month of the same year that they started the project, 681, there was issued an edict that all those of the rank of Daisen on down should offer up their admonitions to the government.   Bentley notes that Article 65 of the Statutes on Official Documents provides a kind of feedback mechanism via this admonitions, where anyone who saw a problem with the government could submit it to the Council of the State.  If they had a fear of reprisals they could submit anonymously.
This entry for the 10th month of 681 could just refer to a similar request that all those who had a problem should report it so it could be fixed, but in light of several other things, I would also suggest that it was at least in line with the ongoing efforts to figure out what needed to be figured out vis a vis the laws of the land.  Later, in the 8th month of 682 we see a similar type of request, where everyone from the Princes to the Ministers were instructed to bring forward matters suitable for framing new regulations.   So it looks like that first year or so there were, in a sense, a lot of "listening sessions" and other efforts going on to give deliberate thought to how the government should operate. 
A few days later in 682 the Chronicles tell us that the court were working on drawing up the new laws, and as they did so they noticed a great rainbow.  Bentley suggests that this was an auspicious sign—even Heaven was smiling on the operation.
So we know that there was lawmaking going on.  But what did these laws actually look like? This episode we are going to look at both criminal law – crimes and punishments, and gow they could be mitigated as well as those laws that were less about criminal activities and more about how the state itself was to be run.
As I just stated, a lot of the laws and edicts are not necessarily about criminal activities.  Many of them are about the government and how it works—or at least how it is supposed to work.  Some of this helps to reveal a bit about the theoretical and philosophical underpinnings of this project.  That said, I'm not always sure that Ohoama and his officials were necessarily adherents to those philosophies or if they saw them more as justifications fro their actions.  And, in the end, does it matter?  Even if they weren't strict Confucianists, it is hard to argue that Confucian theory didn't loom large in their project, given its impact on the systems they were cribbing from.  Furthermore, if we need to extrapolate things that go unsaid, we could do worse than using Confucianism and similar continental philosophies as our guide, given what we see in the record. 
A particularly intriguing record for understanding how that government was supposed to work is a declaration that civil and military officials of the central and provincial governments should, every year, consider their subordinates and determine what promotions, if any, they should receive.  They were to send in their recommendations within the first ten days to the judges, or "houkan".  The judges would compare the reports and make their recommendations up to the Daibenkan—the executive department of the Dajokan, the Council of State.  In addition, officers who refused orders to go on various missions for the court were ineligible for promotion, unless their refusal was specifically for genuine illness or bereavement following the loss of a parent.
This feels like an important note on how the whole bureaucratic appointment and promotion system worked.  It actually follows early ideas of the meritocratic bureaucracy that was at the heart of how the government was supposed to work.  It isn't quite the same as magistrates roaming the land and seeking out talented individuals, but it still demonstrates a promotion system that is at least nominally about the merit of the individual and not solely based on personal patronage—though I'm sure the sovereign, the sumera no mikoto, or tennou, could still issue promotions whenever he so wished.
And as cool as I find all that to be, I think the piece that I find particularly fun is the fact that they had to specify that only a "genuine" illness was a valid excuse.  That suggests to me that there were people who would feign illness to get out of work.  In other words, faking a sick day is nothing new and you could totally have a ritsuryo version of "Ferris Buehler's Day Off".
This meritocratic idea seems to be tempered a bit a few years later, in 682.  We see an edict that not only describes the language and character of the court ritual, but also talking about verifying the lineage and character of anyone who applies for office.  Anyone whose lineage was found to be less than sufficient would be declared ineligible, regardless of whatever else they had done.
And this is the tension of trying to overlay a theoretical system, based on the idea of merit, on a hereditary aristocracy.  In a meritocracy, one wouldn't blink twice at a person from a "lesser" ranked family making their way up and above those of "superior" families.  Then again, you probably wouldn't have families ranked in a hierarchy, anyway.  I feel like we've touched on this in a past episode, somewhere, but it isn't the last time we'll be talking about this.  After initially adopting the system as it theoretically should be, the cultural pressures of the elite nobles would start to shape the government into something that was not quite so threatening to the power of those elite families.  After all, those families held a lot of power—economic, political, and otherwise—and, as elites throughout history have done, they would do whatever they could to hold onto that power.
This is actually something we see on the continent.  Whatever sense of justice or equality may have lay at the heart of the theory behind good governance, it was always going to be impacted by those with resources and the familial connections that bind people together.  For instance, it was the wealthy who would have the money and leisure time to be able to hire tutors, acquire books, and spend time studying and learning—something that is hard to do if you have to help your family work in the fields.  And the court would always be a place of politics, which was fueled by wealth and connections.  No doubt, if you asked someone of the time, they would say that the "correct" thing to do would be to work your way up from the bottom, starting from a low ranked position and climbing up based on their good deeds.  That's all well and good, but then we see preference given to the highest nobles, with their own progeny getting a jump on things by being automatically placed higher in rank.  With only a finite number of positions in the government, this meant  that climbing through the ranks would be almost impossible at some point, as there just weren't enough positions for those qualified to take them.
This is an all-too-common problem, regardless of the actual system of government.  The powerful and wealthy have always had a leg up—though sometimes more than others.
That isn't to say that those less fortunate were always ignored.  For instance, early in his reign, Ohoama made a decree to divide the common people—those who were not members of the royal family, so not princes or princesses—into three different classes, Upper, Middle, and Lower, all based on their wealth or financial status.  Only the two lower groups were eligible for loans of seed rice, should they need it.  That isn't so different than a lot of modern, means-tested government assistance programs, when you think about it.  The idea of breaking up groups into an "Upper", "Middle", and "Lower" category is found elsewhere—Bentley notes Article 16 of the Statutes of Arable Land dividing up families who planted mulberry.  "Ryou no Shuuge", a 9th century commentary on the Yoro law-code, notes that, at least by that time, the three categories were based on the number of people in a given household, not just the total wealth, it would seem.
 
 
Other decrees help us understand the make-up of the court, such as decree in the 8th month of 679, with the sovereign requesting that various houses send women to work in the court.  Bentley notes that this is very similar wording to Article 18 of the statutes of the Rear Palace, where the sovereign's consorts lived.  He also mentions a note in Ryou no Shuuge stating it was specifically women from noble families in the capital city and nearby who were employed for low-level tasks in the palace.
 
 
Continuing with the ordering of the government, in the third month of 681, Ohoama went to the well of the New Palace—the Nihi no Miya—and he ordered the military drums and other instruments to be played.  In the continental style, music was an important part of the military, with certain instruments and tunes that would be played for a variety of purposes.  It is unclear that the archipelago had such a detailed history of military music, and so it seems that this is in emulation of the continental practice.
Then, in the 5th month, Ohoama had to crack down on another practice that was apparently taking off with the various public functionaries.  As we noted, earlier, public functionaries were reliant on their superiors, the judges, and then the Council of State for their promotion.  However, some appear to have found another way to garner favor, and that was through female palace officials—those working in the private quarters.  Those palace officials would have access to the sovereign and his families—his queen and various consorts.  And of course, if Ohoama heard good things about a person, then perhaps he would put them forward for promotion.  At the very least, if that person's name came forward, it might be well thought of.  And so public functionaries had taken to paying their respects to the women working in the palace.  Sometimes they would go to their doors and make their case directly.  Other times they would offer presents to them and their families.  This was clearly not how the system was intended to work.  As such, Ohoama told everyone to knock it off—should he hear about anyone trying this in the future, then the offenders would be punished according to their circumstances.
Of course, I would note that this only would be a problem if the individuals were caught.  If the rest of Japanese history—heck, world history—is anything to go on, then humans are going to human and the court was no doubt deeply steeped in political maneuvering of all kinds.  I imagine that this practice never fully stopped, but it probably stopped being quite as blatant—for now.
Continuing with the development of how the government operated, we get the entry for the 28th day of the 3rd lunar month of 682.  It starts with various sumptuary laws, with Princes down to public functionaries no longer wearing specialized caps of office—effectively getting rid of the idea of "cap-rank".  They also would no longer wear the aprons, sashes, or leggings that were part of the previous outfit.  Likewise the Uneme and female palace officials would no longer wear the elbow-straps or shoulder-scarves.  This appears to have moved the court closer to what the continent was wearing at the time, with belted garments based on clothing not too dissimilar from what was found across the Silk Road, to be honest. 
They also discontinued all sustenance-fiefs for Princes and Ministers.  Those had to be returned to the State.  Presumably their salaries would then come from any stipends associated with their rank, instead.  This doesn't seem all that connected with the other edict, focused on clothing and rank, except that is part of the further centralization of power and authority—all taxes were to go to the central government and then get parceled out, and everyone—or at least those in the court—were to conform to a standard uniform.  That said, for all that it may have been the intent, as we shall see, the court would never fully get rid of the idea of privately held tax land—it would just take different forms over time.
Later, we get more sumptuary laws, some about what the people of the court would wear, but others that were more general.  Sumptuary laws are laws specifically focused on controlling things such as expenditures or personal behavior—including what one wore and how they expressed themselves--and they are generally made to help order society in some way.  There were a lot of cultures where purple, for instance, was reserved for royalty—often because of how expensive it was and difficult to make.  Wearing an expensive purple fabric could be seen as an expression of wealth—and thus power—and that could feel like a challenge to those in power themselves.  It probably also meant that there was enough dye for the royal robes and it was not nearly so scarce.
In other instances, we see sumptuary laws to call out people of certain groups.  Some laws are to distinguish an in-group, and others to call out a group to be set apart from society.  Other such laws were made to distinguish between social constructs such as caste or gender.  Even today we have a concept of "cross-dressing" as we have determined that certain clothing or styles are seen as either more masculine or feminine, and there are those who call out such things as somehow perverting society.  And yet, the clothing is simply pieces of fabric, and what may have been considered masculine or feminine in one time or place may not bee seen as such in another.
In this case, the sumptuary laws in question focused on hairstyles.  Ohoama decreed that all persons, male or female, must tie up their hair—they couldn't leave it hanging down. This was to be done no later than the last day of the year—the 30th day of the 12th lunar month, though it could be required even before that.  We are also told that women were expected to ride horses in the saddle similar to the way men did. This appears to mean they would sit astride a saddle, with their legs on either side, and not in something akin to side saddle.  This also likely meant that women riding horses would want trousers, similar to what men wore, at least for that part of it.  Trying to wear a long skirt with your legs on either side of a horse does not strike me as the most comfortable position to put yourself in, not that people haven't figured it out over the centuries in various ways.  Indeed, in some Tang statuary, women are often depicted riding horseback with trousers.
 
In the 9th month of 682 we get a fun entry.  Well, I find it amusing.  We are told that the practice of ceremonial crawling and kneeling was to be abolished and that they would adopt the ceremonial custom of standing, as had been practiced in the Naniwa court.  And a part of me thinks of some old courtier who was having trouble with all of the kneeling who was suddenly very happy with this new ordinance.  On the other hand, it is fascinating to think of the other implications.
First, we are being told that there was a custom of standing at the Naniwa court, while in Asuka there was a tradition of ceremonial crawling and kneeling.  Bentley's translation makes it apparent that this was specifically as you entered through the gates: that you would bow and then crawl through the entranceway.
I'm assuming that the standing custom was based on continental tradition, since that seemed to be what the Naniwa palace was built to emulate, and that in returning to Asuka they were partaking in a more local ritual—though I'm not entirely certain as I just don't have enough information to know at this point.  Aston does claim that it was custom in the Tang court, though I'm not sure of his source for that.
In 683 we get more information on how the court functioned.  We are told that there was a decree that all persons of rank in the Home Provinces were expected to present themselves at Court at some point in the first month of each quarter.  You were only excused if you were sick, at which point an official would need to send a report up to the judicial authorities. 
So every noble in the Home Provinces had to travel to the court once every four months.  And if they couldn't, they need to be able to produce the equivalent of a doctor's note, saysing so.
We aren't told why this was implemented.  I suspect that there had to be some compromise between nobles being at and working at the court and going back to their hometown to also keep an eye on things there.  It is possible that there were plenty of people who just weren't coming to the court unless they had to—living off their stipend, but not necessarily doing the work.  So this may have been a "return to office" type order to make sure that people were there, in the "office" of the court at least once every four months.
This brings to mind the Edo period practice of alternate attendance, or Sankin-koutai, where daimyo would have to attend on the Shogun for a time and then could return home.  Of course, that was also done as a means to drain their coffers, and I don't believe this was meant in quite so punishing a manner.
Having a permanent city, where the nobles had houses in the city, would likely fix these issues, allowing the court to be more regularly staffed.  Sure enough, that same decree included the decree that there would be a Capital City at Naniwa as well as other places, while the work at Nihiki, on what would become the Fujiwara capital, was already underway.
Speaking of the capital, that work would require labor and people to oversee it.  In 10th month of 684, we see a note that gives us a glimpse into the management of corvee labor, as Prince Hatsuse and Kose no Asomi no Umakahi, as well as officials down to facilities managers, 20 people in all, were set up as corvee labor managers for the royal region. 
 
 
Next, let's talk criminal matters.  What kinds of things were people being accused of or what laws were being set up to constraing the activities of individuals.
 
We'll start by looking at how justices was handled, generally speaking.  Some of it seems almost obvious, like in 675, when we are told that the sovereign ordered that nobody—whether a minister, a functionary, or a citizen—should commit an offense lest they be punished accordingly.  'But what was happening previously to make such a proclamation necessary?
On the one hand, I suspect that this was a warning to the elites of the archipelago more than anything else, especially those who might not have been in direct fealty to the Yamato sovereign previously.  Those elites farther out in the provinces were probably used to a looser hand, and fewer consequences for their actions.  Back in Taika years, in the late 640s, just as everything was kicking off, the court had had to bring the hammer down on the governors and various kuni no miyatsuko, local elites who had been doing things their own way.  I suspect this was just a similar attempt to bring people into line and a reminder of who actually wore the hakama in this administration. 
It also seems to be a straightforward statement that the law applied to every person—or at least every person outside of the sovereign, himself. That was likely a novel idea for many people, where those in positions of power were likely able to get away with murder, quite literally, because who was going to stop them?  We've seen how many of the more powerful families controlled what were essentially private armies.
At the same time, 675 is before these new formal law codes and punishments were in place.  Presumably there was tradition in place and some understanding that the sovereign could declare laws and punishment, but I also wonder if this isn't part of the reason that they felt that centralized, authoritative, written law codes were required in the first place.  After all, communicating laws and punishments verbally across the archipelago, even with the potential for written edicts, likely relied a lot on local administrators to interpret the edicts and figure out what was going on.
This seems to align with an edict from the 10th month of 679, which decried that there were many people guilty of crimes and violence hanging around the capital.  This was blamed on the Princes and Ministers, since the edict claimed that these high officials heard about it but didn't do anything, instead treating it like a nuisance that was too much trouble—or perhaps too personally expensive—to do anything about.  Alternatively, those same princes and ministers would see people that they knew were guilty, but they didn't want to go through the trouble of actually reporting them, and so the offenders could get away with it.  The proposed solution was to exhort those in higher stations to punish the offenses of those beneath them, while those of lower stations were expected to remonstrate with their superiors when those superiors were rude or violent.  In other words, if everyone just held everyone else accountable, then things would work out.
This seems like a great sentiment, but I have to imagine that there was something more beyond the high-minded ideals. Again,  I suspect that it was probably as much Ohoama putting people on notice.  Still, this seems aspirational rather than definitive. 
 
 
A clear example of the kind of thing that was being prohibited is likelye the decree about fishermen and hunters, who were forbidden from making pitfalls or using spear traps or similar devices.  Also, from the beginning of the 4th month until the 13th day of the 9th month, no one was to set fish-weirs, or himasakiri—an unknown device, but probably another type of fish trap.  Ohoama also prohibited the eating of cattle, horses, dogs, monkeys, or chickens.  Other animals, including boar, deer, fish, etc., were all fair game, as it were.
The prohibition on traps is likely because they were a hazard to anyone walking through the area.  In the Tang dynasty they did something similar, but they did make exceptions for hunters in the deep mountains, who were supposed to put up signs warning any travelers.  As for the weirs and himasakiri, whatever that might be, I have less context, but likely it did have some reasoning—possibly similar to our modern concepts of having certain seasons for various types of fishing.  Fish weirs do create obstructions, and between the 4th and 9th lunar months Japan does see the summer monsoon rains—could that be the reason?  Tsuyu, or rainy season, is often around July to mid-June, today.  Or perhaps there is another motivation for that particular prohibition.
As for the eating of various animals—of the animals listed, all but the monkeys are domesticated animals who generally weren't considered as food animals.  Cattle were used for working the fields, horses were ridden, and dogs were used for hunting.  I wonder if monkeys were just too close to people. The chicken prohibition may seem odd to us, today.  The word for chicken, "niwatori", literally means garden bird, though the Nihon Shoki uses something more like "barn door bird".  We know that cock-fighting was a thing in later periods, and that chickens were associated with Amaterasu, possibly for their legendary habit of crowing as the sun comes up.  We can also note the lack of some animals, like cats, from the list.  Perhaps cats were never in danger of being seen as a food source, or perhaps cats just weren't as prevalent at the time—we know cats were around from at least the Nara period, but there isn't much evidence before that.  There are examples of bones thought to be from a cat from the Yayoi period found on Iki island, but it is hard to say from that if they were fully established across the archipelago. Still,  I do find it curious they are not on the list.Continuing on, we later see where see the court issued an edict that prohibited the cutting of grass or firewood on Mt. Minabuchi and Mt. Hosokawa.  Furthermore they prevented any indiscriminate burning or cutting on all of the mountains in the Home Provinces.  This feels somewhat religious—after all, the mountains were often considered the domain of the kami.  Perhaps there were some religious restrictions.  On the other hand, some of it sounds like they were trying to just ensure that with a growing population they didn't denude the mountains around the capital.
This whole incident brings to mind problems that occurred in and around Chang'an, the western Tang capital.  The palace itself—not to mention all of the houses and temples—took so much wood that it was a drain on the nearby forests.  And that is without taking into account the simple harvesting of wood for cooking fires, tools, etc.  In fact, the logging industry of that time devastated the local environment, meaning that they had to travel farther and farther to find suitable wood for the monumental buildings they wished to create.  It is also thought to have contributed to various natural disasters in and around the capital.  Perhaps Yamato was worried that unrestricted logging in the Home Provinces could likewise cause problems?  Or was that simply an added benefit gained from the idea that mountains were sacred spaces?
 
Later in the 10th month of 679, there was an edict determining sumptuary rules for monks clothing, as well as what kind of retinue could accompany them when they went out.  We talked about this back in Episode 142.  That same month, there was an edict that, while monks and nuns might normally be expected to stay at a temple—such as in the quarters identified in the ruins of Kawaradera—that it became a problem when older monks became bed-ridden.  After all, if they couldn't leave their bed, then one can only imagine how it must have been.  Not to get overly graphic, but they couldn't exactly make it out to the latrine at that point, either.  So it was determined that if an elderly monk were to reach the stage that they were bed-ridden, and unlikely to recover, then the temple would seek out relatives or laypersons to help build a hut or two in vacant spaces on the temple grounds.  There, the sick and bed-ridden monks could be cared for in a more sanitary manner.
Now the way this is written, on the one hand it seems they were worried about ritual purification as much as anything, but I imagine that this was also practical.  After all, as you get all of those monks living together, one can only imagine that disease and illness could easily spread in those close quarters.  So separating those who were quite sick only makes sense, like an early form of quarantine.
A lot of these prohibitions seem to be fairly practical.  Don't put traps where people could accidentally fall into them.  Don't chop down the nearby forest—we may need that later.  And even: don't leave a sick or elderly monk in a crowded dormitory situation.But what about the penal codes?
If you lived in the latter part of Temmu's reign and you did violate one of the rules mentioned above, or one of the many others at play, what would happen to you, and how did that vary based on your place in society?
Unfortunately, most of what we get on this is kind of bare bones.  We often see the punishment, but not t he crime.  We are just told that someone was found guilty, or condemned.  Take, for example, the Buddhist Priest, Fukuyou, of Asukadera, who was condemned and thrown into prison.  We aren't told what he did to deserve confinement, but it wouldn't last long.  Apparently Fukuyou cut his own throat, ending his life, rather than face other consequences or live with the shame of whatever crime he had committed.
By the way, the term "prison" here is interesting.  We certainly see people being imprisoned in some way, shape, or form—locked up and unable to freely travel.  That isn't exactly the same, however, as a prison complex or system.  There may have been buildings used a jail—a temporary holding facility while the actual punishment was determined.  And we also see the equivalent of house arrest.  Later, there would be formal "prisons" set up for the detention of individuals, who were often then forced to labor as part of their punishment.  However, they had many other forms of punishment, many of which required much fewer staff.  After all, a prison requires that you have guards constantly watching the prisoners to make sure nothing gets out of hand.  Instead, you could just exile them to an island or even just another province, with a lot less manpower.
A less drastic punishment was handed out back in the 4th month of 675, when we are told that Tahema no Kimi no Hiromaro and Kunu no Omi no Maro were both forbidden from attending the court—for what purpose we aren't immediately told.  However, six days later, Kunu no Maro was held accountable for offering resistance to a royal messenger—maybe the one who communicated that he was banished from the court.  As a punishment, he was stripped of all of his offices and dignities.  Both Tahema no Hiromaro and Kunu no Maro appear to have been pardoned at a later date, though we aren't sure when.  It could have been one of the various general amnesties—and we'll talk about that in a moment.  Hiromaro passed away in 685, but he was provided a posthumous promotion in rank and is noted for his efforts supporting Ohoama during the Jinshin no Ran.  Meanwhile, Kunu no Maro—also known as Abe no Kunu no Maro is seen delivering a eulogy in 686.  Perhaps somewhat ironically, he did so on behalf of the Office of Punishments—later the Keimu-shou, or Ministry of Punishment.  These actions certainly seem to be at odds with them being punished, let alone banished from the court.
We also see an example where  Prince Womi, who was of the 3rd princely ranks—even higher than Prince Kurikuma, whom we discussed last episode—was guilty of some kind of offense and banished to Inaba.  One of his children was also banished to Izushima and the other to Chikashima.  Aston suggests that this means Ohoshima and Chikashima may be in Hizen.  Again, very little to go on as to what was happening, though it seems that all three were punished together and sent away from each other, perhaps so that they could not plot or scheme together.  Later amnesties would probably have resulted in pardons for them.
 
Speaking of pardons—the punishments that we are speaking about all appear to be permanent, other than imprisonment, which may have been more of a temporary situation.  It wasn't like being sent away for so many years.  However, on the other side of the coin was the option for a pardon or amnesty.  While I imagine that the sovereign could always provide a pardon directly, we more regularly see general amnesties declared, sometimes with very specific guidelines.
One of the most illuminating such instances, and possibly where Kunu no Maro and Tahema no Hiromaro were pardoned, came in the 7th month of 676.  That month the court issued a general amnesty, likely to increase the merit accrued to the State through an act of mercy and forgiveness, given the drought and famine that had been reported earlier that summer.  Perhaps paradoxically, this act of leniency gives us an interesting view into the types of punishments that were made, as well as how severe each was considered.    The amnesty mitigated all sentences of death, enforced servitude, or the three classes of banishment, and they would all be mitigated by one degree.  So anyone sentenced to death would instead just become enslaved.  Those who were sentenced to enslavement would be banished to a distant province.  Those banished to a distant province would only be banished to a province at a medium distance.  Banishment to a medium province would be downgraded to a nearer province.  And Banishment to a nearer province would be downgraded to banishment—or removal—to a place in the same province.  For anyone who committed a crime for which they would be removed to a place in the same province—or for any lesser crime—would be completely pardoned, whether or not the crime was actually known.  So you couldn't be held responsible, retroactively.
This gives us a kind of hierarchy to use as far as the kinds of punishment that might be handed out.  Of course, there are also a few others, which I generally assume were considered lesser.  For instance: banishment from the court, or being stripped of government rank, that sort of thing.
There was a caveat that this amnesty would not apply to those who had already left for their place of banishment—nor, obviously, to those who had already been executed.  So if you had already settled in to your new life, this amnesty didn't exactly matter.  This could be where Tahema no Hiromaro and Kunu no Maro were pardoned and thus allowed to find their way back into the court's good graces.  On the other hand, others probably wish that this amnesty happened a bit later—one month later, to be exact.  We are told that Prince Yagaki, the current viceroy of the Dazaifu, was accused of some offense and banished to Tosa, in Shikoku.  As usual, the record does not feel the need to tell us what the offense was or try to justify it anyway.
 
This is all well and good, but what exactly did the justice system look like?  How were criminals accused, and how would they investigate and prove your guilt?  In the 11th month of 682, we see a rather detailed description of how trials and punishment were to be carried out.  For any offense against the law, whether it was in the palace or the court, it would be immediately examined, and nobody was allowed to conceal information about it.  If the offense was grave enough, then the next step would depend on the rank of the individual.  For individuals of high birth, their guilt would be reported to the court, presumably for whatever punishment they deemed appropriate from there.  For others, they would be arrested.  If they resisted arrest, then the palace guards would be sent after them.  A typical punishment was flogging, which was not to go beyond 100 blows.  Finally, if the individual were clearly guilty, but yet continued to profess their innocence, then that would be considered perjury and added to their sentence.
It should be noted that in East Asia at this time, there was no concept of innocent until proven guilty.  If you were accused of a crime, then it was up to you to prove that you were innocent.  It was not uncommon for an arrest to occur, and then for the authorities to then torture a confession out of the individual.  Since they already had assumed the individual's guilt, this was just meant to get them to admit it.  Even into modern times, Japan has had a high conviction rate, but there are accusations that this is simply because of the presence of coerced confessions.  A coerced confession helps to demonstrate that the system is correct, and working as designed, whilst protestations of innocence call into question the validity of the system.
There is another type of guilt and punishment—and leniency, for that matter—mentioned in the 6th month of 677: We are told that the Yamato no Aya no Atahe were considered guilty of the "seven misdemeanors", which seems like it is more an indictment of their moral failings rather than any kind of direct criminal behavior.  Furthermore, they were accused of pushing back against the rightful sovereigns from the time of Kashikiya Hime down to the time of the Afumi court.  This would seem to indicate that they had been supporting the Soga and the Afumi court, but if so, I wouldn't say that the Chronicles help to clarify it in any way.  Perhaps they just were willful and not showing the right amount of loyalty to the throne.  Whatever they did, Ohoama was none too pleased, but he also didn't want to completely destroy the uji.  Instead, as a compromise, he offered them clemency for any past actions, pardoning them, but also claiming that if they stepped out of line again, then their offense would be unpardonable.  This whole entry is a vibe.  It is less of a punishment and more of a sword of Damocles being set up above them.
Several years later, in 682, we see the Yamato no Aya being granted the title of Muraji.  In consequence of the appointment, the entire household—all the men and women alike, presented themselves to the court.  They rejoiced and praised Ohoama, thanking him for raising them in status.  This doesn't feel like a normal entry—it isn't like every family was coming into court and giving thanks every time that a promotion was handed out.  This feels like classic "kissing the ring" to get back into good graces with someone who was, effectively, an autocratic ruler.  While there was a bureaucracy, based on everything we've seen Ohoama had bent it largely to his will by appointing family members and other members of the elite princely class—those with at least nominal familial connections—to positions of power and authority.
 
And with that, I think we will bring this episode to a close.  Next episode we'll finish out this reign with a few projects and various other miscellaneous events.
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And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.

This episode we'll be looking at a bunch of different references referring to the various provinces, particularly those on the far edges of the archipelago.
For more, check out:  https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-144
 
Rough Transcript
Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua, and this is episode 144: On the Edge
The ships sat low in the water, bobbing gently against the docks at Naniwa.  The captain eyed them warily as the officials went over the manifest.  The Seto Inland Sea was generally calm and smooth sailing—at least compared to the open ocean, anywhere else -- and yet, as he looked, he could only think of how sluggish these ships would be.  They were laden down with cargo—silk, cloth, thread, and of course provisions for the men accompanying them.  But more than that, they were laden down with iron.  Tons of iron ingots, destined for the far reaches of the archipelago.  First to Suwa, but then on to the Dazai on Tsukushi, no doubt to be forged into weapons for the defense of Yamato.
But that wasn't the captain's concern.  He just needed to make sure that the ships weren't weighed down too much:  as long as they remained buoyant, they would make the journey, even if they had to travel at a snail's pace to do it.  But if the ships sat too low in the water, then all it would take was some uncooperative waves and the ships, crew, and cargo, would be sent straight down to the palace of the dragon king, beneath the waves.
Fortunately, with enough ships, it looked like that wouldn't be too much of a problem, as long as the goods were properly spaced out.  Now to just hope that the weather cooperated.  Even in the relatively safe waters of the Seto Inland Sea, you never know what could happen…
 
 
So last episode we talked about two large projects that Ohoama is said to have started.  First was the history project, which likely led to the Kojiki and the Nihon Shoki.  Second was the start of a brand new capital.  This episode, we are going from the macro, down to the micro—smaller events that just weren't covered in previous episodes.  For the most part the next few episodes are going to be a grab bag of various items, but I'm going to try and put some semblance of cohesion to this.  Next episode we'll be looking at some of the laws that they made, including the law code and examples of the kinds of punishment—and forgiveness—that the court could bestow.  This week, however, we are going to cover a bunch of stories focused on the areas outside of the Home Provinces.  We'll look at the Dazai in Tsukushi—and elsewhere.  We'll talk about how the provinces were governed, and what concerned them.  Granted, a lot of what concerned them, at least from the Chroniclers point of view, were taxes and economic production.  So we see recorded concern with taxes and with what was there—the land and the people that worked it.  Also with natural events, like droughts and tsunami, which would affect that same economic production.
 
We're starting off with the Dazai, and the person in charge there.  The Viceroy, as it is often called in English.
The Dazai appears to have started off with something of a military purpose.  It was a gathering place before ships would sail off to the Korean peninsula, raiding up the rivers, or trading with their allies.  As the archipelago began to be more embroiled in the wars of the peninsula, it was that much more important.  And when Yamato's ally, Baekje, fell, and it looked like Silla and the Great Tang might turn their attention to the islands that had been a thorn in their side for so long, it became a bulwark against potential invasion.
However, it also had another function.  It was the jumping off place for warships, but also for embassies and trading missions.  It was also the primary destination for most ships approaching Yamato.  They would take a route through Tsushima island, and then Iki island, and continue to the main coast of Tsukushi—Kyushu, and up and around to the sheltered waters of Hakata bay.  At some point they would even move that initial contact farther out, to Tsushima island itself.  Ships would dock on one side of the island, and transport their goods to a Yamato ship on the other side, with a pilot who knew the waters.  The local island officials could then send word ahead to the Dazai that they were coming.  No surprises, and nobody jumping the gun thinking that a fleet of warships was on their way.
The Dazai played a key role in defense, trade, and diplomacy.  When the embassies arrived, they were entertained at the Dazai while word was sent to the court.  If the court deemed it appropriate, then they might have the ambassadors take the journey the rest of the way.  Otherwise, the court at the Dazai would stand in for the sovereign, and receive the messages, and various diplomatic gifts that were sent along.
This was a powerful and also highly lucrative position, and it is reflected in the people who were granted the title.  This was the Dazai no Sochi, or Oho-mikoto-mochi no kami.
We see the post held by Soga no Himuka in  649, during the Taika era.  Then we see Abe no Hirafu in the reign of Takara Hime, 655-661.  Hirafu would go on to become the Minister of the Left.  Then we see Prince Kurikuma.
We talked about Prince Kurikuma before—he was Ohoama's ally in Tsukushi who refused the Afumi court's request for troops during the Jinshin no Ran.  He is one of the few figures that we have more than just a bit of information on.  For one thing, we have two different appointments to his position as viceroy in Tsukushi—there is one in 668, and another in 671, with Soga no Akae being given the post in between.  There are some questions about whether or not those were different people—the first one might have been someone named "Kurisaki" or "Kurimae", but it is generally assumed that was just misspelled, and it may be that there were just some questions as to when he was appointed.  We also know that he was a friend to Ohoama.  The Afumi court said as much, and in the Jinshin no Ran, when he and his sons stood up  to the Afumi court's request for troops, he came down heavily on Ohoama's side.  It is no wonder that he would have still been in such a powerful position. 
His sons, by the way, are named as Prince Mino and Prince Takebe; we've seen what appears to be different Princes named Mino, but it is possible that this is the Prince Mino mentioned elsewhere in this part of the record.
Sources suggest that Kurikuma was a descendant of the sovereign Nunakura, aka Bidatsu Tennou, and that he was an ancestor of the Tachibana clan.  There were stories about him in Tsukushi, beyond those in the Nihon Shoki, and while he isn't always named explicitly, one can infer that he hosted a number of embassies and ambassadors in his time.  In fact, in his position as head of the Dazaifu in Tsukushi, he was in what was perhaps the most lucrative post outside of Yamato.  In addition to being in charge of trade, diplomacy, and military readiness, the Dazaifu oversaw all of Tsukushi—the island of Kyushu, and was like a miniature representation of the central government.
I suspect it is the military responsibilities that saw Kurikuma being appointed to the post of Director of Military Affairs—Tsuwamo-no-Tsukasa-no-Kami, or Heiseikan-cho. That was in the 3rd lunar month of 675, just a few years into Ohoama's reign.
This would later be known as the Hyoubu-shou, or Ministry of War.  The appointment would not last long, however.  A year later, Kurikuma would pass away from disease. 
Prince Kurikuma is one of those enigmatic and yet somewhat exciting individuals that exists beyond just the Nihon Shoki.   The Shoku Nihongi and later sources give us additional details, which may or may not be accurate.  Even moreso, there are stories in modern Nagasaki prefecture about Prince Kurikuma helping to regulate the animals that lived in the waters surrounding Kyushu.  According to the Shoku Nihongi record, he was reportedly granted the 2nd princely rank upon his death—which, if true, would seem to say a lot about how he was viewed at the time.
Moving into the year 676, we see an edict that restricted governorships to individuals of the rank of Daisen and below.  The exceptions to this were the Home Provinces, Michinoku, and Nagato, and let's explore why these areas were excepted.
Home Provinces make sense, as that is where the capital is and this more prestigious area was therefore deserving of a higher ranked noble.  Michinoku was the opposite geographically: it was the general wilderness of Tohoku, and the land of the Emishi.  It was also the farthest east of the capital, so I suspect they wanted someone of rank to handle that. 
The governor of Nagato, however, is interesting.  Nagato is part of Honshu, the main island, just north of Kyushu, across the Shimonoseki strait.  Similar to Michinoku, Nagato was one of the most remote provinces on Honshu.  It was also an important province for potential defense and trade, and often coordinated with the Dazaifu in Tsukushi, to the south.  As such, it was also considered a more prominent posting than other governorships.
It is somewhat interesting that the Dazaifu is not mentioned, but I suspect this is because the head of the Dazaifu was not, in fact, a governor, but more akin to a viceroy.  After all, they had to be entrusted with a certain amount of authority to be able to conduct military, trade, and diplomatic business without constantly sending back to the Yamato court for instruction.  We've already seen that there were Princes and other men of wealth and status who had been given that posting.
Interestingly, in this reign we see at least one other viceroy—one other Dazai, or Ohomikotomochi—and that is in Kibi, of all places.  From what we can tell Kibi was one of the main rivals for power and authority in the prior centuries.  It has come up again and again in the stories.  Unfortunately, most of the stories only hint at what we think actually happened.  Today, when we talk about *the* Dazaifu we are almost exclusively talking about the one in Kyushu.  Besides being far flung from the center of power, it had huge responsibilities.
Comparatively, though perhaps not as directly involved with trade, the rulers of Kibi were important figures, as demonstrated by the amount of manpower they were able to leverage for building their large, kingly tombs.  We talked somewhat about that back in Episode 48, looking at Tsukuriyama Kofun, one of the largest in the archipelago.  Furthermore, Kibi was well-placed on the Seto inland sea to be able to control the passage of ships.  The Kibi Dazai appears to have been established around the time of the Taika reforms, though it is only mentioned once in the Nihon Shoki, and I don't see any other examples of it.  There is also evidence that it was given authority over not just Kibi, but also the neighboring province of Harima.  Eventually, however, Kibi would be broken up into the three provinces of Bizen, Bitchu, and Bingo, and it would no longer need to be aggregated under a single administration.  Rather, each province would get its own governor, overseeing a much smaller part of the whole.  From this I can only assume that there may have been other, similar situations, prior to the various provinces being broken up like that.
A couple months later, in the 5th month of 676, we are once again discussing governors.  First was a decree about governors who weren't paying their commuted taxes on time.  Aston goes on to note that non-rice taxes were due in the middle of the 8th month—at least for the home provinces.  Near provinces—a little farther away—taxes had to be received by the end of the 10th month, and for those a bit farther away—in the middle distance—they had to be there by the 11th month.  Finally,  the taxes from the farthest provinces were due by the end of the 12th month.  This would have given officials time to collect the taxes and to transport them all the way to the capital.  So when the chronicles talk about governors not paying on time, not keeping to this schedule may have been what the court was getting at—or at least some kind of similar schedule with deadlines, since it might have been modified over time. 
 
Another record, that same month—actually a few days later—concerns specifically the governor of Shimotsukenu—or Shimotsuke, on the other side of Honshu.  He sent in a report that that province had been hit pretty hard that year with a poor harvest.  In fact, it was so bad that many peasants were seeking permission to sell their children.  The court ultimately denied the request, but this does speak to a rather disturbing—yet not exactly uncommon—cultural practice.  I don't think we need to get into the different nuances here, beyond a look at the fact that this was likely not a new practice, but it does seem that the appeal to the government for permission to sell one's children was something new.  Perhaps this came with all of the records and registrations that the government had undertaken to know who was in what household.  Regardless, one can hardly imagine that most parents would willingly take this option unless they had no other choice, and I suspect that it is meant to show both the desperation of the people in Shimotsuke, as well as the harsh benevolence of the sovereign, who would not permit the children to be separated from their families. 
Of course, we aren't told how the court otherwise ameliorated the situation, since moral righteousness is tremendous, but doesn't suddenly fix the problems with the harvest or cause food to appear out of nowhere.  One hopes that the court at least sent some amount of rice or other provisions to help the people.
Although it was Shimotsuke in the 5th month, in the 6th month we see a more general report of a large drought.  Messengers were sent throughout the land to get people to donate cloth, and make prayers to the kami, while Buddhist Priests called upon the power of the Three Precious Things.  It was all to no avail—the usual rains didn't come, so the wugu, the five grains didn't grow, and peasants starved.  The five grains per se are  rice, soybeans, wheat, and two types of millet, but in this case the term is just a stand-in for all types of agricultural produce.
Possibly unrelated, but somewhat telling, two months later we see a record of the court granting sustenance-fiefs of all Royal princes and princesses down to the high ministers and female officials at the palace down to the rank of Shoukin.  So only two months after the peasants of Yamato were apparently starving, the court is handing out stipend increases to the elite.  So… yeah….
We do see a focus in the 8th month on an Oho-barai, or Great Purification.  I'm going to talk about this more in a future episode, though, so just noting here that they seem to have been working to purify the land and that may have been part of ongoing spiritual attempts to request the support of the kami in what appear to be difficult times.  There were also plenty of examples of attempts to make merit by demonstrating righteousness and reading various sutras.
Moving on to the events of 677, things seem to have been going better than the previous year, so maybe all that merit-making had an effect?  Either way, we don't see any mention of droughts or famines this year, and we make it to the ninth month, when we see a notice that any vagabonds who returned after being sent back to their hometown would be set to forced labor.  Vagabond, in this case, is "furounin", or "person who floats on the waves".  This appears to be the origin of the term "Rounin", which would later refer to masterless samurai.  At this point it seems to refer mostly to commoners who were expected to work the land—and when workers abandoned the land that had implications for the government's tax base system.  So the State was invested in ensuring that people didn't just move somewhere else—at least without asking permission and being properly registered.  This does seem different from an actual fugitive, such as someone who was banished who tries to leave their place of banishment.
The following month, the 10th month of 677,  we see that Kawabe no Omi no Momoye was appointed head of the Minbukyo, the Minister of the Interior.  In addition, Tajihi no Kimi no Maro was made a Daibu, or high official, of the province of Settsu.     The term "daibu" could just refer to high ministers of the court, but the "daibu" of a province appears to be similar to a governor, but with more expansive and comprehensive authority.  Settsu is one of the five home provinces, and as such an important part of the geographical heart of Yamato.   So we have the local chieftains, the governors, the viceroys at the Dazai, and also, apparently, a "high official" in some regions, each with what appear to be overlapping but slightly different portfolios.
The next month we see that the Viceroy of Tsukushi—whoever had taken the place of Prince Yagaki—had his officials present a red crow to the court.  The person who caught the crow was granted five steps in rank—not a small reward.  Also, local officials had their own rank raised, and taxes were remitted to the peasants of that district for a year.  Finally, a general amnesty was announced across Yamato.
We talked in Episode 141 how something like a red crow would have likely represented either the three-legged crow in the sun or the legendary Suzaku, the fiery bird of the south.  Either way, it was clearly an auspicious discovery.  It is interesting that we don't see any names at all associated with this event.  We do, however, see that people were no doubt incentivized to report such things up to the court.  Whoever found such a curiosity would likely have been celebrated by all of those around given the court's broad show of appreciation.  No doubt the local officials were more than pleased given that they were also likely to receive some of the benefits that accrued if the court was well pleased.
As far as the type of events I'm focusing on this episode, there isn't much recorded between the red crow of 677 and a few years later in 682. Picking up in the 3rd month of that year, we get a record of the Emishi of Michinoku being granted court rank, incorporating them further into the growing Yamato polity.  As I talked about a little earlier, Michinoku on the other side of the archipelago, so this event really shows expansion of Yamato and solidification of its power over the rest of Honshu.  It is easy to forget that much of the Tohoku region was not firmly under Yamato control at this time.  They may have claimed it, but the people and culture there were still considered distinct and not a part of Yamato, proper.  But they were making inroads.
In the following month, the 4th lunar month of the same year, 682, we are back on the west coast and see Tajihi no Mabito no Shima as the latest Viceroy of Tsukushi, sending as tribute a large bell.  It is somewhat interesting that, compared to the past few viceroys, Shima is actually a member of a noble family and *not* a Prince.  Of course, there was no requirement that the Dazaifu be overseen by a Prince—that certainly wasn't the case for Soga no Akaye, but it is interesting given how Ohoama had been making appointments, so far.  Even if they weren't princely, it is clear that this was an important posting, which says a lot for Tajihi no Shima, even if we didn't know anything more about him. 
Fortunately, there are a few clues. For one thing, there are records that claim he was descended from one of the previous sovereigns, but he did not hold the title of "Prince".  That is reflected in his family's kabane of "Mabito", however, or "True person", which seems to indicate at least a nominal descent from a previous ruler.  Shima would continue to rise in the government, and would eventually serve as the Minister of the Right and then Minister of the Left, and at one point he would be the highest ranking noble in the government—though that was still a ways off.  All of this speaks to the importance of the position of viceroy, and probably gives us a clue as to why the Chroniclers were so interested in someone sending a bell, large as it might be, to the government.
A day after the bell tribute arrived, Emishi of Koshi, including Ikokina and others, requested 70 households of prisoners of war to create a new district.  While we've talked about the Emishi of Koshi, before, what is particularly interesting is the request for prisoners of war—captives.  Were these Wajin, or Japanese, who had been captured by the Emishi and they were requesting permission to resettle them?  Were they asking for 70 households of people being held captive by the Yamato government?  It isn't clear.  It also isn't clear if "Ikokina" is the name of an individual or of multiple individuals.  Aston originally translated it as Itaka, Kina, and others, while Bentley's more recent translation suggests it is one name.  However, given that this is an Emishi name, being transliterated in Kanji through a Japanese translator, it is hard to know without further sources.
From the fourth month to the 7th month of 682, we see a small entry that presents were given to men from Tanegashima, Yakushima, and Amami no Shima.  This simple entry is important mostly just because of its mention of continued contact with these islands south of Kyushu.  This helps us maintain some idea of the extent of Yamato's influence.
In the late summer of 683, we once again see a drought.  It began in the 7th lunar month and lasted until the 8th.  A priest named Douzou prayed for rain and eventually obtained it. Douzou is said to have been a monk from Kudara, or Baekje.  Aston suggests that this means he was a priest of Kudaradera, but it isn't really clear to me. 
In the early 8th month, we also see that there was a general amnesty ordered throughout Yamato, which I suspect was connected with the disaster of the drought and an attempt to help build merit and otherwise strengthen the state in the face of natural disaster and potential unrest.
At the end of 683, we see a survey team being sent out.  The sovereign sent Prince Ise along with Hata no Kimi no Yakuni, Ohoshi no Omi no Homuchi, and Nakatomi no Muraji no Ohoshima with clerks and artisans to tour the realm and determine the border of the various provinces, but they were unable to determine them all in a year.
This really must have been quite the task.  Certainly, the provinces were the ancient lands which people had been living in for some time, but there was never really a need for political lines on a map to determine where the boundaries were.  People generally knew if they were in one or the other, and unless there was a very contentious piece of property, mostly you didn't worry about which exact land or province you were in.  Now, however, the court was in the midst of trying to lock down all of the data about the land, including what was where and how much there was.  After all, their entire tax base was built on arable land, so they had to know where it was and what to expect.  There is no way that such a project was going to be completed in a single year.
I would also note that Aston has this particular record misplaced.  He seemed to think it was on the 23rd day of the month, but it is then followed by the 17th.  It seems that Aston just got his dates wrong, and can you blame him?  There was a lot that he was dealing with.
We do see, almost a year later, in the 10th month of 684, Prince Ise and others are once again sent to determine the boundaries of the provinces.  Second time's the charm, maybe?  Evidently not, because we then see another mention in the 10th month of 685, where the court gave them gifts of robes and trousers as they headed back out to the Eastern Countries one more time.
In the 11th month of 684 we are given a small report of a huge disaster.  The governor of Tosa reported that a great tide had risen high, with an overflowing rush, and destroyed many of the ships used to convey tribute.
Tosa is on Shikoku, facing out to the Pacific Ocean.  It is the first piece of dry land just past the continental shelf.  As such, a quake just off shore could create conditions not dissimilar to the 2011 disaster in Fukushima, and send a tsunami wave flooding the coastline.  It looks like that is what happened, which would have devastated the fleet.  Since Shikoku was an island, they relied on those ships to get taxes and tribute conveyed up to Yamato.  So this was Tosa letting the court know that the "sea ate my homework."
I can't help but wonder if this tsunami wasn't related to an earthquake recorded for the month earlier, which we mentioned back in Episode 139.  It was a huge earthquake that seems to have had a tremdous impact.  Much of it was mentioned as being focused on the Toukaidou region, but that region still lies along a related fault line all the way down through Shikoku.  It may be that it took a while for the two events to be reported, and there may not have been an understanding that the event in one place could have had an impact elsewhere. I don't know if they had yet connected that earthquakes could cause tsunami or not.  On the other hand, it could be that it was a separate, but related quake, or even an aftershock, which caused the tsunami.
Overall, the year 684 does not appear to have been the best.  We are told that in the lower district of Katsuraki, there was reported a chicken with four legs.  Then, in the district of Higami, in Tanba province, there was a calf born with twelve horns.  These don't sound like great omens, and given the tsunami, and the earthquake, and other such things, I can perhaps understand why the court focused on trying to do some merit-making towards the end of the year.  For instance they pardoned all criminals except those guilty of capital crimes. 
And we are also told that Iga, Ise, Mino, and Wohari were notified that in future years, if they were paying commuted taxes—that is taxes other than rice, in lieu of service—that force labour would be remitted, and vice versa.   That is, if it was a year where they would pay in corvee labour, the commuted taxes would be remitted instead.  In other words, they didn't need to do both in one year.  Similarly , in the 7th lunar month of 685, we are told that the Provinces on the Tousandou, east of Mino, and the Toukaidou, east of Ise, were all exempted from sending in conscript laborers as part of their taxes.
We aren't told exactly why any of this was done, but I suspect that it had something to do with either construction going on in those regions, or just needing to have people to work the fields.  Labor could always be remitted just because of something good like a good omen, but in the aftermath of a devastating earthquake, I wonder if there wasn't a lot of rebuilding that had to take place, and maybe the court just wanted to make sure those regions had the people they needed for those projects.
The Tousandou and the Toukaidou were just two of the 7 official circuits around the archipelago.  In this case, the Toukaidou hugged the coastal areas, heading from Ise out to modern Tokyo.  Meanwhile, the Tousandou would have cut through the mountains in the middle of that area of Honshu, passing north of Fuji and through modern Gunma.    The other circuits were the San'youdou, the San'indou, the Nankaidou, the Hokurikudou, and Tsukushi, which was considered its own "circuit".  The San'youdou and San'indou were the Yang and Yin roads, going through the western part of Honshu. The San'youdou was along the Seto Inland Sea, while the San'indou was along the Japan sea.  The Nankaidou, or South Sea Road, was the Kii peninsula and Shikoku.  The Hokurikudou went north on eastern Honshu, through the Koshi region. Finally, Tsukushi, which would also be known as the Saikaidou, or Western Sea Road, was its own circuit
In the 9th lunar month of 685 we see Commissioners or Royal Messengers appointed to six of the seven circuits, the Hokurikudou being the one left out.    The commissioners were to tour and inspect the provincial and district offices and make sure they were good.  Each person took a facility manager and a secretary to assist them.  Bentley notes that there is, in later legal codes, a role of "Inspector", who was similarly expected to tour and inspect the various provinces – but these were assigned on an as needed basis, so it wasn't a permanent position.
Along with the inspection of the government offices, there was one other edict that same day in the 9th month of 685: the court ordered that male and female singers, as well as pipers/flute-players should pass down their skills to their descendants and make them practice singing and the flute.  Thus they effectively created hereditary musicians which, at the time, was how you made sure that you had the different professions and skillsets you needed to run the State.
Then, in the 11th month of 685, we see a bunch of iron sent to the General Magistrate of Suwa.  How much is a bunch?  10,000 kin, which is thought to be equivalent to roughly 6.6 tons.  That is a huge amount of iron, assuming the record is true.  At the same time, the viceroy of Tsukushi requested 100 bolts of coarse silk, 132 pounds of thread, 300 bundles of cloth, 4000 feet of labor tax cloth, 6.6 tons of iron, and 2,000 sets of bamboo arrows.   And by all accounts, the court sent it all out.  No idea why—but there we go.  Presumably it was to make things—probably clothing and weapons.
We see something similar in the 12th month, when the ships carrying the newest border guards out to Tsukushi were battered by bad seas and, eventually, they were left adrift in the water.  They were rescued, but lost all of their clothing, so rather than sending clothes, the court sent cloth.  450 bolts of cloth were sent, to be made into new sets of clothing for the soldiers. 
Sending raw materials makes sense.  After all, there were likely artisans all over the place who just needed them.  Furthermore, that way you could customize the equipment to the people who would be using it, rather than shipping off finished goods.
And with that, I think we are going to call it.  Next episode will be a similar overview, but we'll take a look at some of the laws that were passed, as well as how they dealt with law and order in the archipelago.
Until then, 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.
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Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast.
And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.

This episode, we talk about two monumental projects that were started in this reign.  One was the historiographical project that likely led to the creation of the Kojiki and the Nihon Shoki.  And then there was the start of the first permanent capital city:  the Fujiwara Capital.
Listen to the episode and find more on our website:  https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-143
 
Rough Transcript
 
Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua and this is Episode 143: Temmu's Monumental Projects
 
 
Ohoama sat astride his horse and looked out at the land in front of him.   He could still see the image of the rice fields, now long fallow, spreading out on the plain.  To the north, east, and west, he could see the mountains that would frame his vision.  As his ministers started to rattle off information about the next steps of the plan, Ohoama began to smile.  He thought of the reports his embassies to the Great Tang had brought back, about the great walled cities of the continent.  In his mind's eye, Ohoama envisioned something similar, rising up on the plain in front of him.
There would be an earth and stone wall, surrounding the great city.  The gates would be grand, much like the temples, but on an even greater scale.  Houses would be packed in tight, each within their own walled compounds.  In the center painted red and white, with green accents, would be a palace to rival any other structure in the archipelago.  The people would stream in, and the city would be bustling with traffic.
This was a new center, from which the power of Yamato would be projected across the islands and even to the continent.
 
Greetings everyone, and welcome back.  This episode we are still focused on the reign of Ohoama, aka Temmu Tennou, between the years 672 and 686.
Last episode we talked about the Four Great Temples—or the Four National Temples.  Much of this episode was focused on the rise and spread of Buddhism as we see in the building of these national temples, but also on the changes that occurred as the relationship between Buddhism and the State evolved.  This was part of Ohoama's work to build up the State into something beyond what it had been in the past—or perhaps into something comparable to what they believed it to have been in the past.  After all, based on the size of the tomb mounds in the kofun period, it does seem that there was a peak of prosperity in the 5th century, around the time of Wakatakeru, aka Yuryaku Tennou, and then a decline, to the point that the lineage from Wohodo, aka Keitai Tennou, seemed to have come in during a time when they were rebuilding Yamato power and authority.
This episode we are going to talk about two projects that Ohoama kicked off during his reign.  He wouldn't see the completion of either one, since both took multiple decades to complete, but both focused on linking the past and the future. 
The first we'll talk about is a new attempt to gather historical documents and records—the last time that was done was in the time of Kashikiya Hime, over 50 years ago.  That was during the height of Soga power.  Since then a lot had changed, and presumably there were even more stories and records that had been written down.  Plus the tide had changed.  So they needed to update—and maybe even correct—the historical record. But beyond that, there was a greater goal: Ohoama and his court also needed to make sure that the past was something that they wanted to go back to, among other things.
The other thing we are going to discuss is the start of a project to build a brand new capital city.  And when we talk a bout city, we really mean a city.  This was a massive undertaking, likely unlike anything that we've seen so far.  Sure, there had been monumental building projects, but this was something that was going to take a lot more work - how much more monumental could you get than a new city?  And it would create a physical environment that would be the embodiment of the new centralization of power and authority, and the new state that Ohoama was building, with his administration—and Yamato—at the center.  
Let's start with the big ones.  First and foremost, we have the entry from the 17th day of the 3rd month of the 681.  Ohoama gave a decree from the Daigokuden to commit to writing a Chronicle of the sovereigns and various matters of high antiquity.  Bentley translates this as saying that they were to record and confirm the Teiki, which Aston translated as the Chronicle of the Sovereigns, and various accounts of ancient times.  This task was given out to a slew of individuals, including the Royal Princes Kawashima and Osakabe; the Princes Hirose, Takeda, Kuwada, and Mino; as well as Kamitsukenu no Kimi no Michichi, Imbe no Muraji no Kobito, Adzumi no Muraji no Inashiki, Naniwa no Muraji no Ohogata, Nakatomi no Muraji no Ohoshima, and Heguri no Omi no Kobito.  Ohoshima and Kobito were specifically chosen as the scribes for this effort. 
We aren't told what work was started at this time.  Aston, in his translation of the Nihon Shoki, assumes that this is the start of the Kojiki.  Bentley notes that this is the first in a variety of records about gathering the various records, including gathering records from the various families, and eventually even records from the various provinces.  And I think we can see why.  Legitimizing a new state and a new way of doing things often means ensuring that you have control of the narrative.  Today, that often means doing what you can to control media and the stories that are in the national consciousness.  In Ohoama's day, I'd argue that narrative was more about the various written sources, and how they were presented.  After all, many of the rituals and evidence that we are looking at would rely on the past to understand the present.  The various family records would not only tell of how those families came to be, but would have important information about what else was going on, and how that was presented could determine whether something was going to be seen as auspicious, or otherwise.  Even without getting rid of those records, it would be important to have the official, State narrative conform to the Truth that the state was attempting to implement.
Ultimately, there is no way to know, exactly, how everything happened.  If the Nihon Shoki had a preface, it has been lost.  The Kojiki, for its part, does have a preface, and it points to an origin in the reign of Ohoama—known as the sovereign of Kiyomihara.  In there we are told that the sovereign had a complaint—that the Teiki and Honji, that is the chronicles of the sovereigns and the various other stories and legends, that had been handed down by various houses had come to differ from the truth.  They said they had many falsehoods, which likely meant that they just didn't match the Truth that the State was trying to push.  Thus  they wanted to create a so-called "true" version to pass down.
This task was given to 28 year old Hieda no Are.  It says they were intelligent and had an incredible memory.  They studied all of the sources, and the work continued beyond the reign of Ohoama.  Later, in 711 CE, during the reign of Abe, aka Genmei Tennou, Oho no Yasumaro was given the task of writing down everything that Hieda no Are had learned. 
The astute amongst you may have noticed that this mentions none of the individuals mentioned in the Nihon Shoki.  Nor does the Nihon Shoki mention anything about Hieda no Are.  So was this a separate effort, or all part of the same thing?  Was Are using the materials collected by  the project?
As you may recall, we left the Kojiki behind some time ago, since it formally ends with the reign of Kashikiya hime, aka Suiko Tennou, but realistically it ended with Wohodo, aka Keitai Tennou—after that point there are just lists of the various heirs.  As such, there is some speculation that this was originally built off of earlier histories, perhaps arranged during the Soga era.
The general explanation for all of this is that Hieda no Are memorized the poems and stories, and then Yasumaro wrote them down.  Furthermore, though the language in the Kojiki does not express a particular gender, in the Edo period there was a theory that Hieda no Are was a woman, which is still a popular theory.
Compare all of that to the Nihon Shoki.  Where the Kojiki was often light on details and ends with Suiko Tennou, the Nihon Shoki often includes different sources, specifically mentions some of them by name, and continues up through the year 697.  Furthermore, textual analysis of the Nihon Shoki suggests that it was a team effort, with multiple Chroniclers, and likely multiple teams of Chroniclers.   I have to admit, that sounds a lot more like the kind of thing that Ohoama was kicking off.
We have an entry in the Shoku Nihongi, the work that follows the Nihon Shoki, that suggests 720 for the finished compilation of the Nihon Shoki.  So did it take from 681 to 720 to put together?  That is a really long project, with what were probably several generations of individuals working on it.
Or should this be read in a broader sense?  Was this a historiographical project, as Bentley calls it, but one that did not, immediately, know the form it would take?  It isn't the first such project—we have histories of the royal lineage and other stories that were compiled previously—much of that attributed to Shotoku Taishi, but likely part of an earlier attempt by the court.  In fact, given that the Kojiki and Sendai Hongi both functionally end around the time of Kashikiya hime, that is probably because the official histories covered those periods.  Obviously, though, a lot had happened, and some of what was written might not fit the current narrative.  And so we see a project to gather and compile various sources.  While this project likely culminated in the projects of the Kojiki and the Nihon Shoki, I doubt that either work was necessarily part of the original vision.  Rather, it looks like the original vision was to collect what they could and then figure things out.
It would have been after they started pulling the accounts together, reading them, and noticing the discrepancies that they would have needed to then edit them in such a way that they could tell a cohesive story.  That there are two separate compilations is definitely interesting.  I do suspect that Oho no Yasumaro was working from the efforts of Hieda no Are, either writing down something that had been largely captured in memory or perhaps finishing a project that Are had never completed.  The Nihon Shoki feels like it was a different set of teams, working together, but likely drawing from many of the same sources.
And as to why we don't have the earlier sources?  I once heard it said that for books to be forgotten they didn't need to be banned—they just needed to fall out of circulation and no longer be copied anymore.  As new, presumably more detailed, works arose, it makes sense that older sources would not also be copied, as that information was presumably in the updated texts, and any information that wasn't brought over had been deemed counterfactual.  Even the Nihon Shoki risked falling into oblivion; the smaller and more digestible Kojiki was often more sought after.  The Kojiki generally presents a single story, and often uses characters phonetically, demonstrating how to read names and places.  And it just has a more story-like narrative to it.  The Nihon Shoki, comparatively, is dense, written in an old form of kanbun, often relying more on kanbun than on phonetic interpretations.  It was modeled on continental works, but as such it was never going to be as easy to read.  And so for a long time the Kojiki seems to have held pride of place for all but the most ardent scholars of history.
Either way, I think that it is still fair to say that the record of 681 was key to the fact that we have this history, today, even if there was no way for Ohoama, at the time, to know just what form it would take.
Another ambitious project that got started under Ohoama was the development of a new and permanent capital city.
Up to this point we've talked about the various capitals of Yamato, but really it was more that we were talking about the palace compounds where the sovereign lived.  From the Makimuku Palace, where either Mimaki Iribiko or possibly even Himiko herself once held sway, to the latest palace, that of Kiyomihara, the sovereigns of Yamato were known by their palaces.  This is, in part, because for the longest time each successive sovereign would build a new palace after the previous sovereign passed away.  There are various reasons why this may have been the case, often connected to insular concepts of spiritual pollution brought on by the death of an individual, but also the practical consideration that the buildings, from what we can tell, were largely made of untreated wood.  That made them easier to erect, but also made them vulnerable to the elements, over time, and is probably one of the reasons that certain shrines, like the Shrine at Ise, similarly reconstitute themselves every 20 years or so.
Furthermore, we talk about palaces, but we don't really talk about cities.  There were certainly large settlements—even going back to the Wei chronicles we see the mention of some 70 thousand households in the area of Yamateg.  It is likely that the Nara basin was filled with cultivated fields and many households.  Princes and noble households had their own compounds—remember that both Soga no Umako and Prince Umayado had compounds large enough that they could build temples on the compounds and have enough left over for their own palatial residences, as well.  However, these compounds were usually distributed in various areas, where those individuals presumably held some level of local control.
It is unclear to me how exactly the early court functioned as far as housing individuals, and how often the court was "in session", as it were, with the noble houses.  Presumably they had local accommodations and weren't constantly traveling back and forth to the palace all the time.  We know that some houses sent individuals, men and women, to be palace attendants, even though they lived some distance away.  This was also likely a constraint on the Yamato court's influence in the early days.
We do see the sovereign traveling, and various "temporary" palaces being provided.  I highly doubt that these were all built on the spot, and were likely conversions of existing residences, and similar lodging may have been available for elites when they traveled, though perhaps without such pomp and circumstance.
What we don't really see in all of this, are anything resembling cities.  Now, the term "city" doesn't exactly have a single definition, but as I'm using it, I would note that we don't see large, permanent settlements of significant size that demonstrate the kind of larger civil planning that we would expect of such a settlement.  We certainly don't have cities in the way of the large settlements along the Yangzi and Yellow rivers.
We talked some time back about the evolution of capital city layouts on the continent.  We mentioned that the early theoretical plan for a capital city was based on a square plan, itself divided into 9 square districts, with the central district constituting the palace.  This design works great on paper, but not so much in practice, especially with other considerations, such as the north-south orientation of most royal buildings.  And then there are geographic considerations.  In a place like Luoyang, this square concept was interrupted by the river and local topography.  Meanwhile, in Chang'an, they were able to attain a much more regular rectangular appearance.  Here, the court and the palace were placed in the center of the northernmost wall.  As such, most of the city was laid out to the south of the palace.
In each case, however, these were large, planned cities with a grid of streets that defined the neighborhoods.  On each block were various private compounds, as well as the defined markets, temples, et cetera.
The first possible attempt at anything like this may have been with the Toyosaki palace, in Naniwa.  There is some consideration that, given the size of the palace, there may have been streets and avenues that were built alongside it, with the intention of having a similar city layout.  If so, it isn't at all clear that it was ever implemented, and any evidence may have been destroyed by later construction on the site.  Then we have the Ohotsu palace, but that doesn't seem to be at the same scale as the Toyosaki palace—though it is possible that, again, we are missing some key evidence.  Nonetheless, the records don't really give us anything to suggest that these were large cities rather than just palaces.
There is also the timeline.  While both the Toyosaki palace and the Ohotsu palace took years to build, they did not take the time and amount of manpower that would be needed to create a true capital city.  We can judge this based on what it took to build the new capital at Nihiki.
This project gets kicked off in the 11th month of 676.  We are told that there was an intent to make the capital at Nihiki, so all of the rice-fields and gardens within the precincts, public and private property alike, were left fallow and became totally overgrown.
This likely took some time.  The next time we see Nihiki is in the 3rd month of 682, when Prince Mino, a minister of the Household Department, and others, went there to examine the grounds.  At that point they apparently made the final decision to build the capital there.  Ohoama came out to visit later that same month.
However, a year later, in the 12th month of 683, we are told that there was a decree for there to be multiple capitals and palaces in multiple sites, and they were going to make the Capital at Naniwa one of those places.  And so public functionaries were to go figure out places for houses.  So it wasn't just that they wanted to build one new, grand capital.  It sounds like they were planning to build two or three, so not just the one at Nihiki.  This is also where I have to wonder if the Toyosaki Palace was still being used as an administrative center, at the very least.  Or was it repurposed, as we saw that the Asuka palaces had been when the court moved to Ohotsu?
This is further emphasized a few months later, when Prince Hirose and Ohotomo Yasumaro, at the head of a group of clerks, officials, artisans, and yin yang diviners were sent around the Home Provinces to try and divine sites suitable for a capital.  In addition, Prince Mino, Uneme no Oni no Tsukura, and others were sent to Shinano to see about setting up a capital there as well.  Perhaps this was inspired by the relationship between the two Tang capitals of Chang'an and Luoyang.  Or perhaps it was so that if one didn't work out another one might.
Regardless, Nihiki seemed to be the primary target for this project, and in the third lunar month of 684 Ohoama visited the now barren grounds and decided on a place for the new palace.  A month later, Prince Mino and others returned with a map of Shinano, but there is no indication of where they might want to build another capital.
After that, we don't hear anything more of Shinano or of a site in the Home Provinces.  We do hear one more thing about Naniwa, which we mentioned a couple of episodes back, and that is that in 686 there was a fire that burned down the palace at Naniwa, after which they seem to have abandoned that as a palace site.  And so we are left with the area of Nihiki.
This project would take until the very end of 694 before it was ready.  In total, we are looking at a total of about 18 years—almost two decades, to build a new capital.  Some of this may have been the time spent researching other sites, but there also would have been significant time taken to clear and level.  This wasn't just fields—based on what we know, they were even taking down old kofun; we are later told about how they had to bury the bodies that were uncovered.  There was also probably a pause of some kind during the mourning period when Ohoama passed away.  And on top of it, this really was a big project.  It wasn't just building the palace, it was the roads, the infrastructure, and then all of the other construction—the city gates, the various private compounds, and more.  One can only imagine how much was being invested, especially if they were also looking at other sites and preparing them at the same time.  I suspect that they eventually abandoned the other sites when they realized just how big a project it really was that they were undertaking.
Today we know that capital as Fujiwara-kyo, based on the name of the royal palace that was built there, and remarkably, we know where it was.  Excavations have revealed the site of the palace, and have given us an idea of the extent of the city:  It was designed as a square, roughly 5.3 kilometers, or 10 ri, on each side.  The square itself was interrupted by various terrain features, including the three holy mountains.  Based on archaeological evidence, the street grid was the first thing they laid out, and from what we can tell they were using the ideal Confucian layout as first dictated in the Zhouli, or Rites of Zhou.  This meant a square grid, with the palace in the center.
Indeed, the palace was centered, due south of Mt. Miminashi, and you can still go and see the palace site, today.  When they went to build the palace, they actually had to effectively erase, or bury, the roads they had laid out.  They did the same thing for Yakushi-ji, or Yakushi-temple, when they built it as part of the city; one of the reasons we know it had to have been built after the roads were laid out. 
We will definitely talk about this more when we get to that point of the Chronicles, but for now, know that the Fujiwara palace itself, based on excavations of the site, was massive.  The city itself would surpass both Heijo-kyo, at Nara, and Heian-kyo, in modern Kyoto.  And the palace was like the Toyosaki Naniwa palace on steroids.  It included all of the formal features of the Toyosaki Palace for running the government, but then enclosed that all in a larger compound with various buildings surrounding the court itself.  Overall, the entire site is massive.  This was meant as a capital to last for the ages.
And yet, we have evidence that it was never completed.  For one thing, there is no evidence that a wall was ever erected around it—perhaps there was just no need, as relations with the mainland had calmed down, greatly.  But there is also evidence that parts of the palace, even, were not finished at the time that they abandoned it.  Fujiwara-kyo would only be occupied for about 16 years before a new capital was built—Heijo-kyo, in Nara.  There are various reasons as to why they abandoned what was clearly meant to be the first permanent capital city, and even with the move to a new city in Nara it would be clear that it was going to take the court a bit of time before they were ready to permanently settle down—at least a century or so.
Based on all the evidence we have, and assuming this was the site of the eventual capital, Nihiki was the area of modern Kashihara just north of Asuka, between—and around—the mountains of Unebi, Miminashi, and Kagu.  If these mountains are familiar, they popped up several times much earlier in the Chronicles--Mostly in the Age of the Gods and in the reign of the mythical Iware-biko, aka Jimmu Tennou.  Yet these three mountains help to set out the boundaries of the capital city that was being built at this time.
There is definitely some consideration that they were emphasized in the early parts  of the Chronicles—the mythical sections, which were bolstering the story of Amaterasu and the Heavenly Grandchild, setting up the founding myths for the dynasty.  Even though the Chronicles  were not completed until well after the court had moved out, the Fujiwara capital is the climax of the Nihon Shoki, which ends in 697, three years into life at the new palace.  And so we can assume that much of the early, critical editing of the Kojiki and Nihon Shoki were done with the idea that this would be the new capital, and so it was woven into the histories, and had it continued as the capital, the very landscape would have recalled the stories of the divine origins of the Royal family and the state of Yamato itself. 
This was the stage on which Ohoama's state was built.  He, and his successors, didn't just change the future path of the Yamato government.  They rearranged the physical and temporal environment, creating a world that centered them and their government.  I suspect that Ohoama didn't originally consider that these wouldn't be finished during his reign.  That said, he came to power in his 40s, only slightly younger than his brother, who had just died.  He would live to be 56 years old—a respectable age for male sovereigns, around that time.  From a quick glance, Naka no Oe was about 45 or 46 years old, while Karu lived to about 57 or 58.  Tamura only made it to 48.  The female sovereigns seem to have lasted longer, with Ohoama's mother surviving until she was 66 or 67 years old, and Kashikiya Hime made it to the ripe old age of 74.  That said, it is quite likely that he thought he would make it longer.  After all, look at all the merit he was accruing!  Still, he passed away before he could see these projects fully accomplished.  That would have to be left for the next reign—and even that wasn't enough.  The Fujiwara Capital would only be occupied for a short time before being abandoned about two reigns later, and the histories as we know them wouldn't be complete for three more reigns. 
So given all of this, let's take another quick look at Ohoama himself and where he stands at this pivotal moment of Yamato history.When we look at how he is portrayed, Ohoama is generally lionized for the work he is said to have accomplished.  I would argue that he is the last of three major figures to whom are attributed most of the changes that resulted in the sinification of the Yamato government. 
The first is prince Umayado, aka Shotoku Taishi, who is said to have written the 17 article constitution, the first rank system, and the introduction of Buddhism.  To be fair, these things—which may not have been exactly as recorded in the Chronicles—were likely products of the court as a whole.  Many people attribute more to Kashikiya Hime, aka Suiko Tennou, as well as Soga no Umako.  Of course, Soga no Umako wasn't a sovereign, or even a member of the royal family, and Kashikiya Hime, aka Suiko Tennou, seems to have likewise been discounted, at least later, possibly due to the fact that she is thought to have come to power more as a compromise candidate than anything else—she was the wife of a previous sovereign and niece to Soga no Umako.  Many modern scholars seem to focus more on the agency of Kashikiya Hime and suggest that she had more say than people tend to give her credit for.  That said, Shotoku Taishi seems to have been the legendary figure that was just real enough to ascribe success to.  That he died before he could assume the throne just meant that he didn't have too many problematic decisions of his own to apparently work around.
The next major figure seems to be Naka no Oe, aka Tenji Tennou.  Naka no Oe kicks off the period of Great Change, the Taika era, and is credited with a lot of the changes—though I can't help but notice that the formal sovereign, Naka no Oe's uncle, Karu, seems to have stuck with the new vision of the Toyosaki Palace and the administrative state while Naka no Oe and his mother moved back to the traditional capital.  And when Naka no Oe moved the capital to Ohotsu, he once again built a palace more closely aligned to what we see in Asuka than the one in Naniwa, which brings some questions about how the new court was operating.  But many of his reforms clearly were implemented, leveraging the new concepts of continental rulership to solidify the court's hegemony over the rest of the archipelago.
Ohoama, as represented in the Chronicles, appears to be the culmination of these three.  He is building on top of what his brother had implemented through the last three reigns.  Some of what he did was consolidate what Naka no Oe had done, but there were also new creations, for which Ohoama is credited, even if most of the work was done outside of Ohoama's reign, but they were attributed to Ohoama, nonetheless.  Much of this was started later in Ohoama's reign, and even today there seem to be some questions about who did what.  Nonetheless, we can at least see how the Chroniclers were putting the story together.
There are a lot of scholars that point to the fact that the bulk of the work of these projects would actually be laid out in the following reigns, and who suggest that individuals like the influential Uno no Sarara, who held the control of the government in Ohoama's final days, may have had a good deal more impact on how things turned out, ultimately.  In fact, they might even have been more properly termed her projects—there are some that wonder if some of the attributions to Ohoama were meant to bolster the authority of later decrees, but I don't really see a need for that, and it seems that there is enough evidence to suggest that these projects were begun in this period.
All of this makes it somewhat ironic that by the time the narrative was consolidated and published to the court, things were in a much different place—literally.  The Fujiwara capital had been abandoned.  The court, temples, and the aristocracy had picked up stakes and moved north.  Fujiwara no Fuhito had come on the scene, and now his family was really taking off.  This was not the same world that the Chronicles had been designed around.
And yet, that is what was produced.  Perhaps there is a reason that they ended where they did.
From that point on, though, there were plenty of other projects to record what was happening.  Attempts to control the narrative would need to do a lot more.  We see things like the Sendai Kuji Hongi, with its alternative, and perhaps even subversive, focus on the Mononobe family.  And then later works like the Kogoshui, recording for all time the grievances of the Imbe against their rivals—for all the good that it would do.  With more people learning to write, it was no longer up to the State what did or did not get written down.
But that has taken us well beyond the scope of this reign—and this episode, which we should probably be bringing to a close.  There are still some things here and there that I want to discuss about this reign—so the next episode may be more of a miscellany of various records that we haven't otherwise covered, so far. 
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And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.