From Owada Tetsuo’s “Hideyoshi”, published by Chûko Shinsho 2007 (numbers after paragraphs refer to pages)
 
Chapter VII. Reproducing the Taikõ legend
 
The militarization of Japan and Hideyoshi
 
I have spent an inordinate amount of time within the pages of this book examining the issue of the invasion of the Korean peninsula, which itself is one issue among many of Hideyoshi’s.   However, at this particular juncture, were I attempting to evaluate Hideyoshi, it would be impossible for me to ignore the question of Hideyoshi’s invasion of Korea.  Why? Because since the Meiji period, Hideyoshi has been praised and held up as a national hero, a legend in which the invasion of Korea is an indispensable part. However until the end of the Edo period, Hideyoshi’s popularity was of a completely different character. It was tied to an anti-Bakufu ethos shared among the common people - the so called “Taikõ effect”.  It was, in essence, a reproduction (or re-issue) of the Taikõ legend. (176)
 
During the Edo period, and as touched upon at the beginning of this book, a “pro” Hideyoshi ideology emerged in the form of dissent against the “deification of Lord (Tokugawa) Ieyasu”.  Given that the Bakufu form of government was by its very nature oppressive, anti-Bakufu and anti-Tokugawa ideology took the form of anachronistic depictions of the Hideyoshi era, or else a yearning to return to that era.  This was a result of the image of Hideyoshi portrayed in the “Ehon Taikõki” (The Illustrated Record of the Taikõ) and the “Shinsho Taikõki” (The New Record of the Taikõ).  Upon the arrival of the Meiji era, one further aspect was added to these pre-existing notions. (177)
 
This was the advance of Japan onto the continent. In other words, as militaristic strategy took on more concrete forms, suddenly a lot of focus was placed on Hideyoshi as a sort of ‘pioneer’ or ‘harbinger’.  I’ll give you one example of this.  An old elementary school song went as follows:
 
Over one hundred years ago, when the world was racked with turmoil,
the ‘ensign bearing gourds’ (i.e Hideyoshi) suddenly appeared,
and tamed the four winds and seas,
The trees and grass of over sixty provinces wave in the breeze,
Oh, Taikõ, Hõ Taikõ
 
With overwhelming strength, he invaded Chõsen,
on every street and road, he defeated all before him,
The nation’s light shone bright, and its glory was acclaimed,
Over four hundred provinces all shake as one,
Oh, Taikõ, Hõ Taikõ
 
The first verse sings of the unification of the nation, while the second of the invasion of the Chõsen peninsula.  While the unification of the nation occurred as depicted in the song, the invasion of the Chõsen peninsula is completely at odds with historical reality. Moreover, since it is at odds with reality, it seeks to justify the actions taken during Hideyoshi’s invasion. Hence the references to “the nation shining bright, and national glory” to herald the nation’s achievements.  
 
Another particular point to remember is that this song was composed with the Sino-Japanese War and the Russo-Japanese War – two wars involving invasions of the mainland – as a background.  The Japanese Empire had already embarked on a strategy of large-scale invasion of Korea and China, hence the “bright, shining example of the pioneer Hideyoshi” was introduced to heighten awareness of the nation’s glories. (178)
 
Another elementary song went as follows:
 
Although he rose wearing the clothes of the common man,
He stood above all others,
Who was he, into whose hand fell over sixty provinces?
 
The glories that remain are reflected in today’s world like a mirror,
Who was it, who made the nation’s glorious name known to all and sundry?
 
This song (and others like it) stirred emotions, and the effects of the education provided to children at the time was quite profound.  As seen by the lyrics of elementary school songs, the message that “the invasion of Chõsen by Hideyoshi was a magnificent act that spread the name of Japan far and wide, and is a mirror (for modern times)” became a deeply rooted ideology among the commonalty of Japan.  In truth, Imperial Japan embarked upon its invasion of Korea using Hideyoshi as a guide. (178-179)
 
The union of Japan and Korea and Hideyoshi’s invasion plan for Chõsen 
 
The Treaty of Ganghwa was concluded in the year following the Ganghwa Island Incident of the 8th year of Meiji (1875).  This treaty resulted in Japan opening up Chõsen (Korea), but it also exacerbated the stand-off with Qing China over the suzerainty of Chõsen.  The subsequent Imo (Jingo) Incident of the 15th year of Meiji (1882) and the Gapsin Incident (or coup) of 1884 eventually led Japan and Qing China to sign the Treaty of Tianjin (1885). However the lull created by the treaty did not last long, and in the 27th year of Meiji (1894) Japanese and Qing China troops clashed, which in turn lead to the outbreak of the Sino-Japanese War. Victory in this conflict then expedited Japan’s advance into neighbouring countries. (179)
 
While the purpose of Japan’s war with Qing China was to bring the Chõsen peninsula under Japanese control, it was not as successful as initially planned. Furthermore, the Sino-Japanese War resulted in an increase in Russian influence over Korea.  In February 1904, Japan embarked a large-scale army to the Chõsen peninsula.  With this military force in place, Japan and Korea concluded and ratified the Japan-Korea Treaty. This meant that Korea essentially became a Japanese protectorate.  Following Japan’s victory over Russia in the Russo-Japanese War of 1905, the Potsdam Treaty was signed and Japan assumed overall control of Korea. (180) In the meantime, while Japan was fighting the Sino and Russo-Japanese wars and signing the Ganghwa and Korean treaties, a Kabuki play known as the “Taikõki” (or Record of the Taikõ) concurrently began to be performed, a point that has often escaped attention. 
 
In 1889 (Meiji 22), Kabuki theatres were opened with debut performances of the ‘Taikõki’.  From 1891, and on throughout the Sino and Russo-Japanese wars, the number of performances of this play underwent a dramatic increase (as detailed within Shin Gisu’s ‘The 300th Anniversary Festival of Hideyoshi at Mimizuka’, Kabuki “Taikõki” and “Hideyoshi’s Invasion and Osaka Castle”).  Incidentally, when examining the yearly debut performances of ‘Taikõki tales’, in 1882 the Ichimura-za (or theatre) performed the “Hariõgi Chõsen Gunki” (The Folding Fan Military Tales of Chõsen) (written by Kawatake Mokuami). In 1885, the same Ichimura-za performed the “Tane-hisago Shinsho Taikõki” (The Seed Gourd True Tales of the Taikõki) (written by Kawatake Shinshichi the Third). Moreover in 1886, the same Ichimura-za performed the “Hanamidoki Hisago Taikõki” (The Flower-Viewing Gourd Taikõki) (also by Shinshichi the Third).  (179-180)
 
As seen by the title of the “Hariõgi Chõsen Gunki”, this play was mainly about Hideyoshi’s invasion of the Chõsen peninsula.  The year of its debut performance, 1882, coincided with the Imo (Jingo) Incident, hence the eyes and ears of the populace had already turned towards Chõsen.  As becomes clear given the popularity at the time of the “Taikõki Gunki Chõsen Kan” (The Taikõki War Tales – Chõsen Version) penned by Fukuchi Õchi, the advance of Japan on the continent was accepted by the people as synonymous with Hideyoshi’s invasion of the Chõsen peninsula.  As Professor Shin pointed out, the only conclusion one can draw from this is that Kabuki and other forms of dramatic entertainment made a large contribution to the rise of the anti-Chõsen campaign and invasion ideology.   (181)
 
Following the Russo-Japanese war, Japan’s control over Korea was absolute. In 1905, the second Japan-Korea Co-operation Treaty was signed, which resulted in the transferral of Korea’s diplomatic rights to Japan, the installation of the post of governor in Gyeongseong (Seoul) along with the creation of a domestic administration. Itõ Hirofumi served as the first governor of Korea. Of course, this led to outbreaks of resistance within Korea, however these were suppressed and the course of transforming Korea into a protectorate continued. Finally, in 1910, the union of Japan and Korea was complete. The name of the nation was changed from Korea to Chõsen, and the Chõsen Governor’s Office was installed. The governor, as chief officer, was also the commander of all land and sea forces in Chõsen, and so held absolute power over the constitution, the judiciary, and the administration.  (181)
 
On the 29th of August, following the conclusion of the “Japan-Korea Treaty for Union with Korea”, that evening the first Chõsen governor, Terauchi Masakata, while looking at the moon through his window, wrote somewhat poetically:
 
“If Kobayakawa, Katõ, and Konishi were still of this world, how many times will they have looked upon this moon?” (*Note that all three were generals that took part in Hideyoshi’s invasion of Chõsen)
 
Terauchi Masakata, along with the government officials and military officers at the time, all shared the belief that through the Union of Korea and Japan, they had finally brought Hideyoshi’s dream to fruition. (182)
 
The Invasion of Chõsen and the “Greater East Asian Co-Prosperity Sphere”
 
(From the Meiji era onwards) the basic direction of justifying invasion and the glorification of Hideyoshi underwent no substantial modification.  Indeed, as Japan travelled along the road towards militarism, the role of Hideyoshi as a “shining example” was given even greater emphasis than that found during the Sino and Russo-Japanese wars and the Union with Korea.  During the course of Japan’s military invasions of the Chinese continent and into Southeast Asia, once again Hideyoshi made an appearance (in the public consciousness).  The trigger for the 15-year conflict between Japan and China, the so-called Mukden Incident, also coincided with the completion of the iron and concrete recreation of Osaka Castle. (190-191) The completion of the castle and its dedication ceremony took place on the 7th of November in the 6th year of Shõwa (1931).  
 
The Liu Tiao Gou Incident took place on the 18th of September of the same year as the dedication of the castle, and one cannot say that these two events were unrelated.  More definitive than this was the talk of “Hideyoshi’s dream” that emerged around the time of the outbreak of the Pacific War and Japan’s advance into Southeast Asia.  The editorials of the newspapers at the time certainly adopted this view, as can be seen in the headlines and articles written in January of 1942 concerning the Fall of Manila. (191)
 
The “Mainichi Shimbun” for the 8th of January wrote “The dream that the brilliant Hõ Taikõ held 350 years ago, that the light of the “origin of the sun” (Hi no moto, i.e Nippon) would shine from the administered continent all the way to Luzon Island in the south, is inexorably bound to the Fall of Manila”.  The “Asahi Shimbun”, for the same day, touched upon the “Festival honouring the Hõ Taikõ on the occasion of the Fall of Manila” when it reported “What comes to mind following the Fall of Manila and the continuing reports of victory by Imperial forces over the entire Philippines is the letter sent by the National Hero, the Hõ Taikõ, welcoming trade with the Philippine Islands as one part of his overall plan for a united East Asia. This is an historical fact. So this year, given it marks the 350th anniversary of this event, the commercial district of Osaka will hold the “Festival Honouring the Hõ Taikõ” and its “Congratulatory Parade” on the 9th to mark the Fall of Manila and celebrate both the spirit of the Taikõ and the realisation of his ambition”. (191)
 
As Kashiwai Hiroyuki pointed out, celebrations held on the 350th anniversary were obviously military celebrations, major events to both deify Hideyoshi as a “war god” during the “Great East Asia War” and glamorize the invasion of Manila (see Kashiwai Hiroyuki “the Mukden Incident and the Reconstruction of Osaka Castle Keep”, “the Fall of Manila” and celebrations of the 350th Anniversary of Hideyoshi’s Correspondence”, and “Hideyoshi’s Invasion and Osaka Castle”).  Hideyoshi was thus co-opted as one part of the broader “Greater East Asian Co-prosperity Sphere” campaign. (192)
 
For example, the historian Uozumi Sõgorõ stated “The grand concept of administering Greater East Asia held by the peerless hero Hõ Taikõ, stretching back 350 years, has today been realised at the hands of the Imperial Army, and so the designs of that great man have been revealed in all their dazzling colour” (from “Consideration of the ambitions of the Hõ Taikõ”  1st Volume, Published April, 1942).  Thereafter this form of thinking became the norm and was a shared awareness, as seen in the following example: “Today, at this stage in the epochal development of the Japanese people, I wish to examine the ambitions of the Hõ Taikõ - ambitions that should be described as precursors.  Just as the Great East Asia War of today could be expressed in many ways as the ultimate realisation of the Japanese spirit, the active implementation of strategy during those times and their spirit of leadership is something that we share in common.” (Uemura Heihachi’rõ, ‘The ambitions of Hõ Taikõ and Nagoya Castle’, 1943, foreward). (192)
 
Nakano Seigõ, who advocated Pan-Asianism, founded the Tõhõkai and was an ultra-right wing politician, is a famous example of this form of thinking, given that he co-operated in the transformation of the political system into fascism and from 1940 onwards served as the chairman of the Dai-Seiyoku Sankai.  Within the Shintõ-Juku, a cram school for the youth wing of the Tõhõkai that Nakano himself led, Hideyoshi was taught to students using the textbook “Taikõ Hideyoshi” (1943, published by the Tõhõdõshikai).  It is worth examining this particular book to show how those advocating wars of invasion regarded Hideyoshi. (192)
 
The reason that Nakano gave for raising the example of Hideyoshi was “As you know, Hideyoshi was a brilliant general who spread the glorious name of Japan far and wide, as well as serving as a politician”.  Furthermore, “His attitude of unconcern for material things and magnificent bearing personified the simple, honest Japanese.  His heart was always fair and upright, and his bearing towards all matters was not confected but emitted a brilliant natural light, illuminating all and setting the world to right.  The mirror of his soul was perfectly clear.  In his role as an educator to the nation, he did not become mired in theory, but was a naturally disposed Japanese hero.  The Goddess Amaterasu truly favoured this most genuine of her descendants”.  In short, Hideyoshi was the model for what it meant to be “Japanese”, and was very much a Japanese-style of hero. 
 
Nakano regarded Hideyoshi’s invasion of Chõsen as the “first step in the creation of a Greater East Asia” and took Hideyoshi’s war record as a basis for lessons. For example, “While Japan, Germany and Italy are winning and the bonds between each are strong, we must ensure that no gaps emerge between us lest it lead to the start of a British-American “peace conspiracy”.  If this happens, the sickness of pro-US and British ideology will emerge once again. We will all be sucked in by their wily schemes, and debate within the nation will fracture.  If just one crack were to appear in the axle that binds us, the US and Britain will appear to skilfully break us all apart. Japan is honour bound to its allies, and in order to achieve our shared goals must act in an honest and forthright manner.  Being led astray by immediate selfish, minor interests, immersed in calculations, and misinterpreting the general state of affairs will lead to a swift downfall.  Japan must be convincing in its mission to raise up Greater East Asia in the world.  Those who become too engrossed in their own little schemes will in turn be ensnared by other schemes”.  To Nakano, Hideyoshi was a mirror for what was happening now.  (193-194)
 
In an age where the flames of war spread from the Chinese continent to Southeast Asia, one could say that Hideyoshi was man built for such an era. I vividly recall the words written by the novelist Tanaka Sumie, who pointed out the following: “Hideyoshi’s motivation for sending troops to Chõsen, the implementation of his plans, the end result of all of this activity, the waste, the great loss of human life, very closely resembles the ‘holy war’ ideology that possessed Japan during the Great East Asian War” (from ‘Why was the Kanpaku Hidetsugu murdered?’ in “Rekishi Dokuhon” published November 1983). (194)

Fujiki Hisashi, “The commoner’s battlefield: raising troops and capturing slaves during the medieval period”, Asahi Shimbun, Reprint 15 March 2007
 
(My reasons for choosing this particular book for translation are fairly straightforward. The subject matter expressed by Professor Fujiki is extremely interesting, given that it dealt with the lot of common soldiers (who were by and large peasants drafted into serving their local lord, with some exceptions) and the reality of living in a world where the threat of violence was never far away.  Another fascinating point is that it examines the practice of capturing and selling slaves, something that was highly prevalent during the era of the warring states in Japan but is not a subject examined in most popular media that depicts that period in Japan’s history.  Presumably the idea of Japanese selling other Japanese into slavery is abhorrent to modern Japanese sensibilities, yet the practice was common, and really only petered out once the country began to be subject to more stable, centralised rule from the early seventeenth century onwards.  
 
It’s this phenomena that Professor Fujiki illustrates in detail, in a manner accessible to most Japanese readers (itself a welcome development in a field that tends to be dominated by archaic discussions about the certain use of words in historical documents.  Of great interest to the academic, but of little to no consequence to the general reader).  By undertaking this translation, I hope that I might too be able to bring a bit more of this period of Japan’s history to the attention of a broader audience, and spark some curiosity among those for whom the era of the warring states (Sengoku Jidai) remains a mystery). (Note: the numbers at the end of paragraphs refer to pages of the original text). 
 
Prologue
 
“Plunder, before armies were nationalised, lay at the very heart of the formation of an army and its existence, with merchants serving as intermediaries”, Yamauchi Susumu, “A History of the Legal Concept of Plunder”
 
Fighting in order to eat
 
“We wage war in order to seize the wealth of the land, towns, and villages.  The campaigns that take place in Japan are mostly concerned with seizing wheat, rice and barley.”
 
This comparison of causus belliwas made by the Portuguese missionary Luis Frois (1532 – 1597), who bore witness to many battles that took place in Japan towards the end of the era of the warring states.  For Frois, the wars that took place in Europe during the Middle Ages occurred in order to expand territory, whereas in Japan they occurred in order that people might eat. (2) 
 
“War to expand territory” or “war in order to eat” – a comparison of both of these phenomena is undoubtedly fascinating, but it also presents problems. (3) At the same time that Frois was making these comments, Toyotomi Hideyoshi was calling for a halt to all private conflict throughout the island of Kyushu, using phrases such as “territorial border disputes between provincial rulers are to cease” and “I personally shall be the judge of any disagreements over the division of territory in Kyushu”.  In other words, Hideyoshi, who himself had stood at the centre of conflict during the era of the warring states, was a product of both the Japanese way of war and of the seizure of territory. (4)
 
However what I would like to pay particular attention to is the fact that from his arrival at Yokosenoura bay in Nagasaki in the seventh month of the sixth year of Eiroku (1563) until his death at Nagasaki in the fifth month of Keicho 2 (1597), Luis Frois spent over 30 years living both in Kyushu and in the Kinai area of Japan. His record of that time was written right in the middle of the era of the warring states, as a so-called “true depiction of war”.  The escalation in conflict that he witnessed was, to his mind, undoubtedly “war in order to eat” or “war in order to live”.  Hence I have taken this to mean that for Frois, “war in order to eat” and “war in order to live” involved a fight to the death. (4)
 
Frois said the following in relation to “war in order to eat” that he saw on a daily basis throughout Kyushu;
 
“The people captured in Bungo(province) by the army of Satsuma(Shimazu) were then taken to the province of Higo and sold off.  In that year, the residents of Higo suffered a terrible famine and much hardship, and so fell into a state where they were unable to fend for themselves. Since there was no way they would be able to care for the captives(from Bungo), they took them to ‘Takaku’(Takaki, located on the Shimabara peninsula) where the captives were sold off, much like they were selling off a family heirloom.” (4)
 
Frois then continued. The fate of those taken by the Shimazu army was that they either ended up as prisoners of war, died from the effects of war and illness, or wasted away from starvation. Both sides engaged in killing and plundering one another.  Those who had been taken as prisoners of war by the Shimazu army “after being taken back to Satsuma and Higo, led around to various markets like a herd of sheep, where they were sold.  Many of those taken were sold off for cheap prices of one or two “toston” (or bun, a small amount of money)”.  (5)
 
All 12 volumes of Frois’ “History of Japan” are replete with continuous conflict and the buying and selling of both people and goods seized through violence, all set against a backdrop of unremitting starvation. (5)  Frois’ opinion of war was very much founded on the raw experience and observations that he made of the battlefield, particularly those in Kyushu. (5)
 
This “true depiction of war” lay at the bottom of many of the more familiar, more colourful studies of warring state era armies and tales of battle. It speaks of the reality of fighting for the many foot soldiers (or ‘militia’) who faced starvation, and so fought either in order to live or in order to be able to eat. It also reverses many of the conceptions that we might have about warfare of that period.  Hence it is my intention here to overturn the depiction of war in the Sengoku era from one of “battles between heroes” to that of “battles between commoners”, and so depict the society of the era of the warring states from the ground up.  (5)
 
‘Militia/foot soldiers’ usually refers to “lowly ranked soldiers”.  The armies of warlords of the era of the warring states might have had one hundred soldiers in them, however only 10 or so of those soldiers might be mounted on horses.  The other 90 would be placed into one of three different categories. 1) Officially sanctioned warriors, who went by the name of kasemonoor wakatoor ashigaru– samurai, in other words, who fought together with their lord. 2) Those of lower rank, known as either chugenor komonoor arashiko, who acted as aides to their lord on the battlefield, handling horses or carrying their lord’s spear – in other words, genin(trans.note = literally “lower people”). 3) Those known as either buor bumaru, “peasants” in other words, who had been drafted in from villages to serve as porters, transporting goods etc.  (5)
 
Those wakatoand ashigaruincluded under item 1) were the main military force permitted to engage in fighting on the battlefield. Those included under item 2) and 3) were ostensibly excused from participating in the fighting because of their rank (or kenzen, the gap between samurai and those of lower ranks). However in the heat of battle, such distinctions were often ignored.  It is my intention to shed some light on these soldiers, which I refer to as zohyobut were otherwise known as wakatoor komonoor fujin, along with many other merchants, bandits, and pirates whose characteristics are unknown but who also appeared on the battlefield. (6)
 
It is particularly challenging to tell the story of the most commonly known battles from a different point of view to the ‘heroes’ of such tales, however my main purpose in writing “the commoner’s battlefield” is as follows;
 
I. A world in chaos
 
The annual records that Luis Frois wrote as part of his public duties for the Society of Jesus have proven useful to the study of Japan’s history, yet Frois himself was described by one of his superiors as “prone to boastfulness and idle gossip”.  This then beggars the question whether or not the “true depiction of war” that Frois wrote was based on fact?
 
First, let us take a look at the battlefields of the era of the warring states, to those conflicts that lasted over a century, starting with the battlefields of Kyushu that Frois himself witnessed. What actually took place in a “war in order to eat”? We must try to venture into the cruel centre of conflict to determine what is otherwise commonly referred to as “a world beset by chaos”. (6)
 
At the end of the Middle Ages period, following the peace imposed by Toyotomi Hideyoshi (and unification of the nation), the battlefields of Japan fell silent. Thereafter an army numbering some one hundred and fifty thousand arrived in force on the battlefields of the Korean peninsula. When examining “war in order to eat”, one must not ignore this state of affairs either.
 
When these invasion battlefields too finally fell silent, the final battles to determine the ruler of Japan were contested at Sekigahara and Osaka.  So what actually happened during such conflict? (6,7)
 
II. The common soldier
 
The commoners that served as soldiers on these battlefields played the main role in this “world of chaos”. So from where did they come?  The world of the era of the warring states was beset by poor harvests and famine.  For the commoner, try as he might to plow his fields yet still face starvation, the only option was to join a group of militia and head off to the battlefield. Once there, he might seize a little food, or property, or even a man or woman. With this meagre asset in hand, he might be able to survive the winter.   For common soldiers, the battlefield in the period between winter and the following summer, in which starvation was rampant, was the only miserable available means of support. (7)
 
Those left behind in the villages, say two or three other youths who couldn’t find enough to eat, would be joined by vagabonds, bandits, buccaneers and merchants. The chaos that battle spread – or rather the violence and plunder that accompanied it - appears to have occurred as a consequence of “war in order to eat”. (7)
 
III. The village battlefield – the village as a castle
 
On the other hand, in the wars that were part of the “world of chaos”, both villages and towns found conflict an important test of the extent to which they were willing to defend their property. The more traditional symbols of power in the regions, the castles of a lord or landowner, became evacuation centres for the people at some time in their history. Yet for villages located far from a castle, a mountain that they knew nearby might contain huts or a mountain castle that could serve as their own evacuation centre.   Villages located on the border between provinces would pay tribute to both sides and maintain their neutrality, or else they would pay a large amount of gold to the invading army and thus guarantee their safety.  Villagers would also arm themselves, and if they found anyone from a defeated army trying to retreat, they would descend from the village and attack them to steal their remaining goods. (7)
 
In order to protect themselves from the fires of war, both towns and villages adopted a number of self-defence measures during the era of the warring states.  
 
IV. From the battlefields to the cities – the wanderings of common soldiers
 
People of the era of the warring states announced their resolution to forego the world of chaos through their acceptance of “Hideyoshi’s peace”, which brought an end to conflict throughout the land.  For common soldiers, who made their living off of the spoils of battle and who without it would face starvation, they could either head overseas to participate in the invasion of the Korean peninsula or they could make their way to large scale castle construction projects or numerous “gold rushes”. These ‘projects’ provided new avenues of revenue for common soldiers, and they flocked to join them. The spirit of the age of “Hideyoshi’s peace” can be seen in the impetus to shift from the battlefield (the medieval world) to the city (the early modern world). (8) These large scale public projects, they be battles, or castles, or gold mines, acted as a kind of “survival system” amidst the continuous bad harvests and famines of the age. (8)
 
 
 
Epilogue
 
For those people taken as prisoners and sold over and over again, and for common soldiers who lost their means of livelihood, where did they eventually end up? Frois does not address this in his writing, yet evidence exists of many powerful ships from around the world, starting with the Portuguese and Japanese pirates operating in league with them, loading up many prisoners of war and common soldiers at many ports throughout Kyushu and taking them to battlefields in Southeast Asia. It is in investigating this phenomenon that I wish to conclude my study into the “commoner’s battlefield”. 
 
What drew me to such a title as “the commoner’s battlefield” was my discovery of the hugely influential work by Yamauchi Susumu, titled “A history of the laws and attitudes towards plunder and abduction”.  In Europe of the Middle Ages, the abduction of people from the battlefield, set against a stubborn continuation of famines, was closely entwined to the creation of an army as far as common soldiers and merchants were concerned. Another lesson came from Hiraki Shosuke (an expert on German medieval history).  The Frankish peasantry found that since their level of production was nowhere near adequate to feed themselves and they were not really suited to merely be farmers. So they became warriors in order to eat, and headed for the battlefield to seek fame and glory.  For them, war became a basis for everyday life, an important supplement in their calculations and an economic act of convenience. (8-9) 
 
Yet the agrarian revolution of the middle ages dramatically increased the levels of production among the peasantry, and thus it became possible for peasants to produce enough for themselves to eat. They became ‘professional’ agrarian workers, no longer reliant on fighting for a livelihood, which brought about a clear distinction between themselves and professional soldiers.  It’s this aspect to “the commoner’s battlefield” in particular that caught my eye. (9) 
 
This “reverse” explanation of the division of soldiers and peasants by Hiraki came as a shock to me. Until I read this, I had always looked at the issue of when warriors of the era of the warring states chose to become warriors from the point of view of “the creation of a professional warrior class”.  However Professor Hiraki’s thesis asked when peasants chose to remain peasants (without relying on warfare), thus looking at things from the point of view of the creation of a “professional agrarian class”.  It was the complete opposite of commonly held views on the division of peasant and warrior. (9) 
 
The works of early modern Japanese historian Takagi Shosaku also highlighted the fact that the plunder and abduction of people and goods on the battlefield were regarded as legitimate activities, with the main perpetrators of these acts being “samurai, chugen, komono, or arashiko”; in other words the common soldier. (9-10)   Using words that associated ‘samurai’ with soldiers of lower social rank indicated that they were not regarded as warriors, and that fact itself expanded my views on what constituted a common soldier. (10) I also learned a lot from the works of Asao Naohiro and his explanation of the late sixteenth century as the “high point of the social climbers”. (10)
 
A longstanding scholar of folk history and pursuer of studies into the traditions of plunder, Chiba Tokuji, also revealed the ‘origins of conflict’ lay in fighting between people and beasts, and thus revealed the true nature of warfare in Japan from the depths of folk belief.  This also influenced my thinking on warfare in a range of different ways. (10)
 
I should add that a majority of Japanese scholars of the era of the warring states (myself included) are well aware of the cruelties that war creates.  Recent studies by Kobayashi Seiji, which has raised many questions among scholars of the field, have admirably broken new ground on this front and I myself have been influenced by them. However, a good many scholars up until now (again, myself included), when reading of the plunder of people and goods from the battlefield, are influenced by (modern) practices of taking prisoners of war and accounting for them, and thus ascribe to the plunder of women and children and the seizure of goods the moniker of ‘crimes’. We also refer to the seizure of crops and burning of villages in the era of warring states as “harvesting” and “burning”, thus attempting to downplay the tactics adopted by warlords at the time. We only pay attention to acts meant to preserve the security of villages without examining what it was like for villages caught up in the cruelties of war.  While we might debate human trafficking, we see no problem in the taking of slaves from the battlefield. (10)
 
There are many records stating that the people were always the victims of war. Yet such works suffer from a lack of urgency compared to actual specific examples from history. They regard the people as little more than poor unfortunates. I myself am guilty of making this mistake, and I deeply regret it. (10) 
 
Until the beginning of the 21stcentury, for almost half a century Japan has known peace and has had ample food supplies.  While we are currently bathed in such joyful hues, we forget about the starvation and war that has affected many others abroad, and regard the so-called “era of war and famine” that was Japan during the Middle Ages as a period without rhyme nor reason nor any semblance of peace. As a result, when we come to read works about the war and famine in Japan in the Middle Ages, we have virtually no frame of reference from which to draw.  My thoughts on this have become even stronger since witnessing the changes in the environment going on around us. (10-11)
 
About twenty years ago I wrote a thesis which questioned the meaning of the large scale social changes that occurred at the end of the sixteenth century, otherwise known as the “unification of the nation (or the transition from war to peace)”, and that “Hideyoshi’s peace” contained within it a meaning of escaping from the cruelties of a society forced to defend and protect itself. Yet despite attempting to focus on aspects of society of the era of the warring states, I realize that I wasn’t able to shed light on anything about either the cruelties of a society at war or the realization of a life of peace. (11)
 
So gradually I began to examine things from the point of view of the common soldier rather than the “hero”, and was able to slowly enjoy immersing myself in the “social history of war and peace”.  The results of all of this detective work are contained in this work that I have titled “The commoner’s battlefield”. (11)    
 
I     A world in chaos
I.  The battlefields of the era of the warring states
 
The Shimazu army captures prisoners on the battlefield
 
First, let’s begin by paying a visit to the battlefields of Kyushu that Frois would have seen and which he described in his “History of Japan”.  Are we in fact certain that his descriptions of “war in order to eat” and “war aimed at plunder” were correct? What can we find to back up such assertions? (14-15)
 
One of the leading players on the battlefields of Kyushu at the end of the sixteenth century was the Shimazu clan of Satsuma.  The army of the Shimazu had made its way relentlessly northward, so much so that by Tensho 14 (1586) one could call the Shimazu the “absolute rulers of five provinces” of Kyushu. They continued to press the Otomo clan, the sole remaining ruler of Bungo province, and had almost completed their conquest of the entire island. As part of the central cog in this army, Shimazu retainer Uwai Kakuken had led troops north and very soon entered the province of Higo. Taking in the scenery around him, Uwai noted down what he witnessed in his diary. (15)
 
According to the diary’s editor, Uwai wrote that “The wounded returned (to Satsuma), along with the women and children captured along the way, so much so that they clogged up the roads.” Hence the roads leading back to Satsuma were filled with wounded soldiers belonging to the Shimazu army, along with some tens or so women and children captured as spoils of war.  The line of people that Kakuken saw were a group belonging to the Otomo and taken as plunder on the battlefields in the north, and were being led back to captivity in Shimazu held territory in the south.  This description perfectly backs up what Frois wrote in his own record. (16)
 
Moreover, four years earlier, at the end of Tensho 10 (1582), when moving to aid the Arima clan, Kakuken wrote a report on the siege of the castle of Chijiwa held by the Ryuzoji clan, where he noted that “two or three hundred of the enemy had been captured”, “countless people were captured”, and “there was an excess of captured people”. (16)
 
Frois wrote the same thing about the activities of the Shimazu clan at that time.  According to Frois’ record “They killed a large number of enemy soldiers, or took them prisoner. They devastated that land and plundered it.  However the commanders and soldiers who observed matters from their mountain camp strongly desired to take their spoils and return home. Unable to wait an extra day to complete their destruction of the enemy, they abandoned the castle of Saiga (that had been captured) and withdrew without meeting their objective.” (16)
 
There are no contradictions between Frois’ and Kakuken’s records.  Amid the soldiers of the Shimazu army, there were some who had no interest in meeting that day’s objective (of capturing Chijiwa castle) and wanted “return home as early as possible with their spoils” and that there were “commanders and soldiers” whose only interest was plunder, which means that the army clearly included organised groups of plunderers.  The line of people that Kakuken had met on the road were most certainly taken by those same plunderers. (16)
​
The reports, diaries, and military tales of the Shimazu are replete with many examples of the Shimazu army capturing people or livestock or else devastating crops.  I’ll quote here from three diaries whose records only describe the capture of people.
 
(The diary of Hongo Tadasuke)
 
(1st Month of Tenbun 15 – 1546). 50 or more people killed, and countless men, women, cattle and horses taken.
(4th Month of Tenbun 18 – 1549) 236 heads taken, and many captured. 
 
(The diary of the Yamamoto of Gamou)
 
(8th Month of the 1st year of Kouji – 1551) Three enemy killed, and one other captured.
(10th Month of the 1st year of Kouji) Two enemy killed, in addition to 15 or 16 children and one adult being captured.
(3rd Month of Kouji 2 – 1552) 7 ashigaru went out and captured around 4 commoners.
(2nd Month of Kouji 3 – 1553) Chased after 10 or so enemy, and after a while captured 3 of them.
(3rd Month of Kouji 3) Took one adult captive at the base of Kitamura. (17)
 
(Diary of Hongo Tokihisa)
 
(5th Month of the 8th year of Eiroku – 1565) 28 killed, 40 captured, 700 items seized.
(4th Month of the 9th year of Eiroku) Fighting between boats, the Ito group killed 29, took 9 alive, over 63 killed in total, 5 boats seized.
(5th Month of the 12th year of Eiroku) 107 heads taken, of which only 1 taken alive, 5 generals killed, for a total of 170 killed.
(Same month) Departed Shonai, 3 people abducted.
(4th Month of the 3rd year of Genki – 1572) Villages were destroyed, and many horses and people were taken.
(9th Month of the same year) A castle was captured, 3 of the Ijichi family were killed, along with over 70 others, countless numbers of people seized.
(1st Month of the 2nd year of Tensho – 1574) 60 killed, and over 400 taken by skilled retainers.
 
Amid these records of the military exploits of the Shimazu army, one thing that particular stands out are the numerous references to “taking people” or “capturing people alive”. As seen from the examples of “3 enemies killed, and 1 taken alive”, taking prisoners on the battlefield (as opposed to killing them) appears to refer to the capture of enemy soldiers. However the plunder of countless numbers of men and women, as evidenced by the references to “countless numbers of men, women, cattle and horses were taken” and “over 400 people taken (by skilled retainers)”, in addition to those records stating “1 child taken” and “3 people abducted” makes it unlikely that they were taken as prisoners of war. When we see records that state “the lower classes took one captive” and “7 ashigaru went out and captured around 4 commoners”, this indicates that the main perpetrators of taking prisoners on the battlefield, as well as those who fell victim to such practices, were lower order soldiers or their affiliates.(18)

The battlefields of southern Higo province 
 
Even in the territory of a minor daimyo like the Sagara clan in southern Higo, the taking of people went unabated.  The annual record of the Sagara, known as the “Yatsushiro Diary”, speaks of this.  
 
(3rdmonth of the 9thyear of Tenbun – 1540) Over a thousand of the enemy killed, and up to 2000 taken prisoner.
(10thmonth of the 16thyear of Tenbun) A soldier by the name of Yo Shichihyoe carried out a night attack and took one enemy captive. 3 days later he captured two retainers from Izumi. (19)
 
(10th month of the 19th year of Tenbun) Broke through defences, killed 4, captured 11 alive, and took numerous cows and horses.
(9th month of the 2nd year of Kouji – 1556) Broke through the defence of Takado Daido, killed 6, took 20 captive.
(11th month of the 2nd year of Kouji) 5 killed, 53 taken captive, cattle and horses taken.
(11th month of the 3rd year of Kouji) From Inekari to Fusekusa, 2 killed, 2 captured.
(3rd month of the 2nd year of Eiroku – 1559) In sumover 20 men and women killed, and 38 or so captured. 
(9th month of the 2nd year of Eiroku) At Fusekusa, headed down to the sands near the sea, 3 killed, 8 taken captive. 
(Lunar 3rd month of the 4th year of Eiroku) A night attack carried out from Ikeura and Sashiki, 1 killed, 2 captured. 
(12th month of the 7th year of Eiroku) Some underlings, while out gathering firewood, took 7 persons captive. (19)

History, as an old axiom goes, it written by the victors. Through either good fortune, careful planning, meticulous execution (in all meanings of that word) or some other advantage, certain persons are destined to be remembered for their merits while others stand condemned for their sins. Yet the wheel of history sometimes turns in favour of the ‘wicked’, and on occasion reputations can be raised up from the mire of infamy and cast into the light of redemption. Japanese history is no exception to this trend, and recent scholarship has brought about a reinterpretation of the motives and methods used by certain historical individuals in pursuit of their interests. This blog has explored one of those figures, Akechi Mitsuhide, whose name was synonymous with ‘traitor’ for having rebelled against and ultimately caused the death of Oda Nobunaga (who himself might be regarded as a historical ‘villain’), yet many others come to mind – from Fujiwara no Kaneie, to Taira no Masakado, Taira no Kiyomori, Nichiren, Hōjō Masako, Hōjō Takatoki, Kō no Moronao, Ashikaga Takauji, Ashikaga Yoshimitsu, Ashikaga Yoshimasa (noticing a trend here?), Hino Tomiko, Saito Dōsan, Kennyo, Tokugawa Tsunayoshi, the list goes on.

The figures outlined above are notable for the fact that in some way or another they fought against and on occasion prevailed against the perceived wisdom and authority of their day, whether it be the Imperial court, other warrior houses, influential religions, or social mores. In insisting on their rights and views, they collided with other prominent historical figures of their day, and their misfortune was to be on the losing side when the historical record came to be written (or lost).
Take, for example, the case of Hino Tomiko.  Here was a woman born into an aristocratic family tied to the Ashikaga shōgunate, who was married to the 8th Ashikaga Shōgun Yoshimasa at the age of 16. In the early 1460s Tomiko gave birth to a number of girls, but was unable to have any sons. This state of affairs was obviously a concern for the continuation of the Ashikaga household, so much so that Yoshimasa’s brother, originally known by his Buddhist name Gijin (as he had taken the tonsure and retired from public life), was brought back from the monastery, given the name Ashikaga Yoshimi, and was expected to succeed Yoshimasa in the position of shōgun.

However fate can sometimes conspire to play cruel tricks on mere mortals. In 1465 Tomiko gave birth to a son, Yoshihisa, which set off a series of events that would eventually lead to the Ōnin War. You see, Yoshimi had a powerful supporter in the form of Hosokawa Katsumoto, who believed that Yoshimi’s claim to the position of shōgun superseded that of Yoshihisa and so Yoshimi should become the 9th Ashikaga shōgun and was prepared to back him in that claim.

Tomiko had other ideas, however. Having tried for years to have a son, and with one finally available, Tomiko declared that Yoshihisa, as the son of Yoshimasa, had more claim to the shōgunate than Yoshimi. In order to support her claim, she appealed to Hosokawa rival Yamana Sōzen as well as her own Hino aristocratic family. This led to a direct standoff between the Hosokawa and Yamana clans, which in turn branched out to affect relations between other warrior and aristocratic families not only in the capital but also in the provinces, leading in turn to an outbreak of violence between supporters of the Hosokawa and Yamana in Kyoto in 1465.   

This conflict, known as the Ōnin War, would last for approximately 11 years, during which much of Kyoto burnt to the ground, Katsumoto and Sōzen both died, and the power of the central aristocratic and military families waned as regional warlords rose to take their place. Tomiko would survive all of this, and would see Yoshihisa succeed as the 9th shōgun, albeit to a much weakened government and an unstable realm.  Nonetheless, in her capacity as the wife of one shōgun and the mother to another, for which she was normally referred to as the ‘Midai-dokoro’ (御台所), she wielded considerable power for a woman in an age when women were not expected to play a prominent role in political and societal affairs (it certainly helped that she may, or may not, have also been secretly corresponding with Emperor Go-Tsuchimikado and carrying on a relationship with him, thus increasing her authority among the organs of state in the capital).

This in part explains why Tomiko’s reputation underwent such a hammering by later generations of historical scholars. Other causes are related to the fact that in the aftermath of the Ōnin War, Tomiko, as the real source of authority, ordered the installation of toll gates at the seven entrances to Kyoto in order to collect funds for the rebuilding of the Imperial palace – the ‘Dairi’ (内裏) – as well as to celebrate the end of hostilities and the return of peace to the capital. It does appear, however, that the collection of tolls was used to increase Tomiko’s personal fortune, a situation that created resentment and resulted in 1480 in the outbreak of a tokusei ikki (a form of protest which demanded the forgiving of debts and other financial burdens) during which the toll gates were destroyed. Not to be thwarted, Tomiko ordered the toll gates to be re-established at the city entrances, thereby making her a target of anger from not only commoners but also members of the aristocracy.
For a state still recovering from the effects of war and famine, and given the precarious state of the Ashikaga shōgunate at this period in time, it does seem foolish of Tomiko to have provoked popular anger by imposing financial hardship on the residents of the capital (Tomiko was also linked to the decision by Yoshimasa to embark on the construction of the ‘Hana no Gosho’ (Ginkakuji) during the great famine of Chōroku-Kanshō from 1459 to 1461, a move for which Yoshimasa was harshly criticized and admonished by Emperor Go-Hanazono).   On the other hand, the Imperial palace was restored, although it would be another 30 years before any festivals were held in the capital.

It does seem that historical memory has conspired to ensure that Hino Tomiko’s memory remains forever tied to villainy, for her selfishness, her greed, and her indifference to the suffering of the people. Yet for around 40 years she managed to thrive in a society in a state of chaos, at the focal point of political and military power, dominating the shōgunate in a manner never to be repeated by any of the male successors to that position. Her rapacious nature may have been one born of necessity, given that the relative power of the shōgunate was waning in the face of challenges from other military houses which forced her to be ruthless. Yet she was loyal to those who served her interests, and her fortune enabled the Ashikaga shōgunate to continue into the sixteenth century until its eventual demise in the 1570-80s.  As stated at the outset, history is written by the victors, and Tomiko’s misfortune was to be a powerful woman in an era where the instruments of state, overwhelmingly dominated by men, were falling apart. Her like would not be seen again until the emergence of Yodo-dono (also known as Cha-cha, concubine of Toyotomi Hideyoshi, and mother of Toyotomi Hideyori) in the late sixteenth century, whose reputation would be the subject of slander in the same manner as Tomiko.  

There is no doubt that the figure of the ‘ninja’ is one that has permeated popular culture from Japan to all corners of the globe.  The typical depiction of a ninja, or ‘shinobi’ as they were more often called, is one of a black clad figure moving swiftly through a castle scene at night to carry out an assassination or infiltrate an enemy camp to steal information pertinent to victory.  Yet the historical reality of ninja was more complicated, and certainly more diverse, than the image presented to us on the movie screen or in serialized novels.  For instance, the very concept of a ‘ninja’ varies according to both time and place, and Japanese history is replete with examples of individuals who did not identify themselves as ‘ninja’ or belong to a region (such as the two most well-known enclaves of ninjutsu in Iga and Koga) that knowingly practiced ninjutsu.  One such example is that of Saika Magoichi (雑賀孫市), an individual whose origins are surrounded in mystery, but who most certainly existed during the latter stages of the Sengoku era, and whose exploits would make him the stuff of legend.

My first encounter with Magoichi came as a result of study that I undertook at Ōtani Univesity a decade ago when researching the role of regional, lower class samurai (or jizamurai) in the gradual spread of villages affiliated with the Ikkō faith and loyal to the main Ikkō temple of Honganji.  One organization that kept coming up again and again in studies devoted to the rural adoption of Jodō Shinshū and its gradual militarization was the Saika-gun located on the Kii peninsula (modern Wakayama Prefecture). The Saika-gun were somewhat unique among the various militarized groups that existed at the time in that they adopted an entirely foreign weapon, the arquebus, or matchlock musket, as their principle means of offence and defence, and were remarkably successful in both production and application of this technology. 

Magoichi himself, according to this study of individual shinobi during the Era of the Warring States, was ruler of Saika-castle (which sounds ostentatious, but in reality amounted to an earthen fort with wooden walls and some buildings of plaster and stone) and lord over a territory that produced 70,000 koku (the standard definition of wealth for the Sengoku period – essentially 1 koku equaled the amount of rice necessary to feed one retainer for a year). He was the son of Suzuki Satao, and was formally known by the name Suzuki Magoichi Tao Shigetomo. He was never called by his formal name, preferring instead to go by his more casual nomenclature.  According to legend, Magoichi spent his adolescence as a pirate, plundering any vessels that strayed too close to the shoreline of the Saika peninsula.  He was said to have a gregarious, outgoing personality, and, as often accompanies such traits, had a great affinity for women and alcohol.

This personality naturally led people to gravitate towards him, and in time he found himself appointed as the leader of the Saika group of musketeers. His armour was certainly individualistic, punctuated by a helmet resembling an iron pot and a cuirass resembling fish scales and a banner depicting a three legged divine messenger; the Crow of Kumaya Yata. He bore a favourite musket, which he dubbed ‘Aiyama Gohō’, and led a unit of 2,000 musketeers into battle.

The Saika area was a broad expanse of land facing the Waka Bay, and its location made it a favourite for those people returning from journeys to the continent. Many of these travelers possessed knowledge of metal working, and contributed to the development of a local brand of blacksmithing known as the “Kii – Corean Style”.  Many of those blacksmiths had been to Tanegashima to learn both musket technology and tactics, and subsequently brought that knowledge back to the Kii peninsula.  One such smith, known as Tsuda Kenmotsu Kazunaga, the elder brother of the banner man (or leader) of the Negoro temple group, Sugino Bōmeisan, taught the techniques for arms manufacturing and musket tactics to both the Saika and Negoro group of followers, and in the case of the Saika was responsible for organizing them into a coherent, militarized unit. 

The Tsuda school of arms forging derived from the imagination of a master craftsman, however Magoichi was the key person in combining both this technology and the form of ninjutsu practiced by the Saika group to become a master of guerilla warfare.  The Saika group that Magoichi led were not warmongers, and certainly did not seek to become involved in conflict out any desire for thrills or adventure.  The Saika group took as their purpose the creation of a stable, prosperous country, and knew that in order to realise such a vision they would need money. Their involvement in conflict thus stemmed from the fact that they were, in essence, mercenaries, in that they would accept payment from daimyō from across Japan in exchange for providing their services as musketeers in various conflicts throughout the nation.  One unique aspect to the Saika group was that they fought more for ideological reasons that purely fiscal ones, often refusing their services to any force they deemed hostile to their interests or whom they simply didn’t agree with, not matter how great the offer made.

The Saika, and Magoichi in particular, were devoted followers of the Ikkō sect, and fought in battles against Oda Nobunaga under orders from the head of the Hongaji temple, Kennyo, in the latter 16th century.  The first conflict involving Magoichi against the Oda forces took place on the 12th and 13th days of the 9th month of the first year of Genki (1570).   In the 7th month of the same year, the forces of the Miyoshi clan (consisting of three parts, led by Miyoshi Nagayuki, Iwanari Tomomichi, and Miyoshi Masayasu) were expelled from the island of Awa (which lies between the modern prefectures of Osaka and Tokushima-Kagawa) by Oda Nobunaga. In order to exact their revenge, all three forces, with a combined strength of 13,000 troops, landed and made camp at Nakashima Tenma no Mori in Settsu province (now part of Kita-ku in Osaka City).  Magoichi and the Saika group were included in those forces.

The Miyoshi army took up positions within forts belonging to the Honganji temple at Noda and Fukushima in Settsu province.  At the outset of the conflict fortune favoured the Miyoshi, however in the 8th month word reached the Miyoshi that Nobunaga had departed from Gifu (in Owari province) with a force of approximately 40,000 troops.  On the 18th of the 9th month, Nobunaga advanced his main camp to within range of the Miyoshi forces at Tenma no Mori. Prior to this, on the 12th, Nobunaga sent his cannon and musket corps to open up proceedings by shelling and firing upon the Miyoshi camp.  The Miyoshi army, unable to withstand the attacks from the Oda, sued for peace, yet Nobunaga refused to parley and planned to wipe out the entire Miyoshi force.

In the middle of the night on the 12th, the bells of Honganji suddenly began to ring, signaling the beginning of a musket duel at the Oda held forts at Sakura-gishi and Kawaguchi. For Honganji, this was a sudden and unmistakable declaration of war on the forces of the Oda.

One section of the Oda forces was located in marshy land between the rivers of Kanzaki-gawa and Nakatsu-gawa. In the early hours of the morning of the 13th, a group approached this position flying a banner emblazoned with three stars. The banner was without question that of the Oda general Wada Koremasa. Seeing this, members of the Oda forces approached the group, believing that they were about to be reinforced. However the group suddenly halted at the edge of the Nakatsu-gawa river, threw away their three star banners, and raised a banner depicting the three legged Crow of Kumaya Yata.   

The armed group then spread out along the banks of the Nakatsu-gawa and proceeded to open fire on the Oda forces.  For the Oda, there was nowhere to hide, and certainly nowhere to which they could run. The group involved was of course that of the Saika under the leadership of Magoichi, using the ‘abandon banners strategy’. 

However, according to a different historical source, a particularly strong wind was blowing in the early hours of the 13th which was accompanied by heavy rain, causing the Yodo River to back up and overflow. The Oda force, rather than running away, decided that it would attack the force on the opposite side of the Nakatsu-gawa, however by the time they arrived on the far shore the Saika had already dispersed their forces and vanished.  The Oda forces spotted a group of about 10 or so soldiers whom they quickly set upon, only to discover that the soldiers they thrust their spears into and slashed with their swords were in fact dummies made of bamboo and dressed in the armour of ordinary foot soldiers (ashigaru).

Not only this, the Saika group had set up sharpened bamboo stakes in the grass along the river bank, causing many injuries to the Oda force and not a few casualties. 

Eventually news reached the Oda camp that the combined armies of the Asai and Asakura, together with their Ikkō allies, had launched an attack on the western shore of Lake Biwa and threatened to cut the Oda army off from its home base at Gifu. Realising the threat to his rear, Nobunaga raised camp and headed off in the direction of Kyoto, thus bringing his campaign against the Miyoshi to a quick conclusion.

Magoichi practiced a form of ninjutsu techniques known as the ‘five elements’. Among these was a range of guerilla tactics referred to as ‘earthen elements’.  A series of trenches and tunnels would be dug in the form of a maze which would allow the Saika to close the distance with their enemy without being seen. This would then allow the Saika to snipe at their enemy from all directions, thereby ensuring disorder in the enemy camp.  On occasion, a Saika group member would show themselves to their enemy, only to appear as though they had been swallowed up by a forest. An enemy soldier would give chase and rush into the same area, only to literally fall foul of a sharpened bamboo stick placed in a camouflaged pit.  Not only this, the Saika would create muskets out of bamboo and rig them to fire projectiles at random, thereby causing yet more casualties to an enemy force.

In the 5th month of Tenshō 4 (1576), Nobunaga yet again found himself in conflict against the Saika led by Magoichi. In the 7th month, Nobunaga installed a blockade against Honganji, attempting to starve the temple complex into submission.  Unable to achieve this objective, Nobunaga placed his fleet in and around the shores of Izumi province (location of modern Osaka prefecture), however they were set upon by the forces of the Murakami fleet, whose overwhelming numbers (estimated at 800 vessels) forced the Oda to retreat, and many Oda ships were lost to fires started by flaming arrows shot from the Murakami vessels.

In the second month of the following year, Nobunaga again set out to bring down the Honganji complex, but realized that in order to achieve this he would first need to deal with the potential threat presented by the Saika group.  At the outset, Nobunaga forced the surrender of some members of the Saika and Sugi no Bō of the Negoro group.  On the 15th day of the same month, Nobunaga invaded the Saika territory leading generals from fifteen provinces.  When word of this reached the Saika, their forces assembled at the mountain temple of Mirokuji, where Magoichi explained the strategy they would employ against the Oda. Sharpened wooden palisades would be installed along the riverbank of the Saika River, nets would be spread out, traps installed in river beds, and various other devices installed to hamper the progress of the Oda army.

The Oda army marched straight into these traps, resulting in many drownings, while those that survived would be sniped at by Saika musketeers at any opportunity.  However the overwhelming numbers of the Oda soon led to the Saika region being cut off from outside supplies, and on the 2nd day of the 3rd month the Saika forces made a vow to Nobunaga and surrendered.  Magoichi survived the surrender, and would later be involved in the attack on Fushimi Castle by the forces of Ishida Mitsunari in the lead-up to the Battle of Sekigahara.  In his later years he was granted the sum of 3,000 koku by Tokugawa Ieyasu, and would serve in the retinue of the first ruler of Mitō province, Tokugawa Yorifusa.    

The Battle of Sekigahara (15th September 1600) remains one of those pivotal events in Japan’s past that defines the start of one age and the end of another.  Twelve years of Toyotomi dominance of national affairs was brought to a sudden halt at a non-descript crossroads in Mino province (now Gifu Prefecture) by forces allied to Tokugawa Ieyasu, and set in motion events that would lead to the eventual downfall of the Toyotomi at the Battle of Osaka Castle in 1615. 

The general understanding of the public in relation to the Battle of Sekigahara has been shaped over the centuries by popular narratives, plays, and (more recently) television dramas and movies.  Last year the most recent of these cinematic endeavours was shown to audiences throughout Japan, and took as its inspiration the novel “Sekigahara” written by Shiba Ryōtarō in the mid-1960s. 
The novel examines events primarily from the point of view of Ishida Mitsunari, a retainer and (in many ways) acolyte of Toyotomi Hideyoshi, who gathers together households still loyal to the Toyotomi as Hideyoshi’s health deteriorates in anticipation of the inevitable clash with Ieyasu.

The Battle of Sekigahara in popular memory has by and large focused on a number of events that highlight the various stages of the battle itself. Those have been (for example): the opening gun battle between the forces of Ukita Hideie and Fukushima Masanori, fighting between the forces of Shima Sakon and Kuroda Nagamasa,  the “Toi-deppō” (or “probing shot”) made at the forces of Kobayakawa Hideaki, thereby forcing Hideaki to choose whether to remain loyal to Mitsuhide or defect to Ieyasu, the battlefield death of Ōtani Yoshitsugu (a consequence of Hideaki’s defection to Ieyasu), and the final desperate charge of the Shimazu at the Tokugawa forces in the closing stages of the battle.   

It was in anticipation of obtaining a copy of the 2017 film that I recently purchased a book titled “The Truth of the Battle of Sekigahara” (関ケ原合戦の真実) by Beppu University academic Shiramine Jun (白峰旬).  What I’ve read so far has been revelatory in explaining just how historical memory and popular fiction can combine to completely distort the truth of an historical event.  Professor Shiramine points out that most of what is commonly known about the Battle of Sekigahara, namely the events described above, derives from so-called “Gunki” or “war tales” that were written during the Edo period (in other words, after Tokugawa rule had established itself at the centre of power in early modern Japan).

The purpose of these “war tales” was not so much to accurately re-tell the events of history as they were to entertain readers with stories of heroism and betrayal, and so the historical evidence for such tales was not as important as the ability to captivate the reader. As a consequence, the popular understanding of the events of September 15th 1600 became tinged with a degree of sensationalism removed from the historical record. 

For example, the common belief among the public is that the Battle of Sekigahara lasted the entire day, with initial fighting commencing around 8 in the morning and continuing until the late afternoon. However historical records of the time note that fighting was initiated after the fog cloud sitting over the battlefield dissipated, which would have been around 10am. In addition, while the battle began with both sides firing muskets at one another, it very quickly descended into what is known as a “白兵戦”, or “pure infantry battle” involving spears and swords.  The battle itself was over in the space of 2 to 3 hours, yet in order to make it seem as though an epic struggle had occurred, later “war tales” spun the timespan of the battle out to an entire day.

As Professor Shiramine goes to extraordinarily lengths to prove, the most famous incident of the Battle of Sekigahara, the “probing shot” at the forces of Kobayakawa Hideaki by troops belonging to Tokugawa Ieyasu, which apparently forced Kobayakawa to reveal his true allegiances and support the Tokugawa in attacking nearby forces belonging to Ōtani Yoshitsugu (allied to Ishida Mitsuhide), is a work of pure fiction.  Nowhere in the contemporary sources of the period is there any mention of any “probing shot” being made at the forces of Hideaki. Moreover, contemporary sources of the period show that Tokugawa Ieyasu had been in correspondence with Hideaki long before the battle began, and Hideaki did not wait until midday before revealing his loyalty to Ieyasu but initiated his attack against Yoshitsugu much earlier in proceedings.

Another point backing up this evidence is the fact that Kobayakawa was suitably rewarded after the battle for his contribution to the Tokugawa victory, whereas other less prominent generals located near the Kobayakawa camp at Matsu-oyama only defected once it became clear they would be overrun by Kobayakawa’s forces, and suffered the consequences of their treachery by later having their lands confiscated by the Tokugawa.    

It is these revelations, and the close examination of primary sources to back up such claims, that makes Professor Shiramine’s book such an interesting read.  While there is undoubtedly some disappointment that episodes one has always assumed to be based on history never in fact existed, or existed in a much more basic form than referred to in popular literature, one can at least glimpse the true nature of the Battle of Sekigahara (incidentally, the name “Sekigahara” as it applies to the battlefield is somewhat misleading, as contemporary sources from around 1600 note that most fighting took place in an area known as “Yamanaka” (山中) and not in the village of Sekigahara itself. “Yamanaka” lies around 2-3km to the west of Sekigahara Station and nowadays is a quiet residential area not far from the gravesite marker of Ōtani Yoshitsugu).

Another point that Professor Shiramine makes is that the terms used to refer to the armies of Tokugawa Ieyasu and Ishida Mitsunari, “East Army” and “West Army” respectively, were inventions of writers in the Edo period and were not used by contemporaries (this is less surprising, given that such terminology abounds in historical studies in order to more neatly codify a broad or complex phenomenon).
This is just some of the details of the Professor Shiramine’s book, which has received mostly positive reviews on Amazon.jp (although there are some complaints that Professor Shiramine tends to repeat himself and his points, which is a point that can be brought up concerning a number of Japanese academic studies).  For an exploration on the use of primary source materials to establish the “truth” of an historical event, and a study on the Battle of Sekigahara in general, Professor Shiramine’s book is a great place to start and highly recommended.

In what has become a time-honoured tradition on this particular blog, I do apologise for the very, very long hiatus between posts. In a sense this is a good thing, because it does give me more time to be able to absorb more subject matter and then think about it on a deeper level. On the other hand it means that weeks go by before I actually get around to writing anything, which is a tad tardy of me and for which I can only ask forgiveness.  The reason I have decided to update the ol’ blog is because I finally got around to watching Martin Scorsese’s version of Endo Shusaku’s “Silence” (沈黙) on the weekend. My initial reaction to the film was that it certainly kept to the mood of the book, with some liberties taken in order to ensure the narrative didn’t become too stuck in existential questions on the meaning of faith.

The film did address the subject matter well, and Andrew Garfield and Adam Driver did a very good job conveying the devoted yet ultimately doomed Jesuit priests making their way to Nagasaki (or Bizen province) in the early 1600s to find out the fate of a Father Ferreira (played by Liam Neeson), a Jesuit who is reported to have abandoned his faith in the face of interrogation and torture at the hands of provincial officials.  The film (and original novel) take place in the aftermath of the Shimabara Rebellion, a Christian inspired uprising (covered in this blog) by lower caste samurai and peasants against Bakufu rule. The rebellion itself was brutally crushed, which was in part a response to the nearly two centuries of warfare that Japan had been subjected to in which religion had played a role in prolonging and intensifying the conflict.  Given that the Christian (or more accurately, Catholic) population of the Shimabara peninsula acted in defiance on central rule, the Tokugawa Bakufu was in no mood to compromise with what were regarded as lower caste rebels with affiliations with foreign powers (i.e., Portugal and Spain) and which might ultimately undermine the relative stability that the Tokugawa had imposed on Japan.

Of course the historical threads behind the edict banning the teaching of Christianity in Japan are diverse and originate further back into sixteenth century Japanese history. As to whether the average person would be aware of this background when they watch the film is unknown, but I think the context behind the novel needs to be understood if one is to get the most out of watching the film. There is a very good element of suspense and danger hanging in the air throughout the film, as you the viewer are made aware of just what sort of risk these Jesuits are taking in attempting to preserve the Christian faith of those Japanese who still consider themselves Christian and who carry out masses and confessions in secret.  Discovery can be fatal, although it does seem somewhat odd that it is the Kakure Kirishitan who undergo a majority of the suffering in the film. The existence of Catholic priests in Nagasaki, in defiance of a Bakufu edict, would itself be a cause for execution, yet these priests are kept alive and questioned, and (at least in the case of Father Rodrigues) are persuaded to apostatize .

While I can see the logic behind using former priests to persuade other Christians to abandon their faith, we (the viewers) have no idea whether this strategy actually worked, and so we are left to draw our own conclusion about its efficacy. What we are really meant to focus on is how, having abandoned their faith, these former priests have become shadows of their former selves, broken in spirit and resigned to living out their days in a land that views them with suspicion. Without giving too much away, the film also illustrates to how faith can sustain one in the most trying of circumstances and what one sacrifices in order to keep their faith. It is a profoundly spiritual film, however by running in at nearly 3 hours in length, only those who wish to learn the fate of its main characters will watch it through to its conclusion.  It can be ponderous at times, and visceral in its depiction of torture, but that violence is necessary to convey the dangers present and the degree of courage necessary to transcend it.

If I have a particular gripe about the film (apart from its length), it is the fact that you have supposed Portuguese priests speaking English but pretending they are speaking Portuguese (although they do have accents!). While the Japanese cast deliver much of their dialogue in English (which, again, is supposed to be Portuguese), the Japanese that they do use is very much in the modern vernacular. Not that there is anything wrong with this. If they spoke in the language of officialdom of the mid-seventeenth century, most contemporary Japanese viewers would have a hard time understanding what they were saying. The use of English is a bit jarring, but then again the film wasn’t sponsored by Portuguese backers or featured Portuguese actors so I suppose they could speak in whatever language they wish.    

The film is ultimately worth watching, just don’t have anything urgent to do while you do so.

Once more, as is the case in so many of my past posts, I must issue an apology for being so lax in my updates of this blog. In truth, my computer went on the blink, then work suddenly picked up, and I have been exploring a myriad of extra-curricular activities. So one could say that the distractions have been overwhelming. Nevertheless, in the interim I have indulged in a bit of reading, and managed to obtain a copy of Oizumi Koichi’s “Masamune’s conspiracy” 政宗の陰謀. This book, released last year, seeks to explore the reasons why Date Masamune, a prominent daimyō of Mutsu and Dewa provinces in far northern Honshū, sought to send a mission to Spain and Italy in 1613 (the Hasekura Tsunenaga Mission 支倉常長使節, also known as the 慶長遣欧使節).

A majority of theories put forward for this decision tend to focus on the burgeoning trade links between Spain and Japan at the time, particularly through the Spanish territories of The Philippines and Nueva Espana (Mexico). These theories emphasize Masamune’s ambitions for the northern territories to maintain a degree of financial independence from the Tokugawa Bakufu and thereby possess the capacity to remove the Tokugawa from their position at some point in the future. To realize this ambition, Masamune needed trade to flourish between Mutsu and the Spanish colony in Mexico, and allowed Spanish and Portguese merchants and missionaries to reside in his domains long after they had been expelled from other parts of Japan.

Yet as Oizumi illustrates in his book, Masamune may have had broader ambitions than this. Missionaries that were present in Mutsu and who later returned to Europe baring Masamune’s correspondence to the Spanish royal family and the Papacy emphasised that Masamune planned to have missionaries establish churches in the north to act as focal points for the more than 300,000 Christians that were believed to be in Japan at the time. The combined effect of these converts, together with technical and financial aid from the Vatican and Spanish Empire, would ensure that Masamune would possess the power to overthrow the Tokugawa and have the Date named as shōgun.

None of this was, of course, to be conveyed to the Tokugawa, who were to be convinced that the Date meant no more than trading with the Spanish than the Tokugawa did in their growing trade with the Dutch out of the East Indies. Yet the growing conviction of Tokugawa Ieyasu that the presence of Catholic missionaries in Japan presented a clear threat to the continued existence of the Tokugawa Bakufunate (a conviction fed by reports given to him by Dutch and English merchants regarding Spanish and Portguese conquests in Central and South America, India, and The Philippines), and so issued the first of a series of edicts banning the practice of proselytization in Japan, which were extended to eventually ban the presence of Catholicism in Japan in general.

Oizumi uses an extensive series of records, Japanese, Spanish, and Italian, along with French and German, to trace the manner in which Masamune sought to bring about a revolt in Japanese religious and social history. It is a work that Oizumi himself admits has taken close to half a century to bring to fruition, not least because it involved both comprehending and then translating a vast range of sources written in pre-modern versions of modern European languages. It is an impressive work, and certainly well worth reading if one has the time. It also provides more context surrounding the persecution of Christians in Japan, and why the determination of the Tokugawa to stamp out this potential threat within their midst created the social conditions depicted in Endō Shūsaku’s 沈黙, or Silence.

The role of women in helping to avoid war
 
The marriages that we have examined up until now, such as that between O-ne and Hideyoshi, could be categorised as marriages of love. Yet in the Sengoku period, as in periods before that time, marriages based on love were exceedingly rare. Parents would choose whom their offspring would marry, and the marriage would not be between individuals on the basis of love, but formed the basis of binding two households together. The most typical of such practices were strategic marriages. From a modern perspective, such marriages are regarded simply as tragedies, yet for the people of previous ages, these kinds of marriages, whereby one`s parents chose one`s partner, were a matter of course.  For the people concerned, they certainly did not regard themselves as victims.(223)
 
It was Nagai Michiko who pointed this particular phenomenon out at a relatively early stage. Her book `A unique portrait of women of the Sengoku era` (published by Rekishi to Tabi in 1992) said the following with regard to this point.
 
“Women were not the tools of men.  Women from households of the daimyō class were joint administrators of that household. If a male was, for example, the prime minister, his sisters would be the deputy prime minister, and one of those deputies would serve as a diplomat. Her service to her country would be in the form of marriage. In other words, she was a female ambassador who also engaged in sex. It might seem somewhat crude to describe a woman in such terms, yet this was part of that reality. In truth, because women were married off, it meant that provinces that had been fighting up until then would cease fighting each other and was a prime example whereby peace could be maintained.(224)
 
In order to prove proof of that peace, the sisters of the head of the household would be married off to other provinces. Oda Nobuhide of Owari province and Saitō Dōsan of Mino province had what could be described as a `love/hate` relationship. No matter how many times they fought, neither came out as victor.  It was around this time that Oda Nobuhide decided that he wanted to make an alliance both with Dōsan and with Imagawa Yoshimoto, lord of Tōtōmi and Suruga provinces, and who was looking to expand into Mikawa province. Deciding that it would not be a good idea to have enemies on both sides of his province`s borders, Nobuhide took the advice of his retainer Hirate Masahide and made an alliance with Dōsan. To cement this, Dōsan`s daughter Princess Nō was sent as a bride to Nobuhide`s son and heir Nobunaga, and was a stereotypical political marriage.(224)
 
As a result of this marriage, the conflict that until then had been waging between Owari and Mino ceased.  This is why the example using women as a means to avoid war is so easily understood. Those `female ambassadors who also engaged in sex` performed their role admirably.(226) Yet a strategic marriage is a strategic marriage, and certainly different to a standard marriage. When the characters for `strategy` are added to marriage, that implies use as a strategic tool, used for strategic purposes. As a result of a change in circumstances from peaceful times, there were many examples of such marriages ending in tragedy.(226)”         

Nowadays, we use the characters `意見` in phrases such as `意見をいう` (express an opinion) or `意見をする` (give an opinion), yet it historical records dating from the Sengoku era, there are many examples of these characters being rendered as `異見`. Regardless of what its original meaning may have been, it has been thought that this version of the characters matches the meaning of the current characters.  There are many examples of wives expressing their `opinion` 異見` to their husbands. There are examples of Sengoku era warriors changing their strategy after adopting their wives` `opinion`, and there are examples of warriors ignoring their wives and thus finding themselves in difficult situations. (216)
 
One example of a warriors deciding to change of mind on his wife`s advice involves Hashiba Hideyoshi. Hideyoshi, who was one of Oda Nobunaga`s retainers, was granted the lands of Ōmi Sangun (Ika, Higashi Asai, and Sakata) in northern Ōmi province in the first year of Tenshō (1573), lands that formerly belonged to the Asai family. He also acquired Odani castle as his residence, which formerly belonged to Asai Nagamasa. (217) One problem was that Odani castle was located on mountain, hence Hideyoshi decided to build a new castle in the vicinity of Lake Biwa and move his household there. (217) This castle would be known as Nagahama.
 
In order to build a town around Nagahama, a proposal was made whereby `if you move to and reside at Nagahama, you will be exempt from all forms of tithes and taxes`. It was a strategy to attract merchants and workers to the town. Many took up the offer, and soon merchants and workers had made their way to Nagahama to live and took up residence in the town, which arose a short time later. No sooner had they done this, then an order was issued whereby `both annual tithes and land taxes will now be collected`. (217)
 
Hideyoshi`s wife O-ne (お禰), once she heard of this change of plan, urged Hideyoshi to rescind the order via way of her `opinion`. I will quote from part of a letter of Hideyoshi`s associated with the `Kawaji Bunsho` collection, which is thought to record these events in Tenshō 5 (1577). To continue on from the part of the document that includes the decision to impose tithes and taxes…
 
“Although I tried to explain to her otherwise, O-ne refused to agree, and as before told me that if I were to forgive all taxes, this would be an act of good governance`.  (217-218)
 
 In short, Hideyoshi conceived of the idea to exempt all tithes and taxes in order to ensure that the town of Nagahama rose quickly by enticing merchants and workers to live there.  However once this goal had been achieved, and given that tithes, land taxes and other forms of taxation were an important source of revenue, the decision was made to change the policy on tax collection. We don`t really know the extent to which O-ne was involved in the creation of the town of Nagahama, yet when she learned of Hideyoshi`s change of plan, she aired her opinion, which was `what you are proposing is different to what you told the merchants and workers`. In the end, Hideyoshi accepted O-ne`s opinion, rescinded his order, and exempted the townspeople from tithes and land taxes.(218)
 
The above example of Hideyoshi and O-ne is one of the head of the household accepting his wife`s `opinion`, yet in the case of Maeda Toshiie and his wife Matsu, we have an example of a husband dismissing his wife`s opinion.  This event in recorded in the `Kawasumi Taikakuki`, and is quite a fascinating episode linked to the Battle of Komaki and Nagakute in Tenshō 12 (1584). (218-219) The Battle of Komaki and Nagakute was, as is well known, was a conflict that took place in both Owari and Ise between the forces of Tokugawa Ieyasu and Oda Nobukatsu on one side and Hideyoshi on the other. Yet it was not confined to these areas, and also spread as far as the Hokuriku region (which housed the Maeda family). (219)
 
Maeda Toshiie, as lord of Kaga and Noto and allied to Hideyoshi, and Sasa Narimasa,as the lord of Etchū and allied to Ieyasu and Nobukatsu, began to fight one another along the border area to Etchū. When Toshiie began to assemble his forces, he was thinking of nothing else, and was somewhat flummoxed by the whole process. Toshiie`s wife Matsu, seeing him like this, took gold and silver from the treasury in Kanazawa castle, placed it in a leather pouch, and then spread it out at Toshiie`s feet. It was said…
 
“Matsu gave her opinion both day and night, saying that right now, you (Toshiie) have no need for the gold and silver of the treasury. If you are going to meet a formidable enemy, you first need to train people. This is indeed the best way. When you finally subdue a country, then you will find that you have need of funds.  This is both the beginning and end of countries, and you will need to store both silver and gold. Right now, this money will not be able to thrust a spear”.        
 
What deserves our attention here is the fact that whether at night or during the day, Matsu said to Toshiie `Don`t just collect money, train your troops`, thereby giving her opinion.  As gold and silver itself could not wield a spear, Matsu, as a result of the household not listening to her opinion, expressed her indignation at the Maeda household for panicking because they lacked military preparedness. (219-220
 
In this age of dominant fathers as head of the household, and when it was said that `if the hen crows, the household will fall`, it was considered improper for a woman to express her opinions on matters concerning the household. Women were to be silent and obey the will of their husbands. Hideyoshi`s wife O-ne, and Toshiie`s wife Matsu, were two special exceptions to this belief.(220)

Imagawa Jukeini and Akamatsu Tōshōinni were both `female daimyō`, yet at the kokujin level of society (less than that of a daimyō) there were examples of female rulers of households. Most warrior families who belonged to the kokujin class had their origins in the Kamakura era, when many families began as jitō (or estate managers), hence the term `female jitō`. (212)
 
During the Sengoku era there was a kokujin-class family known as the Ii who were located in Tōtōmi province. From this family came Ii Naomasa, one of the `four great teachers` of the Tokugawa shōgunate and the family that later became the provincial rulers of Ōmi province from Hakone during the Edo period. The family itself arose to kokujin status in the aftermath of the civil war that occurred during the Nanbokuchō period, and were located in Iinoya in Tōtōmi province. In the Sengoku era, the power of the Imagawa extended as far as Tōtōmi, hence the Ii family became bound to the Imagawa as one of their retainers.(212)
 
On the 19th day of the 5th month of Eiroku 3 (1560) at the Battle of Okehazama, the head of the Ii household, Ii Naomori, was part of the forces that made up the spear point of the Imagawa army, and was subsequently killed in the battle. Naomori had no male heirs, hence Naochika, the grandson of Naomori`s grandfather Naohira, succeeded as head of the household. (214) However, after the death of (Imagawa) Yoshimoto, the head of the Imagawa household, Ujizane, began to believe that Naochika was secretly corresponding with Matsudaira Motoyasu (later known as Tokugawa Ieyasu), and thus had Naochika killed.(214)
 
The death of Naochika plunged the Ii household into a succession crisis. Given the way that Naochika had died, there were fears that his son Manchiyo (later known as Naomasa)`s life was also in danger. Manchiyo was thus hidden away, and after consultations within part of the family, Naomori`s daughter was declared to be head of the household.  The `Records of the Ii Household` (Ii Ke Denki) state that `Jirō Hōshi was a woman, and while ruling over the territory of the Ii household, would take on the priestly name of Jirō Hōshi, to which there were no objections`.(214)
 
The name `Jirō Hōshi` sounds like that of a man, but the reality was that this `he` was a `she`. It was the beginning of the concept of `female jitō`. According to related documents of the Ii household, there are items that bare the signature of `Jirō Hōshi` and a black seal of the same name. What this tells us is that `female jitō` Jirō Hōshi did actually rule over territory.  While Imagawa Jukeini, a female daimyō, would sign documents using her own name, `female jitō` Jirō Hōshi continued to use a man`s name. (214).
 
Jirō Hōshi began by having documents stamped with a seal under this name, but eventually she took on the male name of `Jirō Naotora`, and changed her signature to the same effect. This was a highly unusual case of a woman taking on both a man`s name, and using a form of signature that was only used by adult males. (215) The fact that the daughter of Ii Naomori took on a man`s name and ruled over the Ii territory certainly went against the thinking of the age. After the role of women as a wife and mother became established as a concept, it was thought that that women had no right to carry on the household, although it wasn`t completely out of the question. Yet if we gather together some of the historical records of the time, there are quite a number of cases of women being given the responsibility of running a household.(215)   
 
One example of this was Tachibana Dōsetsu, who handed over the affairs of his household to his daughter Ginchiyo. Tachibana Dōsetsu was originally known as Betsugi Akitsura, and was a retainer of the household of Ōtomo Sōrin and well known as a military strategist. Dōsetsu had no sons and only one daughter - Ginchiyo. On this point, Dōsetsu went to Sōrin and said `I wish for my daughter Ginchiyo to be allowed to take over my household, and I would like you to approve this`. Unfortunately the document that Dōsetsu used to make his request has not survived the ravages of time, but what we do know is that in a response signed by Sōrin and his son Yoshimune, the request was acknowledged and made known to all the other retainers of the Ōtomo household. (215)   
 
Incidentally, this document was signed on the 18th day of the 6th month of Tenshō 3 (1575), which means that Ginchiyo was only 7 years old at the time it was signed. We do have to wonder whether Dōsetsu was in his right mind when he handed over the running of his household to young girl of seven. On this point we just do not know what he was thinking. In later year, however, Ginchiyo would become the wife of Tachibana Muneshige (a famous figure in the latter Sengoku era history of Kyushu). (216)