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The assassination in 1441 of Ashikaga Yoshinori, the sixth shogun of the Ashikaga line, was carried out with exceptional efficiency and brutality. Assassinations of high-ranking persons were comparatively rare in Japan, at least until modern times, but a few are memorable: Sanetomo, the third Minamoto shogun, killed at the Tsurugaoka Shrine by his nephew, and Oda Nobunaga, murdered at the Honnō-ji by Akechi Mitsuhide. But about neither of these men was it said that he “died like a dog,” as Gosukō-in (1372–1456) wrote of Yoshinori.¹

Ashikaga Yoshinori (1394–1441), the third son of Yoshimitsu, had been sent (like many younger sons of high birth) to a Buddhist monastery for his education and preparation for a future career as a priest. At an early age, thanks no doubt to family connections, he attained the exalted rank of zasu (abbot) of the Shōren-in, an important temple of the Tendai sect. His elder brother Yoshimochi (1386–1428), who had succeeded Yoshimitsu as shogun, abdicated in 1423 in favor of his son Yoshikazu (1407–1425). The young man, however, whose excessive indulgence in liquor and general dissolute conduct had earned him severe reprimands from his father, died of illness after only two years as shogun.

After resuming the post of shogun after Yoshikazu’s death, Yoshimochi prayed for an heir at the Iwashimizu Hachiman Shrine, the ancestral shrine of the Minamoto clan (the clan to which the Ashikaga family belonged). He drew lots to see whether the god would accord this wish, and the desired answer was given: he would indeed have another son. Yoshimochi placed such great trust in the oracle that he felt it was unnecessary to designate a successor other than the unborn son. But his trust was misplaced: in 1428 Yoshimochi, who had not been favored with another son despite the oracle, developed a serious infection that seemed likely to prove fatal. The senior officials decided that they had no choice but to ask Yoshimochi directly for his choice of successor. The priest Mansai (1378–1435), who had served as “protecting priest” (gojisō) to the shogun, was delegated to go to the bedside of the dying Yoshimochi and ask him to designate his successor by name. Yoshimochi refused to name anyone. Mansai repeated the request several times, but still Yoshimochi refused, insisting that the successor be chosen by the senior retainers (shūgi).²

Mansai did finally succeed, however, in eliciting Yoshimochi’s consent to draw lots to determine the successor. It was hoped that the god of the Hachiman Shrine, as guardian of the fortunes of the Ashikaga family, would choose a suitable man. Mansai wrote on slips of paper the names of four younger brothers of Yoshimochi. The slips, in elaborately sealed envelopes, were taken to the Iwashimizu Hachiman Shrine by the shogunal deputy (kanrei) Hatakeyama Mitsuie (1372–1433) so that he might draw the lots in the presence of the god. The lot that Mitsuie drew, which was opened as soon as Yoshimochi died, bore the name of Gien, the abbot of the Shōren-in.³

Some scholars believe that the drawing of lots was rigged and that no matter which one had been drawn, it would have been inscribed with Gien’s name. But as Imatani Akira convincingly argued, drawing lots was not a matter of mere chance to the people of that time: everyone involved was convinced that the choice was made by the god himself. In terms of such faith in the god’s responsiveness to the Ashikaga family’s prayers, it was unthinkable that anyone would have dared tamper with the slips.⁴ At this distance from the events, we may wonder—even if we accept the genuineness of the drawing of lots—whether the god did not make a serious mistake in choosing Gien, the future Yoshinori, as the next shogun.

When it was discovered that Gien had won the lottery, he was informed that he would have to return to the laity. At first he expressed unwillingness to leave the priesthood, but eventually he convinced himself that his elevation to the rank of shogun had been the wish of the god and that he was therefore obliged to obey. His belief in the efficacy of drawing lots as a manner of discovering the will of the gods was further illustrated four months after he succeeded as shogun, when he proposed that a land dispute be settled by lots. In later years, other important decisions, ranging from the selection of the editor of an imperially sponsored anthology of poetry to the appointment of a priest for the Inner Shrine at Ise, were made according to lots drawn at Shinto shrines.

During his reign as shogun, Yoshinori displayed an undoubted executive capability, maintaining order in a country that was divided into “principalities,” some of which rivaled the shogunate in military and economic strength. He also was a man of considerable culture who could take part in a renga session without disgracing himself. He stands out, however, not for his capability as shogun or for his cultural attainments but for the ferocity of his temper. In 1434 the nobleman Nakayama Sadachika (1401–1459) recorded in his diary that up to this date eighty high-ranking persons had been disposed of by Yoshinori’s order, including fifty-nine members of the nobility, headed by a former kanpaku.⁵

Many were harshly punished for trivial offenses. One noble incurred Yoshinori’s wrath merely because he smiled while serving as a torchbearer at a ceremony. On another occasion (in 1433) when the crowd watching a cockfight near Ichijō Kaneyoshi’s residence got in the way of the shogun’s procession, the enraged Yoshinori not only prohibited further cockfights at the Ichijō mansion but ordered that all chickens be driven from the capital.⁶ Again, when a retainer offered the shogun a splendid plum tree, Yoshinori was angered to discover that one of the middle branches had been broken. The three gardeners who had transported the tree were imprisoned for breaking the branch, and an order was issued for the arrest of five retainers of the man who had presented the tree. Three of these men fled for their lives, and the other two committed suicide. In 1435 when Yoshinori traveled to Ise, he was annoyed by the tastelessness of the food he was served. The cook, albeit a samurai, was unceremoniously sent back to Kyoto. After Yoshinori had returned to the capital, the cook, all fear and trembling, again appeared in his presence. He was immediately arrested and beheaded. Two years later, three other cooks were executed for the same crime.⁷

These people do not rank among the important victims murdered by command of Yoshinori. Rather, he tended to find grounds for suspecting even high-ranking daimyos of harboring treacherous intentions, and when he thought they might be dangerous, he did not hesitate to provoke them into committing an offense. In the seventh month of 1431, a ceremony was held at which Yoshinori, following an old custom, ranked his generals in order of merit. Isshiki Yoshitsura (1400–1440) was named second best. He was offended because his grandfather had been ranked first by Ashikaga Yoshimitsu, and he thought he deserved the same distinction. Pleading illness, he declined to take part in the ceremony. This, predictably, infuriated Yoshinori, whose first impulse was to confiscate all of Yoshitsura’s lands. Although he was dissuaded from taking such drastic action, he never forgave him, and when he judged the moment for revenge had come, he ordered Yoshitsura’s death.⁸

Yoshinori’s reign of terror was small in scale when compared with similar periods of imperial persecution in China, but in Japan there was no precedent for the bloodthirsty cruelty Yoshinori showed toward those who displeased him. During the Heian period, not one person in high office was executed for his crimes,⁹ the worst punishment being banishment. Even during later periods, when a shogunate ruled the country, there was a reluctance to resort to capital punishment. Instead, serious offenses were usually punished by confiscation of property or (in the case of nobles) by loss of the privilege of attending court. Partly because it contrasted so greatly with the policies of earlier times, Yoshinori’s persecution inspired dread, especially among nobles and daimyos who feared that they might be suspected of being disloyal. This fear led to sycophancy among those who surrounded Yoshinori, each man desperately eager to assure him of complete submission to his will. Wherever Yoshinori went, he could be sure of receiving costly gifts from men of the locality who craved to demonstrate their loyalty. No one dared to remonstrate with the shogun in the manner prescribed in Confucian texts for those who advised men in power.

Yoshinori was not easily convinced of the loyalty of those around him. In order to feel absolutely secure, he reversed the tendency toward rule by consensus that had evolved and instead most often acted like a bloodthirsty tyrant. His first response to any act that seemed to be disloyal was an order to kill. When the heads of his enemies were sent to the capital, he personally inspected them, to satisfy himself that the heads were not those of imposters. After the fall of Yūki Castle, the stronghold of one of Yoshinori’s chief enemies, some fifty heads were sent to Kyoto for his inspection. Although they had been pickled in saké, in the intense heat of the Kyoto summer their features had decomposed and lost all semblance of their original appearance. The nobles had little desire to participate in the head inspection or even to get a glimpse of the unspeakably horrible sight, but they hurried to the spot, buckling on borrowed swords, each trying to be among the first to offer congratulations and fearful of incurring the shogun’s wrath if he arrived late.

Any account of Yoshinori’s actions is likely to make him seem so devoid of human feelings that one wonders how it was possible for a man whose early life had been spent in a monastery to forget so completely the Buddhist proscription on taking life. But he had not quite forgotten religion. After a major victory over pretenders to the position of shogun, when he at last decided that not one enemy of his regime was left on earth, he not only took part in the elaborate celebrations of victory staged by his sycophants but made pious pilgrimages to Buddhist temples and Shinto shrines to express thanks for the victory bestowed.

In the sixth month of 1441, Yoshinori received an invitation from members of the Akamatsu family to visit their house to celebrate his triumph over the Yūki family and particularly his success in tracking down and putting to death two boys of twelve and ten years who might have been used to restore the Yūki fortunes. The Akamatsu family had a tradition, dating back to Ashikaga Yoshimitsu’s childhood, of staging matsubayashi—festive dances performed early in the New Year in honor of the shogun. The tradition had lapsed after Yoshimitsu expressed a preference for sarugaku (nō) in celebrating the New Year, but it was revived in 1429, and since then matsubayashi had been performed every year at the shogun’s palace. For the New Year of 1441, however, there was no performance of matsubayashi. It was announced that the head of the family, Akamatsu Mitsusuke (1373–1441), would be unable to attend the shogun’s court because he had lost his senses. His younger brother, Mochisada, had not long before run afoul of Yoshinori when an affair with a lady-in-waiting was brought to light and his estates were confiscated. Rumor had it that Mitsusuke would be next to experience the shogun’s wrath. Acting like a madman was probably the best way of deflecting Yoshinori’s suspicions. The strategy worked for a time, but there was no way of telling what might next provoke Yoshinori’s rage.

The invitation to Yoshinori mentioned that this year there was an unusually large number of ducks in the garden pond. The shogun, it predicted, would surely enjoy watching parent and baby ducks cavorting in the water. Accustomed to dining out almost every night at the houses of his officials, Yoshinori accepted the invitation and arrived at the Akamatsu residence on the afternoon of the twenty-fourth day of the sixth month, accompanied by a retinue of nine provincial governors (shugo) and other high officials, almost all of whom owed their position to Yoshinori. The host this day was Akamatsu Noriyasu, Mitsusuke’s heir. Mitsusuke himself, because of his alleged madness, did not appear.

After admiring the ducks and ducklings on the pond, the shogun and his party were offered drinks and other refreshments. The entertainment was lavish, with a full program of nō to be offered for the shogun’s diversion. It was gradually growing dark as the third nō play was performed. Another round of drinks was passed around, and the guests were in a genial mood. Suddenly a thumping, as of drums, could be heard from somewhere in back of the house. The tipsy shogun opened his eyes and demanded what had caused the noise. A senior official replied nonchalantly that it might be thunder. The thumping, it later turned out, was caused when horses tied up in the stable were released by Mitsusuke’s grooms and set running in the garden. Voices called out, “Shut the gates!” and servants bolted the outer gates, ostensibly to keep the horses from running away but actually to prevent anyone from leaving the house.

Soon afterward, several dozen armed men burst in from an adjacent room. Two men, grasping Yoshinori from either side, pinned him down onto the tatami. He cried out, “Wait!” only for a third man, Azumi Yukihide, to lop off his head. Four of the daimyos in Yoshinori’s party, in a state of panic, managed to make an ignominious escape by crawling from the room and climbing over the garden wall; they saved their necks at the cost of becoming laughingstocks of the town. A few, more courageous than the rest, unsheathed their swords and charged against the Akamatsu men. Most were killed on the spot or died later of their wounds. Madenokōji Tokifusa (1394–1457) wrote in his diary that this was an unspeakable event without precedent in all of history, an opinion shared by other nobles who kept diaries.¹⁰ Akamatsu Mitsusuke, who was supposed to be hopelessly insane, showed himself at this point and made plain that he had been the leader of the plot to kill the shogun. The Akamatsu retainers, after first setting fire to their residence, successfully made their escape. Azumi Yukihide, the man who had cut off Yoshinori’s head, took it with him, held high on a pike. Mitsusuke, it was reported, looked greatly pleased, as if he had realized a long-cherished desire. Nobody attempted to pursue the Akamatsu retainers that day.

Seeing flames rise over the Akamatsu house, Tokifusa rushed to the palace to inform Emperor Go-Hanazono. The blinds had been drawn at dusk, but the emperor went outside to look at the flames in the distance. As yet nobody knew what had happened, but gradually the names of wounded survivors reached the palace. Yoshinori was not among them, and it was feared that he had been killed. Finally, a report arrived from Hosokawa Mochiyuki (1400–1442), the kanrei, telling in detail of the terrible event. But he reassured the court that there would be no break in the succession, that Yoshinori’s young son would be the next shogun. He appealed to the entire population to remain calm.

That night, monks from the Shōkoku-ji, a temple intimately associated with the Ashikaga family, came to search for Yoshinori’s headless body in the ruins of the Akamatsu mansion. They eventually found the blackened corpse, placed it in a coffin they had brought with them, and carried it to Rokuon-in, a subtemple of the Shōkoku-ji. The next day, the coffin was taken to the Tōji-in, another subtemple, for interment. The funeral service was not held for another two weeks.

That day the various daimyos met at the bakufu headquarters to discuss what to do in such an unprecedented situation. They agreed that Yoshinori’s oldest son, Yoshikatsu, then known as Sen’yachamaru, was the only possible successor. The boy, barely seven years old, was obviously incapable of performing as shogun, so the daimyos decided to revive the Council of Elders and to entrust it with selecting governmental policies, thereby reverting to the practice before 1435 when Yoshinori first wielded unrestricted power. Hosokawa Mochiyuki remained the shogunal deputy, but his cowardly behavior at the time of the assassination had cost him the esteem of the other daimyos.

At this time, a messenger from the Akamatsu family came to Mochiyuki’s house saying that Yoshinori’s head was at Nakajima in Settsu Province and that Mitsusuke intended to hold a service for the head. Afraid that the visit from an Akamatsu retainer might be interpreted as a sign of collusion between the Akamatsu family and himself, Mochiyuki gave orders for the messenger to be beheaded. When Mitsusuke learned that his messenger had been executed, he left for his fief in Harima to the west of Settsu, taking Yoshinori’s head with him. He also called off the planned religious service.

Kakitsu monogatari, a romanticized account of events at this time, states that once he had reached his stronghold in Harima on the twenty-fourth day of the sixth month, Mitsusuke conducted a ceremony of cremation of Yoshinori’s head at the Ankoku-ji.¹¹ Dressed in a white hitatare—a formal outer robe, worn chiefly by high-ranked military men—Mitsusuke went before a raised platform covered with brocade of golden ground. Placing the head on the brocade, he bowed respectfully and then painstakingly described to the head the great services his family had rendered to the Ashikaga clan. His address opened in this manner:

The Akamatsu family for generations has striven for the good of the realm. It has suppressed rebellious elements and, never wavering in its loyalty, has proved its capability at performing its duties. For this reason, when the shogun Takauji, who had been defeated in battle in the capital and forced to flee, asked the help of the Akamatsu family, the family, with troops from our three fiefs, built the castle of Shirahata in Kinoyama and for three years successfully defended it against armies from many parts of the country. This castle, which had no equal in the realm, to the end was never taken.¹²

Mitsusuke related many other instances of Akamatsu loyalty to the shoguns, even when fighting against seemingly hopeless odds; but, he declared, Yoshinori had forgotten the many deeds that bespoke the clan’s extraordinary loyalty and had plotted instead to destroy it. An ancestor of Yoshinori (probably a reference to Takauji) had seven times sworn an oath to Hachiman that if the Akamatsu perished, the Ashikaga would also perish. The present incident (the assassination) had occurred because Yoshinori had forgotten his ancestor’s oath. Mitsusuke never had anticipated that such events would occur, but now he was sure that pursuers would soon come after him from Kyoto to avenge the shogun’s death. When that happened, he would commit seppuku and, in the spirit of the oath sworn by Takauji, would accompany Ashikaga Yoshinori to the afterworld. If by chance his life should last a bit longer, he would devote every hour to heartfelt prayers for Yoshinori’s salvation. So saying, he took the head, which was wrapped in a cloak, and, turning it up to face him, three times did it reverence. All present, carried away by the scene, wetted the sleeves of their hitatare with their tears. The head was placed in a sandalwood cart and carried to the spot where it was cremated. This, the Kakitsu monogatari informs us, was an instance of requiting hatred with kindness.¹³

This account, obviously the work of a partisan of Mitsusuke, is consciously literary, almost comically so in its mention of soldiers weeping so copiously that they had to wring the tears from their sleeves, but perhaps it contains an element of truth. Modern historians usually interpret the assassination in terms of Mitsusuke’s fear that Yoshinori intended to bestow his three fiefs on a rival in the Akamatsu family, but Mitsusuke may have been angered not only by the threat to his lands but also by the ingratitude Yoshinori had displayed to a family that had served the Ashikaga family well. Or perhaps Mitsusuke’s tender concern for the head was inspired by fear that Yoshinori’s wrathful spirit might come back to haunt the Akamatsu family.

Yoshikatsu could not immediately be proclaimed as shogun because, not having had his genbuku (coming-of-age) ceremony, he was officially still a child. (He had the ceremony in the following year at the extraordinarily early age of eight and then was named the shogun.) Nevertheless, Yoshikatsu was the highest-ranking member of the shogunate. It must have been unsettling for senior constables and other military officers to bow before a small boy by way of manifesting their loyalty, but probably they recognized that somebody—even a child—was needed at the apex of the bakufu.

After succeeding to his father’s office, Yoshikatsu moved to the Muromachi Palace along with six younger brothers. All were potential candidates for the office of shogun if Yoshikatsu should die. In addition, there were some surviving sons of Ashikaga Yoshimitsu, now serving as high-ranking priests at various temples, who might succeed. Fearing that Akamatsu Mitsusuke might try to set up one of these priests as shogun in place of Yoshikatsu, Hosokawa Mochiyuki had all three kept under house arrest.

On the sixth day of the seventh month, a public funeral was held for Yoshinori at the Tōji-in. Kikei Shinzui (1401–1469), the chief priest of the Rokuon-in, feeling responsible as a member of the Akamatsu family for the loss of Yoshinori’s head, had decided some days earlier to go to Harima, at the risk of his life, to obtain the head for the funeral. Shinzui succeeded in having an audience with Mitsusuke, who was impressed by his sincerity. Because Hosokawa Mochiyuki had twice earlier beheaded messengers sent by Mitsusuke, it would not have been surprising if Mitsusuke had meted out the same punishment to an envoy sent by his enemies, but he willingly surrendered Yoshinori’s head. If the account in Kakitsu monogatari is to be believed, the head had already been cremated, but it would not have been difficult to substitute another: given the heat of the summer, the real or false head of Yoshinori would probably have become unrecognizable in a few weeks. Even if the head that Mitsusuke surrendered was genuine, he had already enjoyed to the full his vengeance over Yoshinori and no longer needed the head as a reminder of his triumph. His thoughts were undoubtedly on the coming battle with the forces of the shogunate.

Mitsusuke expected that a major shogunate army would come pursuing him at almost any moment, and once he was in Harima, he took appropriate measures to defend himself. The punitive army, however, was strangely slow in leaving Kyoto. Mitsusuke apparently got tired of waiting, and on the eighth day of the seventh month he sent a letter to the shogunal deputy Hosokawa Mochiuji challenging him to send an army after him.¹⁴ When this failed to produce any result, it occurred to Mitsusuke that he might set up a member of the Ashikaga family as a rival to Yoshikatsu. He found a suitable man, a Zen priest whom he persuaded to return to the laity under the name of Yoshitaka. It was in Yoshitaka’s name that Mitsusuke issued a message to samurai in all parts of the country asking them to stand behind him. Mitsusuke, the murderer of the shogun, was now also a traitor.¹⁵

On the twenty-fifth day of the sixth month, a decision was reached at a meeting of the bakufu to put down the Akamatsu revolt, but implementation of the decision was repeatedly delayed. Yamana Mochitoyo (Sōzen, 1404–1473),¹⁶ the commander of the punitive force, at first showed no inclination to leave for the front, saying it was premature. Even the few units that were actually dispatched to Harima did little more than reconnoiter the terrain at the border. In the meantime, a series of small incidents estranged Sozen from the shogunal deputy Hosokawa Mochiyuki, who reportedly had urged his troops to destroy the Yamana family before attacking the Akamatsu. But there was no semblance of unity in the punitive army, and its cause was unpopular: far from being considered an enemy of the people, Akamatsu Mitsusuke was acclaimed in Kyoto for having delivered them from an evil shogun.

The bakufu army finally left Kyoto on the eleventh day of the seventh month, but the leadership was still far from unified. The shogunal deputy, worried about the situation, decided to ask the emperor for an edict calling for the punishment of the Akamatsu family for its crime in assassinating the shogun. Although the emperor had no troops with which to reinforce the punitive army, his blessing would strengthen and unify the disparate forces, just as the brocade pennant carried by the imperial forces in the battle fought in 1868 between troops loyal to the emperor and those of the shogun proved of critical importance in the defeat of the shogun’s army.

Mochiyuki sent for Madenokōji Tokifusa and explained why he needed imperial authorization: “People are surely aware that because the shogun is a minor, it is up to the shogunal deputy to issue orders, but I feel so uneasy about this that I would like to request an imperial edict.”¹⁷ Tokifusa was dubious about the appropriateness of issuing such an edict, which in the past (and even then very seldom) had been used only when asking that enemies of the court be punished, but Mochiyuki desperately needed the edict to bolster his forces. The emperor’s sanction carried the weight of the ultimate source of authority.

On the thirtieth day of the seventh month, Emperor Go-Hanazono decided to grant Mochiyuki’s request for an imperial edict. Tokifusa was commanded to compose the edict immediately. He asked for a day’s respite, pointing out that it was an unlucky day in the calendar, but he was refused, and he was obliged to set about writing the edict without delay. When the first version was completed, it was sent to a Confucian scholar for stylistic corrections. The rough draft was then sent to the emperor for his approval. He made extensive corrections, mainly of a moralistic nature, but the meaning was generally the same as in Tokifusa’s text:

The conspiracy of Akamatsu Mitsusuke and his son Noriyasu has disturbed public law and order; they have blocked the imperial rule in Harima and brought on war with those who obey the will of Heaven. For this reason, no time should be lost in dispatching an army to chastise these enemies. Now is the moment for each man to display complete loyalty to the country and filial piety to his family. Do not allow further days to pass without action. As for those who have cooperated with the conspirators, they should definitely be punished for the same crime. This is Our command.¹⁸

Although Akamatsu Mitsusuke had three domains—Bizen and Mimasaka as well as Harima—he decided to concentrate his forces in Harima. The advancing bakufu army quickly took Mimasaka, but by the end of the seventh month the two armies were locked in a stalemate. In the middle of the eighth month, Hosokawa Mochiyuki persuaded the military governor of Awaji to attack the Akamatsu positions from the sea. The simultaneous attack from land and sea came as an unexpected surprise to the Akamatsu army and led to a forced retreat. The shogunate troops, led by Yamana Sōzen, broke into Harima on the twenty-eighth day of the eighth month, and on the thirtieth a hard-fought engagement between the two armies ended with the defeat of the Akamatsu force. On the third of the ninth month, Sakamoto Castle, the stronghold of the Akamatsu family, fell to Sōzen.

With a handful of his retainers, Mitsusuke managed to escape to Kinoyama. Aided by local samurai, they made a last stand at Kinoyama Castle. The final attack began at dawn on the tenth day of the ninth month. By nine in the morning, it was clear that the Yamana troops would soon take the castle keep. Mitsusuke summoned his son Noriyasu and his younger brother Norishige and ordered them to escape so that they might continue warfare against the bakufu. Both men had been deeply involved in the assassination and subsequent events and wanted to commit seppuku along with Mitsusuke, but they could not disregard his last wish.

Once Mitsusuke had watched the two men safely escape, he committed seppuku, after commanding Azumi Yukihide to serve as his second and cut off his head. Mitsusuke’s suicide was followed by those of some fifty of his retainers. Azumi, who had cut off the head of the shogun two and a half months earlier, set fire to the keep and leaped into the flames.