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King Solomon;s Pilot: A Novel
Could this fictional story be more truth than fiction?A three thousand year-old maritime mystery solved?The historical maritime mystery of Ophir and King Solomon's mines has puzzled and intrigued historians, archaeologists and writers for almost three thousand years.
˃˃˃ Could this story reveal the truth?Many historians believe it does. 962 BC was the dawn of the golden years for King Solomon. He is at the pinnacle of power, and with Phoenician pilots provided by his friend King Hiram of Tyre, his ships and agents ply the coasts of the Red Sea, trading from Egypt to Saba and around the horn of Africa, hugging the coast as far as Opone and Serapio, keeping land in sight and spending each night ashore. Few pilots dared risk the night at sea with unknown winds and unseen dangers
˃˃˃ ˃˃˃ Non-stop action adventureKing Solomon's Pilot is a non-stop, page-turning, action adventure-filled epic of sailing and exploration in the intriguing time of the Phoenicians. A time when ships were at the mercy of the winds, and men were at the mercy of kings.
˃˃˃ Review of King Solomon's Pilot from
The Historical Novel Society
King Solomon's Pilot propels us into the legendary realm of the young King Solomon, whose power is nearing its apogée towards the end of the first decade of his rule. Aided by King Hiram’s Tyrean sailors, he has secured the waterways for his trade, linking Egypt to Saba and outsmarting his enemies, who are waiting for him on the silk road. In 962 BC, his promise to construct a temple in his father’s honour is still but a plan, yet a humble potter is about to lead Hiram’s niece astray and us to the source of the fabled Solomonian gold
Jerold Richert cleverly adds twists to his narrative by introducing unlikely incidents that make the reader doubt the verisimilitude or authenticity of this turn of events, only to immediately address and explain the characters’ motivation or circumstance. Eloquently written with both a host of winsome (and less so) characters and a plethora of factual details” from weaponry to architecture, fashion to cuisine” The Pilot offers all the ingredients of an enthralling a headlong dive into the fabulous Phoenician world; adventure; and, of course, an engaging love story that adds a sigh and a smile to the riveting plot.
˃˃˃ Amazon Review by IANKLUXI have all the novels written by Jerold Richert. He is one of the best African story tellers I have read. Most people's ideas of African adventure will be far removed from what Richert writes about in King Solomon's Pilot which takes us back to the time of King Solomon, Tyre, Ezion Geber and eventually the source of Solomon's fabled gold. The scenes are all very true to life and Jerold Richert writes adventure around these in gripping style. His homework is good and I have to say, for my taste (especially novels about Africa) he is one of the best and most knowledgeable authors around. Finishing this gripping but often delightful book was like finding and then all too quickly losing newly found friends.
Ian Kluckow, Sofia, Bulgaria.
clicking on the "look inside" feature will lead you right into the story. Enjoy!
˃˃˃ Could this story reveal the truth?Many historians believe it does. 962 BC was the dawn of the golden years for King Solomon. He is at the pinnacle of power, and with Phoenician pilots provided by his friend King Hiram of Tyre, his ships and agents ply the coasts of the Red Sea, trading from Egypt to Saba and around the horn of Africa, hugging the coast as far as Opone and Serapio, keeping land in sight and spending each night ashore. Few pilots dared risk the night at sea with unknown winds and unseen dangers
˃˃˃ ˃˃˃ Non-stop action adventureKing Solomon's Pilot is a non-stop, page-turning, action adventure-filled epic of sailing and exploration in the intriguing time of the Phoenicians. A time when ships were at the mercy of the winds, and men were at the mercy of kings.
˃˃˃ Review of King Solomon's Pilot from
The Historical Novel Society
King Solomon's Pilot propels us into the legendary realm of the young King Solomon, whose power is nearing its apogée towards the end of the first decade of his rule. Aided by King Hiram’s Tyrean sailors, he has secured the waterways for his trade, linking Egypt to Saba and outsmarting his enemies, who are waiting for him on the silk road. In 962 BC, his promise to construct a temple in his father’s honour is still but a plan, yet a humble potter is about to lead Hiram’s niece astray and us to the source of the fabled Solomonian gold
Jerold Richert cleverly adds twists to his narrative by introducing unlikely incidents that make the reader doubt the verisimilitude or authenticity of this turn of events, only to immediately address and explain the characters’ motivation or circumstance. Eloquently written with both a host of winsome (and less so) characters and a plethora of factual details” from weaponry to architecture, fashion to cuisine” The Pilot offers all the ingredients of an enthralling a headlong dive into the fabulous Phoenician world; adventure; and, of course, an engaging love story that adds a sigh and a smile to the riveting plot.
˃˃˃ Amazon Review by IANKLUXI have all the novels written by Jerold Richert. He is one of the best African story tellers I have read. Most people's ideas of African adventure will be far removed from what Richert writes about in King Solomon's Pilot which takes us back to the time of King Solomon, Tyre, Ezion Geber and eventually the source of Solomon's fabled gold. The scenes are all very true to life and Jerold Richert writes adventure around these in gripping style. His homework is good and I have to say, for my taste (especially novels about Africa) he is one of the best and most knowledgeable authors around. Finishing this gripping but often delightful book was like finding and then all too quickly losing newly found friends.
Ian Kluckow, Sofia, Bulgaria.
clicking on the "look inside" feature will lead you right into the story. Enjoy!
465 pages, Kindle Edition
First published July 18, 2011
54 people are currently reading
8 people want to read
About the author
Jerold Richert
16 books1 follower"Rhodesia, now Zimbabwe, was the best place on earth for a boy to grow up in. Most of my early years were spent on a farm, and most every boy that grew up on a farm in Africa had as his first friends and companions the sons of the farm labourers. I was no exception. Together we roamed free, hunting with catapults bows and arrows and terrorising everything that moved. We spoke the same language and were seldom home before dark. I had a horse and shared my bed with my two large dogs. I was given my first .22 rifle on my tenth birthday. Then came the shock of boarding school in Bulawayo, a name that means ‘place of slaughter.’
My treasured rifle was confiscated on the first day by the matron and I was caned on the second. Hunting was not on the curriculum. At school I was a dismal failure. My talents leaned more towards dreaming than academia, and the books I learned the most from were written by Zane Grey and Capt.W.E. Johns. These were usually read late at night in one of the toilets by the light of a candle.
After four years of failing at boarding school, I had four years of spectacular success at the more satisfying pursuits of beer, girls and Rock ‘n Roll. I learned to play the guitar and joined a band at the time when Elvis and the Beatles ruled. I read The Silent World by Jacques Cousteau, took up diving, and new horizons beckoned.
The first horizon culminated at the Oceanographic Museum in Monaco; the headquarters of Jacques Cousteau. I had to fill in a lengthy questionnaire as to why I wanted to see him, which I ignored, simply writing at the top that I had come five thousand miles from Africa to work for him. Astonishingly, he agreed to see me, a humbling experience. Even more astonishing was that he agreed to employ me. Not as a diver on the Calypso as I had hoped – he already had more than enough divers – but at the museum, refurbishing aquariums and cleaning the sea-lion pools. He tried to get me into Club Med and other tourist type diving work, but under French law at the time I was not allowed to work in France. For a month Cousteau paid me out of his own pocket, then paid my fare back to London. A great man.
With that dream in shreds, and the British weather beginning to pall, I looked around for fresh horizons. These expanded over the next four years into a full-blown circumnavigation. Accompanied by a friend I immigrated to Canada and tried dairy farming, only to discover that cows, and most of the farmers, had no conception of reasonable hours, weekends or holidays.
Becoming a cowboy on a ranch in British Columbia suited me better. I could ride again, and herding cows was better than milking them. Then came winter and a new, summery horizons came into view; a mirage of grass skirts, coconut palms and blue water.
Defying the Canadian authorities, who unrealistically insisted I repay the fare owed to them before leaving Canada, I found work on a Norwegian cargo boat and departed, first for Hawaii, then Samoa. But nobody had warned me about seasickness. At Rarotonga the mirage became real, with palms, turquoise water, and girls galore. I decided to stay. Unfortunately, there was a law against this. The police broke down the door of the hut in which the girl was hiding me and I was bundled out, half naked, rushed through the palm groves with a policeman on each arm, and all but thrown onto the waiting pilot boat, which then raced off to catch the ship which had already sailed.
Undeterred, I made good my escape in New Zealand, jumping ship in Auckland and working in that country for the next year and a half, until Australia beckoned from just over the horizon. To leave, I had to surrender to the wharf police, who had an outstanding warrant for my arrest. I appeared in court wearing suits, waistcoat and tie, and this must have worked. The Norwegian shipping company wanted me to pay costs, but the Judge ruled against them. There was no provision under the act, he said, for British su
My treasured rifle was confiscated on the first day by the matron and I was caned on the second. Hunting was not on the curriculum. At school I was a dismal failure. My talents leaned more towards dreaming than academia, and the books I learned the most from were written by Zane Grey and Capt.W.E. Johns. These were usually read late at night in one of the toilets by the light of a candle.
After four years of failing at boarding school, I had four years of spectacular success at the more satisfying pursuits of beer, girls and Rock ‘n Roll. I learned to play the guitar and joined a band at the time when Elvis and the Beatles ruled. I read The Silent World by Jacques Cousteau, took up diving, and new horizons beckoned.
The first horizon culminated at the Oceanographic Museum in Monaco; the headquarters of Jacques Cousteau. I had to fill in a lengthy questionnaire as to why I wanted to see him, which I ignored, simply writing at the top that I had come five thousand miles from Africa to work for him. Astonishingly, he agreed to see me, a humbling experience. Even more astonishing was that he agreed to employ me. Not as a diver on the Calypso as I had hoped – he already had more than enough divers – but at the museum, refurbishing aquariums and cleaning the sea-lion pools. He tried to get me into Club Med and other tourist type diving work, but under French law at the time I was not allowed to work in France. For a month Cousteau paid me out of his own pocket, then paid my fare back to London. A great man.
With that dream in shreds, and the British weather beginning to pall, I looked around for fresh horizons. These expanded over the next four years into a full-blown circumnavigation. Accompanied by a friend I immigrated to Canada and tried dairy farming, only to discover that cows, and most of the farmers, had no conception of reasonable hours, weekends or holidays.
Becoming a cowboy on a ranch in British Columbia suited me better. I could ride again, and herding cows was better than milking them. Then came winter and a new, summery horizons came into view; a mirage of grass skirts, coconut palms and blue water.
Defying the Canadian authorities, who unrealistically insisted I repay the fare owed to them before leaving Canada, I found work on a Norwegian cargo boat and departed, first for Hawaii, then Samoa. But nobody had warned me about seasickness. At Rarotonga the mirage became real, with palms, turquoise water, and girls galore. I decided to stay. Unfortunately, there was a law against this. The police broke down the door of the hut in which the girl was hiding me and I was bundled out, half naked, rushed through the palm groves with a policeman on each arm, and all but thrown onto the waiting pilot boat, which then raced off to catch the ship which had already sailed.
Undeterred, I made good my escape in New Zealand, jumping ship in Auckland and working in that country for the next year and a half, until Australia beckoned from just over the horizon. To leave, I had to surrender to the wharf police, who had an outstanding warrant for my arrest. I appeared in court wearing suits, waistcoat and tie, and this must have worked. The Norwegian shipping company wanted me to pay costs, but the Judge ruled against them. There was no provision under the act, he said, for British su
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Displaying 1 - 3 of 3 reviews
June 12, 2018
I liked the setting of this story in ancient Africa. I also liked all the details with sailing ships and exploration. There was certainly plenty of action, but some of it seemed rather unlikely.
Read
August 13, 2019Fast moving tale.
Great story with a few wee twists to keep us guessing.
Alittle predictable at the end, but i'm looking forward to the next.
Great story with a few wee twists to keep us guessing.
Alittle predictable at the end, but i'm looking forward to the next.
Read
May 6, 2019Just my kind of book. Calling it "African" is misleading - not much African about it...
Displaying 1 - 3 of 3 reviews