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Charles Cordell Biography

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“Spike, rake, sponge, charge, wad, shot, wad – the gun crews worked like automatons. There was something extraordinary in the way that every man performed his motions as a part of the action. Every movement was synchronised with the next. They were a perfect machine – each one a piece of the mechanism, like the wheels of the watch in his pocket. He could think of no other example of men working together with such precision. This was man, industry and science in unison. Was this the way of the future? It was a wondrous and near-perfect thing. But it was a perfection bent on destruction.”

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Book:God's Vindictive Wrath
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“The horse’s hooves crashed out on the stone floor, echoing in the arched entrance. Ahead, the nave stretched, vast, empty, bathed in colour; the winter sun streaming through stained glass between great arches. The horse snorted, its measured steps ringing out on the flagstones and tombs.”

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Book:Desecration: Winchester 1642
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“The gun stood on its platform, staring out over the breastwork of earth and timber, out across the steep valley to the hill beyond; a flat-topped hill, a great field of wheat laid over it, ripening and shimmering in the late afternoon sun; a cornfield filled with an army, a Cornish army, a superstitious, idolatrous army; an army of half-wild, barbarous heathens; a cornfield and an army to be cut down; a sacrifice to be reaped. 'For they have sown the wind, and they shall reap the whirlwind.”

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Book:The Keys of Hell and Death
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“Grenville's line of Cornishmen swayed and lurched, a low growl running through the ranks like a storm far out at sea, the boulders grinding as the waves built. And then it burst, men yelling, shaking their weapons in the air, the pikes clashing, thumping the ground, shouting, demanding, exclaiming, 'Kernow vedn keskerras!' Cornwall will march!”

AdventureHistorical FictionRenaissance17th CenturyRealistic FictionCornwallBritish LiteratureCivil War FictionEnglish Civil WarWar Fiction
Book:The Keys of Hell and Death
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“Ralph’s horse shifted under him. It sensed the danger, the fear, the icy sweat that ran down his back. He laid a calming hand on the animal’s thick veined neck. Breda had carried him across the battlefield of Edgehill, got him safe away at Aylesbury, Brentford and Turnham. Could they make it back behind Winchester’s walls? The great charger stepped backward. Along their short line, other horses were backing up, tossing their heads, whinnying. ‘As you were!’ Smith held them in check. ‘On my order. Keep close. Together.’ He looked at them. Looked again at the enemy about them. ‘Now! Ride for the gate!”

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Book:Desecration: Winchester 1642
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“But God knew how he missed the sea. He missed it in the sun, in the wind and the dark. He even missed the hiss of rain sweeping across it. He missed the dancing sunlight, its ever-shifting tint and hue, scudding cloud and shadow – dappled, ruffled, heaving, waves ridden by white horses, spume streaked, fierce and shrieking. He missed its limitless, open call, its ungoverned, unchecked freedom, the pull of the horizon, an unknown shore, clarity and unfathomable deep. Most of all he missed the 'mordroz': the sound of the sea, its soothing whisper, its pounding drum, its howling fury. For the sea called to him still; it was in his blood, wanted him back, sucked at his soul, clawing, smothering, dragging him down, a restless lover, a shining temptress that could never be sated.”

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Book:The Keys of Hell and Death
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