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This time the knights in armour were pilots from all over the world, including as far away as Australia and New Zealand. They no longer wore armour of iron or steel but lightweight aluminium… and they were winged like angels. Today they charged through the skies, galloping on Spitfires rather than proud horses. Earlier this month – on the ‘glorious tenth of May’ as the locals called it – sixty-one of these agile little aircraft had got through all Axis defences after having been delivered safely nearby aboard US and British carriers. The immense treasure trove of fighter aircraft that everyone hoped would turn the tide of their war began to do just that, and the supremacy in the air that the Axis forces had enjoyed had now changed in favour of the Allies.

Valentina, already considered a precocious teen with opinions far beyond her age and sex, knew it was fanciful to think of the Spitfire pilots of today as the knights of yesteryear, but they were both crusaders in war. Everyone else was in a constant state of anxiety, but she didn’t want to feel that fear. She had taught herself to believe that each person had a moment when death stalked them. Hers hadn’t occurred yet, but it would – maybe today, maybe tomorrow, possibly next year or sometime far into the future, if she was to outlive this war. Whenever the moment struck, she would have no control over it; it alone knew when it arrived. So she never worried about death, even though a lot of her religious classmates were beginning to talk about dying: if it would hurt, whether they would go to heaven afterwards, and whether they might still be able to watch their families from that place.

Although she was Catholic too, Valentina took a more pragmatic view. She had a mantra and repeated it now to herself: ‘I won’t let the Germans take my hope.’ Murmuring it aloud helped her to oppose them. She stood out in the open and dared them to kill a defenceless stranger, a teenager with her whole life ahead of her, who had done them no wrong.

It felt good to think as defiantly as she did; it made her feel brave and helped her to believe she would survive the war with the help of the winged angels who flew headlong into danger from the Takali Airfield seven miles from the city.

At the gardens, she stared out towards the Three Cities: Vittoriosa, the first home of the Knights Hospitaller; Cospicua, which had a tumultuous history due to various battles that had wreaked so much damage; and finally Senglea, which had defied centuries of potential destruction but was now a wasteland, she’d heard, though she hadn’t been there to see for herself and didn’t want to. Senglea, which had prided itself on its fortifications since the time of the Knights, was apparently in ruins thanks to the attention from the German bombers. So many had been killed beneath the toppling stone buildings.

If there wasn’t war, what would she be aspiring to right now? she asked herself, deliberately moving her thoughts from the carnage. It helped to daydream, so she leaned into her hopeful thoughts. If the war could finally end today, then she would be looking forward to finishing her studies and then probably arguing with her parents to allow her to go to university – ideally in Rome. Or at least it had been Rome in her dreams until the Italians, Malta’s neighbours and friends, joined Hitler’s mob and began bombing them.

If not Rome, then where? London? Yes, London sounded truly exciting and with so much history of its own to share. Her traditional parents wouldn’t like it. What use was study? they’d argue, and if she tried hard – really hard – she could understand that point of view if she were standing in their shoes.

But she wasn’t.

This was her life, not theirs.

‘Hello, Leni.’

She turned to see Robertu smiling shyly. She grinned back. ‘I knew you’d come.’

‘I followed you,’ her friend admitted, sounding guilty. ‘But you looked lost in your thoughts. I thought you might prefer being alone.’

‘I’m always lost in my thoughts, you know that,’ she said, taking his hand and gently pulling him to look out over the wall too. ‘But you’re always welcome.’

He looked at her slightly longingly. He was closer to sixteen than she was and big for his age, like his brother Lawrenz, so he tended to look older; though the Falzons were heavyset people, they would never be tall. ‘They were talking about marriage again.’

She knew he meant his parents, and her face must have darkened. ‘Oh no. What now?’

‘Sorry, I don’t mean to upset you.’

‘No, you’re my trusty spy, Robertu.’

‘Well, they were discussing a date.’

‘And?’

‘Right after you turn sixteen,’ he said, sounding as miserable as she looked.

She felt her body slump; that was September. She let go of his arm and crossed both of hers, leaning back against the wall. ‘I don’t want to marry Lawrenz.’

‘Can’t we just say we want to be married instead?’ Robertu asked.

She gave a mirthless laugh. ‘But I don’t want to be married at all – not yet.’

He looked instantly crestfallen, although she didn’t know why. They’d had this conversation repeatedly over the past few months as their parents’ discussions had ramped up.

‘He’s determined that if he has to marry, then it has to be you.’

‘I can’t understand why. I don’t like Lawrenz and he certainly doesn’t like me.’

‘But you are the prettiest girl in all of Malta,’ Robertu said, sounding dramatic.

She gave him a serious roll of her eyes. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘You’re beautiful. He wants the best. You’re it.’

‘Well, I don’t feel the same way. Everyone knows that.’