Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.

<passage>:
Fiction January 1960. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence blackness, but a mind-enveloping darkness that was filled with the multi-colored little sparks of thoughts and memories that scattered through the darkness like tiny glowing mice, fleeing from something unknown, fleeing outwards and away toward a somewhere that was equally unknown scurrying, moving, changing—each half recognizable as it passed, but leaving only a vague impression behind. Memories were shattered into their component data bits in that maelstrom slowly—ever so slowly—the powerful cohesive forces that existed between the data-bits began pulling them back together again as the not-blackness faded. The associative powers of the mind began putting the frightened little things together as they drifted back in from vast distances, trying to fit them together again in an ordered whole. Like a The process was far from complete when Broom regained consciousness. Broom sat up abruptly and looked around him. The room was totally What? heavy, a big-boned frame covered with hard, well-trained muscles. His hair and beard were a dark blond, and rather shaggy because of the time he'd spent in prison. Prison! certainly nothing like the type of dress he was used to. He tried to force his memory to give him the information he was looking for, but it wouldn't come. A face flickered in his mind for a moment, and a name. Contarini. He seemed to remember a startled look on the Italian's face, but he could neither remember the reason for it nor when it had been. But it would come back he was sure of that. Meanwhile, where the devil was he? some kind. It was some sort of carpeting that covered the floor from it looked almost normal, except that the objects on it were like nothing that had ever existed. Their purposes this was no time to start. What would his studs. There was a loud click! controlled forces beyond his ability to cope with, or understand. After all, such a long time— He stopped, Time? Time? What had Contarini said about time? Something about its being like a river that flowed rapidly—that much he remembered. Oh, yes—and that it was almost impossible to try to swim backwards against the current or ... something else. What? He shook his head. The more he tried to remember what his fellow prisoner had told him, the more elusive it became. He had traveled in time, that much was certain, but how far, and in which direction? Toward the future, obviously Contarini had made it plain that going into the past was impossible. Then could he, Broom, get back to his own time, or was he destined to stay in this—place? Wherever and whenever it was. Evidently movement through the time-river had a tendency to disorganize a man's memories. Well, wasn't that obvious anyway? Even normal movement through time, at the rate of a day per day, made some memories fade. And some were lost entirely, while others remained clear and bright. What would a sudden jump of centuries do? His memory was improving, though. If he just let it alone, most of it would come back, and he could orient himself. Meanwhile, he might as Broom decided he might as well get a good look at whatever was outside Broom backed away from the window and let the curtain close. He'd had immediate surroundings, looked almost homey after seeing that monstrous, endless city outside. He skirted the table with its still-humming machine and walked toward unfamiliar, outlandish clothing, but Broom had seen odder clothing in It wasn't, of course it was only a painting. But the lifelike, somber chair. Broom's footsteps sounded loud in the room, the echoes rebounding well lit. For the first time, he thought of the possibility that there Contarini had said that it would be ... how had he said it? "Like sleeping for hundreds of years and waking up in a strange world." Well, it was that, all right. the room behind him, and a deeper, almost inaudible, rushing, rumbling sound that seemed to come from far below. His wish for a weapon came back, stronger than before. The very fact he moved. , he thought to himself. come through showed the telltale glow from the other side. Why? He had the terrible feeling that he had been drawn across time to this place for a purpose, and yet he could think of no rational reason for believing so. He stopped as another memory came back. He remembered being in the stone-walled dungeon, with its smelly straw beds, lit only by the faint shaft of sunlight that came from the barred window high overhead. Contarini, the short, wiry little Italian who was in the next cell, looked at him through the narrow opening. "I still think it can be done, my friend. It is the mind and the mind alone that sees the flow of time. Broom outranked the little Italian, but prison can make brothers of all men. "You think it's possible then, to get out of a place like this, simply by thinking about it?" contemplation of the Eternal." Broom held back a grin. "Then why, my Venetian friend, have you not left this place long since?" "I try," Contarini had said simply, "but I cannot do it. You wish to know why? It is because I am afraid." "Afraid?" Broom raised an eyebrow. He had seen Contarini on the battlefield, dealing death in hand-to-hand combat, and the Italian hadn't impressed him as a coward. "I hope, my dear Contarini," Broom said dryly, "that you are not under the impression that I am a saint." Broom had thought that over for a moment, then grinned. "All right, my I'll try it. What's your first lesson?" The memory faded from Broom's mind. Had he really moved through some scooped up the dish in one big hand and ran on into the room, letting He stopped. What could he do now? He tried to remember the things that the Italian had told him to do, and he could not for the life of him remember them. His memory still had gaps in it—gaps he did not know Broom's eyes opened, and instantly every muscle and nerve in his his clothes. He was not as tall as Broom, and he looked soft and before. the tenseness in his voice betrayed his fear. Broom relaxed. He had "I won't hurt you," Broom said. "I had no intention of intruding on your Broom laughed. "You have nothing to fear from me, little man. Permit me to introduce myself. I am Richard Broom, known as—" He stopped, and his eyes widened. Total memory flooded over him as he realized fully who he surroundings were so familiar, that the bits of memory which had been scattered again during the passage through centuries of time came back more quickly and settled back into their accustomed pattern more easily. The face was that of the Italian, Contarini. He was looking both worried and disappointed. "You were not gone long, my lord king," he said. "But you were gone. Of that there can be no doubt. Why did you return?" Richard Broom sat up on his palette of straw. The scene in the strange why I had gone to that ... that place. And when I remembered, I came back." Contarini nodded sadly. "It is as I have heard. The memory ties one too strongly to the past—to one's own time. One must return as soon as the mind had adjusted. I am sorry, my friend may be reluctant to raise the money." "What? Would England hesitate to ransom the brave king who has fought so gallantly in the Holy Crusades? Never! You will be free, my friend." late, and I left the lights on in my office when I went out to get a cup of coffee. When I came back, he was here—a big, bearded man, wearing a thing that looked like a monk's robe made out of gunny sack. What? No, I he was holding that in his hand when I saw him. What? Oh. Where did he go?" Mr.

<question>:
When was Broom born?

<options>:
A The Industrial Revolution, around the 19th century.
B Modern day, The middle of the 20th century.
C The Medieval Period, around the 12th century.
D The Renaissance, around the 15th century.

<answer>:

C