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

<passage>:
The process was far from complete when Broom regained consciousness. Broom sat up abruptly and looked around him. The room was totally What? consciousness in unfamiliar surroundings, but always before he had been aware that only the pattern was different, not the details. He sat there on the floor and took stock of himself and his surroundings. 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! Yes, he'd been in prison. The rough clothing he was wearing was 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 some kind. It was some sort of carpeting that covered the floor from Fear? Nonsense! He put his hand out suddenly and slapped the wall with his palm and held it there. There was nothing to be afraid of! He laughed at himself softly. He'd faced death a hundred times during the war without showing fear this was no time to start. What would his men think of him if they saw him getting shaky over the mere touch of a controlled forces beyond his ability to cope with, or understand. After all, such a long time— He stopped, Time? prisoner had told him, the more elusive it became. He had traveled in time, that much was certain, but how far, and in plain that going into the past was impossible. Then could he, Broom, get Broom decided he might as well get a good look at whatever was outside impressions intelligently to his brain. What they were recording was so unfamiliar that his brain could not decode the messages they sent. Broom backed away from the window and let the curtain close. He'd had unfamiliar, outlandish clothing, but Broom had seen odder clothing in chair. Broom's footsteps sounded loud in the room, the echoes rebounding that he had a weapon of some kind. Even a knife would have made him feel better. But there had been no chance of that, of course. Prisoners of war are hardly allowed to carry weapons with them, so none had been available. He wondered what sort of men lived in this fantastic city. So far, he that he had seen no one set his nerves on edge even more than the sight of a known enemy would have done. trapped in this strange, silent room. He could see a light shining through a door at the far end of the room—perhaps it was a way out. He walked toward it, trying to keep his footsteps as silent as possible as locked. There was a tiny vertical slit set in a small metal panel in the door, but it was much too tiny to be a keyhole. Still— It didn't matter. If necessary, he could smash the glass to get through the one he had just come through. How did a man get out of this place, anyway? The door behind him was pressing against his hand with a patient insistence, as though it wanted to close itself. He almost let it close, but, at the last second, he changed his mind. Better the devil we know than the devil we don't They were all locked. He knew that he could break into any of them, but he had a feeling that he would find no exit through any of them. They 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. The body experiences, but does not see. Only the soul is capable of knowing eternity." 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, 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. "Yes," said the Venetian. "Afraid. Oh, I am not afraid of men. I fight. Some day, I may die— will die. This does not frighten me, death. I am not afraid of what men may do to me." He stopped and frowned. "But, of this, I have a great fear. Only a saint can handle such things, and I am no saint." "I hope, my dear Contarini," Broom said dryly, "that you are not under I am a saint." "No, perhaps not," Contarini said. "Perhaps not. But you are braver than I. I am not afraid of any man living. But you are afraid of neither the "Oh, I have no doubt that you could do it, if you but would. And then, perhaps, when you are free, you would free me—for teaching you all I know to accomplish this. My fear holds me chained here, but you have no chains of fear." Broom had thought that over for a moment, then grinned. "All right, my friend The memory faded from Broom's mind. Had he really moved through some segment of Eternity to reach this ... this place? Had he— He felt a chill run through him. What was he doing here? How could he have taken it all so calmly. Afraid of man or devil, no—but this was neither. He had to get back. The utter alienness of this bright, shining, lifeless wonderland was too much for him. Instinctively, he turned and ran back toward the room he had left. If he got back to the place where he had appeared in this world, perhaps—somehow—some force would return him to where he belonged. Broom's eyes opened, and instantly every muscle and nerve in his overfed. His paunch protruded roundly from the open front of the short coat, and there was a fleshiness about his face that betrayed too much good living. property, but all I ask is help." The little man was blinking and backing away, as though he were going to turn and bolt at any moment. Broom laughed. "You have nothing to fear from me, little man. Permit me was and where he belonged. And the fear hit him again in a raging flood, sweeping over his mind and 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 Richard Broom sat up on his palette of straw. The scene in the strange mind had adjusted. I am sorry, my friend I had hoped we could escape. But now it appears that we must wait until our ransoms are paid. And I much fear that mine will never be paid." "Nor mine," said the big man dully. "My faithful Blondin found me, but he may not have returned to London. And even if he has, my brother John 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." But Richard Plantagenet just stared at the little dish that he still held in his hand, the fear still in his heart. Men would still call him "Lion-hearted," but he knew that he would never again deserve the title. And, nearly eight centuries away in time and thousands of miles away in little dizzy—I was pretty shocked, you know. To be honest, I didn't see where he went. I must have fainted. "But I think you can pick him up if you hurry. With that getup on, he He cradled the phone, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and dabbed at his damp forehead. He was a very frightened little man, but he knew

<question>:
What did Broom go to prison for?

<options>:
A Theft of a ceramic ash tray.
B He was a spy in the war.
C Treason against the English crown.
D He is a prisoner of war.

<answer>:

D