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

<passage>:
VIEWPOINT. BY RANDALL GARRETT Illustrated by Bernklau that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] A fearsome thing is a thing you're afraid of—and it has nothing is in fact dangerous. It's your view of the matter that counts! There was a dizzy, sickening whirl of mental blackness—not true 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 of not-quite-darkness, and scattered throughout infinity and eternity. Then the pseudo-dark stopped its violent motion and became still, no longer scattering the fleeing memories, but merely blanketing them. And slowly—ever so slowly—the powerful cohesive forces that existed between the data-bits began pulling them back together again as the 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 vast jigsaw puzzle in five dimensions, little clots and patches formed The process was far from complete when Broom regained consciousness. Broom sat up abruptly and looked around him. The room was totally What? he'd spent in prison. Prison! 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. bed, covered with a thick, even, resilient layer of fine material of some kind. It was some sort of carpeting that covered the floor from wall to wall, but no carpet had ever felt like this. Fear? Nonsense! He put his hand out suddenly and slapped the wall with 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 woodlike wall? them The only thing that looked at all familiar on the table was a sheaf of studs. There was a loud click! in the stillness of the room, and he leaped things alone. There was no point in messing with things that undoubtedly 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 ... something else. What? plain that going into the past was impossible. Then could he, Broom, get Wherever and whenever it was. Evidently movement through the time-river had a tendency to disorganize 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 Broom decided he might as well get a good look at whatever was outside —And gasped! Broom backed away from the window and let the curtain close. He'd had unfamiliar, outlandish clothing, but Broom had seen odder clothing in his travels. But the thing that had stopped him was the amazing reality reflecting the face of a man who stood invisibly before it. 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 with the soft carpeting than the carpet it had a kind of queer resiliency of its own. 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. of some kind, but it had been difficult to tell whether there had been 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. of a known enemy would have done. He was suddenly no longer interested in his surroundings. He felt , he thought to himself. believing so. He stopped as another memory came back. He remembered being in the knowing eternity." Broom outranked the little Italian, but prison can make brothers of all Contarini nodded. "Why not? Did not the saints do so? And what was that? Contemplation of the Eternal, my comrade contemplation of the Eternal." Broom held back a grin. "Then why, my Venetian friend, have you not left 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. 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 the impression that I am a saint." living nor the dead, nor of man nor devil—which is a great deal more than I can say for myself. Besides, there is the blood of kings in your chains of fear." Broom had thought that over for a moment, then grinned. "All right, my The memory faded from Broom's mind. Had he really moved through some neither. He had to get back. The utter alienness of this bright, shining, lifeless wonderland was too much for him. scooped up the dish in one big hand and ran on into the room, letting 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. He was saying something in a language that Broom did not understand, and 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 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 to introduce myself. I am Richard Broom, known as—" He stopped, and his was and where he belonged. And the fear hit him again in a raging flood, sweeping over his mind and scattered again during the passage through centuries of time came back more quickly and settled back into their accustomed pattern more easily. 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." 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 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 he'd get over it by morning. THE END

<question>:
What war did Broom fight in?

<options>:
A World War I
B The Vietnam War
C The Holy Crusades
D The American Revolutionary War

<answer>:

C