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

<passage>:
Illustrated by Bernklau [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Astounding Science Fiction January 1960. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] A fearsome thing is a thing you're afraid of—and it has nothing 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 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? He rubbed his head and looked around more carefully. It was not just the effect was greater than that. It was not the first time in his life he had regained consciousness in unfamiliar surroundings, but always before he had been he'd spent in prison. Prison! Yes, he'd been in prison. The rough clothing he was wearing was 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? before. He looked down at the floor. It was soft, almost as soft as a some kind. It was some sort of carpeting that covered the floor from felt fine, except for the gaps in his memory. it looked almost normal, except that the objects on it were like nothing that had ever existed. Their purposes 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 The memories were coming back. This time, he didn't try to probe for them 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 was almost impossible to try to swim backwards against the current or 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 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 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. 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 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. 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. Did anyone know he was here? He had the uneasy feeling that hidden, rapidity. It was a great deal thinner and lighter than he had supposed. He looked down at it, wondering if there were any way the door could be but, at the last second, he changed his mind. Better the devil we know than the devil we don't , 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 Broom outranked the little Italian, but prison can make brothers of all 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. 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 "I hope, my dear Contarini," Broom said dryly, "that you are not under the impression that I 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 perhaps—somehow—some force would return him to where he belonged. 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 And he looked even more frightened than Broom had been a few minutes before. the tenseness in his voice betrayed his fear. Broom relaxed. He had 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 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. 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 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." 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." 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 space, a Mr. Edward Jasperson was speaking hurriedly into the telephone that stood by the electric typewriter on his desk. locked the door when I left. What? Well, the only thing that's missing he was holding that in his hand when I saw him. What? Oh. Where did he go?" Mr. he'd get over it by morning. THE END

<question>:
When was Broom in prison?

<options>:
A 1st century
B 15th century
C 12th century
D 20th century

<answer>:

C