Your eyes open. You are lying in the darkness, on a straw pallet. You have no idea where you are, or how you got here. Come to think of it, you know you must have a past, a name, but you remember nothing about them. Your nose itches, and as you move to scratch it, you feel the iron shackles on your wrists, hear the rattle of heavy chains. Whoever you are, you are a prisoner . . . .